Church Art

I’m a little concerned about what my child is being taught at church. I mean, nothing like this would happen because of my parenting skills.

I make that Duggar chick look like some dead beat mom, I’m telling ya!

Anyway, we came home from church and, as usual, my 4 year old came home with some new artwork. Here it is:

Isn’t that sweet? When asked who was in the picture it was “Me and my sister”.

But then….

You turn it over and…

“Ummm…sweetie…who is that? (pleasedontsaymompleasedontsaymompleasedontsaymom)

“ZOMBIE!! *giggle*”

I don’t know about you, but I felt the Spirit…er…something…

Maybe it’s because my children watch this video over and over and over..

A Conversation Between Two 7 Year Olds

I had the privilege to hear a conversation between my daughter and my friend’s son. Somehow they forgot I was sitting near by nursing and it took some serious will power and control to not break out laughing at this cute conversation.

I only wish I had that strong of will power when it came to all things fried and/or chocolaty.

Here’s a transcript:

Boy: Do you believe Santa is real? Cuz I don’t.

Girl: No. He totally isn’t real. (wth??)

Boy: Ya. He’s so not real.

Girl: Totally. Well, he’s real but it’s just a guy dressed up..

Boy: Ya.

Girl: He’s just not magic. He’s just a guy. But Ronald McDonald is magic. (Wha??)

Boy: Well, ya.

Girl: I know that Lucky the Leprechaun isn’t real, the Easter Bunny isn’t real and the Tooth Fairy…

Boy: The Tooth Fairy is totally not real.

Girl: Well, the Tooth Fairy confuses me because how do you explain the notes telling us she was stuck in China? She totally got stuck in China and came the second night.

Boy: Ya, what’s up with the Tooth Fairy she ALWAYS comes the second night!

The 7 year old logic at it’s best.

A Story

In honor of the weirdest and most everfreakinglasting “holiday” in our culture, I thought I’d post a story I wrote in a creative writing class a couple years ago. It’s creepy. And I’m kinda proud of it.

Death by Nuts

I killed a man today. His blood is on my hands. It started as any other normal day. In the rush of a Monday morning, wet hair and ten minutes late, as usual, I ran into my favorite coffee shop for my morning wake up call. I order the same thing every morning, a large cappuccino. But today I was feeling adventurous. I had an interview later that day for a big promotion at work and in the spirit of changing things up I ordered a splash of hazelnut. I’m crazy like that. While I was waiting, I perused the local paper and the man waiting in line just behind me picked up my drink, assuming it was his. When I turned to grab my coffee, all I saw was my cup on the floor, hazelnut coffee everywhere and the man looking past me as though he was deep in thought. Before I could ask him if he was okay, he started coughing and spitting, grabbing at his now red throat with his tongue hanging out looking like a giant sausage.
    Oh. My. Gosh.
    I thought I had entered some bizarre deleted scene from “The Exorcist”.
    Before the paramedics could make it there, this man, husband, father and possible grandfather died. They said it was a severe nut allergy. The man was murdered by a nutty syrup. Chosen by me.   
I didn’t make it to that interview today. After I got back home, vomited, cried and vomited again, I sat in a scalding hot bath. I was chilled to the bone in spite of the early summer weather, in spite of the boiling bath. I don’t know how long I was in there but the water was freezing cold by the time I was wrapped up in my terry cloth robe, my comforter and 4 other blankets. Is this how it feels to be a murderer?
    I woke up not knowing where I was. It’s dark. The alarm clock read 4:07AM. Then I remembered. That man, so alive one minute and the next he was gone. More tears fall from my swollen eyes. A voice in my head tells me it’s not my fault; I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I wish that voice would speak up so it would drown out the other voice that keeps screaming “MURDERER” with such force, I can hear nothing else. In an attempt to ignore this voice, I grab my iPod and Pink starts singing about some party, I don’t really know or care, I just want her to scream away my guilt.
    The next time I saw the clock it was 9:30AM, rain is beating on my window. This heavy, wet and gray day not only mirrors my mood but seems to act as a compress, relieving some of my pain, pulling out the guilt like an infection. I finally answer my bladder’s call of relief. As I traversed the cold, hard tile of the bathroom, I glance in the mirror and was taken back to my childhood when my sister and I would attempt to conjure up “Bloody Mary”. I’m pretty sure if she had ever shown herself, she would look better than the reflection I see in my mirror. Shock and endless tears are not friendly to the face.
    After taking care of business, I studied my gruesome image. I see baggy, swollen eyes, a paleness that would rival any vampire and patches of red, chapped skin around my nose and eyes from too many cheap tissues. I have a pillow perm that no professional would dare to replicate and probably wouldn’t want to.
    In short, I was a ray of sunshine.
    In the kitchen, I put on a pot of coffee, I’ll be making my own for a while, I think. I pull out my laptop wanting to look up what I know won’t be there yet: an obituary. I bring up The Tribune’s webpage and go directly to the obituary section looking for his name, Jim Reynolds. I am surprised when I find his name. It has been only 24 hours since I killed him, I mean since he passed, and his obituary is already posted. He was a husband and father of three kids, grandfather of five. He had just retired and he and his wife were planning to travel with their newfound time. Time they no longer had. Before I realize it, I am sobbing again. I took that man away from his Golden years.
    I put as much effort into making a great cup of coffee hoping it’ll calm the sobbing. Somehow, that worked and I return to my computer to find out when the funeral is. He was cremated so there was no burial but the family was having a wake on Wednesday at the family home nearby. I couldn’t help but think how fast they were moving with all the arrangements when I noticed the date at the bottom of my screen. Today was Wednesday! In my shock and despair, I lost Tuesday to a self induced coma, hiding from what I had done. I really wanted to tell the family how sorry I was for their loss but I thought I‘d have a day or two to prepare. The wake started at 10 and it was already 15 minutes passed. I had five hours to pull myself together and get over there.
    My shower helped calm my nerves but when I wiped down the fogged up mirror, all I saw was a frightful mess. No amount of make-up would help this train wreck. I opted for a little mascara and lip gloss, pulled my hair back into a ponytail and got dressed.
    I found the address, no problem. It was getting out of the car I was having trouble with. After an hour of nearly hyperventilating in my car, I finally forced myself out and to the front door. There seemed to be an invisible wall over the threshold. I could not get myself to walk in even though the front door was wide open.
    “Hello?” A lovely looking woman stood in the entryway. She had blond hair, big green eyes and was obviously very fit. She looked surprisingly happy for being at a wake.
    “Oh, um…hi. I just wanted to offer my condolences to Mrs. Reynolds and the family. I’m just having a hard time making it there.”
I don’t know why I felt the need to explain myself to this woman, but she gave me a kind smile and said,
    “Oh sweetie, I’m Mrs. Reynolds. You can call me Kathy. Now, how did you know Jim?”
    She gently guided me to the living room where Jim sat in his urn.  There seemed to be very few people in attendance and I caught myself hoping my funeral would be better attended and then kicked myself for having such a thought. I was shocked to find out this woman was the grieving wife. She acted as though this was a dinner party and I was merely a guest.
    “Well, um, I didn’t really know Jim,” I said, trying to hold back the inevitable sob, “I was at the coffee shop when he, ah…passed away. I don’t really know how to say this….but, I am so sorry, it was my coffee he drank. The coffee with the hazelnut in it. It was mine. I can’t tell you how awful I feel about what happened to him! I—“
    “Oh, dear,” she interrupted, handing me a tissue, “have you been blaming yourself? It was an accident! Jim had a severe peanut allergy. He would even have a reaction if he went near any nut vendors at baseball games or at the mall! He always had an EpiPen on with him just in case. I don’t know why he didn’t have it with him that morning. So, please, don’t blame yourself. Sometimes I am amazed he lasted this long!”
    She pulled me into a kind embrace and let me cry. Why was she not the one crying? I just told her I was the reason for Jim’s death and yet she was holding me like a mother holding a daughter in her sorrow. I pulled away with a shy smile and mopped up the damage on my face.
    “What was Jim like?” I asked.
    “Jim was Jim. He was always hard to please and a workaholic,” she said with a low chuckle, “I had convinced him to retire and travel with me, but I don’t think he really wanted to. He worked hard for our family, though. He took care of his family, even if it seemed he didn’t really care at all.”
    She paused for a minute and seemed to be lost in thought. I wasn’t expecting a reply like that and didn’t know what to say so I just waited, allowing silence to take its turn.
    “It’s strange,” she continued, “you wake up to yet another day thinking nothing is going to change. I had made him his favorite muffins but we were out of coffee so he ran to get some. He took one of those muffins while it was still hot, kissed me on the cheek in a way he hadn’t done in years. It was the first time he had said he was excited for our trip. He left and the next thing I know, the police are at my door telling me he was gone. I hate those muffins. I only make them for him. I threw every last one out. I couldn’t bear to even look at them.”
    She turned to me as though she just remembered I was there.
    “You must be thirsty or hungry. Here I am wasting your time on this silliness when there is a ton of food laid out in the kitchen.”
    “Water would be great,” I said.
    I followed her back to the kitchen feeling very confused. Her comment seemed real and yet rehearsed in some way. As soon as she finished she went back to the hostess who was happy to have another guest. I couldn’t figure out why a man with such a severe allergy wouldn’t have his EpiPen on him that morning. It seems like if you had that big of a health risk you would always have it with you.
    She leads me to a table filled with an array of food fit for royalty. It looks as though it’s hardly been touched.
    “Feel free to take whatever you want,” she said, “the drinks are on the end. I just need to go freshen up a bit and I will be back down.”
    I suddenly realize I am hungry at the sight of all this food. There are just a handful of people standing around talking and eating. Where is everybody, I wonder? From what Kathy was saying, maybe he wasn’t the loveable guy I was picturing in my head. I am beginning to wonder if she even cares that he is gone. What she said has somehow made me feel a little better. Some of my guilt for my part in Jim’s death lifts from my soul. But there is a feeling in this house that just isn’t right and I can’t shake it.
    With these conflicting emotions, I have an urgent need to leave but I have to use the bathroom before I go. Not wanting to bother anyone, I go in search of the nearest bathroom. The first door I try, I stumble into the garage. I notice the trashcan just to the side of the door. There are the muffins Kathy said she threw out. Right next to a full looking bag of coffee grounds, a bottle of almond extract and Jim’s EpiPen.
    As I start my car, sweating and panting due to my hasty departure from the house, I tell myself I have done what I came to do. Somehow, I don’t feel any better.

Happy Halloween

Bring on the Joy!

I’ve always been a little disappointed in myself. Self loathing tends to be on my daily to-do list.

But no more.

On my birthday a while back my mom told me that 35 was the beginning of some her best time on earth and I didn’t believe her. All I was seeing was all the negatives of being that much closer to my 40’s and what I have or have not done. But you know what? She was so right!

I have been feeling a happiness and joy about my life that I haven’t felt in  long time!

I have had a handful of times in my life where I have relied on antidepressants to keep me afloat in this thing called life and I realized about a month ago what chased me to those tiny white pills. Each time I got to that point it was because I thought I wasn’t good enough, all I had to offer was crap or that I was failing. But I know now that I truly am doing the best I can with what I’ve been given and my Savior will make up the difference. (Who needs therapy, right??)

No longer will I go to bed thinking of what a crap mom I am. I am here for my kids, loving them and laughing with them and yelling at them. And that’s called family. My girls may not walk out of this house in the perfect clothes, with a big bow in their perfectly coifed hair, heck, lots of times their clothes don’t even match but they are happy and they love me as their mom. At least I think that’s why they follow me everywhere including the bathroom.

No longer will I beat myself up because of the number on the scale. I have been in survival mode for 4-5 years and part of that apparently was stuffing my face as a coping mechanism. Oh and having a baby-which is what my awesome body was made to do and does well. I am allowed to be a little extra squishy for a while.

No longer will I think about how much I wish I was more like so-n-so. I am me. And that is great! I certainly have flaws (which I flaunt here for all your enjoyment) and there is always room for improvement but I’ve come to realize that I am awesome as Mindi.

I feel like all I have been doing is make lists entitled “Why Mindi/My Life Sucks” and I was working so hard on those lists that I forgot about all the awesomely beautiful things I have been given in this life time. I had become so narrow-minded in my situation that I was no longer finding joy along the way.

So that self loathing that was on my to-do list? It’s gone. Crossed off. No more.

Those days are over. For good.

For Sale: Slightly used…

You know how when you are are done using something whether it’s because you no longer need it, you got something better or you’re just looking to dejunk your immediate thought is to sell it, right? You may do a yard sale, mention it on Facebook or go through eBay or Craigslist.

Well, I have something I am done with. It’s in kinda good condition, it’s only a little dusty and battered and used up only slightly used. I haven’t had any problems with it and it’s done it’s job but I no longer have a use for it and it’s just taking up space.

That’s right. It’s my uterus.

I wanted to put it on eBay but I can’t seem to get the right sales pitch going for it. “Slightly worn, saggy and dusty old uterus for sale” Just doesn’t seem to cut it.

So I need your help in coming up with a pitch that will get me the most cash. I mean, if these people can sell this stuff, I can certainly sell a gently used uterus, right??

So here’s some sales pitch ideas. Let me know what you think:

- “100% natural and organic and one of a kind handbag”

- “Gently used fetus carrier”

- “Guaranteed to be a  girl baby maker”

- “Prolapsed uterus? Try mine for only 3 minimal payments of $499.99 + shipping &handling!”

- “Womb for rent”

- “Buy this uterus and we’ll send you the appendix for free!!"

I can already see the bids skyrocketing! If you guys have any ideas, please share. I want my saggy baby bag to go to a happy home..and to the highest bidder, of course.

And speaking of lady parts, I think Betty White says it best:

**This post in no way means I condone black market organ selling.

***I worked really hard to not say the v-word this whole post. I can’t help it if Betty White says it.

Rise and shine!!

 

Why can’t I wake like this just once?

Instead of always waking up like this…

 

 

Seriously. It takes hours to recover. Everyday.

Reason #491 why Mindi should not be up before the sun or More proof that God really likes me in spite of myself

Yesterday started for me at 4 am. Not a pretty sight. Baby woke up, which is rare, and I was determined to get to my 5:30 spin class where Kevin Bacon’s twin brother teaches so I forced myself to stay awake knowing if I went back to dreamland I may never come back.

Later that morning I took my eldest to the doctor because I was sure she had strep throat(test was negative) and by the time we were done with that it was 10:30 and I realized I had already been up for over 6 hours and was starting to feel a little funky. I was in need of an emergency (it’s always an emergency) 44ouncer and my eldest was in need of an emergency ice cream cone (you know, cuz of the whole sore throat thing. Ice cream and Sprite are both cure all’s in my children’s eyes. They’re so silly. Don’t they know that’s Diet Coke??) so we pulled into Maverick, my home away from home. The kids get out, I lock up the car and we go walking in.

I suddenly have the thought, where did I put my keys? I’m checking pockets, purse, bra no where. It starts dawning on me that they may be in the car but I’m really hoping I dropped them on my way in.

**Sidenote**I have this strange ability to almost always think everything is alright. I rarely panic (unless there’s a pile of dirty dishes in my sink or I’m being asked one more ridiculous question or I find out my stash of Diet Coke has been depleted). For some reasons in big deal moments, I figure everything will work out ok. I always pray the the Holy Ghost will tell me when something is really bad and I should panic. **endsidenote**

Anyway, we get our accoutrements and head back outside. All this time I am thinking the keys are probably on the ground or one of the doors didn’t lock, which happens often but not when I want it to.. That’s whenI realize my car is running.

Yes, the stupid thing is running (please note, it’s the car’s fault. Certainly not mine.). You know what that means, the keys are not on the ground. And yes, every door locked. Even the trunk. Curse you locking mechanism for actually working this one time!!

Even though we do not have  a spare key because a child threw away our other set and he was up in Heber working, I did the only thing I could think to do: I called my husband. This was his helpful response: Uh oh.

That’s when I remembered that one of our back wing windows was broken and I can pull it open from the outside…I wonder if I could fit a kid in there…

**Anothersidenote**We happen to buy something and use it till it has died. This includes clothes, appliances, toothbrushes and cars. Yes, our window is broken, a part that Ford no longer makes is epoxied to stop a leak for who knows how long, and one of our rear view mirrors is super glued on. I think our engine might be held in place with bungee chord or duct tape. **endsidenote**

Well, look at that! Four year old fits perfectly!! And she’s willing! Yay!! I open up the window as far as it will go and shove her in there as she shimmies in. We are all laughing our faces off! She climbs over seats and junk and after a tutorial on how to unlock the door we are in!

I am in awe of yet another tender mercy making up for my stupidity and we are all just laughing in nervousness and glee and continually telling four year old she’s our hero of the day. Well, she get so mad!

“No I’m not!!” she says.

“But, baby,” I reply, “You saved the day, you are our hero!”

“I am not a hewo! I am wittwe and I’m not even weawing a cape!!”

Moral of the story? If you’re gonna be a hero, you better bring a cape.

And an extra set of keys.

One of these things is not like the other…

Have you ever thought of yourself one way but realize that’s not how you are at all? Like thinking you look great with that hair cut or in those Daisy Duke shorts and that tank top 3 sizes too small and then you see a picture of you with it and realize oh that’s bad, that’s very very bad..

I seem to be having a problem with this. And not just my Daisy Duke’s riding up into the nether regions but (hehe pun) marrying the image I have of myself in my head and what is reality. It can be very discouraging at times. Let me give you some examples.

What I see in my head:                              Reality:

 

 

My vision of myself:    Reality:

 

Ready for a hot date in “Mindiland”: 

What ElRey is really taking out on the town: 

How our family moments play out in my head:  True joy in motion:

Let me share one of these moments with you. The other day I had a few minutes for a run on my treadmill before I had to pick up my preschooler. I did my business, kicked some treadmill trash and finished just in time to go pick her up. The only problem is I was wearing some tighter shorts and a tank top that was a lot little too small. I only wear this if I’m working out at home but had no time to maneuver my super sweaty self into something more appropriate for preschool pickup. Now keep in mind, I’ve finished a good run so I’m thinking I look like this:

As I get out of my car to wait with the other moms I catch a glimpse of my reality on the side of my car in all my girthy goodness and go stand with the other waiting moms. Not too close because I suddenly have several bugs flying around me apparently enjoying my musk. Suddenly the black spots start moving into my vision…So help me if I pass out in all my ridiculous glory in front of all these showered and ready mom’s I’ll pack up and move to Nantucket!! After envisioning what they might do with my corpse, my child finally comes running out and we got into the car before the lights went out in Georgia.

Phew. That could have been embarrassing…er..

Autocorrect is a Dillhole.

I think autocorrect is out to destroy me.

It’s like that BFF you had in high school or junior high that acted like they wanted good things for you but secretly hope you’ll fall flat on your face in a skirt in front of the football players. And laugh when it happens.

Not that I have personally experienced that…

It helps me when I just can’t remember a spelling so I look smart or at the very least semi-coherent. But suddenly it will turn on me and just put in pure ridiculousness. I’ll even share some examples.

Aren’t you so glad?

What was written: I'm about ready to recapitulated and by new sofas!!

What I thought I wrote: I’m about to recarpet and buy new sofas!!

What was written: Elrey just Caesar home from the doc

What I thought I wrote: ElRey just got home from the doc

What was written:  she wanted to play but it sounds like you haemoglobin a houseful

What I thought I wrote: she wanted to play but it sounds like you have a houseful

What was written: I hate colds. They’re better than barking but they still totally suck

What I thought I wrote: I hate colds. They’re better than barfing but they still totally suck

What was written: what's going on Ithaca carpool?

What I thought I wrote: what’s going on with carpool?

I promise, Mr. Autocorrect, I can look like an idiot all on my own. I certainly don’t need your help.  Ask anyone.

Where did she go?

I’m not feeling on my A game today. Seems a perfect time to blog, right?

I seem to thrive on chaos and spontaneity but I am starting to realize that just might not be working so great as the caretaker of this house and my children and my soul. So since the kids are now in school, I have been attempting to actually grow up, grab chaos by his…throat and conquer it once and for all. I’m talking about tackle my house, my kids (figuratively of course), and my own personal temple. Apparently this is an all day, everyday endeavor and sometimes I wonder if I will ever actually conquer it at all. But I am trying, one step at a time.

I’m weeks into the school year and I thought it would be so different. I thought it would be more of a break, kinda like last year where Lily and I snuggled all day and I just tried not to vomit or fall over. But with a new baby and a very busy 4 year old, I seem to barely have a chance to stop and eat an uninterrupted lunch! If  I have a moment where I am not holding a baby or catering to 4 year old or holding a baby, I’m cleaning. I’ve never been known for my housekeeping skills so it may kill me.

I will say that the funnest part is dejunking.

I am a dejunking whore.

If my kids aren’t careful, they may get thrown away or donated.

Unfortunately, I may have thrown out my mojo in the process.

One of the things I’ve been working on is getting rid of all these old papers. So I bought a shredder and I’ve gone crazy on 11 years worth of papers. I even have a little helper:

Ain’t I lucky??

I know, you want my life.

Sweet, Sweet Sunday

I come from a family full of boys. Yes, they were typical boys in most ways. But they also have something special about them since they were young. It’s a gentle, kind and sensitive soul. Each of them, including my dad, have had numerous spiritual experiences with God because of their gentle spirits. They are also the kind of people that took on friends that maybe weren’t the most popular with other groups. In fact, my eldest brother and his friends in high school became known as “The Unwanteds” or more affectionately, “The Dicks”. That “unwanted” group became the group to be in. They have always been a friend to anyone who needed one.

Then came ElRey. And he is as gentle as the men I grew up with. In fact, he reminds me a lot of my dad and his goodness. He too was a friend to anyone who needed one, adults in his growing up ward loved him and anyone who meets him can see his willingness to do what is right and show kindness to all around. You can see it when he conveys his testimony of the Gospel and God’s love that he is someone gentle and kind and giving. Unless football is on. It’s good to just walk away when football is on.

Anyway, what I had to say tonight isn’t about the men I grew up with or the man I am lucky enough to be married to, it’s about a young man in my ward who is also one of these gentle and yet powerful spirits.

He is the oldest of a large family and in his later teen years. This tends to be the time when a selfish, sullen and defiant side of a teenage boy comes out, if it ever does. Friends are the most important thing at this age and they would sacrifice anytime with the family to be with those friends (okay, I’m really talking about me at that age but stay with me). Not him. He is always a willing, and helping hand. Now, obviously I am not a fly on the wall in their house so I’m sure he’s not always perfect in every way. But this young man has touched my heart and needs to be applauded for his goodness.

In this day and age, the big tough guy is always celebrated. The quarterback, the captain of the basketball/baseball team, the guy that can guzzle a beer, the guy that doesn’t really think about anyone else but what will make him happy. For some reason we as a society think this is the cool guy.

I beg to differ.

A couple of weeks ago we went on our annual ward (church congregation) campout. This young man was there with his father and all his younger siblings (mom was at home with a new baby). Not once did he complain when asked to do anything, he was as kind and gentle to his younger siblings as a father would (should) be and every kid in our neighborhood loves this guy! There was one point where I think he had at least six kids all trying to tackle him to the ground. My daughters light up when they see him come around.

I watched him with the kids and others around him and knew that this is what our world needs: more men like him, like my husband and my brothers. We need men that are gentle and kind but willing to stand up for what is right.

He is every mother’s dream come true.

And that is the real cool guy.

Aww the things kids do..

It’s always good to unplug and get out. My eldest told my husband and I that we are on our phones way too much.

Of course, when I told her she was right and we should probably get rid of The Disney Channel, too, she didn’t seem quite as concerned about our phone usage.

But anyway, it’s always good to get out in nature. You’d be amazed what you can find in nature! Even on a simple nature walk.

My 7 year old found her own iPad:

And it’s charger:

She’s playing Angry Birds on it as we speak.

My 4 year old brought her own cart to the store and that’s just cute:

But what I am most impressed with is who my eldest has in her address book:

Signs that my children’s parents may be losing their minds

When there are 2 adults in charge of a family and one of them has gone a little nutty, the family can continue to function even if it is on ramen noodles.

But if both adults have gone coo coo for Cocoa Puffs…you may have a problem.

I’m sorry, little children of my household, your parents are losing it.

I have many examples of my ineptness, in fact, I could probably have a weekly segment called “Mama’s Nuts” and it could go for a very very long time. There are times I have wondered if I have a neurological issue and where the line was drawn between a mother spread too thin and a certifiable mental patient.

I could actually go for a couple days in a padded room. Sounds quiet. Serene…Peaceful..

Anyway. For sake of time, I will only share two of my ‘Duh’s’.

Duh #1: Let me preface this one by saying when you are nursing you tend to forget that this is your body and modesty is still a good idea. Just because my chest is now a small person’s lunch box doesn’t mean everyone else sees it that way. I was at church and had to nurse and while I was doing so, my sweet angel sharted all over herself and my skirt. I had a change of clothes for her but none for myself so I went to find my husband to have him take me home to change. I started to hesitate about leaving since it wasn’t a whole lot and my skirt was brown (the fact I even thought that is proof I’m nuts. THERE IS POOP ON YOUR CLOTHES=IT’S OK TO LEAVE CHURCH) My husband and I are standing in the foyer near the chapel as I am saying maybe it’s not that bad and while I am telling him this I proceed to lift up my skirt to see if it leaked through to my underclothes.

I’ll give you a minute to read that again and slap your forehead.

There just happened to be a fellow worshipper sitting across the room with his daughter. I am pretty sure he didn’t notice what I had done or I would have gotten several phone calls. My husband on the other hand, was thoroughly embarrassed and possibly contemplating having me committed. I think the only thing that stopped him is who would ‘take care’ of the kids while he was at work..

Duh #2: My children had some money that they were desperate to spend on anything. My 4 year old had just received $10 from her grandparents for her birthday and her older sister had about $5 each. I was getting so tired of trying to tell them to save their money for something worthwhile and the fact that one child kept trying to swindle the 4 year old, the richest of the three.

So today I took them to the store in search of earrings and these dolls they wanted (which this store didn’t have). By the time they were done choosing from the buffet of crap, I just wanted to be done with this awesome lesson on money so I could grab a Diet Coke and be on my way. We got up to the checkout stand and all I was thinking was to let each child pay for their stuff and get their own receipt, yada, yada. Only problem is, I knew they would all go a little over the money they had (I know, I am an awesome teacher about all things money) so I was going to have to make up the difference on my debit card. 4 year old was first and she handed over her $10 bill and I said I’d need to put the other 2 bucks on my card. As I was doing this, I figured cash would be much easier to do this with so I asked for $10 back in cash. The guy giggled and gave me my daughter’s $10 bill.

Ho.Ly.DUH.

I told him this was one of the reasons I should never go in public and jokingly added, “you’re gonna blog about this, aren’t you?!” And that was when he told me all about his blog and the address and title.

Glad I could provide him (and me) with some blog fodder.

So. ElRey isn’t safe from this mental illness either, it just doesn’t show up as often. When I was still in the hospital, he was filling out all the paper work for the hospital and for our baby’s social security number. Baby and I had been home for about a week when we got a phone call from the hospital saying they had the baby as Lily but our insurance had her as Lucy.

Oops.

Then we got something in the mail from Social Security and, yay, it was Lucy’s SSN only it didn’t say Lucy Jane…it said Lily Jane.

Double Oops.

So according to the federal government we ran out of names after 3 and just stuck with what we had.

Is the line “I’m Darrell and this is my brother, Darrell” running through anyone else’s head right now? ….Sigh…

And we’re somehow supposed to get these people into adulthood and on their own???

Be afraid, children. Be very afraid…

New mantra

I am a daughter of God with infinite worth raising daughters of God of infinite worth.

This is my new mantra this week.

I am hoping it will help push all the yuck out of my mind. All day long I mentally beating myself up about things from not having a cleaner house, the kids are fighting again, or I’m fat all the way to I haven’t showered yet or I ate a dozen cookies and didn’t realize it.

All this self loathing gets exhausting.

I know God lives and that I am one of his children that he wants to have come home to him. So doesn't that make me worth something? Why do I work so hard to make sure I forget this fact? I have always struggled with the negative self talk. In fact it got so bad on my mission I became more of a hindrance than anything else. I did what I do best and ran away from it. It comes creeping back in and I am in the life I always wanted and yet I often have the desire to run very far away from all the things I must be doing terribly wrong.

But I can't and I won't.

I often wish I was my 20 year old self. I was confident in myself, content with who I was and had no doubt of my divine nature. I want that back in my 35 year old self. I always thought I’d eventually grow out of that whole low self esteem thing but it turns out it's just been over more things. This is why I have a new mantra this week. It is to help be reacquainted with that happier, Godly focused 20 year old and make her an even better 35 year old.

Because I am a daughter of God with infinite worth raising daughters of God with infinite worth.

And is more important than that?

Welcome to the neighborhood

Aw the ‘hood.

I love my neighborhood. I also don’t like it very much. I love that there is no HOA, we have a park right down the street, a TRAX station within walking distance and a speed limit of 15mph. I hate that there is no HOA, we have  a park right down the street, a TRAX station within walking distance and a speed limit of 15mph.

I’m sure every neighborhood has their pros and cons and the thing that makes it livable or horrible are the people. I gots good peoples ‘round here. Mostly.

Some people are dillholes. I’m not even sure where they live but it’s the people that write horrible things on the play ground or on people’s fences or work on their cars in the middle of the road. But the ones that really irritate me are the ones involving this sign:

If you look closely and I recommend you don’t, someone has written the Queen of all cuss words where the faded heart is. So instead of it saying “we {heart} our children, it says, “We….” Well, you get the idea..

This sign just so happens to be in my front yard. At one point I thought the word had been washed off by weather or some city worker until one day my 7 year old came in and asked, “Mom, is #!@* a bad word?”

Nothing more tender than hearing your 7 year old say that word.

I was so caught by surprise all I said was, “Yes” and then she went off to school. That whole day I was worried that she was telling her friends all about the new word she learned all because I didn’t discuss what a horrible word it really is. Luckily, I did not get a call from the school that day. Phew!

After that it became a sort of war between my 9 year old and her friend and the dillholes that were writing the word. The girls would scribble over it with a Sharpie and a few days later the word would show back up like a bad 80’s sitcom.

We were playing outside the other day and all I could see was that stupid word. It’s one thing if I’m seeing it but the thing that makes me so angry is that my children's innocent little minds were being introduced to some of the ugliness of the English language.

I kept trying different products I was finding in my garage to get it off. Who knew it end up being just a Kirkland disinfectant wipe?! Only thing was by the time I got it off, the heart was totally gone, too! So now I just had a sign saying “We      our children”. That just makes no sense so out came the red Sharpie.

I felt a little dorky standing there coloring a heart on a street sign but it was for the kids.

It’s been a week since and we may be in a cease fire but I’m worried they are just trying to make me feel safe and then they’ll attack with Sharpie in hand.

I’m watching and waiting with my Kirtland wipes and my own Sharpie.

And yes, I have no life.

I’m only here for the food.

I tell ya what. If we were graded on our blogging I would get a big fat F!!!

I haven’t written in forever and I’ve hardly read any blogs in the world wide web! It’s not that I don’t want to or I don’t have anything to say, it’s just that I have the mental capacity of a carrot and who has ever heard of a carrot blogger?? I mean that’s just silly!

See what I mean?

I can’t remember words, when I talk I make no sense and when someone asks me a question, seconds later I have forgotten it (however, for some reason I haven’t forgotten the unintentional insensitive remark my husband made last week or that little brat girl that told me I was chubby at the pool)….what was I saying?

This is with a sleeping newborn. Can you imagine if she was up several times a night??

Another reason for my absence is trying to keep everyone busy. We live in a house that is the size of a postage stamp so it’s hard to keep clean (a 4 year old with a soap and water fetish, the need to crush crackers/cereal/strawberries into the carpet and rip up toilet paper doesn’t help) and it’s hard to not be on top of each other all the time. So I leave. While we are gone I am pretty sure someone can break into the house, vandalize it and I wouldn’t notice.

So anyway, I pack up 3 crazy girls, a nursing baby, a tired, frazzled, still-trying-to-recover- from-making-and-birthing-a-human- mommy, a stroller and diaper bag. When we finally reach our destination I look at everyone and realize we all look like a bunch of street urchins but at least we made it, right? I haven’t even gotten to the activity and I am already exhausted.

This is where my incentive program comes in handy. I like to work our fun around good food. I can’t help it. I truly am one of those people that is ‘only here for the food’. I have been know to drive to Ogden (about 2 hours away) to go to a kid’s museum but I’m really going up there for this:

Yes, that hamburger is the size of my head.

I like to go to downtown Salt Lake to see the temple and a kid’s museum there. Ok…I’m really going there so I can eat at Bro. Brigham’s house. Not only do they serve Diet Coke, but they have the best rolls on the planet and mac and cheese to die for!!

There is a restaurant in Carlsbad, CA. near the shore that serves awesome burgers and a Mexican joint in Ocenaside, CA. near the strip club (and the Top Gun house) that I would totally use seeing my BFF Amber as an excuse to go to these places again if I thought my van could handle and my wallet could handle it.

My latest excursion is Glamazon’s fault. We met up for dinner the other night at this pizza place in Provo (30-40 minutes away) called Malawi’s Pizza. I died and went to heaven. I didn’t even care that I was the only one that ate my entire pizza. It was worth every mouth watering bite. I mean look at this thing:

The picture doesn’t do it justice but, wow!

So. The next morning(yes, the very next day) I woke up trying to figure out something to do in Provo so I could go back. It was between a free museum on the BYU campus or Bridal Veil Falls just up the street from the restaurant. I didn’t really care, remember? I was only there for the food.

We chose the falls and they didn’t disappoint:

I forgot how pretty it was there!

Oh, another cool thing about Malawi’s-for every meal they serve they donate a nutritious meal to orphan’s in Malawi, Africa. So not only did I get my kids out of the house and outside to see nature’s beauty, I fed 4 orphans in a 24 hour period.

You’re welcome, little orphans!

What to wear, what to wear..

My mother and I have a similar trait: we both hate to shop.

Yeah, we’re like 2 of the 7 women in the world that hate to shop.

Just imagine how fun our shopping trips are together. This is why when my birthday would come up she started just giving me cash instead of taking me on a shopping spree.

I am most comfortable in a pair of khaki’s, a t-shirt and flip flops. Any time I try to step it up, maybe try to be a little more stylish I don’t feel comfortable and end up never wearing the stuff. I look at my friends, who are all very stylish and even wear that stuff called ‘accessories’ and they look so cute but they are wearing stuff I know I would never take off the rack to even try on but I think if they can pull it off, why can’t I? (I can apparently pull off a run on sentence really well..) But then I attempt it and I feel like one of those hippos in a tutu in that Disney cartoon.

My mother and I were talking about this the other day because she wanted me to go shopping with her to buy some sandals. We bonded over an “Aha Moment” when I said, “The only difference between us and those who wear the more trendier fashions is they own it and that’s why they can pull it off. We don’t own it, we just sit there feeling like a dork who is trying too hard. We need to learn to put it on and own it!” This is where my mom said some “Hallelujah’s” and “Amen’s” and went and bought the sandals. And a white tiger, you know, to accessorize. She’s totally owning it.

I’ve decided I am gonna do the same, buy a look and own it. Here’s some looks I feel I can totally pull off with a little confidence and a couple Xanax, you know, to accessorize. I know I can own that.

A fanny pack is ALWAYS flattering. Always.

I am so confidant I can pull this stuff off that I’m heading out the door to shop till I drop!

I may have to go to more than one store but I’m gonna totally own it, baby!

I’m an expert now.

I have been a mother of four now for just over 6 weeks.

I now know all and will freely give you my knowledge.

You’re welcome.

-Laundry is never ending. If you think you’ve gotten everything done and can sit down with a cup o’ Joe, you probably have a mountain of laundry lurking in the dark, laughing at you.

-Kids have no concept of the whole 6 weeks recuperation, sleep when the baby sleeps or of the word ‘no’, the phrase ‘stop it’, or ‘if you touch your sister one more time, I’m gonna sell you to the gypsies!!!’ They don’t give a rat’s bum if your tired, hurting or curled up in the fetal position in a dark closet sobbing uncontollably repeating the phrase “findahappyplace, findahappyplace just plain dazed. They expect that cup of milk/play date/monkey/trip to Lagoon/a sudden neighborhood party in your living room even if it means you have to double up on the drugs to get ‘er done.

-The house will never be clean again and you need to accept that. Even when you happened to find an old potato in your living room.

-It is better to leave the house and go to the zoo, park, pool, landfill than to stay home listening to everyone fight and beg for more food. This will most likely lead to more laundry pile ups and old potatoes in random places. Embrace it. Love it.

-The beginning of summer when older children are out of school and looking for things to do is not the most convenient time to have a baby.

-There is no convenient time to have a baby.

-If you happen to take the kids to the pool and have the notion that you are part Italian and think you can go for an hour without sunblock, you will be reminded that you are really part Welsh. A sunburned and nursing bosom is an angry bosom.

-No matter the age of a child, they will think a newborn baby is actually a baby doll and will treat it as such.

-The more children you have, the nastier your car will become. A friend of mine with 4 boys found 3 different bananas in her car at 3 different stages of decomposition.

-It’s alright if you find yourself wanting to cry every day a couple times a week a couple times a month. This is a tough business.

-You may sometimes find yourself being jealous of this kid’s life:

Good or bad, it’s quite the life. I’m not saying I’m gonna be a mother of 5 ever any time soon but this life pretty much rocks…most of the time…when I’m not hiding in the the closet..