Thursday, February 28, 2013

A Time to Whine

Please allow me a brief personal complaint session.

It is February 28, 2012, 11:24 p.m.  I have the beginnings of a screaming migraine.  This one came on fast and furious, is already killing me, but doesn't have much of the ocular stuff usually involved, so I can see to type.
It is my second migraine of the day (the first one was mild, this one is moderate to severe.)

It is my 27th migraine of 2013.  (Yes.  27 Migraines in 58 days.)

I'm not kidding, and I'm not going to keep track any more.  But now it's recorded for posterity.

I have seen a neurologist, ophthalmologist, OB/GYN, and internal medicine doctor.  I am drinking Gatorade, staying hydrated, taking a beta-blocker, CoQ10 and magnesium, along with calcium and a daily vitamin.  They are not triggered by dairy, chocolate, or sugar.  (Whew, about the sugar thing.  That would be a hard one to take for the team.)

I'm doing the neck exercises from the massage lady, and have just yesterday started going to a chiropractor.

Two days ago, this was my spine:



Now it looks like this:


I feel two inches taller, and I think that the chiropractor was even a little surprised at my neck crackage.

I have high hopes that this will get better over time.  If it doesn't, I have high hopes that I will learn patience and choose to do the best things, eliminating some good and better to stay functional.

Maybe Father in Heaven is still hoping to teach me that my personal worth does not hinge on the things that I do or don't accomplish.  He is constantly showing me in very individualized, undeniable ways that He loves me and will never leave me.

I have the most awesome husband EVER, and for that I am very grateful.  He is so patient and helps so much--I hope some day I can bless his life like he has blessed mine.

I pray for:
Wisdom
Patience
Charity
and that I can always know God's will and DO it.

Thanks for listening.  I'm feeling somewhat better now that my stuff is kicking in.  I think that I will be able to relax and sleep now.

Tomorrow for preschool we're doing the number 2.  "I have two eyes."  We'll talk about the basic 6 parts of the eye, and then paint pet rocks and put googly eyes on them.  Wednesday we did #1.  "There is only one me."  I found some cute poems, we played an ABC review game with candy, and then we traced their bodies and let them color them.  Great fun!

I'm so happy about preschool, and Little K has learned her ABCs and is spelling stuff to me all day long, now.  Plus, it's just been so dang fun!

The End.

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Zero is for Play dough

Preschool today.

Now that we've gone through each of the ABCs, I've made some little games, etc. to continue reviewing, and we're moving on to numbers.

We started with big fat 0.

How much does our teacher love play dough?  ZERO!

So that's what we did.

Here's the best recipe I've ever used for just regular play dough.  (Stolen from mommyfootprint.com/the-perfect-home-made-play-dough-recipe/)


Play Dough Recipe:
1 cup white flour
1/2 cup salt
2 tablespoon cream of tartar (find it in the spice section)
1 tablespoon oil
1 cup water
food coloring
Mix first 4 ingredients in a pan. Add water and mix well. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, for 3 – 5 minutes. Dough will become difficult to stir and form a “clump”.  Remove from stove and knead for 5 minutes–add food coloring during kneading process. Play dough will keep for a long time stored in a covered plastic container or plastic sandwich bag.
I made a double batch for 8 children.  Fun times were had by all (but me--I hate that stuff!  It's so dang messy. And salty.  Yuck.)
Next time I'll try one of the edible play dough versions.
Some other fun messes we've made (wish I had pictures):
Finger-painting with pudding
Finger-painting with shaving cream

Blowing pink milk bubbles with straws 
They keep asking to do the milk bubbles again.  I will wait until it's nice outside--we had about 3/4 gallon of milk on the floor when we did it before.  It was unbridled joy, and kept them happy for at least 30 min.
I've been thinking about some things I do to keep myself together.  Preschool, reading and blogging are about it.  I'm lucky that I can do something that uses my talents, makes me happy and still benefits my family and works into my schedule.

Thursday, February 14, 2013

Valentine's Day



When I was 12, I started making lists in my journal.  Lists of baby names I liked (10 or 20), and character traits my husband would have.  Lists of things I needed to learn and the person I wanted to become so that I would be attractive to and worthy of the kind of guy I wanted for eternity.

      

I knew I wanted to be a teacher.  I love to write.  I wanted a degree.  I was completely obsessed with all things music.
















But my main focus was marriage and a family. I longed for these to the point of physical pain.







As a 12 year-old in my Young Women's youth group, I watched one of my leaders go though a serious car accident shortly after giving birth to her 5th child in 8 years.  Her 7 year-old was killed, 8 year-old injured and in a body cast, the other children hurt.  The other driver was one of her Young Women.

Not only did she continue to serve the large group of girls, but she used her service as an opportunity to teach us about forgiveness, and to testify of God's love for us, the eternal nature of family, and faith-filled, righteous motherhood.

She was everything I wanted to be, and her life and family were everything I wanted to have.  She and her good husband strengthened each other and blessed those around them.  One day as I watched her loving on her baby, with his little hands on her face and slobbery kisses, I vowed to myself that I would do whatever it took to have that kind of intimate love.

 Her great sacrifices as my leader were a turning point in my life.

We moved to Utah when I was 14, and over the next 4 years NINE of the girls in our youth group became pregnant.  (There were also several who could have become that way and were just really lucky.)  I looked around, and felt that EVERYBODY was having fun but me.  I was just a little Molly Mormon, missing out on everything, and watching my friends with their boyfriends and BABIES, which I wanted more than anything in the whole world.

At that time, one of my best friends was Becky.  She had the same desires that I did, and helped me to keep my focus and happiness.  We both fasted and prayed about our futures, and both received individual and undeniable answers and peace.  It was invaluable to know her and lean on her strength.  She was more than a friend, she was a sister.

(Oh, funny!  I just realized that the leader's name was Rebecka, and then Becky was obviously a Rebecca--funny.  Caboose got part of her name from them!)

Becky and I practically lived together, and one night as we giggle together at her house, we were talking about how much we look like each other (people always asked us if we were sisters.)  We decided that we should be sisters, and that I would marry one of her brothers so that we could be.













We chose Paul, who was serving in Korea on a mission at the time.  This became the family joke, and I was thrilled at the idea of becoming a member of such an amazing family.  Becky is number 10 of 11 kids, and there are unbelievable amounts of grand and great-grand children.

Her mother was my "Other Mother" as a teenager, and I really did spend a lot of time at their home.  Her mother Nadine, along with my mother, were huge examples to me of righteous womanhood, and I watched them both carefully.  Someday I hope to become like them.  (Little P got her name from them.)


Anyway, somehow I made it through High School, Paul came home from his mission, and I decided that the whole joke wasn't a joke anymore.  The first time I saw him after he returned, I was picking Becky up for church.  I walked into their front room.  He was lying on the couch, reading his scriptures in his Sunday Suit. The heavens opened, angel choirs burst into song, and my heart flopped around like a newly caught fish.

I doubt that he even glanced up.

Anyway, it took a while for his family to convince him that we should date.  By the third date, I KNEW in an undeniable way that this would be a good choice, that my Heavenly Father approved.

Oh, I was an 18 year old in love!!!  (Freaky side-note:  Nellie L is older now than I was then.  Ouch.)

To make a long, long, story short:  We dated, broke up, dated again, got engaged, and then married.  (I had matured to a ripe 19 1/2 years old by then.)

It was the best choice I EVER made.

At the time, I thought that I was sacrificing, that there were no great men out there who were preparing as much, who wanted these things as much as I did.  I was wrong. I wish I had done more.

Marriage and motherhood are difficult every single day, and full of disappointments.  But it is also the happiest, most joyful, most fun, exhilarating, beautiful thing EVER!


I can't imagine life without him.  Sometimes I just lay in bed at night and luxuriate in the knowing that he's there.  He is the most Christ-like man I know.  The longer and better I know him, the more I respect, love and admire him.  He provides for our family in every sense of the word.  I am so blessed to even know him, and yet I find myself sealed to him for eternity.  Unbelievable.  I am so blessed!

This is our 20th Valentine's Day together.  Last night in bed I whispered, "Do you remember our first Valentine's Day?"
"No."
"I don't either!"

Must have been spectacular.

Tonight I am baking a turkey.  We'll have pink mashed potatoes, heart Jello Jigglers, asparagus, squash, stuffing, etc...I'll set a red tablecloth sprinkled with candy hearts.
Fun!
_______________
Side note:  Just to follow up:  I've stayed in touch with my YW leader--I pray that God just fills her life with blessings.
Becky continues to bless my life, and those around her.  Her promised blessings have not all been fulfilled, but I know that they will, and I know that she has faith and trust.






My "Other Mother" is simply my Mother now, and I can't think of a sweeter blessing.
Most of Paul's family

Monday, February 11, 2013

Pooped at Kindergarten Registration



Little K is officially registered for Kindergarten!  It didn't come easily--there was a lot of mucking about to get it all complete.

It seemed to be going smoothly at first as I filled out form after redundant form, until the inevitable--we needed to use the facilities.

Little K started it, but Caboose hopped aboard as soon as K mentioned her need.  While I helped Caboose, Little K chose a stall with no toilet paper.

I passed some to her with one hand, holding Caboose firmly in place with the other.  Little K couldn't reach my TP, and so hopped off the potty and waddled to my outreached hand, dripping a glop of poo, which she then stepped in on the way back to the throne.

She was very apologetic.  I was very kind, and the four lettered word I whispered was appropriate for the situation, if not for my mouth.

I quickly helped Caboose to finish.  Hmm...Her diaper was very wet, should I put it back on?  She'd already had a bowel movement, and had just gone potty.  She'd be more comfortable without it.  She is getting to be pretty dependable.  I decided I'd put it back on in a minute, but help Little K first.

I washed the smeared feces off the floor with a soapy paper towel, put the shoe in the sink, wiped the bum, wiped the toilet and went back to deal with the yucky shoe.  I changed my plan when I looked over to see the Caboose sitting with her pink little butt on the PUBLIC  RESTROOM FLOOR!!!

Somewhere in my upbringing, I was given at least the indirect impression that nothing short of death and disease would result if any body part touched a public restroom floor.  Eeewwww!   My baby's cute little tooshie was on the floor!!! Another word quietly escaped my potty mouth.

MAKE IT END, ALREADY!

At this point in the saga, I glanced at myself in the mirror and reminded myself to smile more.

I quickly slipped on her soggy diaper, and started to wash her hands.  No soap!  NO SOAP!  I'm sunk!  Oh, no! NO SOAP!

OK, there was some in the other dispenser.  Oh, thank you!

While I scraped and soaped the shoe, Caboose practiced her Braille on the commodes in each stall with her newly-washed fingers.

We eventually all had shoes, clean hands, and empty bladders and happy hearts to face the pile of paperwork ahead.

Five minutes later, Caboose announced, "I'm poopy!  Come change me!"  I sighed and filled out the final form.

Our choices have consequences.  What if I had chosen NOT to rediaper?  I shudder to think.   



Saturday, February 2, 2013

Practice, Practice, Practice

Quite the discouraging week (or more).  I'm having a streak of migraines again, and I'm so very walloping tired.

My dear Father in Heaven keeps trying to teach me some lessons about my worth--specifically that it is in no way tied to what I accomplish.  I'm not a very good listener.

He sent this BYU devotional by Brad Wilcox my way.  These may be links to it.  It's titled, "His Grace is Sufficient."  (If not, go to byutv.org and google Brad Wilcox)

http://byutv.org/watch/49475abb-10d4-4f45-a757-7000b9945468/byu-devotional-address-brad-wilcox-71211

http://byutv.org/watch/49475abb-10d4-4f45-a757-7000b9945468#ooid=BtNDVvMjoehGYf88xRZ6wIVP82mCeC3p



In a nutshell:
He related grace to piano lessons.  Your mom pays for piano lessons.  Then she asks you to practice.  If you practice, it doesn't pay the teacher, and it doesn't pay your mother back.  But because your mom loves you and wants you to have the blessings that come with being able to play the piano, she pays for the lessons and asks you to practice.  She can see ahead, that it will help you in a lot of ways, and she wants you to be the best you and have as many talents and abilities as you can.  If you love her, you show your appreciation by practicing.  Making mistakes is a part of practicing, it doesn't make you less worthy to play.  It's not a Carnegie Hall or nothing proposition.

Nice.  It's true.  The price has been paid for me, because my best is so totally not enough.  The snake that bit the children of Israel was the law, and it was only looking to the only one who could perfectly keep the law, and who had the power to pay for our failings, that the children of Israel could be saved from it.


The atonement of Jesus Christ is the only thing that saves me, and I love Him so much that I will do whatever He asks, and I trust that it will be for my own growth and good.  I want to be like Him.  I want to do my best, and not waste the great sacrifice that was made in my behalf.  The price has been paid, so now all that remains is my decision about using it and becoming who He wants me to be.

So, I've been depressed and exhausted and sluggish and had a mild to moderate headache on the left side of my head for most of the week.  No preschool, some dinner, some laundry, much clutter...Funny, in reality I got enough done, I just didn't feel like it, and it was like trudging through sand all week.


I went to the temple today (with only a mild headache) and a big prayer in my heart.  I told the Lord that I wanted to be a better person and mom.  I struggled to listen to what I was lacking, what He would have me do.  I carried a pretty big burden today.

The first thing that my tender Heavenly Father did was to tell me in an unmistakable way that I am beautiful and of great worth.  I didn't realize how insecure I'd become.  He loves me, and makes me love myself.

Then as I hesitantly asked Him what I should be doing to improve, so that I might be exactly on the course that He would have me on.  I timidly committed to try my best.  (Knowing that it was probably gonna be a big sacrifice and that I was just so dang weary already.)

The answer was so weird, that I had to sit and ponder to be sure that I heard Him correctly.

 He told me I need to smile more.



What?  Seriously?

I guess the best way for me to be a better mother and wife and neighbor and friend and daughter and sister...is to smile more.  Huh.

I'll keep practicing.  His grace is sufficient.
Picture drawn by Sarah Keeley age 9