Languages

I read through that last post and decided it was a bit whiny. My posts as of late have pretty much sucked. Sorry.

I had a friend tell me a while ago about love languages. This book is about the five different ways people speak love. Click here to learn about them and discover your own love language.

Anyways, it came as no surprise that my husband and I have different languages. This was something I learned early on. I speak two languages. I am definitely a "Words of Affirmation". This means I actually need to hear words spoken to me, telling me I am loved, appreciated, lookin' good. I am also a little"Physical Touch". Don't get the wrong idea people, it also means that I know I am loved when someone hugs me, holds my hand, rubs my back.

My dearest is entirely an "Acts of Service". He feels loved when I clean the bathroom, or put away the laundry, or clean the stove. In fact, he has said many times over the years that actions speak louder than words.

Now think about how hard it is for two people to show love or feel loved, when one person says "I love you", and all the other person does is wash the dishes. The author likens it to one person speaking English and the other Chinese. You just don't understand each other. Thank goodness we've figured each other out. We aren't perfect and have our miscommunications, but I think we are much better at expressing our feelings and making sure to understand when the other is as well.

What's your love language?

Roses

We had a great Valentine's dinner yesterday, a day early since the professor will be teaching tonight. I made a turkey, one of his favorites, and we ate by candlelight, all six of us. It was quite funny because the turkey was done way sooner than I had expected, so we had to close all the blinds in order to experience the candles. Afterwards we had FHE and we made secret valentines for each other that said one thing we loved about them on it. It was fun to wake up this morning and have the kids scrambling to pass them out with eager excitement at 5:30am.

Now you might think, aww, what a cute way to spend the holiday. And it was. But part of me is wishing I hadn't told my husband not to worry about getting me anything or doing anything. I won't be disappointed, because we're a little beyond that point in our marriage. There used to be a time when I would expect some sort of lavish display of his affection. Now I know he loves me, even without the jewelry and cards and fancy dinners at expensive restaurants.

But I love flowers, as impractical as they are. I love how they look on my table, especially red roses in a tall vase. I love the fragrance that fills my home. I might just go out and buy some for myself. Or maybe I'll tell him they're for him, from me. The best part is, he'd understand.

Epiphany

Wow, that last post was a bit ridiculous. Who wants to read something that long?

I had what I like to call an epiphany, although I'm sure it was more of just an eye-opening experience. I've always been not super great at meeting new people. I am too worried about how others will perceive my intentions, like they'll think, why is she talking to me? And I also worry about what others will think of me, big surprise there huh mom?
These last few weeks at church since I was called into the Relief Society, I have had to greet many of the sisters in the ward to hand out items. I've poured over the pictures we have of all of them and have found I now know most of their names. As I've had to actually talk to them, and get to know them, I've realized how amazingly nice they are. And how not one person has been stand-offish or rude. What was I afraid of all those years? Why did I hide myself in corners, waiting for someone to rescue me from my self-imposed isolation?
The epiphany though, was that I finally realized, most of these women probably have those same feelings. And most of them are like me, waiting for someone to acknowledge them. Waiting for someone to choose them to be their friend. While I've found that they are not nearly as crippled with self-doubt as I am, they still have insecurities. It still feels like high school to some of us, walking into a class waiting for someone to say, hey come sit by me. Finally, out of necessity, I'm becoming that person.

Overflowing with ideas

I go through these phases of home improvement. When we first moved in I couldn't wait to get going. After about a year, and a total lack of funds, the feeling passed. Now I'm ready again. I have so many good ideas, or at least ideas I can work with.
They are:

• The previously mentioned clothesline art for the girls room.(see below)
• We received a hand-me-down fold-up desk, which I will be using for my crafts. It is replacing the hand-me-down desk from my sis. The old desk is going in the girls room and is getting modgepodged with scrapbook paper on the top, to cover all the ugly. I can't wait to make it pretty, and Em is pretty excited to help.
• For my stairwell, I will be purchasing a long curtain rod. On the rod I will hang frames of various shapes, probably bought at thrift stores and spray painted all one color. The frames will be glued to ribbon which will be tied to the rod. Imagine, the rod will be hung high and the ribbon will be getting shorter as you go up the stairs. This is going to be cool to see.
• I purchased a while back some sheers that I wanted to use in my family room. I finally figured out how I want to use them. I will be making valances by folding the sheer 4 times and sewing a strip of colored fabric at the top. I will then staple it to a board, like all my other valances.
• I will be using the original fabric I bought for the family room in my loft to make a valance. Finally, I have a color theme for the loft. It is red. Are you surprised Beka?
• I will be making a magnet board out of a gigantic frame that I will be spray painting. I know exactly where I will hang it, where currently there is a Greg Olsen picture. That picture will be moving to the living room.
• I will be making a lettering sign by taking a large frame and removing the back. I will then hot glue the glass to the frame and then apply the lettering. It will be something Mormon style, like "There is beauty all around... when there's love at home" This will go in the living room.
• I will buy small pieces of fabric and stretch them over canvas to create art. This will go in my bedroom. And possibly the boys. And the girls.
• I will be getting large wooden letters that say SCOTT and hang them in my kitchen area, above my two shelves of kid pictures and a different Greg Olsen.
• I will use all the other Greg Olsen pictures that I have and hang them in a collage in the loft.
• I will be buying the pot rack at IKEA for $19.99. I will then hang it above my island in the kitchen and I will hang mason jars attached to wire from it. The mason jars will hold various things that I haven't decided yet. Possibly candles, maybe utensils, or even plants. The reason for the mason jars is because I don't own any nice pots to hang from it, but I've always wanted a pot rack.
• I will be painting the kids rooms. One will be pink and yellow and the other will be tan and blue and red.

These are my ideas for now. Notice that not much is needed in the way of funds, most of it I already have. I just haven't been all that inspired. But after reading some great blogs this week, and visiting some pretty cool houses, I'm ready to get going. Hopefully my enthusiasm will last until I finish adding to my Mormon Style home, although I prefer to think of it as "Mormon Cool". I'll post pictures as I finish projects so you all will be inspired as well.

Words not said

I remember, perhaps more vividly than anything else in regards to my early years, how good my mom was at taking care of me when I was sick. I remember how worried she would look when I told her I didn't feel well, how urgently she would talk to the doctor about my symptoms, how no matter what time of night it was she was always there, usually with a wet washcloth. She had this nurturing instinct kick in and take over until we were better enough to drive her crazy again. (Not to say the nurturing wasn't there always, it just came on more strongly during illness, right mom? :)

After I got married, I missed her terribly when I was sick. No matter how hard he tried, my dear husband was just not that good at nursing me back to health, and I'm not sure how hard he tried. He would get pretty discouraged when I called my mom right as soon as I felt a twinge of sick. What's she going to do when she's TWO HOURS away? he would ask.

And it wasn't what she did that I craved. It was that deep rooted sympathy I was in need of. She would listen as I rattled off my symptoms. She would offer her advice, which usually included ibuprofen, a call to the doctor, and a blessing. Then she always said something to the effect of, "Poor baby, I'm sorry you're sick" and that was all I really wanted.

As I sit here and nurse my own brood, I hope they feel that way about me. I hope they will call me 20 years from now, when they have a life or a family of their own, just to hear me say "I'm so sorry you're sick." And I hope they know that means "I love you".

Come see the mom who is in way over her head!

I will risk stealing Liz's blog topic of urgent care to share this story:

Yesterday Em came home from school sobbing. Not normal crying, but uncontrollable, shaking, tears running down her face like rain, sobbing. Her ear is causing her excruciating pain. Being the tough love mom that I am, I tell her to lie down and get her Motrin. Then I go back to caring for the boys who have been down with the flu for 2 days. I go upstairs to check email, take a phone call, feed a baby. All this and she's still crying, loudly, unrelenting. It's been an hour and the ibuprofen should've taken effect. I try to get an appointment at the doctor, but the soonest they can see me is tomorrow. I sigh, and pack up the fam for a trip to the urgent care, because Mike is at work. Both boys fevers are raging, so bad they can't even stand. I throw the bottle of Motrin in the car and off we go.

To the urgent care, whose waiting room is PACKED. Oh man. I corral them to the check in, trying to get the boys to cover their mouths as they cough and sneeze all over the place. I'm holding Em on one knee, the babe on the other, trying to answer questions about my insurance. We get taken back to triage after a few minutes. Em is still crying and the boys look like death, ibuprofen isn't working yet. The nurse tells me it's a TWO HOUR WAIT to see the doctor. She wants to give Em some tylenol with codine, and I agree. Then we try to get her to take it. She doesn't want to, it tastes yucky, it's going to make her throw up. The babe picks this moment to poop everywhere. The nurse takes the babe, hands me the meds. I try pouring it down her throat, she spits it into a cup. I try to get her to drink it fast, she spits it on the table, cries, wants to go home. The nurse leaves with my baby to get a soda for Em, the boys are whimpering. We mix the meds with ginger ale and it goes down. I change the baby, and head back out to the waiting room, where by this point there are no chairs left to sit in. I stand there with my four children for a moment, and walk out the door. I am no longer tough mom who can handle anything. I need my husband. Lucky for me, he gets off early. The next couple hours are spent in an overcrowded room full of sick people, with a dear daughter who is loopy from narcotics. I laughed today when I retold this story. Today it is much funnier, if you just picture it in your head.
But I still can't wait for spring.

Clothesline art

I saw this idea yesterday when I clicked on a different link on someone's blog and came across martha stewart. I love this! What a fun idea for a child who is constantly producing new art. The best part is you can customize it to match the room. I am going to use a 1 1/2 inch thick grosgrain ribbon in a polka dot or stripe, which I just saw yesterday at costco for 6.99 for 50 yards. The tiny clothespins are found at a scrapbook store, or Michaels or Joanne's. I will only be using one wall instead of going around the whole room, like in the picture. I can't wait to buy my sweet daughter art supplies that will match her room so that the art she produces will look like it was meant to be there.

Food

I was unsure what to make for dinner tonight. I had planned something, but was running out of time and settled on a concoction my mother used to make. Now, there are a few things that I remember vividly from my childhood. One is being sat on by an unnamed older brother and having typewriter drilled into my sternum. Another is the fork incident which is, thanks to another brother, being laughed about by my husbands colleagues. And of course the football in the house game which a different brother can't seem to forget.

But besides the isolated events that occurred, there are certain foods that remind me of my childhood. I'm not sure if it's because we always ate the same things, or if these were just the ones that I relished. So here's the list. Feel free to add to it.

• Shepherd's pie
• Parmesan chicken-legs and thighs
• Spaghetti
• Lamanite sandwiches
• Grilled cheese sandwiches made from slices of velveeta
• Brownies
• Shake n Bake pork chops
• Tuna casserole-which I remember eating, but not liking
• Campbells Bean with Bacon soup
• Toast with avocado, salt, and pepper
• Tacos
• Rice pudding

Now these were items from my early childhood.

Later on came

• Friday night Pizza Hut
• Chicken enchiladas
• Egg rolls
• Brisket
• Roast
• Brownies

Mmmmm...

Hurt

I hurt all over, and not the good kind of hurt. The kind where you grimmace every time you have to move, the kind where going up and down the stairs takes 10 minutes of excruciating pain. Man, I hurt bad.

Today as I was throwing a little pity party for myself, I realize that my eldest daughter is not her usual self. She has gone back to bed for a nap. Now she has a tendancy to be a tad whiny, so I don't think much of her complaints. Until I feel her warm forehead, and look at her pale face. She wants to nap again, after dropping out of the game of Life with her dad and brother. Now I know something is wrong. She never quits boardgames, especially when she's winning.

I'm thinking the flu, but hoping for a non-transmittable virus. I get her some applesauce, a blanket, and a bottle of water. She won't take any ibuprofin. She naps, wakes up hurting all over, crying. She takes the ibuprofin this time. Naps again. Wants to eat, I discourage it, not wanting to clean up regurgitated nachos. She takes a bath, and goes to bed, achy and exhausted.

What a whiner I am. Here I've been complaining about pain I've inflicted upon myself, while her little body is battling what most likely is the flu. Suddenly, I don't hurt as much, I don't feel as sorry for myself for running poorly. Suddenly I'm praying for her to feel better, and to not have a house full of sickos this week.

What are the odds?

Hope

I wanted to quit running today, and I mean give up the sport entirely. I don't believe I have ever had such a ridiculously hard run. It was only a half marathon, but felt like a full.

I know started a little too fast, but I felt good so I thought I would try to maintain it. As the mile markers seemed to be farther and farther apart, I was rethinking my strategy, which up to this point was run hard for as long as I can. My body was screaming for me to stop by mile 10. I looked at my watch and I was still running 9's, but I knew I was slowing. I stopped to walk, something I NEVER do, not even when I ran the marathon. I ran slower and slower, taking more and more walk breaks. Soon people were passing me, people I had passed a while back had caught me, and seemed to effortlessly fly by, and the wierd thing was I didn't care. Usually that would push me to run harder, to try and catch them, or at least not let anyone else by. This time I hardly noticed them. I just wanted to cry, by body hurt so bad. Then I wanted to stop. Just stop running and sit down and wait for someone to take me home.

How did I get myself into this? How can I get out of this? I just had a baby, what the heck am I doing out here? I should be home, I want to be home!

As I rounded the corner for the final sprint to the finish line, I was so relieved. I made it. I didn't think I would. And there were my children, and my athletic spectator of a husband, waiting for me, cheering for me.

I know it was just a bad run. People have them. And while I wanted to quit SO BAD, I was so happy I didn't. I can't wait to tell my littlest baby how I ran 13.1 miles when she was 3 months old. Hopefully all my children will look at me when life is hard, and say, If you can do it, then I know I can too. I hope.

Oh, and I ran a 2:11.

Superpower

My eldest has this uncanny ability to put my baby to sleep, or at least calm her down. I can sit and bounce, rock, pat til my wits end, but he takes her and within seconds she's settled down and resting peacefully in his arms. Now you might be saying to yourself, awww, how sweet, which it most certainly is. However, how's it going to look on his transcripts when it shows that he's been absent most of the year because I kept him home to hold the babe?

Almost useless

My oldest child asked me yesterday to help him with his math homework. I go over to the book to look at it. This is what it was:

27 divided by 3 squared is greaterthan/less than/equal to 27 divided by square root of 9

Luckily I remember square roots and ask the questions necessary for him to be able to figure out this problem.

I look at my husband with eyes of disbelief afterwards. He's almost laughing because he knows, as do I, that pretty soon I will be useless with math homework for him. What's he going to do then? Wait for Dad to come home, that's what.

When did third graders start doing square roots?

Overwhelming urge

I cannot shake it.
I need to clean. Not a pick-up-toys-before-bed kind of clean. Not even a mop-the-floors-because-people-are-coming kind of clean.
This is a bona fide wash-the-windows-and-wipe-the-baseboards-and-take-a-toothbrush-to-the-toilet kind of cleaning urge that has overcome me.
I am at neither end of the spectrum when it comes to my home. We are not slobs, but we aren't spotless either. We have always held onto middle ground. Somewhere around don't-look-in-the-closets.
But now I can't even walk into a room without starting some kind of cleaning or organizing project. Take that pile upstairs, vacuum under that, throw out those. I currently have 5 active projects that I have worked on today. And all I can think about is how long this is taking and how I want it done NOW! Spring cleaning has come early for us. I hope my enthusiasm lasts until I am finished.

Precious

I don't remember much of what was said at church, and I have very few pictures. But I do know with a complete certainty that you were meant to be in our family.

You were perfectly asleep, unlike your brother Cannon who cried during his entire blessing.

I don't remember much of Chance and Emme's blessings. If anyone has any memories they would be willing to share, I'd appreciate it. I've been racking my brain, unable to fathom that it's been so long since they were born that I've lost those memories.

I made Emme's dress, and I remember that we forgot to take pictures of her in it and had to do so a week later. I remember Dad had something wrong with his foot and had to wear Teva's to church. My 500 square foot house was packed with people afterwards, and Chance was running around outside, filthy dirty. Mike and Liz left soon after for New York.

I remember shopping with my mom for an outfit for Chance the day before because I had forgotten to get him anything to wear. He wore the same outfit in the temple a few days later when we were sealed. He cried the whole time on the altar. He was only 4 weeks old.

I remember that Nick left for his mission a few days after we blessed Cannon. It was a great testimony meeting, almost as good as his farewell. I remember Mike and I fought over who was going to take Chance up, because he wanted to go. Mike lost.

I wish many times that I had kept a journal of some sort for the past ten years. There are so many things I have forgotten. Now I can relate to my own mother when she can't remember what happened or to whom it happened to. Apparently, the fogginess of motherhood is genetic.

Tonight we celebrate

A funny thing happened yesterday. I received a phone call from the school, which always makes me worry. It's Em's teacher. She wants to tell me that Emme is student of the month. I smile, knowing how happy Emme will be. She loves this kind of thing, as she's been student of the month before. I can't wait to tell her.
My dearest picks the kids up from school. He walks in and says "Guess what, Chance is student of the month!". I correct him, no it's Emme. No, he says, it's Chance. I, getting a little irritated that the father of my children doesn't know their teachers, insist that he's wrong. Emme's teacher called me, I say, it's for Emme. He looks at me and tells me that after school Chance told him his teacher wanted to see him. He walked into her classroom and she told him that she had chosen Chance as SOTM, and that there would be a ceremony on Tuesday evening. We looked at each other. We realize we have two SOTM and grin.
Now if you're thinking, gosh, you guys are those kind of parents, the kind that aspire to have kids that are SOTM, well then you would be wrong. I always laughed at those bumper stickers that said "My kid beat up your Student of the Month", knowing how dumb the real SOTM stickers were. Don't get me wrong, I want my children to excell, or at least do their best. But the pressure isn't on for awards and such.
However, when someone else realizes that your child is as amazing as you've always thought, well, you can't help but be extremely proud. Almost enough to find room on your bumper for the sticker. Almost.

RB

My running buddy, otherwise known as RB, called in sick today. It doesn't happen often, so when it d0es it leaves me in a quandry. To run or not to run. Hmmm. I am already awake, and I just fed the little bear. I better run. However, it is dark and my ipod is broken. And I hate to run by myself. It's now 2 to 3, not to run. But dang, that race is in less than a month. I fix the ipod and head out.
I used to run by myself all the time. When I first started, I didn't want anyone around when I waddled out the door for a total run of 1/8 of a mile. As I grew stronger and my runs grew longer, I started listening to music to pass the time and help keep up my speed. But I was never very consistent. Some weeks I'd be out on the pavement 4 days, others I'd miss entirely.
I found my first RB in California. She was just as inconsistent as I was when alone, but together, we hardly ever missed a day. We worked in strength training a few days a week and suddenly I was in better shape then I had been my whole life. It lasted less than a year. We moved. I was pregnant. Running went downhill.
I moved again. Looked for a new RB. Ran sometimes. Tried to train for a marathon, but injured myself because of my lack of short runs. Was out for a long time.
I went through a bout of physical therapy and finally felt ready to run again. We were moving, once again, to a new house. I would drop the kids off at school and drive to my soon-to-be neighborhood. I'd check on the house, put the little guy in a jogger, and run the streets.
It was here that she saw me. Sunday came and she asked if it was me out there running. I, embarassed, responded with apologies for her having to see me. I hate when people see me run. No, she said, she wanted to come with. I explained we hadn't moved in yet, but as soon as we did, I'd take her up on it.
We proceeded to not speak for another 4 months.
Finally my DH asked her if she would please run with me, so I would stop complaining about my lack of shape. Apparently we had both been too intimidated by the other to bring it up again. We started with barely a mile. Last year we finished a marathon.
Now some people are so self-motivated, they don't need anyone else to push them. I always have. Would I still run without a RB. Maybe, but it's just better when she's there.

Just say no

I've never been a big fan of taking all my children shopping with me. It usually ends up with children everywhere and me gritting my teeth til we get to the car and I can give them whatfor. In order to avoid this catastrophe, I leave at least some of them home while I get my errands done. Only in an emergency do I venture out with all four. Today was one.
I've put off buying a blessing dress for our littlest, thinking in the back of my mind that I would make one. Yeah, that didn't happen. So here we are two days before and with one day packed full of activities. Dad's at work. Dang. Off we go.
It didn't start off well. The kids were a little testy when we dropped by Grandma's house. Not a good sign. I leave quickly, hoping to avoid any huge meltdowns.
First store. Long line and not much selection, but there is one I would settle for if necessary. I'll come back.
Next store. I leave the kids in the car watching a movie while I run in. Too much selection and ridiculously high prices. It's not a wedding dress, people.
Kids are hungry. Back to the first store to buy the dress. Longer line. Kids come in to wait and touch everything. Please can we buy this, they ask. And this. And this. Please. I don't have the energy to fight. Okay sure. Yeah get one for your brother too. And your sister. Finally it's our turn and we buy the dress.
Now you might be thinking, what kind of parent gives in when their children whine for stuff at the store? Trust me, it's not something I usually do. But I find it hard to say no in the distribution center.
You don't need a picture of the temple in your room.
Or
I don't care if it's 10 cents, we already have enough Jesus pictures.
What kind of good LDS family has enough Jesus pictures? Especially the 10 cent variety. Apparently not ours.

Experience

When you are a new parent for the first time, you have absolutely no clue what you're doing. Or at least I didn't. So you buy parenting books, subscribe to parenting magazines, and watch shows that help navigate the new terrain you've found yourself engulfed in. You can no longer pass by any type of information kid related. Anything to get your baby to a. stop crying, b. sleep through the night, and c. do something that makes him better than all the other kids you know. You learn 20 different ways to sleep train, the best order of solid food introduction, milestones (otherwise known as if-your-child-isn't-doing-these-things-we-need-to-discuss-his-need-for-the-short bus), and all the toys your child needs to be valedictorian of his preschool class. After a while, the books gather dust, subscriptions aren't renewed, and you find yourself watching trashy tv shows again, confident in your now amazing skills as a parent.
Another baby arrives, and you give yourself a quick refresher course, along with buying 3 potty-training books.
Another one comes, and you remind yourself to find the books.
Suddenly you find yourself the parent of four, so caught up in life you realize you've forgotten all the at-one-time-invaluable information you learned years ago. Your baby is a terrible sleeper because you didn't train her properly, she cries unless you're holding her because you've never done floor time, you can't remember when you're supposed to start solids, and when the doctor asks about milestones, you draw a blank (She is smiling right?)
You realize that this last child will have hand-me-down parents, parents who were new and fresh for their first born, but are now like your sister's old shirt, faded and worn. But you also realize that with all the washings that shirt has been through, it's gotten softer, more comfortable, and more experience than you would care to think about.

normal

I would like to be one of those people who posts daily about interesting things that have happened in their fascinating lives. Alas, my life is anything but. However, I have come to accept, even reveled in, my own normal existance. I live a normal life, with somewhat normal kids, in a normal house, driving my normal minivan, to the normal Target to buy normal groceries. Nothing out of the ordinary usually happens, hence my posts.
Example:
My 2007 New Years Resolutions
1. Be on time.
2. Run well.
3. Eat better.
4. Be a better parent.
5. Stick to a budget.
6. Keep a cleaner house.
7. Serve more.
I think it would be out of character if I were to, say, resolve to learn the electric guitar (not that there's anything wrong with that). And I'm okay with it.
Because some people are electric guitars, and some are minivans.

Box folding champion

My significant other and I have had many trials in our 10 years, usually of the monetary type. We have never been poverty stricken, but we've always struggled. Even after he landed the job he had been trying to get for years, it still didn't seem like we'd ever see an end to our financial woes. (It takes a long time to fill the grand canyon with one small shovel-full of dirt at a time.) One thing that I can be fully grateful for is a husband who is not too proud to work, even at the most menial of jobs. He's done things I couldn't imagine for the sake of our family. (Don't worry, I've never pimped him out, although I bet I could make some good money) But it seemed like no matter what we did, we could never get ahead. There were always cars to fix, which he learned how to do, and doctors to visit, thank goodness for our health insurance. We seemed to be making headway recently, although slowly.
So when he came home one day last week and said he had gotten a job delivering pizzas, I was aghast. Why oh why would he want to do that?! Delivering pizzas was something he had done while we were in school. It was good money and free pizza, but he quit to go to grad school, and I thought we were done with it. It seemed like such an unlikely thing for a college professor to be doing, and I was embarassed. But he takes more of an interest in our situation than I do, and he said we needed it. Plus he's not too proud to do things like that, and I am.
So yesterday he went out in his official uniform, off to feed the masses. When he came home he told me how he was running circles around all the other guys. And how he can fold boxes better than anyone there. I was proud, but this time it was because of him.