I think I understand

why the pioneers

kept putting one foot in front of the other

for so many hundreds of miles

in spite of so many miseries.

I think, maybe,

they didn't know

what else to do.

Nobody Pee

• My office floor is empty
• My desk is cleared off
• The car is cleaned out
• The lawn is mowed
• The bottom of the stairwell is painted
• The bathrooms are all clean
• The garbages are emptied
• The pool is winterized
• The dining room is tidy
• The TV room is tidy
• The Primary invitations are made
• I take bread to Sister Doerksen
• I call the people I visit teach
• The windows are all clean
• All of the miscellaneous baskets in my house are emptied

I'm getting happier and happier. 

Just, please, no one use the bathrooms
until the rest of my list is finished.

I'll Be Happy When...

• My office floor is empty

• My desk is cleared off

• The car is cleaned out

• The lawn is mowed

• The bottom of the stairwell is painted

• The bathrooms are all clean

• The garbages are emptied

• The pool is winterized

• The dining room is tidy

• The TV room is tidy

• The Primary invitations are made

• I take bread to Sister Doerksen

• I call the people I visit teach

• The windows are all clean

• All of the miscellaneous baskets in my house are emptied


I know I'll be happy then.  I just know it.

OK, Jodi, Merinda, Mom, and Shelley,

You can read my thoughts again

If you promise not to expect enlightenment
or insight,
or optimism,
or humour,
or consistency,
or everything in the form of a question.

OK?  Ok. 

Let this post serve as a reminder to me

to never have an opinion. Or at least not think I ever know what someone else could or should do.

I was a newly wed. I had money for cute haircuts. I was working for way more money than I needed, and considering other jobs with much lower salaries just for the potential enjoyment of them.

I stood in the doorway of a mid-life accountant, with a couple of teenagers at home, a too-large mortgage + reno payment to make, and a straggly no-style haircut adorning her worn out face. She told me of the great retirement package that kept her in a job she disliked. She told me of how it was too late to make a career change, or even a job change. She described trapped, stuck, discouraged feelings. She sounded hopeless.

I cheerfully explained to her how it was never too late to change where we are. I encouraged her to leave her dissatisfying job behind and strike out into something she would enjoy (I didn't bother with the arithmetic that would leave her without mortgage payment every month.) I threw together trite phrases about worlds and oysters and admonished her to live the Nike slogan.

As I walked away, I left very saddened for her limiting mental state that kept her caged in an unhappy life, and grateful for my much better way of viewing the world full of endless potential for me to be successful on every path.

Now, as I get closer and closer to mid-life land, with a too-large mortgage payment, and a no-style haircut, I'm sorry I ever opened my naive know-it-all mouth. I get it now. And I would gratefully trade my life of exciting potential success (rife with business loans that can use the word "million" in them) for a boring, trapped, great-retirement package job.

But our decisions have a way of putting us on a path that goes only forward, even if it's off a cliff. Backing up is great in theory but doesn't always work in reality.

Loveit, I'm sorry I ever gave you useless, demeaning counsel. I hope you've gone on to a comfortable retirement full of grandkids and dandelion bouquets and it is all the sweeter for the thorny path that led you there.

"You Could Keep A Kosher Kitchen,"

Noa said, "because you have two sinks." She is my lovely Jewish friend from Israel. She is not orthodox, but just Jewish "because I'm Jewish."

Her sister, on the other hand, lives a completely orthodox Jewish life, complete with two sinks and two sets of dishes. Her sister doesn't accidentally let her skin brush against her husband's as they pass in the hallway during her unclean time. Her sister has kept having children until she finally had a girl (child number 7) because she must have both sons and daughters unless specifically given permission by the Rabbi not to.

I could listen to Noa describe her sister's life endlessly. Noa always describes her with love and a shrug of the shoulders. I always listen torn between completely relating to the sister's way of life that seems so extreme to others and feeling that a lot of the steps (or limiting them on the Sabbath) are completely ridiculous.

And as I scrubbed my second little sink today that would allow me to live an orthodox and Kosher life, I wondered what practices I may have adopted in an effort to follow the Saviour that might be completely ridiculous too.

I Think It's Working

Chas's daily prayer:

Dear Heavenly Father,

Please make Mark grow up really fast so that we can do cool boy stuff and he can sleep in my room soon. Bless him not to be a baby anymore. Make him a big boy quick, please.

Amen

I think it's working. Darn it.

Chas, stop praying, OK?


(Chas and Mark having a sword fight.)



Homemade Taco Seasoning is Disgusting.

Why did I have to quadruple the recipe?

"Did You Wash Your Hands?"

"Yep. I did it while I was going to the bathroom.
I can reach the sink from the toilet."

"You mean, before you wiped?!"

"Uh-huh."

Efficiency gone wrong. Gross!

Why is it So Much Harder

to have him around, but not available,
than it is to not have him around?

It must be about expectations. Or attitude maybe.

Life is Really Getting Great...

when you can sit down on a Saturday night with your ten year old and enjoy the same chick flick together.

Two Epiphanies

The Thing I Am Most Grateful For...

is to have been born to parents who are genuine, loving, intelligent, reasonable people. People who are down-to-earth and emotionally stable. Ordinary and without drama. Cheerful and open. Honest and kind. A mother who taught me the gospel and a father who showed me how it can change your life. This is a gift in my life which impacts every moment of every day.


And The Best Decision I Have Ever Made...

Hands down, the best decision I ever made was the day I said I would marry a man who prioritized the gospel above everything else.

Not in a the-best-decision-I-ever-made-was-to-marry-the-hunk-of-a-dreamboat-that-I-did sort of way. But in the way that I decided what would matter most to me in the dreamboats (some of them not so much) that I did look at.

It was the moment when Dallin and I were dancing and he said that his friend had all these ambitions and dreams that he couldn't understand. I asked him what his dreams were. His answer changed the course of my life. He said, "My dream is to live the Gospel. I just want to follow the Saviour. That's all."

Well, that's all. And it makes all the difference in my world. It doesn't guarantee a successful business, or well-behaved children, or a house or a yard that look reasonable. It doesn't guarantee that no one will have a brain tumour, or a learning disability, or anything else. But it fills me with confidence and unifies us and prevents the myriad of marriage sinking difficulties that I see around us. Thank God!

How Could I Possibly Know What You Should Do With Your Life...

...when I can't even figure out my own?

Could we all just cut each other a little slack?

I'm convinced we're all faking it. None of us know how to raise kids or create ideal marriages or be amazing friends.

Certainty is a big facade.  Let's all be open about it. 

My Favorite Household Chore Is...

Vacuuming up spiders.



I got a 4-inch one today.

It's like Murder She Wrote.

Except I'm the criminal; not the Angela Lansbury.

It's very satisfying. In a creepy sort of way.

Has My Blog Always Been Yellow to All of You?

We got a new computer monitor and now my lovely hot cocoa with way too much cream in it is a banana-lemon freezie.

Why didn't anyone say anything?

Do I have something stuck in my teeth too?

I can't trust any of you.

Every Now and Then...

I want to blog even though I have nothing to say.
.
.
.
.
There. I said it.

A Year Of Questions Is About Long Enough,

Don't You Think?

(Thanks for reading. )

Why Won't This Baby Sleep Through The Night?

Is it because I said I knew the trick to getting babies to sleep through the night? Is it because I naively and knowingly gave advice at baby showers everywhere?

All right, already. I'm sorry I ever said it.

I've learned my lesson.

I'll never claim to know anything ever again.

Now sleep, already, would ya?

"Why Are You Throwing Away My Picture?"

This is my least favourite question in the whole world.

And the silver medal for least favourite question goes to...

"Where's My ________[e.g. brown puppy with the white spot that I won at the fair two years ago and have never ever mentioned or played with and looks like all of the other stuffed puppies in this house]?"

I always answer with a vague, "Hhmmm, I don't know where it could be or how it got in the garbage." But I believe there will be a day of reckoning where I will have to own that they all went to Salvation Army and the trash as soon as I could possibly sneak them out of the house.

I think that will be a bad day for me.

Why, Oh Why, Did I Open That Jar of Nutella?

I knew it was a bad idea!

And why did Superstore have that stupid deal where you have to buy two to get the good price?!

And why did I fall for it!?!

Were All Those Comments Just to Prove

That I Have a Readership of Six?

What's That About?

I have an irrational, disproportionate discomfort with being the last person to comment or ask a question before the end of a class.

In high school and college I would start watching the clock at about ten minutes before the class ended, and no matter how badly I wanted to clarify something, add my insight or answer a question that seemed to be stumping everybody else, I wouldn't let myself do it. Because it might be the last comment of the class. Gasp! And oh dear if it turns out that the question I asked 16 minutes before class ended winds up being the last question. Uugghh! Now I go through this same clock-watching exercise in Sunday School and Relief Society. Thank goodness I wear a watch.

This morning as I suggested a brilliant name for my cousin's fish on her blog, I realized that I kind of have the opposite thing going on for me in cyberspace. If I'm not the first to comment, I pretty much won't do it.

I think it might boil down to the pressure of having to be clever. I can't cope with it. (It's why I'm grateful to have a blog readership of four.)

If I ask the last question it will be what echoes in everyone's brains as they walk out of class. Like saving your bacon for the last bite so you walk away from the table with a bacon-flavored tongue (yumm), but in a bad way. If I comment when others have already typed their witty, loving, insightful words, well... I guess I just won't.

What does this say about my personality? Maybe I should work on this? Well, add it to the list.

If I Don't Know How To Do It, Is There Any Chance My Kids Will Learn?

to put away their clothes when they take them off

to play the piano

to chew quietly

to dance in public

to make their beds in the morning

to put on makeup

to exercise more than twice a year

to be proactive, not reactive

to laugh when it all falls apart

If It Comes Out Looking The Same Way It Did Going In

How Does He Get Any Nutrition Out Of It At All?

Won't Anything Work?!?

I am so sick of all the crap everywhere I could scream!!

Wait a minute. I did scream.

I do scream!

It doesn't make a difference.

I dumped out 3/4 of it while they were away this summer. They didn't even notice.

And then the junk mated with other junk. Or spawned. Or multiplied through mitosis. Or cloned itself.

But somehow, in a matter of months we're back to the same old place.

Stuff everywhere. Five puzzle pieces here, three baby toys there. Two winter mitts that didn't make it into the winter gear storage box. One Christmas ornament, four dolls, one deck of cards, two light sabers, 17 odd socks, the favourite pillowcase, 9 hair baubles, a comb, seven sweatshirts.

And a partridge in a pear tree.

Have I mentioned that I could scream!?!

The Crap makes me so mad. (Pardon my French). Unreasonably mad.

There's a little me sitting on my shoulder telling me that my reaction is illogically out of proportion.

But the little red me with horns is coaxing me to throw it ALL away. All of it.

No more puzzles, pony tails, ponchos, or pear scented lotion. They can all just sit on the couch and look out the window and count the birds that fly by.

NAKED!! (The people, not the birds. Well, both actually, I guess.)

So tonight I started PLAN #42--The Junk Trunk!!

See, this one is going to work because it has a catchy name.

The idea is simple. I dump everything that is not put away into the Junk Trunk (See it rhymes. It's reeling you in too, isn't it?) They can dig through it if they need something. When the Trunk is full, I dump all of it in the garbage. (Sorry, landfills. Sorry, posterity. It's either fill the landfill or the asylum and my research shows that landfills require less taxpayer support.)

What Are You Good At?

The next time someone asks me
what I'm good at.
Or what I like to do.

I'm going to say that I like to
make To Do Lists.
And I'm really good at it too.

Who Are You, Baby Mark?

I was surprised to read in one of our old Christmas letters what a calming influence Eliza was having on our family. She was three months old, and already I used the word, "peacemaker." I didn't remember that I knew so soon.

When did I realize that Naomi was the thoughtful person she is, or that Chas was so funny? When does the blank slate theory break and the reality of fully-developed spirit emerge? 

We see some of you already, Baby Mark.  You are energetic and happy and bald, but I'm hoping that last one won't last forever.  You bring joy and light to our home.

Do They Make Shower Karaoke Machines?

"Oh what a beautiful mooor-nin'! Oh what a beauuuuu-tiful day! I've got a beautiful feeeeee-lin'--Everything's going my way. Do-bop do do do do doooo do. Do-wop do do do do dummmmm...

"Dankashane. Darling Dankashane. Wah-bop. La-di-dah. Do-di-dah. Du du du...

"If I had a million dollars (If I had a million dollars), I would remember the words (I would remember the words)...

"Give said the little stream. Give Oh Give. Give Oh Give."

Of course, I can remember all those words. But no matter how jazzy Give Said the Little Stream gets, I'm just sure that my shower's acoustics and my vocal transcendence would be better utilized with all of the lyrics in tact on a Bare Naked Ladies Song.

They make everything in the world. Surely they make these.
And, by the way my birthday is just around the corner.

Was It You?

Or you?

or you?

or you? or you?

or you or you or you or you?


givinganonymously.org



Thank You!

Does Heavenly Father Get Tired of Us Asking For Blessings?

I often hear a sentiment similar to this expressed in Sunday School or other places. It often comes up near to when someone describes Him as resenting our lack of gratitude.

On the one hand, there is the Parable of the Unjust Judge who finally gave in because he was pestered so much. And the Lord does tell us that he will not give us a stone or a serpent when we ask for bread and fish.

And on the other hand, I wonder if we are assigning our own feelings to God.

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts higher than your thoughts." (Isaiah 55:8-9)

Does God get tired?

Does He get tired of us asking for blessings?

Does He get sick of us the same way I get sick of my kids' constant requests and frequent ingratitude?

Or is asking for blessings just what He wants us to do because that is how we come to Him?

If the Unjust Judge blessed the widow just because she continued to ask so much, surely the Just Judge is ready to bless us. But how many times? Am I wearing out my welcome?