Date: 2 August, 2007 (Thursday)
Time: 8:something pm
Place: My family room ("The Blue Room")
Activity: Family Scripture Reading

Papi is sitting on the LVC couch, reading from the Libro de Mormon. Li'l ~j. is sitting behind him, on top of the back of the couch, combing his hair.

*Did you just read that correctly? Yes, you did. And, yes, my husband has practically no hair, yet there he was, having it combed.*

After some thoughtful glances and obvious consideration regarding where exactly to part her father's hair, an imaginary lightbulb, situated directly above my daughter's head, turns on.

"Papi?"

"¿Si?"

"I know why you don't have so much hair."

"Oh, ¿si? ¿Por que no?"

"Because you want to choose the right and be like the prophet, and he doesn't have so much hair, either."

Just when all seems to be going right, challenges often come in multiple doses applied simultaneously. When those trials are not consequences of your disobedience, they are evidence that the Lord feels you are prepared to grow more (see Prov. 3:11–12). He therefore gives you experiences that stimulate growth, understanding, and compassion which polish you for your everlasting benefit. To get you from where you are to where He wants you to be requires a lot of stretching, and that generally entails discomfort and pain.

-Richard G. Scott, Nov. '95

This quote is posted on a wall in the room where I take my class. What? I didn't tell you that I'm taking a class this term? Well, I most certainly am. Summer term, Monday through Thursday.



Which class?



Aerobic dance.



You know, I don't often vocalize my true feelings about my body: it's too much for me to talk about. Those "talks" are reserved for myself, in my head, usually when I'm alone. But on days like today, when I'm okay with it all, I can talk about it, and by talk, I mean blog. I don't vocalize it for the protection of my children, particularly my daughters. Did I ever tell you about when I had one of my worst breakdowns ever? It was almost two years ago, maybe three, I'm not certain. It involved one of my daughters telling me that her friends told her, "Your mom is fat." That cut me more deeply than anything had, in a very, very long time, or has since. In fact, just typing it, I cringed, and now tears are welling. For a very long time, I tried to find out why that bothered me so much. I only recently came to terms with that little (HUGE) upset when I realized something: the friend who said that to my daughter? Her mom is way more into appearances than I am. Waaaaaay more. And since I like me, and I like how I am, I was able to close that chapter.



Don't get me wrong: I know it's important to be physically fit. Believe me on this, it's been ingrained in me my whole life. It's also important to take care of yourself; take care of your body, and present it (appearance) in a positive way. My frustrations lie here: the assumption that just because someone is plus-sized, they're not healthy.



Health Nazi lives down the street. Once her testimony included something to the tune of, "I'm just so grateful that I have a good body, after having all my kids, I'm still in good shape...". She's said to my daughter, in front of me, as we were eating a dinner that I had prepared, "Take care of your body! You only have one!" While I can appreciate her message, because it's mostly true, I think the overkill is potentially hazardous. Being larger is equated, at times falsely, with unhealth, and if her children, who have listened to their mother chide 'being fat' their lifelong, happen to put on some weight FOR WHATEVER REASON . . . well, you can finish that thought.



One day, I asked Li'l ~j., "What do you think of your body?" She replied, "I think it's important to keep it healthy and strong. It's a gift from Heavenly Father." "Very good," I told her. Then, as an afterthought, "Sweetie, do you know that you're beautiful?" Let me say that we often tell our kids that they are beautiful, but not without adding more compliments regarding their other attributes: they're sweet, smart, special, All Things Good; we don't prioritize "beauty" over the others, but I was just curious, as the mother of a sooner-than-I-realize-teen, what she thought about her looks. [And, for the record, had anyone asked me at her age if I knew I was beautiful, the answer would have been a fierce, resounding, and sincere NO.] Her answer: "Yes, but I don't like to talk about it, like bragging, because I don't think that's a nice thing to do. But I like how I look."



Hoorae.



Back to my class: it's not easy being the old one AND the fat one in the class. I'm even older than the instructor. But the second part, the part about my being the f-word . . . I only notice that when I'm feeling especially down about myself. I can barely look in a mirror. I loathe photos of myself. But when I close my eyes, and I'm exercising, I feel like I'm using my body in a way that's beneficial, not only to me, but to my family. At the beginning of the term, we had to write down our fitness goals. Surprisingly to myself, my ultimate goal wasn't to lose weight, but to improve my cardiovascular health; I wrote that down along with a disclaimer that, of course, I'd like to lose weight, but that is secondary.



Occassionally, I will vaguely mention trying to lose weight, in casual conversation. Here's the reply I don't want to hear: "Don't be so hard on yourself -- you've had five kids!" Okay, so has my neighbor, and she could easily be mistaken for a 16-year-old. I refuse to use my children as the excuse for the main source of any self-loathing I may possess. I don't blame genetics, either. Come to think of it, I don't blame anything, or any one. No blame. It is what it is. I'm working to change it, but if it doesn't come, I'm okay with that, too.



Today a woman at work said to me, "Are you having a baby?" [I wanted so badly to say, "Currently? No -- I'm entertaining a twit."] One girl in my class asked me what my major is, and when I told her that I'm not sure, that I'm a stay-at-home mom and that this is the only class I'm taking, she asked, "So that you can lose some weight?"



I share those anecdotes, not for pity, but because I can. I'm finally at a place where I accept what I am, and I move forward. It used to be that I'd feel relatively good about myself, then take a look in the mirror or step on the scale, and my self-worth/image would plummet. Now, though, I can answer the lady at work: "No. I'm not, " and let her deal with it. I can say to the girl in class, "Yes, to lose some weight," and then when we're in the middle of a step-aerobics routine, help this ridiculously uncoordinated girl, who I'm guessing literally weighs half of what I do, learn a sequence that comes to me very easily.



I'm grateful for that quote on the wall in my classroom. Rereading it has helped me progress, in thought, action, and otherwise, more than I could have imagined when I first read it. This trial of mine has given me growth and understanding; maybe I could work on the compassion part a bit (like calling that girl uncoordinated), but I've definitely been stretched -- physically, and then some.

so you think you can blog

One of my new hobbies this summer is watching So You Think You Can Dance (or, for those of us who search YouTube later, SYTYCD). The other day I was watching Benji (last year's winner) perform when my husband came into the room.

"You know," I told him, "he's a mormon. I thought I had heard that he was from Orem, but his sister's in the competition this year, and I guess they're from Redlands."

"Oh, really?" (my husband is from Redlands) After a few minutes of watching, Darin asked, "So what's he doing now?"

"Dancing. He travels around the world, I think he has his own studio. Dancing is what he does. He's a dancer."

This exchange gave me pause: What Am I? I used to think I could dance. I even won a few dance contests in my day. But am I a dancer? Hardly.

I used to think I could sing. I was the biggest fish in my li'l pond. Headed For Big Things. I think we're all rock stars in our heads - or at least in our cars. But I never found my style; I can't stand most songs that I ever sing in a church setting, and at this point in my life, I sadly don't have any other outlets in that arena. So am I a singer? Not now.

Two of my favorite friends recently had a discussion at my house about how they each have a sister who was Born To Be A Mom, as evidenced by how Together they always are, how On Top Of It they can be, and, essentially, what they spend their lives doing. It made me wonder, was I Born To Be A Mom? I think so, but I don't know that others see me that way.

Right now, I'm sitting here in a shirt & skirt -- this is Day #3 for both, but I'll probably take a shower and change that today. The baby is happily in his doorway-jumper-thing; Superstar just put a diaper on herself (because she said she wants to be a baby today and NOT wear underwear); Curly is downstairs watching Curious George; Li'l ~j. is asleep in my bed. I have laundry to do, dishes to wash, rooms to clean; I likely won't brush my girls' hair today, at their own request, which will result in tears on Sunday morning as I brush out a week's worth of tangles. When I do get my shower today, it will be at the expense of a room messed up, or leaves pulled off the plant in my living room, or laundry unfolded and flung around the family room, and most certainly teasing and screaming. Breakfast will be toast or cereal. Lunch will be Kraft Dinner or Ramen. I have no idea what we'll do for dinner, but experience tells me it will probably be pancakes. Li'l ~j. has been instructed by her papi to clean her room before she does anything else today; I'm the one who has to enforce that. I'll be listening to the radio and writing down songs in an effort to win The Damned Contest and the money that goes with it, all the while fielding, and denying the request of, the same question asked a million times: Can we PLEASE go to Veteran's Pool today??? I'll put the baby in his crib for a nap; in theory, I'll do this twice; in reality, I'll do it seven times because his screaming sisters will wake him up. I'll get a phone call from my mom and four calls from telemarketers. I'll put sunscreen on the girls so that they can go outside to play. I'll try to get to the still unpacked suitcases in my room from our trip to NY a few weeks ago, but who knows if that will happen. I'll change what feels like seventy-eight diapers and STILL be trying to talk Superstar into wearing underwear instead of a diaper. I'll yell to the girls to keep the door closed and STOP FIGHTING. I'll put Bubby in his high chair two or three more times today and feed him baby food from a jar and some cheerios. I'll check my blog for comments. I'll make five bottles of 7 ounces of formula. I'll fill two juice cups a dozen times each, one with apple juice and one with lemonade. I'll have to take my earrings out because Bubby will pull on them. I'll keep my necklace on because Bubby will play with it. I'll eat toast and watermelon for breakfast and for lunch. I'll want to go running when Darin gets home -- not because I love running (because I don't), but because it's what I've been doing and I need to keep at it. I'll plan on the house being clean before I go to bed, but stay up too late to see that it happens, defeating my goal of going to bed at a decent hour since I'm taking the Activity Days girls to the Y tomorrow in the early morning.

Does it seem that I Have It All Together? Probably not. I'm not invested in 100% Organic, or going to put my kids' hair in bows today, or have a spotless kitchen. But with all that I have to do today, even writing it out isn't a stress for me because I love it. I'm a mommy and it's what I choose to do, and it's what I'm great at. Even if others don't see it. I used to think I could dance and sing, but Mommying is what I do.

So...I think I can Mommy.

What can you do? And who are you?

goddess on the mountain top

To add to the lovely words written here...

*a picturesque spring afternoon at home. baby sleeping, 5 & 1/2 year old playing with friends outside, while 8 year old and 3 year old play with modeling clay on the coffee table in the living room. mama's in the kitchen, cleaning off the counter, when she suddenly pays attention to the singing in the living room*

"...I'm your fire, at your desire!"

"Um...li'l ~j.? Is that you singing in there?"

"Yes, Mom, do you know that song?"

"Yes I do. Where did you learn that?"

"On my little blue radio. I heard it and I remembered it!"

"Uh-HUH. Could you sing that again for me, please?"

"I'm your penis, I'm your fire, at your desire!"

"Those aren't the right words, sweetie..."

the post blogger didn't want me to post

You may have heard that I hiked the Y. This is true. It was so, on Saturday the tenth of March, that I set out with two too cool girls for a brisk morning hike. I didn't know what I was in for. My body hated me the entire way up, and screamed at me, "Stop! We hate this! Just STOP IT!!" But I replied to my body, "No, we're most certainly not stopping. We're getting in shape now, and this is how we're starting." At the top, I sat on my sweatshirt, and got a little cold, and I could hardly believe that I was sitting at the top of the Y that I have seen nearly every day for the last ten-and-a-half years, the Y which I see so clearly from my bedroom window. I didn't run up, like some cool cats can do, but I made it. The hike down was more difficult (on the knees), and I fell once and got scraped up, but the company and conversation couldn't have been better.

And...I was addicted.

I couldn't wait to get back and do it again. It seemed that my schedule would best allow for me to go again the following Saturday. When I mentioned this to my husband, Li'l ~j. overheard and asked if she could go with me. Since I'm striving to say "yes" more than I say "no" to her, I agreed. I told her on Friday that she could wake me up at 7 on Saturday morning.

*tap-tap* "Mom? Mom, it's 7 o'clock. It's time to hike the Y. You said."

"Um...five more minutes."

"Mom? It's 7:15."

I got out of bed and got ready. Downstairs, as I was putting on my shoes, Curly asked what I was doing.

"Getting ready to hike the Y with Li'l ~j.."

"Can I come?"

"No, Sweetie."

She started to cry. I said no because I had thought that this was a special date for Li'l ~j. and myself, but when Li'l ~j. heard the crying, she asked me, "Why can't she come, too?" And I agreed, since Li'l ~j. didn't mind.

They were so excited. On the drive over to the trail, I kept telling myself that it was okay that we most likely wouldn't make it to the top. And I was completely okay with that.

But guess what.













THEY DID IT!!! The girls were absolute troopers. They took turns wanting to quit and motivating each other. We stopped for some photos at some special trail markers...

...and of course took our water breaks.

My two favorite conversations during the hike up:

1. Curly: "Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"You know on Aristocats when they say, 'I'm bushed!'?"

"Yep."

"Well, Mom, it's just that...well, Mom, I'm bushed! But, Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, it's just...Mom...well...what does 'bushed' mean?"

2. Upon hearing Curly say that she wanted to go stop hiking, Li'l ~j. stepped in: "Curly, have you ever heard the story of the little blue choo choo train?"

"No."

*I fell behind them to listen to this as they hiked side by side.*

"Well, there was once a little blue choo choo train, and its job was to take toys to a village. Do you remember what a village is?"

"No."

"A village is a place where they don't have ANYTHING. No houses to live in, no food to eat, no clothes, and no toys. So, the choo choo train had to take toys to the village, but it was really hard work, so you know what he did?"

"What?"

"He just kept saying, 'I think I can! I think I can!', and guess what!"

"What?"

"He did it! And you can do it, too. Let's keep going!"

"Okay!"

*****

One thing that I know kept them motivated was the promise of apple slices at the top.

The hike back down was highlighted by the spots of sunshine that were just starting to grace the trail. Curly wanted me to carry her, so we worked at distracting her by playing "guess which animal I am", which worked.

****

****

And so it was, on that brisk morning of the seventeenth of March, that with the company of two too cool girls, I hiked that Y.

**Still on my to-do list:

~Bombay House

~Tepanyaki

~Karaoke ("empty orchestra" - can you believe I've never done this?)

~Get a guitar and Let's Get Rockin'

~Write something to be published

Today's Yay: Getting naps when I can.

Today's Boo: Kids still sick.

I worry contstantly for my girls. I do. I worry for what lies ahead of them in this world (posts for a different time, I'm sure). Also, I want them to like me. But I'm not stupid, and I am their mother. Right now, Li'l ~j. is on her bed, where she was sent 15 minutes ago, mid-dinner, for teasing Curly. Incessantly teasing. It's painful even for spectators. D and I had HAD it, there was yelling (stop crying, Mom), and she was sent to her bed. One night of being sent to her bed will not kill her. And maybe she will THINK before she teases her sister again. Because I really, REALLY cannot stand it anymore. She has a bday party to attend on Saturday, and that privilege can be earned back, but if it's not, well, missing one party won't kill her, either.

Since I'm trying to convince myself of all of the above (I do, in fact, feel bad, but it's either now or later, you know? I'd rather have this teeny battle now than engage in combat when she's 16), I've decided to tell you a few annecdotes about my eldest:

~One Saturday morning last December, my girls 3 participated in an early-morning kids' fashion show at the Nordstrom. All three girls were troopers. Shortly following that, we had our friends come over to take some lovely family photos for us, and the girls were well-behaved for that, as well. I had been so pleased with their behaviour that I decided, whilst running errands at lunchtime, that I would reward them with McDonald's for lunch (yes, ~j., while you're working at not damaging your children, why don't you go ahead and teach them that food is a reward? Good job.). Now, we NEVER have McDonald's. Unless we're on a road trip. Don't believe me? Well, this is what happened on that day in December: I phoned home and told D, "I've decided to pick up some McDonald's for lunch for the girls. May I please speak with Li'l ~j.?"

"Hello?"

"Hi, Honey."

"Hi, Mom."

"Listen, I've decided to get you some McDonald's for lunch."

"REALLY?!!?"

"Yes, so, what would you like?"

"Mmmm...what do they have?"

Did you hear that? My 7&1/2 year old didn't know what "food" was available at McDonald's! Ha.

***********************************

Just this afternoon, whilst I was nursing Bubby, I was also watching the Ellen show.

"Mom, does Ellen know you?"

"Nope."

"Oh. *disappointed* That's too bad."

******************************************
Do you know Ellen's guest was today? It was Oprah. (If you don't know how I feel about Oprah, we should talk.) But I like Ellen, so I watched. And here was the conversation:

"Mom, who's Oprah?"

*tee-hee! 'Atta girl!* "She's a friend of Ellen's, Honey."

"Oh. [pause] Is she Dr. Phil's wife?"

*YESYESYES SHE IS!!* "No."

[a minute or so passes]

"Mom, does she have a show, too?"

"Yep."

"Did we used to watch it?"

"Sometimes we did."

"I think I remember it...she had a show like Dr. Phil? With Dr. Phil on it?"

"Yes, Dr. Phil was on her show, and then she gave him his own show."

*lightbulb* "Ooooh, so her show was to help Dr. Phil get a show?"

"Yes."

*********************************

And now I think I need to go to the store, because I can't be here. I want so much to go and get her out of her room. But it won't kill her. It might kill me.




Today's Yay: Lunch with great friends on a beautiful day.
Today's Boo: Forecast which reminds me that it is not yet fully Spring.