Mandi Mormon @mandimormon-blog - Tumblr Blog

Life is Messy

It’s time to put the broken pieces together, and actually complete this journal entry. It’s Wednesday, November 1. I have wet-looking, large eyes, (okay, not as large at the Snapchat filter) but I feel like that’s how I see myself when I visualize myself these days, using that big-eyed, big-mouthed filter, with a voice changer.

My youngest daughter and son are playing “school” together in our ultra-clean living room, ehhh, ultra-clean-ish, since they got home, I guess I do see a few candy wrappers on the floor, from yesterday evening or maybe breakfast this morning. I knocked on Remi’s door, and could hear her chewing in her room, apparently partaking of candy for breakfast. Let me end this blog on a positive note though and talk about yesterday, later.

Those wet-eyes I’m referring to are from the many tears and all of the sobbing I just finished up with, on the way home from my daughter’s Ballet Class. I thought I was doing better. I was feeling pretty good, but clearly, my feelings caught up to me. The busyness and distractions can’t distract forever. Why was I crying?

Well while in Danville, Jude ran back to the dance studio, from Joann Fabrics, and I walked, I wasn’t going to run across the mall, keeping him in eyeshot. Opened the door, plopped ourselves down on two small, wooden children’s chairs to wait the 1-2 minutes left of class. We time it quite perfectly, because a six year-old (wild) boy + waiting doesn’t really mesh. Honestly, I’m surprised he will even spend time in Joann Fabrics with me.

I heard through the door of one of the rooms a familiar song but I couldn’t place it. Don’t you just hate that? When you know a song but you can’t figure out what song it is? This happens all of the time! Oh, music, you’ve had such an impression on me, all of my life.

So, Remi emerges from the room, after the other girls, with a huge smile on her face, and a little pep in her step, because she loves ballet. She loves it. As she and Jude talk and she giggles with another little ballerina and we make our way out to the car, and I return any messages before driving (unlike on the way over to Danville, when I didn’t even realize how far I’d gotten until I crossed the border, but we don’t need to talk about that - #distracted). After I checked and double-checked their seatbelts, and we were rollin’ out; I asked Remi about her dance class. Then out of curiousity, I asked if if that music I’d heard was coming from her studio or the other studio. She said, it was her room, and she could sing it for me: “It’s just a symphony…” in the most beautiful, little, eight year-old voice, and I started singing along with her, and then I added, “Glorious!”

Confused, she asked me how I know the words and that song. As I searched for it on my iPhone and we began listening to the very version she was dancing to, per her confirmation, by One Voice Children’s Choir. She then added, “Mom! Your eyes are wet. Are you crying?”

Sure enough, it didn’t stop. It was probably the ugly-face look, tear-streaming, uncontrollably from both eyes at one time, that rarely happens. I wasn’t bellowing but it wasn’t just a tear or two. I smiled through it and tried to stop myself, but I couldn’t. My own emotions, questions, thoughts, grief and series of recent experiences seemed to just hit me all at once. Remi interrupted my thoughts and my failed attempt to sing along, “Mom, stop crying. Are you going to cry like this when I dance?”

“I probably will, Remi, I’m sorry. This song is beautiful. I’m so excited to see you dance to this.”

Journal Entry: 10/29

The longest week of our life is coming to a finale.

Let me begin with last week was Fall Break, an extra-longer-than-normal Fall Break. My husband and I were pretty busy working and doing those crazy mundane tasks of daily living, plus community service. Being totally distracted from our family and we weren’t going anywhere, so, we decided that Friday, the 20th, to take the kiddos shopping in Champaign and enjoy a “fun day” out and about. Upon arrival at the mall, we rode the cool little animals around the mall for 15 minutes and shopped a little bit, and ate a delicious late-lunch at Red Robin.

Gosh, even to type what last Friday looked like seriously causes my heart to hurt. I had to get up and take a walk around my kitchen, get on my iPhone, and return to regroup.

When we returned home last Friday, I received my passport in the mail. This was a big, big deal. I was stoked out of my mind for it, that I created the Snapchat “Passport” Saga, which has now caught on and is a thing. When I say thing, I use that term loosely, because it’s only a “thing” to a few sixth grade girls. I used the amazing jumbo-mouth filter I spoke about during my last blog, you know, with the voice changer. That passport is going places. Even Reis’s friends have snagged it up and used it for their own stories, “with Amanda’s Passport.” I will share.

It’s all fun and games with you’re using Snapchat, you and your dozen twelve year-old friends, until someone pulls up to your house for your daughter and you’re alone, selfie-snapchatting yourself about to take a run “with your passport”.

In this moment, I nonchalantly, dropped my iPhone arm to my side, as if nothing were happening here, and hopped up, and tossed my passport into the upper kitchen cabinet. Then, answered my door. The irony of answering that door was a very ‘deja vu’ experience I’d had about three and a half years ago, in a way. A mother of a good friend of my daughter’s and her son came in and said they’d tried to call her and needed to speak with Reis about Jesse, her boyfriend, but wanted to filter it through me first.

After they expressed he’d been accidentally shot, I felt the fear and chills down my spine, an instant, intense nausea, and when they asked if they could speak with her personally, I asked them to filter it through my husband first because my mind was absolutely blown. He was still out back on the swing, Jude was in the boat, and I couldn’t help but sob and I asked him to come and listen to what they had to say. Then we brought the girls together, Reis and her best friend, Karma. Since we really didn’t know what would happen, we were hoping for recovery, even possible loss of an eye, and praying for a return to normal activity. This kid was extremely active, with a very promising future. The kids were even planning on going to visit him early next week.

Of course, they were nervous, crying on and off, and wanted to know how long he’d be hospitalized. With my education in Nursing and the unknown specifics, I think my intuition was saying, “Be positive, but prepare for the worst-case scenario”. I told the girls he was in the best possible care and I didn’t know any specifics as to what would happen. Relatively soon after this, it felt almost instantaneously, and after hearing a myriad of rumors and stories, we received nightmare news, that he didn’t make it. We called all of the parents together, first, before putting this onto the kids. After they all made it there, we sat the five children down in our living room, surrounded by their parents.

Breaking this awful news to the children, opened floodgates of tears and hugging and screaming and yelling, and every emotion all at once. It was misunderstood. It was tragedy. Grief. Hysteria. These children are eleven and twelve. These kids that were here ran around together constantly with this boy. They spent time at school together, time after school until dark together, weekends together, Facetiming, Snapchatting, Instagramming, Selfie-sending, the whole sha-bang of social media communications, usually by showing their faces or whatever kind of mischief they were into, one to another. They visited the Java on a regular basis, wreaking havoc, updating their “stories”, getting kicked out of CVS, going to the Dollar Store, Casey’s, and the park. The community saw these kiddos everywhere. The girls would watch Football games on Saturdays and Soccer Games, just so Reis could see this boy.

Grief is an overwelming force that demands to be felt. If you remember, I took a Faith Community Nursing class earlier this year, when things were as slow as they were going to be and the Grief Module was a toughy. In order to help anyone else with this kind of experience we needed to know how we personally felt about grief and loss, and then recollect our earliest experience with death or any significant losses.

Grief is a bomb dropped. Yesterday there was a house, with walls, a roof, and the smells of life steaming up the windows. Today, only rubble of a disaster. Shards of broken confidence and the dust of dreams litter a cracked foundation. (Stephanie Erickson, Author of Companion Through the Darkness) I’ve also heard of the wave-analogy. They keep coming but eventually, instead of all at once barely breathing in between, they lessen and sometimes occur unexpectedly. In the moment, eventually and time can’t even be considered. It’s now. It’s in the moment.

The morning after, I came downstairs and wrote this:

Journal Entry 10/21

I’ve been up for hours and it’s 6 AM. I woke up startled, holding my own breath, and then reality sunk in. Reality that seemed like a nightmare. It’s the kind of heartache you can feel in your bones. My eyes welled up with tears, and I made my way downstairs to check on more than a half a dozen eleven- and twelve-year old girls. Laying everywhere, on the floors and in the beds, sleeping, soundly -- their youthful faces puffy from the hundreds of tears they’d cried over the past hours. I put my sleeve up to my face to muffle my own audible sobbing. I just, so badly, wanted to pick my daughter up off the the floor, and hold her, and cry with her. I wanted to take that inevitable pain away, she would feel as soon as her eyes opened and reality hit her like a ton of bricks. That pain that’s staying for awhile and will never truly heal completely.

That numb, paralyzing feeling I had, has now shifted into another stage of grief cycle. Grieving is so very dimensional and demands to be felt and I know, according to the textbook, that’s okay and eventually things would get easier and happier moments would come, but when you’re in it - it’s the perfect storm. It needs to be expressed. It takes me back, three and a half years ago, when I was wondering how my daughter, Reis, eight years old, would take the devastation learning her father had died, by choice, unexpectedly.

Later at age 10, I witnessed the grief shift for her with the loss of a beloved pet, Amidee, which was a part of the family, this seemed to be incredibly traumatic but I later found out it was because of unresolved grief previously, and now, at age 12, her boyfriend - not to mention one of her very best friends (for several years) - and “first big crush” was gone, too, completely unexpectedly, tragically. Three very different, yet horrific experiences shared in our home, in the very same place with her, in our living room, surely digging up deeper wounds or really catalyzing the grieving process.

I felt her pain deeply, for my first ‘love’ had been her daddy, around her very same age. It feels so real when you’re in it and I was crazy about that boy, as I know, and anyone who knows these kids knows, Reis is about Jesse.

The grief for this eleven year-old boy, who stood just two days before, in our kitchen, with his big, beautiful, brown eyes, his unmatched wit, and his vibrant personality -- was hitting hard, in a way that cannot be described in words. This boy who’d been a wonderful friend to my daughter for years, and been a positive, encouraging role in her life, during this beginning transition into middle school, had been taken from this life, before the story was finished. Such permanence.

On the brink of complete and utter devastation, and all that encompasses that, here I am, replaying those “what if” and “why” questions, not fathoming the pain his mother is going through (thinking of my own sweet son) or this boy’s father, or his dear brother, and sister and all of their family, grieving their great loss and grieving for each other. My thoughts traced over everyone who called this little boy a “son” because he was truly a best friend to several boys and a few moms saw him very often, anyone who loved this guy - these thoughts, on repeat, through my mind, and searching for words of comfort, before putting on my own armor for the day, to be present, a shoulder for my sweet baby girl to cry on, a game face for dozens of friends and families. This group of friends, so close and always together, have just had their lives altered forever. This boy was one-of-a-kind, irreplaceable, and he’s left an impression on all of hearts and minds, leaving us changed, forever.

On Sunday, Jesse and Kolton came inside, and waited on the girls to put on sweatshirts and go out into the drizzly elements. I didn’t feel great that day, but I did snap a picture of the girls leaving and the boys were on the steps, barely visible. That day was the same day the kids had been stalking Jesse’s photos on social media, and snapchatting him photos of them, with the line from the song, Mad World. “All around me are familiar faces..” This is probably normal thing for little girls in middle school, in 2017. Then they all left but came back through later when we were working on the flag for the boat, my husband constructed in 90 minutes.

On Wednesday of that week, he’d been inside the house, because the girls said it was “too cold” to be outside, at 55 degrees. Reis had slumped her shoulders down and was dragging her feet around the kitchen declaring her hunger, it was 12:01 p.m.. As I leaned against the bar, on my phone, without looking up, I selfishly said, “Get yourself some food, there’s plenty here, find something.”

Reis then sent my husband a message asking him to get them food and there was a whole orchestra of messages between the three of us. Reis expressed she hadn’t been feeling well and the only real meal she’d had, the evening before, was a salad from the Beef House. (Real first world problems, here.) It was true, she missed school that Monday, because she had been under the weather, but I insisted she go Tuesday if she wanted to see her friends on Tuesday evening or throughout Fall Break.

Since she wasn’t against gluten-free nuggets and fries from the freezer bin, I whipped out the jumbo package of ground beef and made cheeseburgers, g/f mac-n-cheese, green beans, and potato wedges.

The squad: Reis, Karma, Kennady, Ella, all sat around the dining room table, and Jesse stood next to Reis, saying he was good, each time I offered, stating he had a large breakfast. The girls pigged out, per the norm, and my husband came in and sat in the empty seat at the dining room table, asking everyone to listen up. This was about to get good. My husband and I are huge fans of ‘Resilience’, and he had a way about conveying a good message to these youngsters.

In a calm, very rational manner, he asked the girls what the word, “Entitlement” meant. Jesse cut into the conversation, “I’m not very smart, you’re gonna have to tell me.” Allen, gently corrected him, “You’re smart. It’s okay if you don’t know, I want to explain it.”

He then read from the definition (which later I was told by Reis that the girls thought Allen didn’t know the definition and that was why he was reading it), and discussed what it was to have ‘privileges’.

*Crickets*,yet, again, but by this point, Reis sprang up and cleared her plate and began working on the dishes. Our eyes met twice and she gave me ‘the look’ of utter humiliation and embarrassment.

Jesse, always outspoken, commented how he really didn’t have privileges, the girls agreed they didn’t either, but Allen, again, gently corrected them all by explaining the cell phone was a privilege, not a right, as was the time the kids were able to hang out together, the sports and activities, they most likely don’t fund themselves, and the list goes on.

All-in-all the conversation was for Reis’s benefit, and I’m positive she’ll never forget it. I know I won’t. I whispered to her, her friends know her dad and her friends are not upset or offended, they are just fine and dandy. Clearly, they were laughing and conversing with him even after the “talk” was over. After he left, and I was drying the dishes, I witnessed Reis snapchatting Jesse from across the room while Ella, Kennady, and Karma lounged on the floor and couch, and Jude, too, Jude occasionally showing Jesse his game because he honestly has always thought when Jesse, Josh, or Kolton come over, it’s to play with him.

Later, I said something about my passport, and Jesse asked me where I was going, and I said, “To Mexico!” in an over-exaggerated voice, Reis didn’t miss a beat, because she said, “Your home country”, back to him. I then raised an eyebrow at them both, and he said, “Yeah, did you know I’m from Mexico?”

“Jesse, I know your who your parents are, you’re not from Mexico.” He then told me, “Yeah, I know. But they say I am because I’m tan.”

Later, I went into Reis’s room, and tiptoed over the bags and clothing that had been “straightened up”, when motion caught my eye outside of her bedroom window. I peered outside to see Jesse, wearing a Sombrero along with his buddies, too, with Kolton, the Copas Boys, Davy, possibly a Kindell boy, too, and my son, in the custom “Despacito” a boat, my husband had constructed. The girls were standing all around, too, and I said, “Allen, come here and look at this sight. Grab my phone. I need to take a photo.” I didn’t get my phone and never took a photo but it’s imprinted in my mind, forever.

The boat evolved from a fishing pole. My son begged me to make a fishing pole with him, so I did. We both used sticks and tied a small ribbon to the end. Funny thing is, we fished up some leaves because the ends of the ribbons were fuzzy enough to pick them up. We pretended we were fishing from our dock (aka picnic table) and the tailgate of my husband’s truck, and Jude would do the commentary of our excursion. I feels like a lifetime ago, since this happened, since so very much has happened, seriously.

Life has a way about teaching you about priorities. Doesn’t it?

The candlelight vigil was something I’d never experienced and a spiritual feeling I’d never felt before, ever. It was beautiful. A moment I remember while shuffling around trying to make sure everything was good to go, was watching my daughter walk, briskly toward the restroom. I could see her wiping her eyes more than once on her way there, so I followed her. When I walked up to the doorway, I witnessed her sobbing, embraced by a group of her friends, all crying together. It was beautiful and painful all at once. She saw me and gave me the nod (aka the head shake) that I wasn’t needed here, so I turned around and walked away.

I can’t express how much it hurts or how helpless a mother feels when she can’t take the pain away. She can’t make it better. She can’t fix this. I’m learning. A good friend visited me during lunch, while I was in the office, yesterday. He had heard something that made him think of Reis and of me.

He told me about the Metamorphosis of a Butterfly. As we all know, the butterfly doesn’t begin as a butterfly, but rather a caterpillar. Then before the big change, it forms a chrysalis and eventually emerges, completely changed as a butterfly.

A scientist was observing this process, and he noticed the butterfly he was observing was having trouble emerging. So, he simply clipped the top of the sac and almost immediately and simply, the butterfly was able to get out. Yet, even though this seemed to make it easier, the butterfly’s wings did not expand and it never took flight.

Why? Because the butterfly needed that experience, to breakthrough the sac without aide, in order to pump fluid from it’s abdomen through the veins in the wings, which causes the wings to expand to their full size. It’s something the butterfly must go through to fly.

Initially, this story hurt my heart. I think it’s pretty normal for us, as parents, to want our children to live very uneventful, normal lives, with little suffering, grief, and anxiety. We don’t want our child bullied. We don’t want them to feel lonely or depressed. Naturally, we don’t want them to hurt or to feel pain. We want to take their pain away, “fix it”. We’d gladly take on their suffering if we could.

Even friends feel this way. I can’t even tell you how many kids, said to me, they wished they could take Jesse’s place, so their friends wouldn’t be hurting so much, because he was such a great person, and so Reis would be okay.

These comments aren’t alarming because they were each saying this only out of love.

They love Jesse, they are going to keep loving Jesse, and they love each other, yet this wasn’t their path or plan. I assured each of them they are meant to be here, right now, for each other, and although we can’t put the ‘why things like this happen’, into words, one day we will look back on this and see what kind of growth came from this experience, how this changed our life, how we could help other people and how we were better friends. Jesse’s charisma and goodness can be emulated in each of our lives, every day. As hard and as cliche as it may sound, he can live on, through us.

Yet with removing trivial pursuits, as my husband says, “You’ll find a new obsession or addiction.” That obsession is Snapchat.

I created a “story” on Halloween Eve (Is that a thing? Maybe I should say on October 30) the Five Step Approach to TP’ing Homes. In fact, I sent it to all of my snappy buddies, then I had to create a collaboration of those five things for “My Story”. It was about as epic as The Passport Saga: Oh The Places Amanda’s Passport Will Go, I mentioned.

As mentioned, the median age of my Snapchat Friends is probably 12, and I’ve recently come to the conclusion that a Twelve Year-Old Girl is most likely my Spirit Animal. Clearly, because that’s what I went as for Halloween. That or “Mama Vandallama” my criminal alias.

So, I washed my hair extensions, finally. They’d survived Tyreischella with Boho Braids, and feathers still affixed, and Haunted Trailz, on Saturday, when I gave it my best acting skills plus the girls clipped my extensions into Whylee’s hair after the Trailz. Those extensions needed recovery.

Ok, and to be real honest, we tried doing what the Trailz Coordinator wanted, during Haunted Trailz. My husband was supposed to appear to be dragging me across the trail and apparently, my acting skills are rusty and maybe we shouldn’t even refer whatever I did as acting or a skill. So, I played “dead”, trail goers would shine the flashlight on my “pretend dead” acting, which allowed my husband to come up from behind, in a creepy mask, and startle them pretty, darn good. This lasted for only a couple of hours, because by that point we had a dozen sixth graders asking to go home to the warmth, and they weren’t going unattended.

Anyway, shampooed extensions, lying out to dry. A friend of mine stopped in with some money from the event over the weekend, and she mentioned another perfect addition to the ‘Four-become-Five Step How to TP Approach’, and I added that in. I let her in on what was going down because at that point I had a pair of black panty hose on my head like a do-rag which may have seemed a little more legit since my “weave” was out on the counter.

On Halloween morning, I clipped in my extensions, to prepare my disguise for the evening. After returning home from work that day, I opened my daughter’s room to half a dozen girls dressed in all black, as instructed. I then put on some war paint, and was ready. I found it pure comedy as more kids showed up to our home, they openly were being dropped off by their parents and carrying 4-6 rolls of toilet paper in their arms. I guess there were no objections or clearly those kids had a stellar alibi-to-come. I’m gonna go with the no objections option.

There were 8, then 9, then 11, then 16 kids in our group. It felt a lot like the meme “I feel young until I hang out with twelve year-olds, then I remember I’m definitely 31.” They didn’t really have a plan, and when they thought they had a plan, they actually knocked on their teacher’s door. They were chased off a majority of the time, which is comical, and by the time we stopped in for some free hot dogs at the Old Gym, they were ready to have an “escape vehicle”. Sadly, my husband’s truck was containing some doors and junk that wouldn’t support 12 kids, too, so we took the “Hot Mess Express” (my Mountaineer). The juvenile delinquents put the seats down (both rows), so it was flat, and they insisted on maneuvering safely in and out of the vehicle by keeping the tailgate lifted the entire time. Remi came, too, so she said on my console, and I always had a co-pilot. We tried a few teacher’s houses and relative’s homes, but inevitably each and every time, the kids would come in a dead sprint back, and without time for a roll-call, I’d yell, “Are we all in?” “YES! GO GO GO!” and I’d almost have to close my eyes and speed off. Nice thing about keeping that tailgate lifted, even while driving down Liberty Street or Third Street was my license plate wasn’t showing. So, unless one of the dozen kids in the back were ID’d, jail was looking like more of an idea rather than a destination for me, that evening. “Accompanying 16 Minors” would have been epic, but I’m glad we safely and reasonably toilet papered and Ding Dong Ditched.

The spin off the DDD was we purchased actual individually wrapped Ding Dongs, and left those at most of the homes, true Ding-Dong Ditchin’.

This morning, when I woke up I felt like I needed about 24 more hours of sleep. I wasn’t sore from running around but the few short sprints I did partake of, I wasn’t prepared for, whatsoever. I may run 4-6 miles most weekdays, but those are leisurely. Laughing, talking, texting, and running, no sprinting, no loss of air or breath, just leisure -- and if you refer to it as jogging, I take offense.

There are times when You might feel aimless And can't see the places Where you belong But you will find that There is a purpose It's been there within you All along And when you're near it You can almost hear it It's like a symphony Just keep listening And pretty soon you'll start To figure out your part Everyone plays a piece And there are melodies In each one of us Oohhh it's glorious And you will know how To let it ring out As you discover Who you are Others around you Will start to wake up To the sounds that are In their hearts It's so amazing What we're all creating It's like a symphony Just keep listening And pretty soon you'll start To figure out your part Everyone plays a piece And there are melodies In each one of us Oohhh it's glorious And as you feel The notes build Higher You will see It's like a symphony Just keep listening And pretty soon you'll start To figure out your part Everyone plays a piece And there are melodies In each one of us Oohhh it's glorious

Why You Should Stop Doing Laundry Today

Is it just me or do you see a title similar to this one everywhere? ‘Why You Should Stop Using Your (insert product here)”, “You’ll Never Want To Eat At (insert restaurant here) Again”, “After Reading This, You’ll Never Want To (insert activity here) Again.”.

We all know laundry totally sucks. It always sucks. I find laundry is one of my personal Top 16 Worst Household Chores ever list. I loathe laundry so much that I usually don’t even sort it. (Take that dark and light colors. I really showed you!)

The bending over is just like the icing on top of the cake of cruelty. Usually, I grab out it out of the water by large armfuls, as much as I can possibly get at once to reduce the number of times I’m bobbing and weaving from the washer to the front-load dryer. Apparently, I’ve got a rhythm and that’s when the danger set it. I feel like that’s a life lesson that applies to more than just laundry. Sometimes we get too comfortable and relaxed and that’s when we ruin it. We’re humbled. We’re knocked down and in this situation, it was the dryer. I had about my third armful of clothing and I noticed I probably had one more as I grabbed this armful out, like a boomerang, as I tossed it into the dryer. This time my left finger with my wedding band and engagement ring caught the top of the dryer on my execution, and I almost tore my finger off.

Of course, a painful stinging sensation sat in immediately and it felt equivalent to stubbing my toe, on a steel door, swinging toward me. Screaming at the top of my lungs, using a one hand toss to get the rest of the clothes thrown into the dryer with my right hand, and slamming the dryer door. Screw the lint trap, it’s not getting cleaned out, not this time. I started the clothes before whining around about it, because that’s what we moms do. You and I both know if I let those clothes sit they would’ve smelled awful and that would have meant more water-waste plus more dangerous household chores that I was not mentally prepared to do, whatsoever.

Per the normal “fear-inducing articles”, here’s the best advice you’ll hear all day. Friends, stop using your dryer now. Use a clothesline. Take our your wedding rings. Practice safety while accomplishing those household chores. Better safe than sorry. Share this message so your friends don’t make the same mistake I made.

We do addictions in our house. As I type, I glance to my left and see my son is hopping back and forth between two iPads, on the floor. One is near the footstool my feet are on, and the other against the wall on the charger. Both are actively playing a different show. Remi, is on a laptop, watching Trolls, and I am typing on my laptop, while simultaneously texting my husband, who seems to be a tad under the weather, laying in bed upstairs, in the same house. My oldest daughter is texting, cleaning her room, and has YouTube going on her Chromebook. This is the example of the perfect modern-day family.

Sure, we won’t have cable, satellite, or a television downstairs in our home, but we certainly use electronics. Just the other day while I was doing a little painting at the office, my son choose to watch Dish Network, while we were there. I asked him if he knew what “Team Titans Go” was and sure enough, he did.

Confused, he asked me, “What is this? An ad?” speaking about the commercial. My children don’t even know what a commercial is! But they’re fluent in YouTube Channels, Netflix, and fixing the WiFi. Things have taken a shift since my earlier years. Did I explain Jude’s fascination earlier this year over a vending machine?

Jude had never purchased anything from a vending or pop machine. We were waiting on the girls to finish up a practice for dance clinic and were rotating ourselves, back and forth, in the bar-seating in the high school cafeteria. He complained he was thirsty. So, I dug a dollar out of the bottom of my canvas tote, and handed it to him. He said, “What?”

I said, “Let’s get a drink.” I stood in front of the water and lemonade machine, reminiscing about Fruitopia, and asked him which flavor of water or lemonade he’d prefer. “What is this?”, he asked inquisitively. I covered my mouth with my hand, “Ohhhh, my goodness, Jude! You’ve never used a vending machine, have you?” Sure enough, never. He thought it was amazing how we could put money in and pick something by pressing a magic button and with a loud buzz and boom, it appeared, chilled, and ready to drink. He thought the Berry Lemonade was the best thing ever and he marveled over the vending machine mechanics.

This same “shock and awe” goes for the older generation, as well. We celebrated my dad’s birthday on Sunday, after he had a busy weekend full of auctions. My sister had the opportunity to attend his auction that morning, and from across the room, yet again, she was texting me a few photos to update his Facebook page with, which by the way, he can use Facebook very fluently. I made a few comments so naturally, he wanted to see the photos, I handed my iPhone over and as he scrolled through them, he went to the last photo I had sent my sister before those, which was me, wishing her a “Happy Birthday” through text using the Snap Chat giant-mouth-lips-eyes-filter+voice-changer. I just love how it conveys a completely mundane message with such pizazz! Of course, any message I’ve seen with this glorious filter I’ve laughed uncontrollably over.

My dad says when he gets to that on the text, “I see this lady all over Facebook!” Confused, I grabbed the phone from him, and laughed out loud for awhile. “Dad, that’s me. But that’s a SnapChat Filter.”, incredibly curious as to who on his Newsfeed is posting this. I love technology. I do.

Wouldn’t it be grand to have him auctioneer with that filter? I’m pretty sure it could go viral, without a doubt.

I also love 6th graders. Why you may ask? So, sure I elaborated on a kick-booty party based around Coachella about a month ago? Well, the girls were making a big deal out of the fact my sister is coming home this month, to live, and how she is “so cool”. I couldn’t wait to tell my sister about the adoration these kids had for her and because of that good attitude, I was blessed. They then added how most of the kids Reis’s age think I’m way young.

“Well, Girls, technically, I am young. I had Reis at age 19 which makes me one of the youngest Sixth Grade parents, for sure.”

Her friend blurted out, “No, no, no.. they think you're like 20.” 20, Tumblr. 20, Facebook. 20. Twenty Years Old. They may not be able to do Math or maybe it was an exaggeration but I will take it. Life is good.

I have to put a halt to the Electronicpalooza, here and now, wish me luck!

The Runaway + Park Entomology

I’m back. 2/2. This week has been up, it’s been down, it’s been around. I had some moments I’m not very proud of, but since I’ve already told my running buddies and a few friends, I might as well seem like a crazy person to the world wide web.

We all remember Elsa, from Frozen. Elsa and I have similar personality traits. First-born, “conceal, don’t feel”, then boom, LET IT GO. It’s a process and sometimes it’s all very frightening. I let things build and then I explode, but if I just let it go, I seem to handle things better and I don’t mean ‘let it go’ as in not saying anything and suppressing it, I mean vocally share my feelings, good or bad. I’m not a perfect person. But the good part is when I do hone in my talents I love to create and invent, for the greater good. Oh, the mind.

It started out to be a rocky week. It was my fault, I’m not gonna lie. I asked my husband to build a playhouse for the park project. He said no. So, we tried exploring other options of accomplishing that, but those didn’t pan out. So, on the brink of building it myself with another mom, (probably a disaster waiting to happen) my husband fell right into my trap, and he agreed to do it, on his terms, his plans, when he had time. I think he knew about the trap all along.

The drawing isn’t until Oct 28, so at the time, he thought he had plenty of time to get the job done and would work on it of at evening. Better yet, after we postponed the playground project groundbreaking, he thought he had even more time to build the house, over the winter when things slowed down. Yet, after a volunteer meeting, for our last fundraiser for the playground, a brilliant suggestion was made. Let’s reveal the playhouse at Apple Fest! I almost couldn’t ask him, I knew the answer would be no. After the meeting I went home, gauged his mood (which is usually really good), I could tell he was tense and stressed, but I blurted it out anyway, after a really long hug. Reluctantly and surprisingly, he agreed. Thinking it was nearly a month away. Reality: it was in two weeks.

This is where the resentment and stress set in and when I feel that, I know I’m in the doghouse. I pushed the limits of my incredibly selfless, giving husband just too far, and I knew it was not going to end without a fight.

I continued to “aide” him. But, I wasn’t much help, probably a bit more pushy and controlling than helpful. We were at the week of the festival, and it was a Tuesday, I sent him some photos of inspiration, which he may have felt were more perspiration (or sweat, from the pressure).

Finally, that evening, laying in bed, on my iPhone, which by the way - I’d vowed not to use right before bed anymore. I was feeling ignored, resented, and needing something to do, since he was busy with estimates for his actual job. I began reading his political threads on Facebook. A bit of jealousy and anger surged over my body, and I spoke, without thinking it through (this is normal for me), with the advicey-statement: “You know, you probably would be less stressed if you spent less time on Facebook, and more time working.”

I may as well have hit him upside the head with a frying pan (I guess that’s Rapunzel-style, more so than Elsa). He immediately retorted, “What are you talking about? I spend maybe a half hour on it a day.” Lies. I began counting and tallying time stamps, because I don’t like to be wrong and clearly, in my opinion, he was in denial.

Then I cut in, probably after minutes of adding (because I’m really not mathy), “22 times, within a day and we’re talking pecking-paragraphs, Honey. I’m no Mathematician, but that’s clearly more than 30 minutes.” I really enunciated that “clearly”.

It’s personal and heated now. His next comment offended me so much, I got up and began walking downstairs. He followed calmly, closely behind. I didn’t speak. I slipped on the closest and only pairs of shoes, near the door, and slipped out. He asked me where I was going, and I told him I needed fresh air.

Here I was at midnight, walking fearlessly down Fourth Street, in a tan colored tank top, no bra, paired with a pair of large gray and pink plaid, fleece capri pajama pants (and it was warm out there); tan golden-toed ballet flats (work shoes), my hair was still damp from a shower, and smashed from laying on a pillow, no makeup, but looking much like a crack whore with my eyeliner smeared under my eyes, and 4% on my iPhone’s battery.

I felt like a 31 year-old mother running away from home, yet it was less thought out than the 10 year-old me, or even the 17 year-old me (true story, but I used four garbage bags for all of my clothing, and I don’t think I made it out the door, too many materialistic objects I needed in 2004).

No, I didn’t create an ice storm in Covington, nor did I belt out “Let It Go”, and no way did I go near the woods, because I was obviously afraid of the dark, contrary to what you may think when I began this story.

My husband sent me a few messages telling me, calmly, to come back so we could communicate and talk things out. I ignored. I made my way down to the park. I know that place so well, from being there so often, running the trail almost daily, assessing it and living in the community for thirty years. I told myself I’d sit in a pavilion, think things over, calm myself down. Instead, I sat down on the edge of a picnic table, tense, and replayed the last sentence he said to me over and over, again, and naturally, became more furious.

Then being there maybe 30 seconds, I heard the rustling of leaves behind me and didn’t know if it was the wind or the stray cats I’ve seen in the park at night, I decided to move on. I walked now, like a total freak (don’t worry we’re both thinking this), to the tennis courts and sat on a bench. Again, I couldn’t relax because I literally couldn’t see but a few feet in front of me. This time I sat for maybe 7 minutes, just breathing and listening to the night sky. It was a beautiful night. An insect, I’d guess a Cicada but I’m not Entomologist, began a high pitched buzzing noise right behind me, and I knew for sure, at that moment, I was going to die in the city park that night.

I casually got up, and began walking, ever so quickly, back to my house. My husband was standing outside and embraced me when I returned. Trying to play the ‘tough and fearless card;, even though I was shaking in my golden-toed shoes, I told him I wasn’t back to chat, I was only there for the bathroom and a change of shoes. But we both knew that wasn’t true. Oh, Ego, how different our lives could be if you’d get your crap together.

After ten years of living together, you’d think we’d know each other well enough to avoid these tiffs but I think it’s the Gemini in me, poking at the crab, over and over, again.

Crazy Wife Tip #16 - You may want to reconsider your pajama-wardrobe.

Crazy Wife Tip #17 - You may want to back a runaway bag by the door; include make-up, a mini-flat iron; iPhone charger, and money.

I love my husband. Relationships, of any sort, are hard work. They do require communication. A lot of communication. Let me rephrase that, a lot of ‘EFFECTIVE COMMUNICATION’.

My husband and I are honestly a fantastic team. I did end up helping him on the little house. Sure, he doesn’t trust me with a saw, but he did trust me enough to paint which is a big step. I even put together a little bookshelf (we didn’t use because it was awful) but I feel like I could be a happy little builder if I was given some instruction. Like I said, I love to create.

Parenting Tip, #39 Social Media is your friend.

Say that with me, “Social Media is my friend.” Sure, I thought it was a tad bit crazy that my oldest daughter’s friends were adding me as a friend on Instagram when they were 10 years old, but then I figured out this was clearly an advantage point for Momma.

Snapchat may seem daunting and some days I wish they had a filter to fix my hair, too, but just do yourself a favor and download it. Add your child. See their location. See their story. You will learn so much. You will also find a way to inspire or humiliate them. Just yesterday, I added a “snap” (trendy word, I know), to “my story”, of my daughter’s filthy room “she cleaned”, after the four of her friends left the house. My caption, “Does this look clean to you?” Friends saw it, she saw it. Motivation in pure form.

As you may recall there are very few things that are no permitted in our home, those being Cocaine, Heroine, Marijuana, (I’m kidding)... Slime or any Slime-like materials including but not limited to Gak, Commercial or DIY (self-manufactured) Slime, Play-doh, Molding Clay, Gum, or any goopy substance that sticks to flooring, carpeting, bed linens, and hair; or any substances utilizing glue, contact solution, glitter, borax, without adult consent and supervision.

Molding Clay was just added because it’s “not slime” and they were using my food coloring to color it last week after purchasing it from the Dollar General Store. Apparently, after walking into my daughter’s room mid-morning and noticing a crap-like substance under her pillow (clearly molding clay or poop), the memo hasn’t been taken seriously.

So, my next “Story” may have to ask, “Poop or Clay? Asking for a friend, ”with a photograph of her bed linens. Parent for the win.

Another incriminating perk of Snapchat was when my daughter refused to wear a new crop sweatshirt she received for her birthday, to school. It was all rainbows and unicorns until she went to sixth grade this year, now it’s let’s take fabulous care of our hygiene (which is fantastic, I’m not complaining) wear some makeup, and have a social life. Unicorns are now for babies, except within the privacy of our own home. So, of course, Momma wore the “Unicorn Squad” crop-top sweatshirt this morning, to drop by Juli’s and to drop off the youngest two in the carline, and saved that to my story with the one-liner, “Hey Reis.”

Clearly, if your child is humiliated by the things you do, this would crush them, Reis doesn’t care. She truly doesn’t. Just as she didn’t care when my sister and I decided to sing “Hit Me Baby One More Time” to her, at her birthday party. She rolls with it. I love that about her.

If Monday had a hashtag, it could possibly be #manicmonday #murdermonday #makingmylifemiserablemonday - if Monday had a face it would be a mom of 31, with three children, in her Unicorn Squad, crop sweatshirt, no makeup, a snotty nose and raspy voice, cubs socks, and stretchy pants that were too tight, naturally frizzy hair that hadn’t been dried before bed, creating an 80′s throwback look, with a broken Bowflex, and 13 other tasks to complete before, hightailing it downtown to work. “A little bit classy, a little bit trashy” is my Mantra Monday, especially after completing the 6th overindulgent weekend, in a row, and knowing if I wore slacks to work, on my bicycle, they may rip out at any moment. So, I tossed on a LuLaRoe Dress, took a hair-tye and without googling how to tie it up, just wadded the corner in a fat wad, and went with it. Tossed on some stretchy shorts, because it’s probably highly inappropriate to wear a dress on a bike, anyway, tossed makeup on, ran the flat iron of my hair a few times, and boom, I’m ready to face the rest of this Monday, head on.

My husband spoke sound words to our son, this morning. Jude had his iPad propped up at the breakfast bar situated next to his plate of pancakes and bacon. “Dad, cut these up.”, as my son pushed the plate toward my husband, in the kitchen, still fixing eggs and hash browns. “Son, if you can navigate an iPad, you can cut up your own pancakes.” So much truth spoken at the breakfast table.

We all have days and weeks like this. But honestly, it can only go up from here. Bring it on, Monday morning. I’m ready.

Life Is a Party

The date is 24 September 2017. As far as I can tell, “There Was a Problem in Africa” was my last post, dating back to springtime, April-May of this year, leaving a large window of approximately four months of the sound of silence.

Until recently, because I honestly didn’t ever think about, I’ve learned I need to write because it’s therapeutic and when I don’t blog I almost feel guilty.... ok, I feel guilty for not putting my thoughts, words, and experiences to paper (even e-paper).

As I scroll through my digital notes, which I used to be almost religious about, noting little funny moments my children had or something I didn’t want to forget. For some reason my notebook (the real kind with a pen) isn’t used for that only my e-notebook, (I digress)... I notice there is a little note from May 12th of this year, that I may or may not have included on my last blog before I bowing out.

It was called “Pre-midlife Crisis”.

In April, my sweet little family and I went to St. Louis for Remi’s first, ever dance competition. We made this a mini-vacay and brought our honorary family member, Karma, of course, making six in our group. Remi did a beautiful job. She was glowing and dazzling on stage. She loved it so much she begged for me to allow her to do a solo this year, but private lessons are a lot more than a group class, so until she decides this is the only extracurricular she’d like to pursue, she’s a groupie.

We spent one afternoon while in St. Louis, at City Museum. We hadn’t been there in awhile. I’m not even sure Jude could walk very well when we’d gone in the past and I wasn’t thrilled over visiting the place, again. I could vaguely remember much about it except it was very dark, artsy, and I could lose my children easily because there were so many paths, tunnels, slides, leading to other rooms, crazy mirrors, and funky spaces. However, this go-around, all of my children were professional walkers and apparently climbers, jumpers, trapeze artists, sliders, and tight-rope-walkers, because they hit the elements full throttle, and my husband and I did, too. As I’d explained you could easily lose a child and I’m not exaggerating when I say hundreds of people were everywhere in that place. My perspective clearly changed, 180 degrees, and here I was bobbin’ and weavin’ in and out of some of the coolest pieces of scrap artwork, architecture, and miscellaneous junk, it’d ever witnessed, shoved together to make an “adult playground”. I was moving 80 MPH just like Remi and Karma were in front of me. Up and down and all around, inside tunnels, bruising up my 30 year-old knees, army crawling, and realizing I wasn’t claustrophobic (I need that word added to an adult spelling test. Thanks, Spellcheck.).

I was up high and I just managed to use my critical thinking skills to scoot my body across an old conveyor belt, one that looked much like the only way the Covington IGA would send your groceries in those large, numbered tubs out the door so you could pull up and put them in your vehicle. Cylinders of metal, when I first attempted to crawl across them, looking down approximately 25 feet through the cracks in an enclosed rectangle made of these, I figured out quickly this was wrong, because I was about to face plant into the metal rollers. So, I “very strategically” (probably more disgracefully than I’d planned) turned myself around and sat, using my arm strength, I began pulling my lower body across the rollers. This worked flawlessly. It was fun. I was excited about those critical thinking skills, my eleven year-old daughter followed, her friend and sister had already crossed but were stopped because a boy, of about eight or nine years old was coming up in the opposite direction.

This boy was probably below average for height and weight, agile, and as he shimmied up and saw me, he quickly commented, “ Um.. you may want to turn around, it’s a tight squeeze.” I looked behind me to see who he was talking to, clearly it was me, the only adult up here. Reis, heard him, and quickly, turned around and let herself out of the predicament. She wasn’t going to take the risk. As the boy, squeezed by me, Remi and Karma both start down the tunnel. Karma first, to assist Remi because there was a big step at the bottom, and then I look down to assess the situation. I told the girls to wait on me and to locate Reis if they could, just stay together. Sure enough, the space was maybe two and a half feet wide, four feet long, with a big drop at the bottom.

Challenge accepted, scrawny kid who thinks I’m too big to squeeze down the little tunnel. One of two things were about to happen. 1. I was going to be boasting about my accomplishment or 2. Security would be called and I would be extracted from the museum tunnel.

At the bottom, Karma, yelled up, “He’s right, Amanda, it’s pretty tight.” It was too late, my mind was already made up and I guess my personality type motto says, “If you think I can’t, you’re probably gonna get told.”

It was pretty tight, and halfway through that small space, I decided to go head first, as opposed to feet first, I almost hyperventilated but it only lasted about 5 seconds and I was out and I was feeling fierce, brave, and unstoppable.

That day left my left and right knee with about 13 bruises, a piece. It was no joke they sold knee pads in the gift shop. Also, Karma conquered her fear of heights, in fact, I think everyone did as we scaled to the rooftop, hung out in a plane daggling on the edge of a 13 story-building, and the girls took a trip on the rooftop Ferris Wheel overlooking the city. This place was a child’s (and adult’s) dream, for the adventurers at heart.

Next dream, I begged my family to go to IKEA. Everyone declined. No one likes to shop except for maybe Reis, but they don’t have clothing at IKEA. However, minds were changed the next morning when we were leaving the big city and my husband said to me, “For you, honey, we’ll stop by IKEA. But let’s make it quick and we’re not buying anything.”

Our quick IKEA trip was 4 hours long and $112.

Why? Well, I’ll tell you why. As we walked into this pristine, white minimalistically-designed store, and used the escalator, we were greeted by an incredibly-qualified (not like your typical Walmart Greeter) Greeter,

“Hej! Welcome to IKEA. Have you shopped with us before?” Clearly, online yes. Yes, x10 but in an actual IKEA store, no. There wasn’t one close enough and everytime we were in a city with an IKEA we already had a full itinerary.

The qualified-greeter said, if we visited the kiosk at the top of the escalator we could become an “IKEA FAMILY” and then we could enjoy 30 additional minutes in Smaland for these two (with his hands over Remi and Jude’s heads), and we could take advantage of all-you-can-eat for lunch, for FREE, as long as your purchase was $100.

That sounded pretty great. Normally, for six people plus a tip we’re spending nearly that anyway, so we decided to check the upstairs out, first. However, we wanted an explaination of Smaland.

As we stood peering into huge plexiglass windows that bordered an entire area, we saw sweet children sitting up on little seats and beanbags watching “Frozen”, on the lower level there was a ball pit, and a tree shaped slide that led into the pit. There were other minimalistic toys and games the children behind the glass were enjoying and Remi and Jude both stood there in awe, but weren’t ready to give this a try. Nor were we, at parents. I was almost offended at the fact they’d think I’d leave my children, a new six year-old, and a seven year old, to play while strangers babysat them for an additional 30 minutes, equating an hour, while I shopped. The oldest two were too tall for Smaland so they couldn’t go in. Appalled, we began our journey through the staged-floor of IKEA. Viewing rooms of every kind, even small housing units or apartments of only a few hundred square feet, that utilized every inch of space in a clean, sleek, modern look. The children loved trying out every chair, seat, the drawing kiosks and toys, strategically placed around the store that must’ve been 50,000 sq. ft. at minimum. By the time, we’d reached where you can pick up items you see in the staged-area, Remi and Jude were begging to go to Smaland, so we took the ginormous elevator (to fit your kids, carts, and everything) downstairs, and inquired one more time.

They explained how it worked and handed us a buzzer, similar to one you receive at a restaurant when your table is ready. “If you child or children need you, we’ll buzz you to come to check on them.” Are you flipping serious? Wow. I was over my initial shock. I was a believer. Allen said he’d hang out on that level, and peep through the window. He did just that they were 100% loving life, never wanting to leave Smaland while I shopped with the older girls, and spent our $100 to get free Swedish Meatballs, dessert, and anything we wanted to try.

This experience was like a vacation, I tell you. IKEA is a vacation and if more stores babysat your children while you shopped, they’d probably be as busy as IKEA. That is if they dropped their prices, too, and had ridiculously good food to eat, never mind, it’s in a market of it’s own.

I hope this helps you make the decision to visit IKEA in Fishers this October. No, I’m not paid by IKEA to give their store a rave review or mad props. I just hope this clears up anyone questioning my motives when I posted, “Who’s camping with me?!” regarding the opening to stand in line, two days before the doors open at the new IKEA near Indianapolis. Because they give away free stuff, that’s why. Dining table and chairs, couches -- completely FREE. That’s why, friends. Ask yourself, “Why Not?”

Fast forward --- Our son, Jude, finally played baseball. He loves it. Allen loves it. It was a great experience. He also can swim in the deep end after acing his swim test plus he can dive. What a progressive summer for my little buddy! Remi turned eight and was baptized. She ended an amazing first grade year and is now in second grade, loving it. Reis had a great fifth grade and elementary school career, ending with being one of only three in her entire grade to achieve all A’s. I’m beyond proud of that girl, but honestly she places the pressure on herself. So, kudos to self-motivation.

Briefly back to Remi, have you ever seen those coupon booklets? Some people gift those like “Good for a FREE Backrub” something nice like a hug. Usually, these booklets are DIY for Valentine’s Day or Mother’s Day. If you’re clueless, they’re little mini-contracts where the giver offers a service to the receiver.

Well, before school began one morning, Remi handed me a coupon she’d made herself. I was astonished because Remi is the least affectionate one of the three children. Sure, she’s made my husband and I drawings and pictures and they’re fabulous, but this was a coupon as in she was going to do something for me. I didn’t even read it I hugged her, and used my “crazy mom voice” -- you know the one that’s high-pitched almost like you’re talking to your pet voice. About how much it meant to me, then she said, “Read what it says, Mom.”

I was so excited, with a huge smile on my face I started to read it in her very neat, left-handed, second-grade print, “A Coupon To Clean My Room”. Immediately, my smile faded. Wait. What? “A coupon for me to clean your room?” Remi, smiled, “Yes, that’s right, Mom. You should use it today.”

She then handed my husband a coupon for a hug and I was almost bitter. I tried explaining that’s not how this kind of couponing works. If that were the case, I would give her one that explained a coupon to clean her room for her. She knew she was witty and off she skipped to the door to load up in the truck, to be dropped off at school. I’m sure my face was still a look of confusion.

This child is always testing my limits, in her own way. Just like when were removing wallpaper from my mother’s dining room a few months ago. I assertively told her if she was going to stand on a ladder, she didn’t need to hop (more like a leap) from ladder to ladder, it wasn’t safe, especially being 5 feet in the air. She flipped her head around and said, “Mom, stop living in fear.”

I blame my husband for that comment. I blame him very much so, because now when our children do something that is dangerous and believe me we aren’t on them over being “dangerous” much, only when it needs to be stated, they’re going to think I’m being ridiculous. He says, “Stop living in fear.” continuously, and as evidenced by the snicker Remi gave after her comment, she’s using it.

Photos from adventures can be viewed here: https://www.instagram.com/mandimormon/

Another note I made from July reads, as follows:

Mondays can be hard.

Everything cleaned. Everything cleaned. I organized everything in the entire house. Everything. Except upstairs, on a large rug there was a light saber (yes, a plastic toy light saber). This light saber was probably the only thing out in the entire house and guess what? I walked by it (or I was attempting to do so) and I stubbed my toe on the darn thing. The one thing that was out tried to kill me.

On July 11th, Jude found my Mother’s Day Card he’d lost, it was tucked into the side of the couch. I guess that indicates we should clean out the couch cushions, it’s been long enough.

My husband and I made a Cornhole Training Video, viewable on YouTube. Yes, it was a joke. Yes, it’s pathetic. Yes, you can see it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BFx6XIXjxt0

A family was over visiting and their daughter was watching it. The only thing she commented the entire time was, “Wow! You can do a cartwheel!”

Is there an age limit on cartwheels?

Apparently, there’s a weight limit on Hover Boards. I was at the park with my family and I was walking over to the vehicle after a ballgame. A little boy came up on his hover board and we may small talk. I knew this child from substituting his class a few times. He then asked me if I’d like to try his hover board. As he went to hand it to me he said, “Wait a minute, do you weigh over 300 lbs?”

To a small child, I may look 300 lbs but talk about taking a shot to the self-esteem. I wanted to grab his hover board and break it in half over my knee, then go buy a gallon of ice cream and eat it all.

My oldest daughter is now a middle-schooler. She’s 12. I remember being 12 like yesterday. She is cheerleading. She made Student Council. She is now “going out” with the boyfriend of her dreams. She even got an iPhone for her birthday and a couple hundred dollars in cash. For the past few weeks, we haven’t seen much of her - friends, phone, cash, she’s pretty self-sufficient. It’s crazy and I think the stress I used to experience when the kids were younger were over rather trivial issues. Now, these older experience are like “Whattttt?”

Just last week, maybe two weeks ago, she came to visit me as I was designing something on my computer at the dining room table. I stopped to talk to she and two of her friends. The information they told me was very serious. My eyes probably got very large and I said to them, “You should tell an adult.”

With only slight hesitation and their giggles prompting another response as if they thought I was joking, I asked them what they should do? They then said that’s why they were telling me because they didn’t know what to do. Then I told them they needed to notify their counselor at the school so she could keep an eye out. Holy cow. Sometimes I don’t feel like I’m mature enough to handle the problems tweens and teens are facing today. It just came so fast. It catches you completely off guard. One minute they’re learning how to walk or ride a bicycle, how to spell, or read sight-words, then they’re hanging out at Juli’s Java, walking the streets of town, liking boys, and making decisions that could impact their future. Parenthood is intense.

We threw a big shindig for Reis’s Birthday and her friend, Tyra. We called it Tyreischella. (A knock-off of Coachella). I had approximately 3 hours of Pinteresearch into this party and I loved every moment of it. Kids this age were totally the life of the party, they sang and danced, and went (very controllably) wild. Karaoke with DJ Ed, a superb bartender, Christy, fixing delightful Mocktails, and giving the children wise counsel, feathers, braiding, an over night slumber party of 12 additional girls, VIP Lounge. It was a tweenage dream. I love throwing parties so, my husband and I worked diligently on this.

Lately, while wading through a pool of activities including going into the office a few times a week, substitute teaching, doing some graphic design, planning events, and a slew of extracurricular activities my children are involved in, I've found myself loving my personally-scheduled time, where I run, I lift, I shower (or do a runner’s shower, where I blow-dry the sweat into my hair), and I bicycle downtown for a drink a Juli’s, and head into the office, sometimes I chat out in the sunshine on the square. As I load up my #otcovington canvas bag with all of my essentials, and hop of my bike I hum the tune to Vanessa Carlton’s “1000 Miles”. If you’re not familiar, “Making my way downtown..” that’s probably the only applicable line. It feels like I have sunshine in my pocket (J. Timberlake).

Other days, I’m a hot mess riding a crazy train, makeup-less, mopping my floors, and stepping on Legos. I used to meticulously pick Legos out of my dustpan, rinse them, and put them into a Lego tote. Guess what? I recycle them now.(insert evil laugh here).

Happy Sunday!

#family #parenthood #coachchellaparty #tweens #adults #experiences #citymuseum #ikea

“There Was a Problem in Africa.”

*Ninjago Birthday How-to (below)

I lied. I lied and I have to admit it. The last time I wrote a blog, I lied.

Sure, I didn’t realize I was lying. I guess it’s like addiction to something and being in super denial. Remember? I went off on a crazy tangent of being busy and having a bunch of lists. In conclusion of that, I mentioned a bunch of crap about living life presently, throwing out the lists and stressing less.

The lie is - I can’t live without lists. Lists complete me. Lists make me feel like (regardless of reality) I’m in control and I have a plan in action. There. I admitted it.

It’s been an Adventurous April full of busyness and fun. The rest of the summer is looking quite productive, too. How about kicking off with a Top 10 List (in order of occurrence) to initiate a blog, all of the things we’ve experienced this month (maybe more, but I didn’t write so I’ve forgotten) and how about one word to best describe each experience?

1. General Conference – Inspirational

2. Pennies for the Park – Motivational

3. Time Out for Women – Edifying

4. Lip Sync Battle – Spirited

5. Piano Recital – Proud

6. Passover Dinner – Insightful

7. Easter – Love

8. Jude’s Birthday – Happiness

9. Subbing & Field Tripping – Educational

10. Jude’s Ninjago Party – Energetic

Don’t worry. I got photos. I’m thrilled to share.

5. Piano Recital – I describe as proud because I am so proud of my girls. It takes a lot of courage to get up there and perform in front of an audience. This was Remi’s first piano recital. She’s also Mr. Thompson’s youngest student because he likes to wait until 2nd grade to start kiddos, when they have a better concept of reading, and possibly because they’re more committed to practicing. Remi loves piano and she was super inspired by an older student singing and playing the piano, at conclusion of the recital. She is aspires to do the same. This recital was Reis’s third one. She’s started second semester, her first year. She enjoys it, also, she wants to stick with it to avoid playing a musical instrument in the band. I don’t know if we have a deal, but I’m thinking about making a compromise with her. If she continues piano and runs cross country, we’ll call it even. ;-D

2 6, 9 Medley - This was my FB update on Holy Week >> This week, our family has (ok.. maybe I have) selected activities to focus on the Holy Week and our Savior. For Family Home Evening tonight, we choose to do a Passover Dinner. The symbolism and meaning behind each element of the dinner was enlightening and fascinating (World Religions are intriguing to me).

The obedience and sacrifice of those faithfully practicing is admirable. Christ, we know, partook of a Passover Dinner as the Last Supper. It was interesting to try those foods and pray in a particular manner, as well, wash, sing, and drink juice. Each item on our Seder (say-der) Plate (meaning 'order') had symbolism from Exodus, when the Israelites were freed of bondage from Pharaoh.

Several sites had mixed beliefs about what the egg represented. Some say it's a sign of Spring. Others say it represented the people becoming stronger under the extreme conditions.Our Matzah was broken and passed at the table, it's a flat cracker-like "bread". It was said it didn't have time to rise as the people fled. It was also a sign of a poor man's bread. A piece was broken, wrapped in cloth, and hidden for the children to later find. The seeker then was often rewarded with a toy or candy. Perhaps the beginning of Easter Egg Hunting? Only a speculation. I wasn't aware of just how diligent some treat the Passover.

Did you know some clean or should I say sanitize their homes even with q-tips or toothpicks to remove all leavened bread? Some even dispose of dishes or utensils to make these Chavetz (bread, cereal, cake, grains). They will not feed it to their cattle nor pets during this 7-8 day Passover period. (I'm sure those practicing this religion can probably sympathize with a gluten-free life.)So we've brushed up on our Jewish Culinary Skills as well as our terminology. I think It's safe to say we have a new family tradition.

Pennies for the Park was a two-week campaign

Time Out for Women was incredible. I learned so much or maybe realized so much. With the message of enduring and having faith, speakers spoke of their own struggles, stories, and examples. One I loved was about internalizing what we learn and grace. He mentioned how it would be so simple if it in the moment we wanted something, it magically appeared, like *Poof* like Harry Potter. I want to by skinny. *poof* or I want to fluently speak Spanish *poof* Change without challenge isn’t change. Internalizing is a learning process. It’s through the learning process we learn. I’m not sure anyone remembers the exact day they learned the alphabet or the pledge of allegiance because it took a lot of days or weeks or practices to finally get it. Repetition. Remember my story about the prepositions? Just like that. It took a long time, therefore it was stored in my memory forever.

What about music? My kids were floored, I think I mentioned, when I could sing along with the Trolls movie while we were watching it in the theater. It’s because I knew those songs (they were remakes). I have a library of music in my brain, just hanging out. Yet, it was challenging to learn the veins and arteries in the human body and identify them in a cadaver during Anatomy and Physiology II in college. (I always say that was because the human body isn’t color coded like a health textbook.) Guess how many arteries and veins I remember? Maybe four. Short-term memory is different than long-term, or things we internalize.

Wilcox said our Heavenly Father can instantly prepare a mansion for us, but we won’t be prepared instantly for one. We can’t cram for final judgement or the test of life. It takes time. The learning process is just as important as the end results.

I just love that

Apparently, it was longer than I guessed on last blog date.

After lots of hard work, learning the Thriller (Michael Jackson) choreography as a youth group, we performed at the Lip Sync Battle and took home the trophy. These boys and girls worked hard practice after practice and it showed!

I am personally thankful for YouTube, the Salvation Army, and all of our Brothers and Sisters that helped us through this process. YouTube has an amazing tutorial by Funk Mode that can teach you, step-by-step, that energetic Zombie routine. The Danville Salvation Army had a 25 cent sale on the first Saturday of April. I hustled over so I could get back before Conference started. Remi and I picked out anything we saw that would work, black pants, white tops, to create our Zombie costumes. So, I spent $10.75 for 43 articles of clothing. Those pieces were didn’t butcher were donated back. With the chosen pieces, and help from YouTube, we took a steak knife to shred and fray and dye (in spray bottles) to add our bloody, sweat, and grime. Cocoa powder (from the kitchen cabinet) for dirt and voila! TJ was our Michael Jackson with the authentic costume from the music video. I saved our costumes for Halloween, too. I couldn’t trash them.Make-up and hair by our own personal design team. Sister Julian, our sister missionaries, and Sister Heath (who did the authentic wounds). They are oh SO talented. This was probably the best event ever. Who doesn’t love Thriller?

Our son turned six. My baby. The blog title, as you may have wondered was another classic Jude quote. I didn’t laugh even though inside I was dying. On Friday, around 6:45 a.m. I saw the school’s number show up on my cell phone. I wasn’t out of bed yet, but I tried clearing my throat to sound awake. It didn’t work. I sounded like an 80 year-old binge smoker. Still, I accepted the invitation to sub and surprisingly when I showed up, I realized within the half hour I’d be attending a field trip. It was about safety and I didn’t realize how much these nine year-olds needed this until one little boy came up to me and explained how he’d answered a question about ATV safety with a particular answer because his dad taught him how to drive an ATV without safety gear. He explained you go slow and take corners slowly. Oh dear.

I was expecting my youngest son to go on a field trip that day, too. But when he and his buddy came into my classroom after school he said they didn’t go. I was confused and asked why not? His response, “There was a problem in Africa.”You may be confused as to why a problem in Africa would eliminate a field trip in Indiana. Or maybe you’re questioning where he was going. He meant “Attica”. They were going to see a movie in Attica, but apparently a citizen there had been building bombs. I’m so thankful our school corporation is on top of the happenings in this area and puts students #1 when it comes to safety.

Another hilarious (to me) conversation we had was during our drive to a birthday party, we were late for, this weekend. I was chatting with him about another buddy of his and telling him his father was a cop. Jude was fascinated with this. He told me that’s why his other buddy loved cops and wanted to be one. I then said I think he may also work at the prison. Maybe I should’ve said correctional facility, but Jude latched right on with continued fascination. His response was, “Wow… that’s cool. Can we take a field trip to the prison?”

Inside, I died. I could only imagine a kindergarten field trip to the prison, “Here children, this is what happens when you don’t listen to your teachers.” or “Here’s another option of a life choice.” (Sidebar – I’m kidding, that’s very light-hearted and not meant to be judgmental)Instead I answered Jude by saying, “Maybe you should ask your teacher about doing that.” That should be an interesting conversation with my son, whose favorite color is orange.

You should probably take this moment to feel sympathy for my husband regarding the invention of Pinterest. Have I mentioned I have a Doctorate in Pinterest Research?

Here’s my Asian dining table, my husband constructed for. Surrounded by this I found an amazing steal on silky pillow cases at Dollar Tree (Yes, $1 each). However, I only had about 7 pillows, I borrowed 5 from my mother. Since I needed approximately 9 more, I began stuffing blankets and stuffed animals in the remaining pillow cases to finish my seating.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve always wanted to eat dinner at a low-floor table. I mean all my life, I thought it would be the coolest thing ever. So, I made my dream come true, vicariously.

Speaking of vicariously, or not-so-vicariously, did you notice my husband? Sensei Allen. As a child he wanted a Ninja Party. In Jude’s case, when you’re young, daddy has mad-tool-skills, you want a NInjago party, and your mom has her Doctorate in Pinterest Research, you get a fun, entertaining ninja training course party to become Masters of Spinjitzu.

If you’re local, the cake and cookies were inspired by Pinterest and made by Cookie Grandma (Attica) or should I say Africa? She’s on Facebook and her prices cannot be beat!

Ninjas had to breakdown a block wall (since this is a Lego thing), to pass off one of their areas of training. These are simply boxes, I hadn’t recycled, wrapped in Dollar Tree kraft paper.

I created this on our way home from Conner Prairie during the first week of Spring Break. But I’m not giving myself all of the credit, it’s a spin-off of multiple ideas on Pinterest.

My husband crafted these swords. The Elders tried to convince him to place a thin strip of PVC through the center, but he insisted moms would be mad if the swords could cause real injury. This sweet Elder remembered from his youth how to make Ninja Stars. He probably regrets remembering because I sent him home with 30 pieces of card stock the day before the party to make 30 of them. The little boys and girls LOVED knocking down crepe-paper wrapped toilet paper and paper towel rolls using their Ninja Stars. It also was part of their training.

Sensei says (a knock-off of Simon Says) with Sensei Allen.

The opening of gifts. This was complete chaos so I only know from Jude’s recollection what came from where, but he was elated by all he received and was super happy. Notice the shirts. You may have been thinking wow, that’s over the top and expensive. Actually, it was cheap and a great alternative to a goody bag. These t-shirts came from Dollar Tree, that’s right, $1 Youth t-shirts. I used printable, iron-on sheets from Hobby Lobby to print and iron on the Ninjago eyes. Sure, the quality isn’t amazing and after a few washes they make begin to fade or peel but that’s a fabulous play shirt and for the party, it was perfect. Those party favors cost less than $2.00 each! That’s a win in my book.

Same with the personalized Ninja headbands. This idea was cute but it was genius when the kids arrived and things got crazy. Every kid had a name tag. We didn’t have to be like “Hey You!” or “Little Boy!” we called each child by their name because it was plastered across their forehead. I highly recommend this, parents.

Again, something fun and affordable. I purchased 3 yards of white fabric from Hobby Lobby (with the 40% coupon) and ironed on the names printed, using the free font called “Karate”.

Jude, is breaking the wood (Balsa Wood which is more foam than wood) - this was the last test to become Masters of Spinjitzu. Then they earned their ninja swords for a battle with Sensei. Which was comical when he took every kid on at the same time.

After each child went through the course, it was basically a free-for-all.

Happy Birthday! We had cake, cookies, ice cream, and some authentic chinese food like rice, wontons, and spring rolls. All of the kiddos had chop sticks but they preferred using those like drum sticks. We also had a spread of fruits and veggies, and cheese. I printed the Ninja eyes from Pinterest, free. I got most of our paper products at Dollar Tree, including the disposable table covering. Lucky Bamboo came from Meijer for only $1.75 each. I told my husband they were going to be so lucky it would be a dry, beautiful Saturday. (Since cold rain was in the forecast). Guess what? We got lucky! It was beautiful!

Before the Sensei, Master Teacher Battle.

That’s how you throw an Ultimate Ninjago-themed Birthday Party! I give you these pointers, because if you haven’t watched Lego Batman, you may not have seen the preview for Lego Ninjago the Movie that’s coming out this fall. It’s going to be BIG, my friends. Prepare yourselves. Your sons will request this.

Running with Reis, my dream has come true! Seriously, this girl wants to train for her mile run in a couple of weeks. This makes me SUPER happy!!

FHE on the Lawn. Using our Asian-inpsired table. BYOP (Bring Your Own Pillow) or in this case, we used our tire tubes from the party.

Dr. Remi, the Vet. She loved typing at this computer and giving orders to her peers at the Terre Haute Children’s Museum. This place was amazing!

Competition is this weekend. Full dress, makeup rehearsal this past week. Remi loves ballet and Miss Faye.

I always try to catch her leap. I should hold it down but I keep forgetting. This was on the way down. She amazes me.

Gram is renovating, and this is one of her helpers!

I think that’s it, in a nutshell that only took a couple of hours to put together.

May the lists be ever in your favor. As I hope making them will simplify recollection for my blog posts. Have a great week (I hope it’s only a week) or month!

#lds #ninjagoparty #ninjago #ninjas #mommyblog #mormon #lipsyncbattle #thriller #lists #listmaker #family #children #life

5 To-Do Lists, You Can’t Live Without

Where have I been? Well, blogging world, I’ll tell you where I’ve been… not here. Not here because a few shorts week ago, I acquired an adorable little notebook. In my handy dandy notebook (yes, I’ve used this Blue’s Clues reference half a dozen times, *yawn*) I make to-do lists. Plural. I’m absolutely obsessed with to-do lists. I like the sense of accomplishment you get from placing a check-mark on the paper next to the job completed. If I’m having a good day, I’ll even put a circle around that check-mark. If my day isn’t as positive, I will scribble the words out on the line ferociously, while scrunching up my nose.

I had read once to avoid becoming overwhelmed or stressed, your to-do list should consist of three things. Then after accomplishing those three things, make a new list of just three things. Homie don’t play that game. Homie is an overachiever.

At the beginning of the week, I had roughly 32 items on my “priority to-do list” and if you’re wondering why I’ve coined this a thing it’s because those items have to be done, there’s not waiting until the last minute, I need to rock them out. Sometimes I’ll create an “Advanced Planning to-do List” and I’ll jump around and give myself a window of completion. Procrastination eats me alive. I’m not saying I never procrastinate, I do, A LOT. I’m just saying it’s unnatural for me to procrastinate without having that feeling you get that’s kind of like impending doom.

Oh, allow me to add, on my beautifully printed “priority to-do list” I added a small box in my right column and added the header, “ALLEN” to it. That’s my husband’s name. I created him a priority list, too, so he didn’t feel left out, of course. I will blame it on the fact he told me he wouldn’t buy me a saw. He doesn’t trust me with one. But I always have this puffed up, I-can-take-on-the-world-feeling when I leave Hobby Lobby, so I requested one. My request was denied.

Blogging has fallen off of my Sunday Priority List, even considering Sunday is my “day of rest” that I usually do a bare minimum if anything. My computer has changed the method in which it uploads my camera roll, now, too. So, the ease no longer exists. Instead it throws all of my photos onto the date they were captured and since I can’t remember was happened 24 minutes ago, I’m not having much luck remembering what happened almost three weeks ago.

I do, however, have one little note in my iPhone. It reads:

Before my oldest daughter, Reis, tells everyone (that would be her fifth grade class and “squad”…. A tennis instructor, piano teacher, grandmother, Sunday School Teacher, church friends, the mail lady, anyone who happens to be near her at the moment of remembrance) about me. Yes, me.. her mother, the idiot. I thought I would beat her to the punch. (But I didn’t.)

I still have my prepositions memorized. Yes, I can basically rap or auctioneer those darn words, at lightning speed. Over the week of the 15th, I had a great time helping my fifth grader out with memorizing those words, impressing myself mostly, due to my impeccable memorization skills.

One evening, immediately after studying, just before saying our family prayer together, I was still jotting things down in my handy-dandy notebook, and as I was doing this I reiterated the fact I still had these words memorized from 7th Grade, Mrs. Smith’s class. Then, I tried doing the math.

On the bottom of the page, I scribbled out to the side 2017 minus 1999 jotted my answer down and said to her, without the slightest hesitation, I blurted, “See! 28 years ago.”

Instantly, from across the hallway in my other daughter’s room I hear, “Wow. You really can’t do Math. Can you?” (That was my husband, obviously eavesdropping on my conversation with my oldest daughter.)

Reis began laughing uncontrollably (seriously), “Yeah, Mom! 28 years ago you were two. Did you memorize them then?” The laughter continued.

I’m pretty sure I stared at her like that emoji with the line straight across, eyes open. :- |

“I meant 18.” I said with a little bit of attitude because no one likes to be picked on. Am I right? Still, no one in my household cared and they cared even less that I still had in my memory bank from 18 years ago, every darn one of those prepositions. They only cared that I couldn’t subtract.

After the laughter began to die down, Reis asked me to remove my paper from my notebook. I ripped it out and handed it to her. She carefully folded the paper in half and put it into her messenger bag. “I’m taking this to school tomorrow to prove how horrible you are at Math.”

It may be 12:59 a.m. and I’m writing a blog in the first hour of Wednesday, but let’s face it, with my to-do lists, and our two-week Spring Break, I haven’t had a lot of extra free or me time. I hear from a lot of strangers, “Two weeks for Spring Break? Wow, that must be nice!”

Ummm…..

I love my children, I love them to the moon and back. I would do anything for my children. I like to support them in all of their endeavors and be there for them as their cheerleader. I love to have teaching moments with them and observe them. Each of them are so different and unique but I love them all with my whole heart.

However, a two-week Spring Break without any real travel plans and with Mother Nature’s temperament has been a challenge, to say the least. Sure, if you’re sitting on a beach somewhere south of here where it’s 20 degrees + warmer with your children, I’m sure that sunshine is adding a sparkle to your day. The sun did not even come out today, not once, and yesterday it came out for a millisecond.

Our schedule is just off. It’s off because if we begin getting something together, (which believe it or not with only 5 days left of the 13 day break, we are… finally) it will be back to school, again.

The first day or two, our youngest two did about 16 laps in 3 minute around the couch and bar. Did I mention Jude had his “ninja stick” in his hand? Yep. I didn’t know who’s eye was gonna get it that day. Remi? Jude? Mine? Who knew?

Productivity was what was needed to keep our house in order. I don’t mean watching six hours non-stop of Stampy Cat on YouTubeKids. If you have younger kids you may know exactly what I’m talking about. The obnoxious laugh? The Minecraft tutorial? This wasn’t an option for me in my childhood. The closest thing to that I had was when I was in upper elementary and it was called a Giga Pet I got from KB Toys, ironically on the Village Mall where the Humane Society sets up shop, now. My Giga Pet died all of the time, if it lived longer than a day, it was a miracle from above.

This past weekend, we did a little inventory magic. In Remi’s bedroom sits my 3 foot tall Barbie doll house from when I was younger. Inside of this house and a canvas hamper specifically for toys, were Barbies. Lots and lots of Barbies. I told both girls, they were to remove all of the dolls, and figure out which ones they didn’t play with or would like to donate. Then they were to count the dolls, and select 20 of their favorites to keep out. The rest would be stored inside a tote and they could change them out, during the year. Lo and beyond, the girls counted 62 Barbies (not even including the baby or Kelly-sized dolls). 62. We aren’t excessive buyers. You have to believe me when I tell you that.

They’ve acquired several as gifts and even more from my mother. She allowed the girls to take home dolls that were mine when I was a little girl. I loved my dolls and played with them for hours and hours, probably because Stampy Cat wasn’t an option, like I said. My sister and I each had our own doll house in our basement, and I remember plugging in my AM/FM Radio / Alarm / CD Player, and they would have dance competitions. I usually would have them perform to “Movie Luv”. I have a feeling anyone reading this will enjoy this playlist from Movie Luv:

1. (I've Had) The Time Of My Life (Dirty Dancing) - Bill Medley And Jennifer Warnes

2. A Whole New World (Aladdin's Theme) (Aladdin) - Peabo Bryson And Regina Belle

3. Take My Breath Away (Top Gun) - Berlin

4. Colors Of The Wind (Pocahontas) - Vanessa Williams

5. I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) {Benny And Joon} - The Proclaimers

6. I'd Die Without You (Boomerang) - P.M. Dawn

7. Gangsta's Paradise (Dangerous Minds) - Coolio

8. Stay (I Missed You) (Reality Bites) - Lisa Loeb And Nine Stories

9. Unchained Melody (Ghost) - The Righteous Brothers

10. It Must Have Been Love (Pretty Woman) - Roxette

11. I Don't Wanna Fight (What's Love Got To Do With..) - Tina Turner

12. Can You Feel The Love Tonight (The Lion King) - Elton John

This was actually one of the first CD’s I ever owned. I remember going to a slumber party and listening to LeeAnn Rimes “Blue” and Spice Girls “Wannabe” and I begged my parents for a CD player. I needed this kind of music in my life. I even remember staring at the square compact disc case wrapped in plastic, after shopping at Hills. Life was grand. I was probably close to Reis’s age, at that time. The closest thing I had to an iPhone or iPod was Dream Phone, the board game, with the hot pink “Night at the Roxbury” style phone.

I will refrain from doing the math to tell you exactly how long ago that was. But, in 2017, my daughters, Reis and Remi decided to each select 10 dolls to equal the 20 keepers. They had no problems whatsoever with parting, temporarily with the other dolls. This made a world of difference in decluttering, too. I highly recommend it, girlmoms. Out of the organizational patterns in my brain, I kept receiving the same prompting over and over, again, to designate a specific number of hangers for their closets, too. X # of hangers for pants, and X # of hangers for tops, so then it would force minimalism upon them. But I decided, slowly… very slowly. Plus, their closets don’t even look bad, at the moment. I think it’s because they panicked when it was super warm once or twice in February and packed up their winter clothing and drug out all of their summer things. Summer apparel has much less material than winter.

Anyway, along with this purging/de-cluttering effort, I went to the local hardware store and grabbed every paint sample I could see with colors I was drawn to. In that same afternoon, (this was the afternoon on their last day of school before Spring Break) I choose colors for my living room, dining room, bathroom, hall, and stairwell. I also picked up some prepping items and paint supplies.

My husband is incredibly particular about prep work. I am not. That may seem contradictory since I’m a list person, but wall painting is one thing I’ve never been a perfectionist about, at least until this day. My sweet, incredibly particular about prep work husband had pulled his back out on Sunday, the day before this day. Therefore, if I wanted the paint done in a lickity-split kind of way, I needed to help as much as I could. Naturally, when he gets injured I will give him the commission to do something hard to challenge his skills. That’s exactly how it went down. He pulled his back out and I said it looks like a great time to paint the entire house. It’s honestly strategic, believe me. He began to one-time (or spackle) the divots and holes in the drywall. One word, “countless”. Let’s see, we moved into this home in 2013, I believe. You know the drill, you do the math. In 2013 my children were even younger - sticks and stones and brooms and nails driven by mini-hammers, you name it, it’s been repelled or slammed against our drywall. After my husband and I had finished spackling, our son, Jude, said, “It looks like the walls have polka dots or the pox. Are we leaving them that way?”

I picked up some cheap sandpaper at Dollar General, but didn’t really work on it much until the next day. But as I did the first two spots and they were ehhh.. so-so, with that sandpaper. My husband came waltzing through the front door with a miracle. They call it, “a sander”. Maybe to you it’s ridiculous I didn’t know what one was or had never thought about using one, but to me this was one of those “Aha!” moments. My husband advised me to cease using the sandpaper sheets, and to use this tool. At first, I asked him if I could potentially chop my fingers off. He assured me I couldn’t but to keep it flat. He showed me and handed it over. I fell in love. He left, again, but when he returned, I showed him what a great job I did and even in the places we hadn’t spackled that felt mildly uneven or bumpy, I hit those, too. This tool was the most amazing thing and my walls were almost new (without the new paint). I told him I was so good at it that he could hire me. We’d be a local-brand of Fixer Upper. I added that I could only use this tool though, because that’s where my talent lies, and I don’t really feel like I’d enjoy working a full eight-hour day, but if he needed the image, I was in and could probably put in a solid 1-3 hours, depending on whether or not it was running season.

I did get a stellar half workout in with my roller. I’m short-ish or average, I think, for a female. Even with the extension on the roller, I had to calf raise to reach the top of the walls where it intersected with the line that my husband cut in along the ceiling. Even though he cut that in and all I did was roll everything, I still managed to get paint on the ceiling in three places.

While I painted and cleaned, I decided my oven needed dissected. Thank you, Pinterest, you are the best ever! I found a pin describing how to clean in between those glass panels – after taking the oven door apart (no joke) I was about to scrub that grease off, and my oven looks like new. I also allowed a baking soda, salt, vinegar mix to coat the inside overnight and voila! It looks like new!

I also made an executive decision to repaint my dining room chairs… oh and reupholster them. Owned it. Seriously, what a different a little fabric makes.

Anyway, the entire Operation Cottage Renovation was completed in just 2.5 short days. Just in time, because on Monday, we held an Ice Cream Social + Family Night in our little cottage, and forty people showed up. That’s a lot to cram under one tiny roof, but it was so great!

You know I love to plan parties. That’s just one of my favorite things to do in life. I’m serious. Unfortunately, Covington isn’t exactly the target market for that kind of expertise, so I just plan a lot of parties for my family and my children.

Pottery Barn Kids happens to have a free ice cream party printable set. I recycled my turquoise blue strawberry baskets, found 4 sets of ice cream bowls for $.88/set, which is incredible and not to mention the frugality of reusing those suckers, over and over, again. My husband and I went out on Saturday night, which wasn’t the norm and I’ll discuss why in like two seconds. During our date, we ate (we always eat, food is life) and we got party supplies, those being toppings for ice cream sundaes. Anything you could imagine, really, it was great. We also snatched up supplies for our “Family Night” portion of the event. Wooden sticks, rods, pipe cleaners, foam blocks, playdoh, duct tape, etc. Right now you may be wondering what on earth we were doing with those materials and why, and I’ll tell you.

Like a broken record, on Monday nights it’s Family Home Evening. Since many that aren’t of our faith don’t understand that terminology we called it, “Family Night”. My husband explained to our large group, we do this as a family to build unity, every week. He also described our evening as being a “Family Home Evening… on steroids”.

We left out the formality of it all and had our Elders (Young Boy Missionaries 19+) explain a little bit about the Book of Mormon. Many people don’t understand it’s a history, like history of any textbook or journals, ancient writings, in this case – those of the people in the Americas.

We briefly read in the Book of Alma (which is from the Book of Mormon) about what Captain Moroni did to prepare his cities for hard times. In this particular evening, we were focusing on one of the preparations which was “fortifying” or strengthening their cities. This included building a large fortress with trenches and defense mechanisms for that time period, even though they were not currently under attack. This prepared them for when they did fall under attack, the sight alone of these beefed up fortresses caused the enemy to retreat. You may be thinking, nice story, get on with the point.

That point is how it’s important to reflect on what we can do to build ourselves up and strengthen ourselves while things are smooth sailing, to endure the harder times. If we don’t prepare, we’ll fall apart.

My commission to the children and families in my home that evening was to build their own fortress to defend themselves. Object lessons are my favorite with small children. Seriously, they’re fantastic.

As soon as everything was cleaned up and the house resumed to normal, I began “listing” the next actions in my life. One of those being creating a Ninjago Birthday Invitation and to evaluate my shopping list for this upcoming party – can I just say, It’s gonna be great?!

Jude is highly involved in his party preparation. An example of this would be evidenced by the fact that when I asked him what he wanted to have as a party theme, he quickly answered, “Ninjago” and didn’t back down. No biggie. I honestly thought it would be Lego Batman since that’s been all of the hype this year, or even Minions or Minecraft, but nope. Ninjago and after extensive Pinterest research, I’m ready to execute this plan.

I showed him my board and ran ideas past him. He then took my cell phone from me and began pinning what he liked to his board labeled, “Jude Party”. I didn’t send his cake request to the cake decorator, it was a three dimensional gold Lego Ninjago Lloyd, but I did send another super cool one he liked that was still pretty extravagant.

I’ll be working on crafting my husband a kimono-type ensemble to he can be Sensai. This age group I’m guessing will be slightly squirmy so we will plan game after game and backup games. Jude has requested his buddies attend Ninja Training and unlock their potential to be Masters of Spinjitzu.

This is great because there’s only like 300 pins about Ninja training games for parties. I’m loving the “fire” jumping, hoop crossing, plank walking, brick wall breaking, shirikin tossing, balsa wood breaking obstacle course. Can you tell I’m stoked? This only downside to all of this is planning it on a dime. For real though, usually, I buy here and there and everywhere and then my husband will say, “Hey… you only have X more to spend.” This time, from the get-go I’ve had a budget. Budgeting is SO HARD for the compulsiveness inside of me.

How have I been surviving this long Spring Break? Can I just say it’s nothing like summer because in summer, we go to the pool, daily. As far as we’ve gone is Conner Prairie and that finally happened yesterday (Tuesday). Another Spring Break survival hacks for non-travelers would be seeing a movie, twice. I went to see Beauty and the Beast on Friday night with my mother and we met up with my sister. It was a great time and I loved this movie! It was my scout-out of the movie, of course, I had to make sure it was child appropriate (due to reviews I’d read which were completely off), and not scary. So, while I watched it with my sister and mother, my children watched the animated version for the first time, ever. I know… parenting fail. I grew up in love with animated Disney movie classics and my kids have watched maybe ¼ of them. We’re working on it, though.

Over the weekend my oldest daughter and her bestie had convinced us in order to keep the house looking nice and neat, before our ice cream social, we should go to see Beauty and the Beast. Actually, they brought this up in front of my mother and of course, grandma saves the day with the funds needed to attend this movie. I ran and cleaned up and set up what I could that day, then the girls and I left for Champaign to see it. The boys ran errands for us and did their own thing. Jude didn’t even like the half of the animated version he watched so he wasn’t all about seeing it, again.

We were so confused as to why the movie was so expensive, but realized when we arrived it was being it was being shown in the BIG D theater. Of course, we climbed to the tippy top of this ginormous theater. I honestly felt winded after coasting up the steps a couple of times. I may run but my body denies inclines at all costs. There were only about four other movie-goers in the theater with us, which was amazing, too. My favorite kind of movie, restaurant, amusement park, grocery store, is one with only a handful of people in it with me.

I mentioned Conner Prairie, oh yes. Today, we traveled to Fishers for an interactive historical tour. We learned about Indians, Pioneers, the Civil War, tested out the new Treehouse exhibit which is marvelous. I asked my husband to observe the structure and examine it closely, because I feel the Covington City Park would benefit from a version of that. Maybe not four stories, but I do love the height. It was the best part! Of course, Jude would tell you the best part had to be the rifle range, where he learned how to handle his “bayonet”, march, and fight in a battle.

All of the kids enjoyed that at least until we did the hot air balloon. Yep, we did it. We’ve seen it there time and time, again, but this time it was checked and circled off of the bucket list.

It was a toss-up between whether my husband would go up or I would go up. He voted me, and I voted him and somehow he convinced be that I should go, although two things were very big deal breakers for me. Those were 1.) This was opening day of the outdoor experience, meaning our hot air balloon pilot was out of practice for months. 2.) It was windy. I visualize that cord being severed and us flying away never to be seen or heard from again.

However, all three of my children were game to go up and excited to the moon, so was I going to risk not flying to the moon with them? Nope… I went. I went and when the middle disappeared and we continued to ascend up to the 377 feet, taller than even the statue of liberty’s torch, I began to feel like I shouldn’t make any sudden moves. Of course, my darling children had expressions of pure delight and excitement while I stood there reminding them every 4.5 seconds to hold on to the sides, while each of my feet held pressure against the walls to immobilize me, while I clinched my teeth down. I did look around and take a few photos and a video, but I felt like we were going to blow over sideways, so really what was going through my brain was how I was going to instruct my three children. Another family was up in the sky with us, and the pilot had told them to look around, we only would be at the maximum height for 3 minutes before descending. They all seemed to gravitate toward us, making the balloon off balance, I bit down on my tongue to fight off the urge to scold them to get back to their own side and quit attempting to tip us out of the basket. Finally, we were going back down but near the ground it was described to us that our balloon was doing a “pendulum” effect. It began rocking and not landing steady and I prepared my mind for evacuation, but worst case scenarios considered, they weren’t needed.

Thankfully… we made it and I needed a timeout from that moment forward. Actually, I really just needed some lunch. Hypoglycemia gets the best of me, from time to time, creating short-temperedness and attitude. Omission from any meal or delay isn’t good for any member of our party.

I feel pretty satisfied after updating the blog and this wasn’t on a list, because the list it exists on is a mental or unwritten list. Just like the Pineapple Upside down cake I made my husband, last night, wasn’t on the list. So, I guess I don’t have to use a ‘list’ for everything as it had seemed. #talented < I’m totally kidding.

I hope my readers enjoy the memes. I stumbled across a fantastic application and I had to test them out in a very non-serious way.

While my husband and I attended a Youth Temple Trip, the Saturday before embarking on additional busyness including my cousin’s bowling birthday party which was loads of fun for everyone, I received a couple of impressions.

I was flipping through Doctrine and Covenants and randomly reading a scripture verse or two, and I happened to stumble across this one:

Organize yourselves; prepare every needful thing, and establish a house, even a house of prayer, a house of fasting, a house of faith, a house of learning, a house of glory, a house of order, a house of God; D&C 109:8

This is in my top five scripture verses. It also commits me to making this list my new checklist. Am I working on these things? How is my evaluation of myself and my home? New month, new goals.

That’s what I love about life. We are constantly reinventing ourselves. A better version of who we are, continual growth, gaining wisdom from mistakes and failed experimentation. Failure gives us exactly what we need to brush ourselves off, jump up, and move forward.

In fact, busyness is not what it’s all about. I’ve asked my husband, on a few different occasions recently, how do I become less busy? Less commitments? Dropping tasks? More efficient delegation? Saying no? Busyness doesn’t allow time for the Spirit to prompt you, for inspiration to come, to be present with family or children, I know for sure we weren’t designed to live life in the fast lane 95% of the time, as evidenced by those mini-panic attacks or rapid speech that accompany semi-meltdown moments.

So sure, I may have elaborated on five different lists (maybe even more, I lost count), but I’m really not wanting to achieve some sort of level of mastery for being busy. Even looking at the word busy is annoying. It looks like “bus” with a “y” it seems to have letters missing. Probably because they were too busy, too.

The list I’m keeping, going into the month of April, is that of D&C 109:8 - the goal I’m creating is Peace, Meditation, and Prayer. How will I get out of the habit of being busy or having less commitments? One at a time, I’ll finish what obligations I’ve begun, without taking on additional commitments (that are of a part-time or full-time nature or require multiple tasks per week). I’ll make sure to evaluate my progress to see if it’s improving me, as an individual.

I am going to make a commitment to going to bed early. The past couple of days, I’ve had roughly 4 hours of sleep, per night. When I opened this blog draft up, I mentioned to my best friend I didn’t even know what it says because I was so tired while writing it. It may be like reading a foreign language.

One last commitment -- this should honestly go without saying, seeing the good or positive in every situation and every person, I encounter. I’m extremely grateful General Conference is this coming weekend so I can be inspired and my questions can be answered. Now, I think I may go sit out in the beautiful sunshine. Namaste!

#LDS #mormonmommy #mothering #parenting #busy #springbreak #life

Deny ‘til You Die

🎶Hello Tumblr, my old friend.

I've come to write to you, again.

Because the visions I've seen the week,

Descriptions may or may not be very bleek,

And the vision of my iPhone calendar still remains,

As a visual in my brain,

Because my schedule is madness.🎶

I'm not sure why I'm on a Sound of Silence kick. Perhaps it's because the movie Trolls is on tap for this evening, post Family Home Evening. The reason you haven't heard from me in awhile is because the schedule has been deeply extreme. This was the week before last's unfinished history: This week was a complete blur. I thought I'd taken a few notes, but I was wrong. I'm guessing my shopping list, book list, Young Women schedule, and playground project to-do list aren't exactly blogging material.

Monday, my daughter had a friend over and the day was gorgeous, if I remember correctly. I flung open the windows and felt like I was awkwardly dancing around, plowing through my household-chore list, just like Rapunzel (Tangled, of course). The children wanted to go to the library, so we did that. We checked on every family member's card (except Jude, he doesn't have one) and lo and behold, still fees. They weren't magically expunged, the way Reis had hoped for. But, there's an even more magical program the library does to allow you to "read down your fees". This, my friends, will be the only way those fees are paid.

While I was sitting in tranquil serenity in the basement of the library, the children's section, on a large rocking chair - just breathing. I told Jude and Remi, "Wow, it is so peaceful in here." Moments after this, my back pocket began vibrating. I answered, and it was a member of my church, a fellow nurse wanting to know if I would be interested in taking a Parish Nurse (Faith Community Nurse) Certification course. My answer was 'Of course, if I could work things out with my husband.' I realized things may never slow down, so I might as well embrace the busyness and while things are "busy" but not "busy, busy", this would be a great time. Sure, with this class schedule I would miss a couple of basketball games, baseball camps, and date night hours, but I may regret waiting. I accepted and I'm SO, SO, SO glad I did. But I'll come back to that.

My calendar has been getting so full, I marked out Monday and Tuesday of weeks in advance, for "Baking". I know that if there's an opening and I'm asked to do anything then I will fill it. It's natural. As a mother it is my mission to find the reason why, hypothetically, (but in this instance not so hypothetically) an item is "stashed" in that found place. For example, the corner of the staircase, behind the pot which holds the snake plant, where I found an uncapped, yellow highlighter. Time was on my side, because my duties for the day included: cleaning, mopping, dusting, vacuuming, cleaning, and cleaning. I would, that day, find out why that highlighter was behind that particular pot. There's always a reason. This is why:

Many, many months ago, I was given a speaking assignment to address our congregation. I may or may not have shared this tidbit of information, however, it's very relevant to the day I had. The topic for this talk left the playing field wide-open, in any direction - my choice. Ultimately, I continued being brought back to this, "Decisions Determine Destiny." To preface, I had to so a little research. With no preconceived notions, I stumbled upon this fun-fact:

In one day, adults make approximately 35,000 decisions.

Children make roughly 3,000.

And right about now, you may be reviewing your day-to-day life, to determine if that number seems reasonable. One of my sweet children decided, with most likely a reasonable amount of guilt, whatever mischief in which that yellow highlighter was an accomplice, the evidence of ever having it in-hand, needed destroyed. We'll come back to that,too.

Another one of my children, discovered (and decided) if you draw on your gorgeous, full-length mirror, with either a marker (not of the dry-erase variety) or lipstick, you can do math problems or write notes. Have you ever guesstimated the time something would take and then realize you undershoot it entirely? So, I picked up 30 minuscule pieces of thread (that my vacuum missed) and a few other things in her bedroom, arranged her shelves and dusted. Noticed she was getting crafty, using clothes pins, her mini-Polaroid photos, and hanging them on a string. However, she either ran out of time, or couldn't figure out a place to affix it. I aided her efforts, by rounding up a few tacks, and putting it up for her. I know, I know... I should let me children care for their own rooms to create future responsible adults, but somewhere in my mind I feel helping someone is love. I tidy up the things left undone to ease the burden when they get home from school, so they can focus their efforts elsewhere. Or maybe I'm a micromanager. That's probably the more honest option.

While glancing at the mirror I grabbed a fresh cleaning cloth and my window-mirror miracle (chem-free) solution. I gave it a wipe down and noticed I could still see drawings, numbers and letters. They were creating foggy lines all over this mirror. I wiped, again, in a general area. Nope. As I followed the lines and used true elbow grease, without breaking the mirror, they slowly faded away. What I thought would be a 30 second wipe-down, turned into 15 minutes. That's too long to sit in a slightly bent position. I ended up sitting on the floor and alternating hands because my arms were getting tired and abused. As I glared into the mirror, focusing on the lines, I could see my reflection but my image was in the background, unfocused. Although the first several minutes, I was really frustrated, my frustrations began to fade away (as did the residue), and I began thinking once again about job security. What I could see, from my reflection was a tear-streaked face, from the chilly wind coming across an open field, on the circle trail surrounding our community. My hair unruly, from the headband I wore to protect my ears during my run. That run we just decided to have, at the guesstimated warmest part of the day.

I pondered quietly what the face of motherhood looks like. I took a throwback thought to when I was a child, I distinctly remember at a very young age, kicked back relaxing on the couch probably watching Duck Tales, Darkwing Duck, or Talespin, and asking my mother for a chocolate milk. Without hesitation, she got me a tall glass of chocolate milk, most likely the powered Nesquick variety. To myself or possibly vocally, (I was an outspoken elementary-aged child) I said how much it would stink to be a parent and I didn't know how I'd cope in adult-life without someone to make my chocolate milk for me. Deep thoughts, I know.

I reflected in this moment (presently - in 2017) how much I love my freedom to be a stay-at-home mother at this season of my life, to be available for my children, to create my own schedule and clean our home throughout the day.. as I'm dictating this... there WAS more but...

Bam! All of my thoughts just subsided. The fact that I was going to continue with the beauty of motherhood, the beauty of being here at this time, in the place, in this season of life, with small children who yes, indeed make messes but I'm joyful to clean those messes. To serve those messy fingers and kiss those sweet forehands, I love being a mom. That continuation or whatever my thoughts were as I rapidly put the thoughts into text with my right and left thumbs, in my SUV, sixth vehicle back in the car rider line, waiting on a brisk afternoon for my children. Those thoughts rapidly ceased, when out of the corner of my eye, I see not three but four children running to my vehicle, and the first things out of my eldest daughter's mouth is, "Her mom said it was fine."

Her mom said it was fine. What about me? What about this mom, your mom, Reis? What about 500 minutes I spent cleaning the residue off of your mirror, just before I came to wait in line to pick you up from school? Or the room I meticulously swept. (Ok, not so meticulously. But I did use the hose attachment and not just the normal vacuum. Usually, when I use the normal vacuum and there's a hard to reach seam with paper shards, a nerd candy piece, or an unidentifiable object, I just repeated slam the vacuum into the trim. ((Because that's why it's there)) until it sucks it up or until the piece of trash wins.) These thoughts, and 900 more, swirled through my head, my face got warmer, my temper borderline passive-aggressive, but then I thought, for a moment longer. Cultivating friendships is probably more important than an eleven year-old with a photogenic room. If they do create a mess, job security or lesson learned.

Why is it that big of a deal? Is it because Amanda has power trip issues? No, no.. it's because two short days before this one. Yes, same week. We had a conversation with this daughter about how if she would like to have a friend over, she needed to ask one of us first. There are times I see myself in my kids. Not a physical self, a personality-self. Some of these events are like "Yep, that was me exactly at age 11."

Other instances I may have not handled the same way at age seven, yet I can see why she handles things in that manner... because she's my daughter. I almost can't fight back a smile. I told my husband after a very serious conversation with one of our children about honesty, that I could see myself doing the same thing as a child over and over and over, again. "Deny 'till you die." They was probably my motto at age eleven. Even if the parents said we have proof, "Deny 'till you die, or at least until it's impossible to deny any longer, they have too much proof." Remi, for example. She's stubborn. So, so stubborn. She's had a loose tooth, literally dangling from her mouth, for the past six months. I'm not exaggerating. She would not pull it, or even wiggle it. It was basically hanging out of her mouth. She even lost the one next to it first!

Well, on Tuesday, all three of my beautiful children began tennis, again. I jokingly said I hope she got her tooth knocked out. Then guess was happened. She was tossing up a serve and decided her toss could be better but the ball came down and knocked her tooth out. My husband and I both were ecstatic from behind the plexiglass window. Then her coach escorted her out and we saw blood, everywhere. Let me be more specific, all over her. Her arms, a tennis ball, her face, her mouth was oozing blood. I immediately took her into the bathroom to clean her up. She was good, no tears, just a little bloody. But we fixed her up and then she was good to go. Although, I felt horrible for the jinx.

Oh Yes! The yellow marker. So, back to this day. The friend is playing with Reis in her room. Jude is running around. Remi eating a snack. I dropped my rag near the counter and I spot the marker. On the cabinet is Jude's name, in highlighter. It wiped up relatively easy but this is exactly why the highlighter was behind the pot. Jude hasn't learned yet that he needs to write his sister's name instead of his own.

Remi wrote in black permanent maker, ever so tiny, Jude's name, a couple of weeks ago. How do I know it was her?

1. Reis wouldn't have written that on her door.

2. The handwriting was very legible and tiny.

3. Jude spells his name Jube more often than Jude.

The following is a Cliff Note Version: A few monumental happenings occurred Monday - Sunday of this past week.

1. Two new experiences lended me the knowledge of just how special a full-time school teacher really, truly is. (Not because I thought they weren't special, but because I'd never reflected from a different perspective until now.)

2. New Beginnings for my oldest daughter. How can she be twelve in September?

3. Faith Community Nursing, I mentioned, I'm finished! I'll go into detail later.

4. My husband and I Mystery Read in Kindergarten.

5. Remi went to her first slumber party, ever.

Non-cliff note version -- I think several weeks ago, I'd mentioned I was going for an very part-time job interview. I wasn't looking for a position, I just saw it posted and figure why not? I personally felt the interview was incredibly successful, however, I didn't have the experience another candidate had, so I didn't get it. Although it was one day a week, as a Nurse for an office, I wasn't upset or disappointed at all, in fact, I'd prayed about it and felt at peace - if it was for me, it will be mine, if it wasn't for me, it wouldn't be. In the beginning of the school year, with all of my kiddos in school, I decided I'd put in my app for subbing. I did that, but I didn't complete it until very recently, after this job idea didn't pan out. I'm not searching for work, I was just searching for non-essential, supplemental income (maybe a hobby) with the added bonus of cash.

No, that doesn't mean contact me because you think I could have a home-based business selling something. No offense but I don't sell anything. If I wanted to sell, I could jump back into the Real Estate market full-time at any time. Some people are made for selling or enjoy it. It just stresses me out. ;-)

Anyway, let me give you background. On this past Monday evening, I decided it would be a good idea to get a head start on baking pies for New Beginnings. I had a great deal of baking to do, and I could begin on the refrigerated variety, first. So, every mixing bowl in my house was in the sink, along with all of my measuring spoons, cups, and basically my entire kitchen disgraceful. But one-by-one I got them done. G/F Peanut Butter Cup, Pumpkin, Chocolate Cream, Peach. 1.5 dozen mini cherry, blueberry, and apple pies, half a dozen cherry cheesecake and pumpkin pies, 24 - mini-cherry cheesecake tarts, and 2 dozen G/F Apple-Confetti Cake Pops. As I baked my heart out, I watched and listened to Nursing Modules, talk about rockin' it out. I finally finished around 2:20 a.m. and headed up to bed.

Morning came quickly. Like a slug, listlessly, I crawled out of bed. Army crawled would be a more accurate description, and grabbed my stack of running attire on my way down. My eyes were half closed as I shuffled around the kitchen, and finally put sweatpants on and a shirt. As I began to regain consciousness, slowly but surely, I was able to help my children get ready for the school day. I thought about the daunting list of tasks that stood before me, like setting up the room at the church building for New Beginnings, dragging tables and chairs out, getting all of the non-food items ready and tables prepped.

At about fifteen until 8 a.m., just before taking the kids to school, my cell phone rang and it was the school. Confused, because my kids were still in my house, I answered and was asked to sub. I know I hesitated briefly and then made some really awkward contemplation sounds like, "hmmm... ehhh... err... ehhh.." then said no, because I had something going on. After hanging up, my husband acknowledged I was tired but constructively criticized the noises that just came out of my mouth when I was on the phone. Then I told him, you know what? I can set-up after school, I'm gonna sub.

With a little more than four hours of sleep, and 20 minutes to get completely ready, I pulled myself together, and grabbed a prepped meal out of the fridge for lunch, hopped in the truck with my husband and children and reported for my first day. Luckily, it was my daughter's first grade class to break me in. It was an eventful day. When I returned home with my children, I went to the pantry, pulled out the bag of Root Vegetable Chips, and stood there staring straight ahead for 30 minutes. My husband walked through the door and asked me what I was doing. I shook out of it and I told him I finally understood why the kids come home from school, veg-out and tune me out. However, we were on Tuesday, and now not only did my children have Chorus, Basketball, Tennis, and Ballet, but I had to set-up for Wednesday's event and go to the Relief Society Birthday Dinner (since it was where I'd be, anyway). Thankfully my husband took over for me, and aided me with this eventful evening.

Come Wednesday, craziness happens again. Mystery Read, weights, clean, showering, laundering stage skirting, more pie, more set-up, piano lessons, and putting together 40 meals before the event. Lucky for me, another Sister happened to be bringing the missionaries dinner and asked if I could use any help. Together, we completed the forty meals - turkey, cheese, lettuce, tomato on hoagie with kettle chips, spinach salad with vinaigrette, strawberry and feta, wooden ware and my sweet husband grabbed the lemonade from Penn Station.

New Beginnings is a program for girls that will turn 12 in the calendar year. It teaches them about the amazing Young Women Organization and a program called Personal Progress that prepares them for adult-life; Education, Marriage, Motherhood, etc. Since Reis was the only one coming in, from our church, her two friends that come frequently to Activity Days were able to be a part of it.

***With good intentions in the beginning, I need to pause this story for a short intermission, for approximately 6 sleeping hours, then I'll get back to this. Like I mentioned, we were both Mystery Readers for Dr. Seuss month in Jude's class. Jude had no idea I was coming in because I specifically asked who was coming. He said he didn't know and I said I bet they're gonna be cool.

*** I guesstimated that wrong. It's 2:15 in the afternoon. Monday, March 13th, and I'm sitting at my dining room table, in my fitness apparel, looking a hot mess, yet my household chores are {almost} done. Almost!

I did a little brief description on the Parish or Faith Community Nursing Program, I just finished up. These classes were amazing. If you're a nurse and practice any sort of organized religion, you can do this. It counts toward CEU's but more importantly, the things you'll hear and learn are more than money can buy. As I mentioned, I was sitting, tranquilly downstairs in the Biblioteca (that's what the children and I refer to it as, always), and my phone began vibrating in the back pocket of my pants. As I spoke to the Sister about this project, my mind played a slideshow of events I had going on during the weekends, she mentioned. Yet, I had personally googled Parish Nursing before, a long time ago, so something was compelling me to take this course.

Yes, I sacrificed a portion of my beloved date night with my soulmate, but he watched a movie, both Friday nights while I was in class, and brought me back movie theater popcorn, so it was a win for everyone. In my mind, I had preconceived notions about how this was going to be executed and what I'd be learning but I wasn't further from the truth. Yeah, sure, blood pressures, BMI checks, and education is a portion of Nursing but in this particular field, the essence is love. It was emotional and spiritual, and non-judgmental (which seems to be a thing when others hear you're LDS, instantaneous judgment). I feel like the facilitator of this program was made for this job. She could honestly write a book, based on her own experiences, called, "What I Wish I Knew When I was Younger", no joke. Her wisdom, she conveyed to us nurses, would benefit all areas of our nursing practice not just in our churches. With an open-mind, and eternal perspective in all things, including those who didn't have a belief system similar to mine, or the other nurses in the room, she enlightened us with valuable guidance and inspiration to share love in every facet of our faith and in health.

Can you tell how pumped up I am about this?

The even more inspired advice was to pray for 30 days. Ponder and pray the ways we can help our individual religious organizations or how we will fill our individual roles as a Faith Community Nurse or in my particular case, a Ward Nurse. Yes, if you think back to a few weeks ago and we are Facebook friends, that's the photo you most likely saw posted by my husband. My carrying the "yoga ball" as my children would call it, into the first night of class.

Unfortunately, the room that we were seated in was incredibly small, but I still did utilize my ball by sitting on it, to break up the monotony of a firm chair. While I attended a class, on Friday night of this past week, our daughter, Remi, attended her first slumber party!

If I'm being 100% honest we thought, without a doubt, we would be receiving a phone call saying she wanted to come home before bed. The hostess' mother happens to be a friend of mine, so I checked in on her from time to time, I even stayed up slightly past midnight, to make sure I heard my phone when she called. No call.

She loved it and had an exceptional time! Even though it was shocking for my husband, myself, and even her older sister, we were thrilled she did this! Yes, this is the same child that was kicking and screaming, over the first two weeks of starting preschool. The same kid that insists on daddy putting her to bed every night and stay with her until she drifts off to sleep. Unreal.

My children have been unintentional comedians lately, must be their ages. During dinner, out of pure curiosity because, I do know what they like to eat, but I wanted to know their favorite food, I inquired. Quickly, with food still in his mouth, Jude spurted out, "Gluten-Free Macaroni and Cheese". Remi agreed with his response. Was the 'gluten-free' part really necessary? Reis loves it, too, but chocolate is more her thing. Even funnier last night, Jude inquired three times about our popcorn being organic. Organic?! I asked to assure there wasn’t butter, one time, and he said, “Dad.. Dad.. Dad!” “Is this organic? Dad, I need to know if this popcorn is organic? When Allen responded it was, Jude replied, “Good. It’s organic.”

Speaking of favorite foods, did I mention I subbed on Friday? Yes, yes, I did. Feeling a sense of accomplishment after a successful New Beginnings, I must've been feeling invincible the next day when the school called to ask. I graciously accepted. The day began slowly, I think the children were super tired, but so sweet. I went around the room and introduced myself and asked them to tell me their names and favorite food. We had a lot of taco fans, and spaghetti enthusiasts, and ice cream lovers.

Things were smooth sailing until a little girl asked to see the nurse, over a tummy ache. From experience, the hunched over, guarded-abdomen look, doesn't merit a trip to the water fountain, but an expedited trip to the school nurse. I saw her leave, everyone was reading, all around the room, so much was happening at this moment, and I saw her come back and another little girl asked if she could accompany her. Of course, that would be great, I told her. Back to doing my thing and I see the other little girl that was the accomplice come back in and look around, grab the trash can, so I stopped her and asked her what she was doing. She then told me her friend was vomiting in the hallway. I told her I'd take over, but thanked her for helping her friend and me. I skipped down the hall, and aided this poor child to the office while she continued to utilize the trashcan the whole way there.

This was a turning point for everyone. Excitement filled the air after lunch and then cheering (or screaming may be a more appropriate term), for the basketball team that would be attending Regionals on Saturday. Everyone was amped up. I love kids though! They're amazing and brutally honest or so i'd like to think especially when in the first hour of school, a little boy told me I was looking very beautiful that day.

Another day passed, and while in the car with he entire family, Jude brought up tattling. He mentioned he was tattled on while playing with his ball and another girl playing with her doll. I asked why she told on him and he said, "because I accidentally said 'haha'." Everyone, with the exception of Jude, laughed out loud.

Anyway, as I was saying a long time ago because I jumped in a billion different directions, I respect and honor those individuals that devote their life and profession to educating our next generation of leaders.

I also respect the fact this may be a confusing post since there was such a variety of times I wrote and stopped, over and over, again. Maybe this ridiculous blog will make me more accountable for doing one weekly.

Seaweed and Dirty Filters

Typically, as I type a blog, I have bullet points or a keyword list stored as a note, on my phone. Not because I forget everything, but I forget everything UNLESS someone offends me. In the case, I remember the exact year, day, weather, time, location, minute, what clothing we both were wearing, and whether or not I was having a good hair day.

Last week, as I pecked away at the keyboard, I forgot a little gem. It’s probably because my mind shifts focus dozens of times and when I remember where I was originally going with something, it’s too late. It’s posted.

Picture this. We go about the same weekly, school routine, day-by-day. We arise and shine forth, extra early or most of the time not a minute before 7:00 a.m. expecting to be arriving at school sometime between 7:55-8:05. A long time ago, (like last school year), I used to be up before the sun, getting five miles in and starting morning chores long before 7:00 a.m. rolled around. This year, however, my son began all-day Kindergarten meaning, I have about seven hours a day to get household chores underway, a run in, weights in, and all of the errand running done (because let’s face it – it’s easier to fly solo when purchasing the weekly groceries). I require my sleep. I even get lots of stars on my FitBit for getting enough sleep per night. Yep, that feels like a participation trophy but it’s a good feeling to get enough sleep not to mention healthy, so I’m not ashamed.

Back to rolling out of bed at 7:00, dragging my feet down the stairs, “inspiring” my children to get dressed in the clothing they laid out for school, the evening before. Mamma-pedia’s Definitition of “inspiring” means bribing; repeating up to, but not more than 12 times; announcement of privileges; threats of privilege-removal; threats of calling the parent (in the restroom upstairs) into the conversation; and shouting, as a final resort.

Then a breakfast compromise, naturally, because no two children enjoy the same thing at the same time. Then hair. Oh hair. Have you met my middle child? Undoubtedly, everywhere we go this little chicky receives a minimum of three compliments on her naturally curly loose locks. Caring for these gorgeous locks isn’t a beautiful process. This little girl is very independent and stubborn. Every. Single. Day. Is a battle over the hair. Every. Day. If I choose to pull it into a ponytail or bun, she’ll remove it immediately because it wasn’t her choice. After the effort to catch her running around the couch, bar, up the stairs, around the table, and spray detangling all over her, the floor, sometimes even my husband if she has to be lovingly restrained, hair styled and then it’s removed, in the blink of an eye, you can only imagine how frustrated I become. Actually, not that frustrated anymore. I can’t be fazed. I just look like the Kermit memes or the emoji with its mouth closed straight across and eyes shut.

Hair, eventually check, usually minutes before 8:00. Then it’s teeth brushing, book bag gathering, shoe placement or shouting about shoe placement, and running out the front door.

As parental blood pressures return to stable, we call on someone to give a morning family prayer, (yes, on the way to school in the truck, the whole family), and discuss the children’s agenda for the day. On this given day, it was Friday, and as we slowly inched our way closer and closer to the drop-off location. I remembered it was Friday and Jude’s show-n-tell day. I said to him, “Jude, is today show-n-tell?” His response, “Oh yeah, I forgot.”

I looked to my left and to my right. “Well, maybe we can find something in dad’s truck you can take in.” He held up a paint-stir stick, “I can take this!”

I opened the glove box and pulled out the contents. Without thinking and laughing a little, “Here’s a Book of Mormon, you could take that.” He began hopping in his seat, “Yes, Yes! I want to take that!”

I looked at my husband, who tried convincing him it probably wasn’t a good idea to take that to show-n-tell. But Jude was insistent now. He was so excited, so we couldn’t take it from him. We just hoped for the best. After dropping the children off, my husband and I conversed about how this was going to go down. I laughed and said there would probably be a note sent home with him. But, honestly, I wish I had the faith this kid has to be bold and absolutely satisfied with things I choose to do.

The day went by, that was the day we went to the temple last week, so my mother picked up the kids from school. She told us this story when we returned from our day-date. Note, she usually waits in the carline. Today, a few classes were out to recess while she waited.

She said as she was sitting in the carline she was looking around at all of the children playing on the playground. She noticed one little boy, but thought it couldn’t possibly be Jude because that child had no hat and no gloves on, this day was chilly. But then she realized that little boy absolutely had to be Jude because he was running around the blacktop, carrying a Book of Mormon in his hands.

I couldn’t help but laugh out loud at this. I even pulled Jude into the conversation my mother, husband, and I had, to ask about taking his show-n-tell to recess. Sure enough, he let us know he did have it, it took it outside for both recesses.

Jude seems to be on a roll and has been for a couple of years now. I’ve always heard the baby of the family is the comedian.

On Wednesday, I was terribly busy. I know you’re probably thinking ‘Yeah right’. Valid. Truly valid. But I dabble in a lot of extracurricular activities. For one, I run. I like to 5-6x a week. So maybe an hour, hour and a half a day. Weightlifting. That’s 20-40 minutes. On this particular day, I had to run, weightlift, runner-bathe… ‘Mamma-pedia’s Definition of “runner-bathe” – wash face, blow-dry sweat into hair, wipe off body with a damp towel and a little bit of soap, air dry, dress for the day.’

Then my mother and I ran over to Crawfordsville and hit up Kroger. Have I mentioned how much I love their organics and gluten-free selections? Wow, I do. Then since Wednesdays are early release, I ran inside, make a salad, inhaled it, and went to the school for pick-up. I hadn’t really been home all day. I didn’t realize how much of an impact this would make on my children until we all walked through the front door and Reis, stopped dead in her tracks, “Mom, why is the house a mess?”

Job Security. That’s what I wanted to say. I clean, clean, clean, every day. A normal day those three kiddies walk in and everything is put away, the counters are clean, all articles of clothing clean and put away, the house is fragrant of essential oils from mopping or the diffuser, and even sometimes dinner is in the crockpot or ready to be prepped. This particular day, not so much… the cereal bowls were still on the counter from the morning, a hair brush on the table, detangler out, hair cream. Sink with several dishes, the counters weren’t wiped down a couple of pairs of shoes appeared sporadically on the floor, the couch was looking crazy. The zipper is broken, so sometimes the guts of the couch hang out, you know what I mean? The white stuffing. Toys on the living room floor. A hamper full of clothing next to the washer and dryer. Barstools disheveled.

As she said this I didn’t take offense, past the job security tidbit, I was like, “You are right. I have to clean it now.” I’m not OCD. Not even a little bit. My sink had blue clay residue for a couple of days around the bowl and like I mentioned my couch is undressed half of the time. If I were OCD that brown couch would be curbside. I just have a routine I go about day-by-day, thinking no one noticed, but now I know they do.

So, here I am straightening things up, Jude’s following me around at this point, discussing something with me. We usually have very adult conversations together. I opened up the utility closet door to place the vacuum back. While it was open I hung another bag up on its hook, the furnace filter caught my eye. It was still dust-covered.

To my son, I commented, “I want to text your dad and ask him to get a furnace filter, but I’m afraid to, since I’ve already asked him, nine times.”

Jude replied, “Maybe he’s getting it for your birthday.”

Backing it up, on Monday my girls (plural) had 4-H meetings. Remi is now old enough for Mini 4-H. Reis has done 4-H since 3rd grade, but not Mini. I, however, did Mini 4-H in second grade. In second grade when times were simpler. For example, you could bake cookies or build a birdhouse.

In 2017, you can pick from a slew of projects, similar to the bigger kiddos, and this year you can even get a mentor and show a smaller livestock animal. No cows.

Reis had her first meeting of the year, too. It was very successful and she’s stoked a friend of hers is taking a project this year.

Tuesday was Valentine’s Day. That day was crazier than the Wednesday, I’d described. But only because I choose for it to be crazy and I was crazy-proud of that.

I set my alarm a little bit earlier than normal. It wasn’t 7 a.m. prying myself out of bed like a zombie. I had a hop in my step, because I had big plans for the fam.

While they were sleeping, I made gluten-free blueberry muffins, homemade gluten-free fresh strawberry and chocolate chip pancakes, and fresh strawberries cut into hearts, with “pink milk” (aka Strawberry Milk – we don’t even do regular milk in our home, we usually opt for almond everything but this was a special day).

I gave my husband a box of one of his favorite kinds of a candy with a cheesy message on it and later in the day, I made him a loaf of gluten-free banana bread. He said it was good. But to me, the texture appeared very dry. I couldn’t try it, AIP still going strong. Speaking of AIP, I read the guide to reintroduction, a few days ago, and laughed out loud. It said as you reintroduce a food group, you should take a small nibble of the food, wait 15 minutes, consume it and then don’t reintroduce anything else new for five days to note your reactions. AIP Founders must not understand my life. If I’m trying a food I’ve been forced to avoid for 30 days and my meals consist of vegetables with the exception of nightshades, no grains, no seeds, no nuts, no dairy, no soy, no processed foods – do you think I can just take a little nibble of something? The answer is no. No, I inhale that food and then eat more of it. I did try an egg yolk a few days ago, so I’m going to venture to say it didn’t affect me in a bad way, and I should probably hard-boil more eggs. Oh, the sacrifice!

I ran, tossed around some weights, and got ready. I went by the flower shop to send an arrangement to someone and noticed I was the only female, aside from the staff, all men on Valentine’s Day. I was planning Miss Remi’s Valentine’s Party. Of course, I had been for the past couple of weeks. I delegated almost everything, but I still took in my insulated bag of backups, in case they were needed and a gluten-free party mix.

That morning, I decided to attend Jude’s party, too, since it was a half hour before Remi’s party. After his was over, I rushed to Remi’s, and feeling great about that one, because the moms did an exceptional job with their delegations. Did I mention Remi and I both wore our matching Mommy and Me LuLaRoe Valentine Leggings? We so did. She even wanted me to wear them to match her. I had so many compliments because of how “festive” my leggings were.

I began to walk down the hallway, headed out of the building after her party, but noticed my oldest daughter in gym class. I tried discreetly tapping on the window but it was probably super loud in there, so I just let myself in and yelled her name. I’m sure she wasn’t embarrassed at all.

She and her friend came quickly to me, probably hoping I didn’t yell her name, again. I asked if she’d had her party and they told me it was in the next ten minutes. I told them, I would probably come then.

Classroom parties must be my weakness, because I know I described previously how proud I was at the beginning of the school year when I only signed up for one party per child so I wasn’t so stressed going to three parties and making three contributions or more for each holiday.

I ran outside and moved my vehicle away from the bus lane, and went in for round three. I unloaded a few things that wouldn’t be needed and reloaded my Mary Poppins insulated bag. I was able to contribute a gluten-free party mix to this one, for my little Celiac Lady.

After school, I rolled out gluten-free (do you wish you had a quarter for every time I said gluten-free?) pizza dough, I made from scratch. I was crossing my fingers it would taste good to my children. This variety, how about I say GF now? GF anything carby – like breads, buns, donuts – are rarely yummy. They usually have a funky texture and grainy taste. I always speculate it’s because it’s crushed up almonds or some other kind of nut. It lacks fluff.

I made a huge heart shaped pizza for the children. My husband isn’t a pizza fan. (Which I’ve heard means Telestial Kingdom for him.) So I made one of his favorite meals (that my children don’t like); Chicken Tetrazzini.

Chorus for Reis, Kettlebell Tabata for me, and Ballet for Remi – by the end of the day, I was about to die from exhaustion. The pep in my step had long gone away. And I felt like that zombie I described I usually feel like when waking up of a morning.

On Friday night of this week (not to be confused with last week, since I did talk about that, too), we went on a double date to Fujiyama – the new hibachi restaurant in Danville. What a neat experience! We were seated at a grill and the chef entertained us while cooking our table’s food. Lots of fire and laughter, the food everyone got looked out of this world. My husband was particularly fond of the rice, which was surprising. My GF food had to be prepped in the kitchen. Boring, I know.

My friends and husband even made fun of me because I got a seaweed salad and sashimi. Even more funny, when I tried to tell the waitress I couldn’t have gluten, she asked me what I was saying 4x in a row. Then finally she was like, “Oh, gluten-free?” I guess the “free” on the end clues people in.

When I was asking about the details of the seaweed salad, she told me none of the people she’s ever waited on had ever gotten it. Danville doesn’t eat seaweed, I guess.

I am really excited to take our children there to have this food experience! After we finished up, we choose to bowl. We also agreed Covington was a good idea. Called, they said there was open bowling so we arrived. The parking lot seemed swamped. When we went in we were told it would be hours because the school was there. Sure enough, high-schoolers, high-schoolers everywhere.

Bummed because we were just in Danville, mind you ¾ of us are Mormon, we decided to go into the bar, where no one was, and play pool. We drank gigantic ice waters and played pool. The most stressed out I’d been all week, trying to figure out which pocket to aim for. ;-)

Reis had a couple of friends spend the night, so they were quite busy being social butterflies. On Saturday, Remi had another basketball game, where she made three baskets and had a few assists, too. Jude was able to attend baseball camp, where he hit the ball multiple times and loved that. Then Allen took him out for a Daddy-Son Date, Lazer Tag and lunch.

Saturday was a busy, busy day, too, but it was gorgeous out. Today, piggybacked the busy-ness. We had a Youth Fireside after church. I think I’ve said before, we have a three hour block for church. I have a meeting beforehand, unless my husband is out of the building, then I go on time. Throughout the year, our youth ages 12-17, have Firesides or meetings they select the topic and speaker and we eat lunch together and listen before going home.

Today, was the Standards Fireside. Our Young Women had submitted questions and scenarios they’ve encountered and the panel (they choose) of ‘cool and trendy’ adults, answered them with life experience and the “why”. The meal was my task. So, I had to prep everything for ‘Walking Tacos’ or ‘Tacos in a Bag’. I made a few up and they smelled awesome. I’d heard from several people, too, they were awesome. I pretended my lettuce with mushrooms and cucumber in oil and vinegar and apple was actually a Walking Taco. You’re killin’ me, AIP. Sundays are usually a binge eating day for me, since I’m gone for so many hours, I like my body reacts as if it’s important I refuel and tank up, just in case I’m gone away from the fridge for that period of time, again.

Here I sit, it’s now dark outside, and I need to go to my happy place. My bed.

#LDS #mormon #mommyblog

Door-No-More

Once upon a time in a village named Covington. A vibrant, young housewife polished her floors to reduce pathogens transmitted by bodily fluids (primarily vomit). She scrubbed and scrubbed the tiles with a brush assuring each square was meticulously cleansed and free of germs. She mopped the entire home, freshly. Just then, the smaller, younger, less feisty girl on this given day, entered the bathroom, and in a blink of an eye explosive diarrhea splattered across the bathroom, covering the girl’s clothing, the bathtub rug and virtually every square of tile in the entire room.

We’ll call this story Monday. (In case you were wondering, I repeated the process of sanitation. Names of persons have been protected. If you don’t have children and you find this story gross or inappropriate, good luck in your future.) Since the morning routine had been unusual, getting just two kids ready for school, while trying to separate them from the illness occurring in the same little cottage, when my son arrived home after school, and had been hanging out for over an hour, Remi realized he'd worn his pants backwards, all day long, and the zipper was unzipped in the back, displaying the perfect view of his Big Hero 6 undies. Wow.

On Tuesday morning, my oldest daughter said to me, “Mom, I want to make a unicorn for my Valentine’s Day box.” Admittingly, I was up for the challenge but a part of me thought back to simpler times, when I was an elementary-aged child and Pinterest didn’t exist. We didn’t get samples of the best of the best Valentine boxes ever made in the history of crafting.

Here came the moment I’d been waiting to happen for months. Which ‘recycled’ or ‘repurposed’ boxes from my storage closet would be utilized and which ones would be truly “recycled”? If you missed it, several weeks ago, I wall-posted a friend of mine who happens to be the blogger behind “Save Time, Make Time”. My predicament was – I long to be a minimalist. I dislike clutter and too much “stuff”. But I’m not a true minimalist, because I will occasionally buy paper products for convenience and drink out of a plastic water bottle. I have my shortcomings, as we discovered in ‘Purgeney 2017’. Regardless, Lamora wrote a spot-on-topic blog focusing on how to organize these items that seem to get tossed into my utility closet into an unruly heap. Things like plastic bags, used gift bags, grocery sacks (ALDI shoppers unite!), and cardboard boxes.

After her inspiration, I organized this closet. I even put a couple of nails into a board 1) to hang my grocery sacks on and 2) to manage clothes to be donated < #organized - I give a half laugh at that because of the current status of my closet upstairs, it’s better. After recycling two ginormous bags full of paperwork, but FAR from perfect. Another side bar, I hate staples. I broke two nails in the process from ripping staples out of schoolwork. After I was finished with hours of sorting, organizing, and recycling, there were probably 57 (no joke) staples I had to clean up.

Did you know you could create a unicorn out of two empty cereal boxes, an empty oatmeal box, and a square kettle box? You can. Magical crafting supplies include duct tape, a white roll of paper, a variety of colorful crepe paper, and a Sharpie.

I’d done extensive Pinterest research on choice Valentine’s Day boxes. I had even found a few unicorns but Reis wasn’t impressed she wanted a very specific head-shape, like the unicorn emoji. So, on her handy, dandy Chromebook (I wonder if modern-day Steve from Blue’s Clues would have a Chromebook?), she pulled up Google Images and showed me. Maybe I’m not remembering accurately, because it was a few days ago now, but I think at that point there was the sound of dramatic scissor chopping, duct tape tearing, and my eyebrow lifted slightly higher on one side, as I glanced back and forth at my cardboard and at the screen of the “perfect unicorn representation”.

As did my thing, Reis did hers. She chopped three strips of crepe paper, out of each piece of approximately 18 inches, in each of her desired colors. She was very particular over this. She also chopped hearts out of the glitter duct tape, printed her name, and cut small pieces of “frayed” white crepe to add texture on a couple of the sides of the box. Very clever.

It only took a couple of hours, start-to-finish, and a Dollar General Run for tape, glitter duct tape, and more crepe paper, and it was done. Voila! Presto!

The crown of the unicorn head, (I’m guessing it’s the crown - like a human head), there’s a flap we taped, and double taped, and triple taped - in every direction – maybe 22 times – to allow entry for Valentines!

Too much detail? I apologize. Let me briefly explain Remi’s Valentine Box (which is actually a bucket). Sure, this isn’t in chronological order, Remi went with me to the Dollar Store a couple of days before unicorn crafting, to select her supplies. She, too, had found a great example of a cupcake on Pinterest. She loved it! The thing is, this pinner somehow had access to a rounded piece of foam and was able to shove all of her pieces of tissue paper into that to secure it. We had no such luck with a rounded piece of foam. But while shopping Remi came up with the idea we could probably use a bowl. Best suggestion ever. We found a cheap plastic bowl, a plastic bucket, tissue paper (ripped into strips), a red bouncy ball, cardstock for the cupcake liner, and about 24 glue sticks to secure the tissue paper to the plastic bowl. Thanks to my husband’s handy work, he cut the perfect circle in the bowl for the “cherry” or the red ball to fit on top. Kids insert their cards and candy through that, and it falls into the “cupcake”.

This project, too, was a little bit time consuming. I had a meeting on Monday night so after getting about ¼ of the way through it with Miss Remi, I had a short recess but came right back to hot gluing the night away, when I returned. Remi helped by gathering a couple of strips of tissue paper in the color she wanted (she wanted a pattern, friends), and folding those, using a small elastic to tie around each piece and fluffing it. Then I’d place glue and she’d carefully stick it down to the bowl. She was happy to be able to take it to school the next morning.

A piano lesson, a basketball practice, a choral performance of the Star-spangled Banner, a basketball game, a trip to the Temple, an afternoon enjoying PERFECT weather, and The Lego Batman Movie.

This was just the latter-half of the week. A few time slots in our schedule were double-booked. For example, baseball camp. Oh, baseball camp.

I will never be prepared when unexpected tantrums arise. I have two examples from this weekend.

This first concerning baseball camp – we arrived on Saturday morning a few minutes later than our goal. There was much scurrying around the house, beforehand, it didn’t help I, personally, was running behind after running. So much so that I didn’t shower… yeah, that happens, a lot. I sometimes have to blow the sweat dry in my hair, because that’s the only option I have. Saturday mornings seem to be notorious for my children turning off their listening ears. I only said, “Please get your shoes on.” or “Get your shoes on.” or “GET YOUR SHOES ON NOW!” – only like 18x. I asked my oldest daughter and her friend to straighten up her bedroom and get into real clothes, as opposed to pajamas, because the day was expected to be glorious, as my two youngest and I shuffled out the door, to my younger daughter’s first basketball game of the season.

Back to where I deviated from when beginning that last paragraph, we had to round up a jersey, go change into it, and by that point, the bleachers were almost full, so Jude and I opted to sit on the floor. At this moment, Jude realized it was Saturday. He realized Baseball Camp is on Saturdays. Then he got really frustrated because he was upset I was prioritizing Remi’s first game over Baseball Camp. He began to sob stating in between gasps, “I want to go to BASEBALL CAMP!” Then he began to hit me every 15 seconds or so, out of anger. He was clearly throwing a tantrum, which I hadn’t seen in months, not even in the privacy of our own home. Being a child you always pick the most in-opportune moments to breakdown and give the illusion your parents suck and you don’t have to obey rules. There were only like 100+ other parents, grandparents, siblings, and kids, there, witnessing my child’s tantrum.

I didn’t speak under my breath, while gritting my teeth, (although I’ve used that method before, come on, we all have), I just ignored him. I told him we couldn’t make it this week, we will try to make it next week. I didn’t threaten him (I’ve done that before, too). I didn’t bribe him (this is my favorite choice while in public). I just patiently waited until my husband arrived. Usually, I vocalize, “Your dad will be here in five seconds, cut it out.” But I refrained. He naturally quit when my husband arrived and said the exact same thing I said to him. “We couldn’t make it this week, we will make it next week.”

Why does it work for him and not me? The world may never know, but this is how the dynamics are. I’ve been told I lack a follow-through. I threaten but it’s white noise, because my kids know I become soft and don’t follow through with punishment. It’s honestly because I start considering how my children really are good kids, the choices they’re making are just because they’re independent. Should they respect their parents? Absolutely. There’s a fine line, friends.

Remi did great at her first game. She was a little nervous but she made a couple of baskets and did a good job of listening to instruction. She loves sports and physical fitness.

When we returned home, I went to check on the oldest girls and guess what? They were in their jammies, the room was a disaster, and they were watching a video on the Chromebook. I reminded them 7x more (give or take), the room needed straightened up and they needed to get out and get some fresh air, but it was like I was speaking a foreign language.

I bobbed and weaved around the house as I picked up shoes, and random items, wiped down counters, and threw laundry in. I was trying to expedite the cleaning process so I, too, could get outside and enjoy the beautiful day. My personality type will not allow me to “enjoy” anything until my tasks are done, otherwise, my stress levels rise. I don’t think I’m the only one.

I reminded my oldest, again, and again. So, I sent my husband a text and said, I’d like for her to get outside but not until her room is cleaned up and she’s ignoring me, Ignoring me while I beat on the door over and over, again, because it’s locked.

A few minutes later, he walked through the door with a drill. Without saying anything, he unlocked the door, and took the door down, as in removing it. That was the moment crap it the fan. This was the most ultimate punishment in the entire world, friends. You would think that we grounded her for all eternity. Nope, just removed the door. She had a complete and total meltdown. The reason I’m saying this isn’t because it’s funny, (it’s a little funny because as an adult human, we know this is minor in an eternal perspective) but to shed light for other parents, sometimes something seemingly subtle can make the biggest different in obedience. Through the complete meltdown, my husband told her if she changed her behavior he would put the door back on that night, but not until she changed.

It worked! It worked! If you have a tween or an 11 going on 25 year-old, this could help you, too. You’re welcome.

Let me back all the way up to last Sunday, because I finally posted the last blog on Saturday. Last Sunday, we had our Second Annual Sabbath Bowl!

What is Sabbath Bowl? It’s exactly as it sounds. We prepped some amazing superbowl-inspired appetizers, quite the spread. We turned our dining room table into a football field and created two teams. This year it was the Lumpers v. Jedos. A set of Elders (or boy missionaries, as Jude calls them, usually 18+), and a set of Sister Missionaries (girls 19+) that are serving our Ward currently, or the church building we attend, participated. My mother attended this year, too. She has vast knowledge of the Bible and that is our basis, a bible trivia game. We began with our mini football on the 50 yard-line. Coin toss gave possession to our starting team who answers questions until they can’t answer or answer incorrectly, gaining 10 yards with each correct answer. If the question isn’t complete, the other team can intercept the ball. Gram was on fire. She carried her team to the lead and maintained a tie. In fact, they were more than generous during a question for the other team (consisting of all males), or else the girls would’ve clinched the victory. When the score was tied up the final question was a written question to see how many of the original apostles they could name, accurately. The Jedos ended up with the win on this one, but Gram was still our Sabbath Bowl MVP for her biblical accuracy.

This is such a great time that we feel like adding in an Olympic Games or Final Four version of this would be super great. As soon as it was over I was ready for the Third Annual Sabbath Bowl, next year. Is this how football fans feel about the Superbowl? I wonder if next year we should add in some gospel-related commercials, like a mix between Taboo and Charades? I enjoy doing the sports announcing for this activity. It’s great to witness this game going down, so much passion!

Here we are to Sunday, again. The sun is shining gloriously outside. I love the sun. In my mind I wanted to take a family walk, but the wind is crazy out there. I’m on a gluten-free cake pop kick, not for myself, I can’t eat that on AIP, but for anyone else. I’m been making them like they’re going out of style. Also, I found this yummy snack mix recipe that my children enjoy and I gave to our Young Women, at church, today, as a Valentine gift. It’s super easy to make and it’s gluten-free! Win-win.

Do you remember that mantra kick I was on a couple of years ago? Yeah, I think it was right after Time Out for Women, which is coming up, woot-woot!

Anyway, in my head, I create mantras all of time like self-talk. Sometimes it’s something like, “You can do hard things” or “Just breathe.” or “Brussel Sprouts are good. You should like them.” To be brutally honest, I was on a Brussel Sprout kick and now to think of them makes me want to gag. Everything in moderation, even Brussel Sprouts.

There is a point, I promise. The point or quote I recently have discovered and felt impressed to focus on is, “Nothing changes until YOU change. Everything changes once YOU change.” Apply that to everything. To give you a visual or more personal example, consider these areas: Fitness, Health, Diet, Occupation, Education, Church Experience, Work Relationships, Marriage, Personal Relationships, Parenting, Budgeting - I could go on but those encompass a lot. There’s a video circulating about how blaming lack of motivation is complete crap, as in it doesn’t exist. This isn’t my advice to you, this is my advice to me. I just wanted to remind everyone life isn’t perfect, my life definitely isn’t perfect and change is what’s going to make a true difference. I don’t want to have a perfect life that’s not what I’m striving for, but I am trying to be better than I am, now (note: not better than anyone else but myself). Progress is important - it’s growth. Choices are what determine destiny.

#LDS #mormonmommy #motherhood #parenting #children #family

Edifice Dignified

Holy wow. Can we all just get along now? It’s very clear some people really like our new President and others really do not. We’ve heard you all, loud and clear. I’m afraid it’s creating a divide.

In fact, on the way to school a few days ago, our children sat in the backseat < the usual. We overheard on two opposite sides of the cab, a conversation between my oldest and youngest that consisted of, “No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“YES, it is!”

“NO, It’s not!”

My husband glanced over at me and said it sounds a lot like Facebook back there. I couldn’t help but chuckle. Honest.

It’s Tuesday, and there isn’t a significant reason for posting a blog on a Tuesday except for the fact I haven’t had time on Sunday or Monday. So, Tuesday wins. We are rounding out January 2017.

We just finished up a busy weekend. My five year-old son, Jude, participated in his first ever baseball clinic. He’s been uninterested for years but like I said before, my husband swayed his decision and he’s in love. He, who ? Both of them. Allen texted me from observing our son play and told me this was the greatest day of his life. He has also clarified this baseball thing was a daddy-son deal, not for momma, and honestly, I’m 100% okay with that. I think.

While Jude was balling, Reis and Remi were cheering at cheer clinic. Needless to say it was a busy day and that wasn’t all. While they were cheering I was getting my sweat on and I don’t mean like a little bit of perspiration, my nose was dripping sweat drops at Kettlebell Tabata, which I’m convinced is the best workout on earth. After watching a brief preview of cheer clinic, I hightailed across town to attend a Cheesecake and Canvas, a fundraiser for the nursery school, with my cousin. It was a great time!

Backing up to Friday, I had the opportunity to go into Jude’s class and assist making completely edible Gingerbread Houses. No glue, my friends, just caramelized sugar to adhere the pieces together. The Kindergarteners did a marvelous job of assembling and decorating the mini-houses.

You know, I really did think Spring was at the doorstep, last week, then boom. It was freezing, again. On date night, my husband and I went to dinner and after we were done eating before going to Champaign to see Hidden Figures, I changed into a base layer and sweats with a sweatshirt, because I wasn’t going to freeze my tail off. I was through with my chattering teeth and clinching my abs. I was all about warmth. I sat a downed a bag, entirely, of sweet potato chips (because they’re Autoimmune Paleo) and because I’m excessive. Then I concluded that probably wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had. I’d add I won’t make that mistake, again, but I can’t say that confidently.

Today, I’ve been rolling cake balls for my mother’s birthday. The smell of cake is lingering in my house and each time I washed my hands I gloried over how wonderful they must taste because of their smell.

Good news, though. Reintroduction on AIP is coming at the end of the week, and I can finally have… drumroll, please… egg yolks, nut oils, and seed-based spices, and I need at least three days in between each introduction to assure there isn’t a reaction. Ehhh, slowly, but surely.

And it’s Wednesday. Wow. Still no post but I do have to share some amazing news. It’s hard for me to admit it (mostly because I want to avoid being lynched for this) but I’ve always been a poor recycler. I do a good job of recycling veggies and fruits (to compost); recycling clothes (by donation); upcycling (on rare, very rare occasion); but paper, plastic, cardboard, ehhh.. I could do SO much better. But thanks to my wonderful husband, he’s purchased a separate trash can for recycling and we have now designated our back trash can for recycling and our front trash can for non-recyclables. By back trash can I mean, my kitchen cabinet came with a drawer and two cans inside of it. I mean, honestly the convenience was there all along. I’ve been taking pride in rinsing out my plastics and placing them into our “recycling bin”. I’d OCD with my waste baskets anyway, sure we get sloppy sometimes and particles get in the bottom then they need sterilization. That’s one of my household chores, removing the smelly garbage smell from the cans. Yuck-o. I did find that one of our cans now has a temporary Minion tattoo on the bottom-inside of it, as I was rinsing with warm water, actually aiding that tattoo to stick. I haven’t had time to reach my arm down in there and scrap it out. I said it can stay until the next washing.

I’ve also been on a massive house-purge, again. This happens frequently when you live in a cottage. It also happens when you can’t find something of importance, twice. I feel like I’ve written this before, but my mom gave me some great advice to never carry around my social security card with me. So, of course, I put that social security card in a “safe place”. I don’t know where that “safe place” was. It’s still a mystery. As I went through five totes of organized paperwork in our upstairs closet I realized that my children probably don’t need every worksheet they’ve ever done in 2nd grade or preschool, but I should probably just cling to the most important, artistic or creative writing ones. In fact, I considered googling, “Which schoolwork should I keep so my children don’t hate me when they become adults?”

Instead on my purge-ney (purge-journey), I got sidetracked on how to organize birthday cards and photographs, questioned the need to save birthday cards from every birthday, and then I decided I was unprepared to cope with throwing memories away. So, I left three totes outside of the closet with one bag of donations and one back of recycling. Tomorrow is game on, closet. Purgeney 2017 is coming for you.

Well, it’s now Saturday. What you’ve read thus far was written a few days ago but remained title-less until today. Remi and I just got home from Kettlebell Tabata and we’re ready to embark on many adventures today. A basketball game she’s cheering during, two birthday parties for Reis, a daddy-daughter date for Remi, and Jude is stuck with me. ;-D

My children love electronic devices. So much so, that we really need to place some limitations. It’s getting excessive. A fun part is they’ll randomly text my cell phone or someone else’s cell phone (like Gram’s) from the iPad, spontaneously. Usually sending 47 emoji’s, 11 times in a row, with no rhyme or reason. Thank goodness for my unlimited data plan. Occasionally, Jude will press the predicted words at the top of the smartphone text box and real words will come through with no meaning. Other times, just letters. However, a few days ago, “Edifice Dignified” came through and I wondered what kind of riddle this was coming from my husband. Jude didn’t accompany that message with any emojis or an additional 35 text messages. Later I figured out it was him.

Ah, 2017, such a different time. When I was a middleschooler circa 1999, AOL Instant Messenger became “a thing”. I would chat for hours on end with my friends. I guess it’s similar with iPods except there wasn’t Snapchat, Instagram, Facebook, or any photos on the other end. Only words. Only words and abbreviations like: lol, brb, prw, cu l8er < wow. Sometimes we’d group chat. We all had screen names, too, we didn’t even go by our real names. The evolution of social media is pretty nifty. Going back a little further, my parents purchased our first desktop computer around 1993. It was a Macintosh, with a ginormous monitor and the disk drive and CD-ROM ports were built into that huge monitor. There was a big tower (which I think still exist, I’ve had laptops for the past 10 years), and a keyboard. I could play Minesweeper, Solitaire, and any other games which were purchased in a huge box from an electronic store. This was back around the time when Oregon Trail was still trending. I recall in Kindergarten having my first computer exposure to a small screen and huge keyboard box with a floppy drive. It was the Apple II E.

It floors me how my children can pick up on games or programs so quickly. Jude downloaded a game similar to Minecraft and he goes to town, building and creating with his imagination. He builds secret passageways under homes and puts in gardens and pools and builds structures. It’s pretty incredible. But from the tools he’s provided, on the side of the screen, there is no way I’d be able to figure out how to do anything! I mean maybe after awhile.

Just the other day, after Family Home Evening, I mean we’re talking a few minutes after, he’d already built a temple on his app. Incredible.

I’m Blaming Russia

Maybe that title sparked your interest. Maybe your thought this was going to get a little bit political, over the events that have transpired, this past week. Yet this phrase really did come out of my mouth, while I struggled to roll onto my side, in bed last night, because my side ached and felt abused.

It was all because of the full round of Russian Twists. For me, Russian Twists burn my abs so badly, I have a love/hate relationship with them. If you're unfamiliar as to what this, straight from PopSugar:

Sit on the ground with your knees bent and your heels about a foot from your butt.

Lean slightly back without rounding your spine at all. It is really important, and difficult, to keep your back straight, but don't let it curve.

Place your arms straight out in front of you with your hands one on top of the other. Your hands should be level with the bottom of your ribcage.

Pull your navel to your spine and twist slowly to the left. The movement is not large and comes from the ribs rotating, not from your arms swinging. Inhale through center and rotate to the right.

Google it. Toss a Kettlebell in the mix = pain. However, no pain, no gain. Since it's such a challenge that indicates to me, I need to work on them.

Can I stand on a Plyo Box for a moment (as opposed to a soapbox)? If you want to see results quickly, this is the kind of workout that will make that happen.

While on the subject of fitness, because lets face it, it's January 22nd and most of us are probably still pretty committed to those New Year's Resolutions, can I extend a few helpful suggestions that are really working for me, at the moment?

Meal Prep Monday - Holy Brussel Sprouts! This is an incredibly affordable way to create 7 meals, using just a Sweet Potato, half a head of Broccoli, half a head of Cauliflower, Bella Mushrooms, and two chicken breast or two salmon fillets.

I chopped everything up, as shown, tossed them on a cookie sheet, covered in parchment paper, added a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil, thyme, Himalayan Salt - wrapped the meat in a little parchment packet and placed it in the center, and baked for 25 minutes at 425 degrees. Divide. I've been dividing mine into 1/2 cup portions. I also boil organic peas to add to each meal. This is gluten-free + Autoimmune Paleo and a game changer, my friends. I'm serious. When you know what you're going to eat instead of rummaging through the pantry and fridge and landing on something convenient, instead of nourishing, it makes a big difference.

Ok, that was the only suggestion, I had. I'm sorry for the false promises.

I am excited to share my husband used his mad carpentry skills to create a "Brag Wall", in my private gym. I love it that my race swag is all in one place instead of all over my house. There have even been moments when my mid-brain kicked in and I've almost trashed or donated them. The connection is weak but I do like their look in my room and it's a reminder to me that I've made goals and crushed them. I feel like it's completely ok to have motivators.

Onto family life, Remi was old this past week. She really fit the part and surprisingly, she wasn't afraid to show off her granny looks on the 100th day of school. She also played piano for her first grade class, last week, to impress them with her new talent. She admitted she was nervous but it went great.

Reis has had about a dozen different fifth graders over this past week. Sometimes one or four at a time. She turns 12 this year and that shocks me, it really does, but it's definitely an age of independence. *tear* We share clothing sometimes which is amazing. It seems so cost-effective. However some of the Justice clothing, my husband insists, is not age appropriate for a 30 year old. Such as, "I wish I were a Mermaid". -- what? I guess adults are entitled to imaginations.

Both girls earned the Beef House lunch, for earning Distinguished Honor Roll for the semester. This will be Miss Remi's first time going, ever.

My son is beyond jazzed for this week's Gingerbread Unit. In fact, even I was invited to assist in the house assembly process this week. Of course, I wouldn't miss it! I don't refer to myself as a helicopter mom for nothin'! He's amped to play some baseball this coming weekend and make his practice debut. Even though when he brought home the paper about it he said to me, in the most excited voice ever, "Hey Mom! Do you remember how Dad wants me to play baseball?" I replied, "Yes...""Look!" He said holding up a gold paper about organized baseball skill practices. My response was, "That's fabulous, Jude! So, you want to do this? "No." he said quickly and walked away.

That wasn't how I expected the conversation to go down. But I'm sure with a little persuasion and possibly bribery, my husband reeled him in - hook, line, and sinker.

Ok, my pinky fingers are going numb from holding up the iPhone, I must conclude.

#MormonMommyBlog

Paint Crime

I’ve taken a more laid back approach to parenting, recently, and I think it’s serving me well. This morning, I got up, begrudgingly because I tweaked my back during Tabata, on Saturday, and I look like a Zombie walking around, stiff and awkward. I knew I had to get to Ward Council because I’d missed for a least a month due to my husband’s schedule. It was truly a toss-up decision because leaving early for that meeting meant I was leaving my husband to get five children ready for church.

As I came downstairs, my son followed. He seemed to be perky for 8:00 a.m. on a Sunday. I started my normal shuffling around in the kitchen and bathroom. Preparing my apple cider vinegar concoction, and flipping the flat iron on. Multitasking, while I’m doing this, Jude had some multitasking going on. He had stumbled upon the small iSpeaker, located my cell phone, and began synchronizing the two. While three eleven year-olds girls and one seven year-old girl slept in the room, nearby. Jude choose to crank up the volume and turn “My House” on full-blast. As he’s busting a move in the living room, one by one, the girls arise and confused about what’s going on come into the living room, startled by the noise.

I promise it wasn’t payback, but now looking back on it they probably thought that was my revenge. As I mentioned, I’m taking the more laid back approach.

Yesterday, although ice was all the buzz, we held a Cocoa & Canvas to raise money for Girl’s Camp this summer. That event was so successful and fun, as it was in the past. Although it had only been six months since our last Girl’s Camp Fundraiser, it was decided with the Young Women that January was a slower month and we could get it out of the way when the weather was mediocre.

Of course, I have an artist connection. My little sister, Hannah, came from Indianapolis to instruct our canvas painting session. We served S’mores Hot Chocolate, Toasted Marshmallow Cocoa, and Salted Caramel Turtle Cocoa. There were dozens of cupcakes in many varieties to choose from graciously donated by a couple of sisters in our ward. A few of us retrieved paper toweling, additional paint, refills, and changed waters regularly.

This has been such a successful fundraiser for our girls! It has relatively low overhead and it covered each girl’s fee plus enough for any additional supplies needed for camp. Girls Camp is a wonderful opportunity for these young women to learn self-reliance and wilderness skills, while strengthening their testimonies of Jesus Christ. It’s hard to believe my oldest daughter will be joining the Young Women Organization, this year!

So, we painted, and I had purchased some extra 11x14 flat canvases for my children to paint with and gave them a few bottles of paint I was tossing in the trash, since they were nearly empty.

Later, the girls Reis had over, along with Remi, took it upon themselves to have a slumber painting party. When I walked downstairs late that evening, I noticed there was acrylic paint on the walls, on my cream kitchen cabinets, on my sink, in every glass and on every plate in the sink, on the countertops, barstools, on the floors in the kitchen, and bathroom, lining the bathroom sink (most likely from washing hands), and on bathroom towels. Paint was everywhere. Everywhere.

I walked through the kitchen, didn’t say a word, and walked back upstairs. I told my husband he should take a look at the kitchen, when he gets a minute. He went downstairs and called the girls together. He asked the girls what their mothers would do if they saw paint on the cabinets, counters, floors, sinks, and everywhere. Their answer was, “They would FREAK OUT.” So, he added, “You better clean it up before Amanda freaks out.”

It worked, because when I came back downstairs the next morning, not a trace of paint was anywhere. I wonder if my husband secretly helped with operation clean-up. It doesn’t matter. I didn’t freak out and I’m proud of myself. Which brings me back to the loud music as an alarm clock, it wasn’t out of revenge I didn’t stop by son, I just wanted to observe how he communicated the why of turning that music on and waking them up.

Backing up and taking a glance at the events that transpired throughout this past week, I remembered I went shopping with my momma at Kroger, in Crawfordsville. She loves their organic selection and I’ll have to admit, I really admire it, too. The real reason I needed to venture in that direction was to put my resume in at a physician’s office for a needed nursing position. Wow, right? I know. No guarantees that I’ll even interview considering my experience post-college in the nursing field, but it seemed very fitting since it was incredibly part-time. So, we shall see. It would be fun to return to scrubs and fulfill my passion in health and wellness. But, I don’t want to get ahead of myself and get my hopes up. I do love the flexibility of being at home, 100% of the time and working on fun things like the playground project and cleaning my house.

Jude brought home one of those mini-readers this week, and then he read the whole thing to me. I almost cried he did such a great job recognizing words and sounding others out. He’s growing up. Remi returned to dance classes after a long recess between Christmas engagements and vacation. She loves ballet. The children celebrate their 100th day of school, this coming Tuesday. This year is flying by! I’ve already mentioned Reis and her entertainment for the weekend. Those girls seem to have so much fun together. I remember being that age, once upon a time.

This evening, I looked over and saw Jude huddled over the iPad in the corner, with a drop cord across the living room. I was almost reluctant to ask about this operation. I didn’t know if he was making unauthorized purchases or if he was playing an unapproved Sabbath Day game. His answer was that the cord was long and he just wanted to try it out. Good enough reason for me.

I haven’t even hit 3K steps today, it’s been a lazy one. Now, I’m going to kick back and think about what I need to plan next. Have a good one, friends.

#lds #mormon #mormonmommy #girlscamp #youngwomen #cocoacanvas #painting #fundraiser

Fridge Perks

The new year is here and I'm happy to report we had a stupendous first week of 2017! We took advantage of one of our experience gifts, and on Monday we left for Great Wolf Lodge in Mason, Ohio. It was a popular time of the year to say the least, still decked out from the holiday. 4 children, 2 adults, and 3-hour drive wasn't horrible at all! Actually, I highly recommend this resort for a short getaway, if you have little swimmers. We do. Our children reminisce about our pool days, from summer, constantly. They love water. One super-duper perk for our family was one of the dining restaurants had gluten-free items on their menu. This takes the pressure off for finding hopeful alternatives. But life's a picnic for we, of the gluten-free variety. Literally, we take food wherever we go.

This water-park had fabulous water slides! Even a family slide to fit up to five riders. A wave pool, kiddie slides, lily pads, and a splash-park in an 84 degree environment. We went four different times. This resort also included a spa for little girls, an arcade, black light mini-golf, and bowling. There was so much to do we didn't have to leave at all, over our 3 day, 2 night stay. That's my review, sorry if it was boring or not your thing, good trip. Will we go back? Maybe, but we like to try new experiences and that's checked off the list. On Wednesday, as we departed for home, I decided I'd had enough JUNK and eating junky. Do you ever get that feeling? Bloated, with a mind-fog, and no energy, at all? That was me. I felt just blah, so I decided I would just go ahead and start following the Autoimmune Protocol. Of course, this was after I ate a bag of inorganic M&M's and chamomile tea with honey, for breakfast.

On our journey back home, we popped off the Interstate to Kroger in Crawfordsville, to grab lunch and a few organic items for my AIP. Good gracious, I skipped on the $8.29 coconut butter.

Back to school for our kiddos, on Thursday, and they were excited to go! In fact, Remi made all A's, Reis averaged all A's, and Jude forgot his report card at school. This scenario sounds about spot on. This day for me was Detox Bath Day, followed with chamomile, yoga and laundry. My deep, inspired thoughts included while building our next home, a deeper, wider tub, and hiring a personal chef. I've noticed a pattern in my life. How have I not realized this before? No clue, except I'm guessing it's a subconscious habit. As I go through my tasks of daily living, when I subconsciously finish a task, I automatically go to the refrigerator, for my reward. For example, I finished multiple loads of laundry. What's the first thing I do? Open the fridge. I finish mopping the floor and vacuuming the entire house. What's next? Open the fridge. I finish cleaning the bathroom. Open the fridge. *Palm to the face* What am I doing? This is a habit I have to break, especially with the Autoimmune Protocol, I'm limited with my food options and since a majority of it is organic, I can't be wasteful and just veg out whenever I please.

I purchased four snap-ware containers from Menard's and prepped a cookie sheet of veggies and fish + chicken, and then separated it into four separate meals. It literally took one hour, for four lunches (or dinners) for myself. I opted for broccoli, carrots, sweet potatoes, peas, and mushrooms, as sides. They may sound starchy, typically I avoid starchy veggies, but since I'm completely grainless, starched veggies are perfect.

I saw a few friends on Facebook posting the following status update with a few minor changes such a booze: Today marks my first week without a drop of alcohol. Running 5 miles each day and yoga before breakfast. I've stopped eating meat, dairy, flour and sugar. All fruit and veggies are organic. No GMO'S. The change in my body has already been fantastic! I feel great! I plan to make this my new lifestyle. Zero soda. Eating a healthy diet that is completely vegan, gluten-free and sugar-free. And working out for two hours every day! I don't know whose status this is, but it said to copy and paste... I was so thrilled for the person when I started reading it but then I was like what, wait.. really? It is truly funny but come on, these are good goals! Let's build others up for wanting to better themselves instead or poking fun when they want to change their life. :D So, let me be real and say today would be day five and I feel like a new person.

Reflecting on previous goals where I've learned something every darn time. > In 2014, I went sugar-free. I stayed sugar-free the entire year except for a slip up in August and another in late December. Ran my first full marathon. > In 2015, I went vegetarian for a while slowly worked into Pescatarian (fish). > In 2016, my husband and I went vegan for a month together, as we completed the 21-day Daniel Fast. I continued for 3 months, after that. Ran another marathon. > In 2017, Autoimmune Paleo - for my Autoimmune disorder. It's an elimination diet that will clearly indicate what is right, for me personally, and what isn't right.

What have I learned? Well, I've learned we all make goals and being able to do ANY of it takes diligence, obedience, discipline, and growth! Why are we here? Growth. Being the best version of ourselves for our personal happiness, combating illness or depression, and for our families. Our spouses, children and family deserve all we can give them, right? Right. They do. What's given me the strength to know I can do whatever I set my mind to? I've said it before. The Gospel. All of those terms, I used previously, (diligence, discipline, obedience, growth) are just a few of the attributes I’ve developed (even if just a little bit) from the Gospel of Jesus Christ. When I realized I could do something really hard, something I felt was really hard in the moment, it helped me do another, then another. We are given weaknesses to make us humble and then strong or develop those into our strengths, as mentioned in the book of Ether, in the scriptures. Which may sound backwards but we’re here to learn and grow. If we think back on our life, it’s a continual learning process from birth. We constantly evolve into a different person, changing and growing. Personally, I’m grateful for that because the person I was 15 years ago is not who I am now, even five years ago, I’m different. We may make resolutions and keep a few of them, or maybe one, or not keep any, but that's ok. If we tried and we're constantly trying, every experience helps us become.

#lds #mormon #mormonmommy #family #resolutions #aip #glutenfree

Jerry Potter 2017

This chapter is called 2017, and this is day one.

Food. Food is trending in my household. Typically, I am very conscious eater, always an overachiever when it comes to calories, they're of some nutritional value, but since Christmas.. Eh.. since 3 days before Christmas, I've had no restraint.

On Friday, I sat on a dining room chair, in my yoga attire (let's be real - sweatpants), and played legos and ate veggie straws until my butt cheek was numb. Zero motivation. Zero energy. What I really need is a B-12 injection. Anyone have one of those handy?

This is my son. As I brought my yoga mat in, for a light cleaning, I stepped out of the room for only a moment. This was the sight, when I returned. Of course, I snapped a photo and Instagrammed it. Those little curled toes are my favorite.

He even asked me, “Mom, what move should I do next?” I told him the move that involves moving it onto the floor because he most likely would topple off of the dining room table. Gah, I love this kid!

Miss Remi posing in her new Christmas gifts. Everytime I braid or brush her hair, she’s considering more and more the possibility of dreadlocks. This child’s hair is incredible. It can look so beautiful and like no other, but it can be tangled like no other, too. One day we may have a little boho child. This coming year she’ll turn 8. That means we have a baptism to prepare for!

Hello, '17. Every time I say 17, my lyrically-inclined mind clicks and I sing a liner, in half a dozen songs. I think I've written this before. Déjà vu.

"She was only 17..." - Cold"

“Strawberry Wine, 17" - Deana Carter

"When you're 16 going on 17" - Sound of Music

Or just 3... because it makes me think of all of these songs:

"Beauty queen of only 18" - Maroon 5

"'Cause when you're 15" - Taylor Swift

"I don't know about you but I'm feeling 22." - Taylor Swift

"Once I was 7 years old" - Lukas Graham

"And, darling, I will be loving you 'til we're 70 And, baby, my heart could still fall as hard at 23" - Ed Sheeran

"15 there's still time for you" - Five for Fighting

"Lord have mercy on my next thirty years" - Tim McGraw

Oh wait, I'm 30. How did I get here? How is it 2017?!

We aren't feeling overly achieving, I will admit, coming into this new year. We went out with my parents for our annual New Year's Eve Dinner at Possum Trot at 5:00. Then, my husband and I went to see Rogue One (btw - although I had my reservations, it was very good). After picking up our children from my mother's, around 11 p.m., we went home and I fell asleep until about 5 minutes before the new year. I was up until 12:05 and back out. Seriously, my Fitbit proves it. I always get Fitbit stars for sleeping. It's one of my best talents. Anyway, we leave for GWL tomorrow morning for our mini-vacay. I'm not packed at it's 8:29 p.m. I'm also not on a diet or exercise regime, right now. Not that there's no hope for the future, but I'm postponing that until we return so I'm not menstrual and hypoglycemic on our trip.

We did mention a few improvements we'd like to work on this year. One being a blog a week. <that's mine. Returning our movies to Red Box and the library. Yes, the sentence ends there because there have been incidents where that didn't occur. When we do return them, we return them on time. This is the bigger issue. I'm sure I've mentioned our almost $100 late fee at the public library. Yes, you read that right. $100 at the public library that it's free to check-out books and movies. The librarian probably cringes when she sees our family coming up the steps.

Another personal improvement will be healing my gut. Odd, I know. But our gut health is a direct reflection of our overall health, believe it or not. I recently was diagnosed with Hashimoto Thyroiditis. Long story short, my body is waging war against my thyroid believing it's an invader. This is devastating to me because already it's a struggle to maintain a healthy BMI. This will only progressively make things worse. But, all hope isn't lost. When we return from our mini-vacay. Goodbye, nightshades, dairy, gluten(actually that's already gone from my diet), processed foods, and sugar. Extreme? Absolutely extreme+. But that's how in roll.. on occasion.. meaning very occasionally. The wellness plan is called Autoimmune Paleo Protocol, and it's specially for those diagnosed with ANY Autoimmune disorder, to restore health by removing toxins and allergens from the diet by elimination then slowly adding potential "inflamers" (haha, I made that up) back in, while keeping track of how my body responds to the food groups.

Day 1 will be January 5th. Even though that's not a Sunday or a Monday. I'm predicting I'll feel incredibly ready after indulging on our trip. Hashi's isn't a fan of distance running, which makes me incredibly sad. It actually can make things worse though. So my marathon-life may be over. I'll still run, but only lower mileage. My yoga life is back in full-swing, as well as weights, boxing, and HIIT. Did I mention I gained 4 lbs since Christmas? That's gotta go. It's not welcome here.

While Jude got ready for church today, in his white shirt and tie, he said to me, "Oh my gosh, I look just like Jerry Potter!"

Sometimes our attitude makes the biggest difference. Even though I should be feeling like this new year is a new chance and a I can be a better person, as I got ready for church this morning. I feel drab. My hair was slightly greasy (hormones), my skin was dull with multiple red outbreaks (hormones), my back hurt (hormones), and I felt like I was about to birth my uterus.

I felt like I was writing the grown-up, mother version of Amanda and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day.

But ever so slowly I realized, my “bad day” wasn’t really a bad day. I just felt bad, The day turned really good. I therapeutically colored with my son through Sacrament. I had felt a little bad for doing a mini-revamp of my January lesson in Come Follow Me - “Who am I? Who Can I Become?” But it was one of my all-time favorites including beautiful photography of natural landscapes that seemed like heaven, to me. I even added Hymn of the Greatest Generation by Caspian as a background music. This song, my friends, is one of my favorite songs to practice Yoga to. It’s instrumental and relaxing.

The lesson was thought-provoking. Not only for the young women, I teach, but for me. Who am I? Who can I become?

The was just what I needed to start 2017 out positively, remembering who I am, a daughter of God. To remember the qualities, interests, and talents, I possess, were predestined for me, personally. That I’m an individual. There is no one else just like me, that thinks like me or feels like me. Like a quote I shared a blog or two previously, “No one is you. That is your power.” That is my power and I felt the spirit so strongly while discussing who we are, who we can become, and our spiritual nature.

I’m going to try to be less “mind full” and more “mindful”, in this new year.

Wasagna

There is a special art, parents must achieve, in life. Let me explain.

As my children age, they develop their own identity. Which, I guess is ok, but sometimes I like a moderate amount of control over their life decisions. Like clothing – I can comfortably say my mother dressed me until high school, I’m not kidding. My first grader, refuses to let me pick out her clothing for school, and when I do lay something out, she deliberately will not wear it, just because I laid it out for her. She uses this liner, “They’re MY clothes, Mom, not yours. Dress yourself.”

She’s right. However, while envisioning my future family many years ago, I saw myself dressing my children like baby dolls until they were much older than seven.

Dinner is another control area, for my children. If they can identify a vegetable or bean, they will attempt to sort them out of their entrée. Like for example, they’ve recently realized about 80% of the meals I fix contain onions. “Ugh, Mom…. why do you put onions in this?”

I’ve always put onions in it and they’re never before had an issue.

You have to up your game. This past week we got a mini food processor (which didn’t work but we’ll come back to that), we got a mini food processor replacement, and this, my friends, is amazing. I’ve never owned one before so please don’t judge. It literally purees and liquefies those onions, so in all honesty I can tell my children, “You won’t find a slice of onion in your dinner.”

Because they won’t, it’s no lie, it’s pureed up and blended into it. No evidence, no questions, same taste, outsmarted.

Within a span of one week or seven days, the following stopped working in our house: the washing machine, the vacuum, the new food processor, and the refrigerator. I’m not kidding. In fact, the refrigerator quit on us the day after I went shopping at ALDI – which is another notable story.

I felt complete bliss about the decision to head to the grocery store near noon, on Monday. Usually, I go so I’m there when they open, but this Monday, I ran, did laundry, cleaned house, then left for the grocery store. I felt even more confident with that decision when I was driving along and a mile or two down the road, “Noon in the ‘90’s” came on the radio. Inspired, I was, to belt out those beautiful lyrics that somehow remained tucked away in my brain files for years.

I shopped and at the checkout the cashier swiped a $5 savings coupon at the end, SCORE! Even better! Sacked up my healthy, gluten-free selections, and headed to the door, when I noticed it was pouring down rain. I mean raining cats and dogs. A hot mess of rain. I knew all good things had to come to an end at that point. I couldn’t have “Noon in the 90’s”, $5 discount at an already extremely affordable store, and a dry day to load and unload my groceries. But that’s okay. Obviously, with the rain the temperature dropped a few more degrees because standing in the walker line at school, I feel like I was in the Arctic Circle. I even received parental advice that I should’ve worn a coat (as opposed to my hoodie). Call it denial (because that’s exactly what it was), I wasn’t ready for December temperatures.

Lots of refrigeration is required, for those healthy selections. Then the fridge went out and panicked, I felt like I needed to cook everything to save it. We do have a mini-fridge that we packed full and the freezer since it was still maintaining a little bit of cool.

I ended up making a 4-cream cheese block, cheese ball as a snack for all. Which made me cringe but the ball fit in the mini-fridge much better than the 4 boxes of cream cheese, shredded cheese, and onions, independently.

Anyway, the motherboard was fixed, as of yesterday, and the fridge is doing its job.

Remi, came home with a “Star of the Month” t-shirt! She got it for cooperation. We’re so proud of her. Jude came home with a little reader, and he read it to me. I was shocked. Reis came home with a certificate from 4-H (she’s honestly had for a couple of weeks, I just hadn’t seen it) for the Wilton Award in Cake Decorating. I laminated it for her, because my handy dandy laminator literally laminates everything in my house.

I made lunch for a family and made a little extra for my children, because I know they love lasagna-bake. Jude was saying how he should’ve added ‘lasagna’ to the word-wall at school, when they were on letter, “W”. I was like wait a minute. Why, ‘W’? He then started repeating, “wa-, wa-, wasagna!” I straightened him out, but oh, how funny.

Another notable scenario happened several days ago. I was laying, dramatically on the couch, suffering a migraine headache. I mentioned to Jude I didn’t feel well. He hopped off of my lap, ran around the couch toward the stairwell. I didn’t know what he was doing but I knew he was on a mission. When he came back, he told me he had prayed for me. *happy tears*

Trending now in our house, during the ice-calypse of winter 2016, is Snapchat. Sure, I previously judged those who used those crazy filters and posted 70 of them a day to facebook, but I now understand. Especially those sweet little deer with a voice changer, they are just the best. I think every text to my husband Friday was in deer antlers and a sweet little deer voice. It’s very manipulating since it’s so darn cute. My children love making mini-videos with these filters, too. Right now, we’re stuck on introducing ourselves and saying we’re deer, but I’m sure we’ll move on to more substance by next week.

Also trending -- baking. On Saturday, I didn’t leave my pajamas or my house. I fixed chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast, a potato casserole, gingerbread cookies, spaghetti for lunch, a cheese ball, and deviled eggs. I spent almost every waking moment in the kitchen. I also ate a lot of food. That’s what freezing cold, icy days do to me.

On December 6th, my husband and I celebrated our 8th wedding anniversary. We dined at Possum Trot and shopped for Christmas. That morning I drug out our wedding album and went through our photos and stories I’d handwritten. I’m pretty sure our life story could be a movie on the Hallmark Channel. Actually, it would have to be a series. Early into our relationship, (the year before we were married), we even filmed the Allen and Amanda Show. I wish I could dig up some of that old footage but I’m not sure it exists, it was fabulous. We also filmed our story of how we met using our hands as puppets. That’s also on a recording somewhere. I’ll make it a priority to find it.

Let me close with a conversation I just had with my five year-old son.

Me: What do you want to give your teacher for Christmas? Does she like coffee or hot chocolate?

Jude: Umm... I think she likes hot chocolate. Let’s make her some.

Me: No, how about we get her a gift card to Juli’s Java or...

Jude: Juli’s Java? I want Juli’s Java! You read my mind.

The Cat Pageant

Operation: Let’s Clean for Turkey Day, is underway. Actually, after sweeping my floors, sanitizing trash cans and the refrigerator, and doing dishes - a whooping 25 minutes - I’m spent.

I even made myself lunch. I noticed these two lonely spaghetti squash sitting on the pantry shelf and I thought to myself, “Meatless Monday”. So, I gathered a recipe from Pinterest for dinner (in the crock pot, easy breezy). Then, I used the two other halves to make lunch.

I should’ve felt it wasn’t going to be as glamorous as I anticipated. The squash were extremely tough to cut into and they have seeds. Did you know that? I’ve only made a spaghetti squash macaroni one other time, and my children and husband considered it a ‘fail’.

So, I may have taken some aggression out on the poor squash, even criticized it for wanting to be a pumpkin. I mean if I’d wanted to carve a pumpkin and remove the seeds I would’ve. That was too much work for lunch and talk about a mess all over my counter.

I seasoned my pumpkin wannabe and cooked it, f-o-r-e-v-e-r. I was starving. With my fork, it made perfect little imitation noodles and I seasoned it once more and added a little butter.

I photographed my gorgous, healthy creation, even captioning it on Instragram, “Spaghetti Squash Delciousness”.

This was true, until about the 6th bite, then I came to a realization that I wasn’t fooling anyone. Vegetables sometimes make me sad. I craved something with sustenance. The squash tasted like I’d rather be fat.

So, here I am blogging while I have a minute, since it’s been forever. But below are some starts from the weeks and weeks I’ve been absent from blogland. Funny, it, too, begins with food. Food makes the world go round, I’m not gonna lie.

There’s a fine line, or a delicate balance between being ashamed of doing something and being proud of doing that same thing. For instance, recently, I ate half a block of cream cheese. I sprinkled some shredded sharp cheddar on it and a dash of garlic powder. Before I knew it, it was no more. By recently, I mean 15 minutes ago.

Here I sit ashamed I haven’t blogged since, hold on… let me check, September 25th. It’s been a month. Shortly after I’ve typed my 87th word on the page, my iPhone alarms alerts me, it’s time to think about leaving to pick the children up from school. I have the timing down to an art. I know exactly how many minutes I have to leave my front porch by to make it there within a minute of the bell ringing.

Yesterday, I was slightly late and the horrific expressions on my children’s faces told me they would’ve preferred to have been forgotten. Let me backup. Every fall, I have this wonderful idea to dye my hair darker, because let’s face it, that’s what’s in style. I browse Pinterest, and I see gorgeous balyage with blonde tips or hombre. Gorgeous golds and browns and reds, I love them all. So, I take all of these glamorous images into my hair dresser of these women with their fab hair and I ask her to replicate it. She does and I love it for one day. Then as the days go by, I start having post-dye-depression. I feel I’m washed out, I feel dark, I feel like my hair is black (it’s not even close to black or even partially brunette but comparing it to bleach blonde, it’s drastic), then I can’t function. I’m like the walking-dead and I have no understanding how anyone in the whole world could be brunette. I have to change it. That was basically my text to my hair dresser. Please get me in and let me get my life under control, again. I have to be blonde. Please, don’t take offense, brunettes. You can pull it off, I cannot.

So, I get a text to see if I can come in about a half hour before the kids get out on early release day. Of course, I’m going to take advantage of it, even if it means wearing foil in my hair to the pick-up line, to pick up my kids. That’s exactly what I did. I got foiled up and I ran up to get my children and we’re back where the story began. …I was slightly late and the horrific expressions on my children’s faces told me they would’ve preferred to have been forgotten. First, it was Remi and Jude, exiting the building, their eyes enormous, “Mom, what happened to your hair?!” as they approached me, approximately 30 feet away. I’m sure they were ready to get out of sight, at that moment. Reis wasn’t an quiet as soon as she stepped out the door, “MOM! WHY IS THEIR FOIL IN YOUR HAIR?”

“I’m trying to keep the aliens, away, my dear. Let’s go.” Even Larry, the cop, told me I looked like I was having a bad day, which was completely false. That day was going to be great because I was going to be blonde.

Can I speak about the drop-off line, for a moment? This is a big part of “mom life”, here in town. This is a place where mothers courageously set forth to their vehicles, in their pajama pants, dragging their children in to the car, and take them to school, while on the final countdown. Minutes before the bell rings, hoping someone is still standing there with the door open.

Karma. Karma it was. A normal day for us is a co-drop-off-effort, between my husband and myself. We both like to see the children off of a morning. So, we usually hop in his truck and take them. Several times throughout the year, we’d had his large trailer hitched to the back. No mistaking who where are and more than likely upsetting a few parents because of the space and limit-ability in the car-line.

This morning was a seemingly normal day, trailer hitched on his truck, approximately 8 a.m. We observed the popularity of this particular drop-off time. Then we chuckled about how there was a food truck there to make a delivery. This would mean it would have to back into a drive, that’s blocked by tired, pajama-wearing moms (like myself), who live the car-line-code. The code being: no cuts, no buts, no coconuts. You must strictly adhere to no cutting in line, and if you are pulling in, from the wrong direction, and try to cut, you will be lynched.

We laughed about how that delivery guy would need to wait because no one would sacrifice a place in line for his delivery. Then we got up to the doors with our usual waves to Mr. T and Larry, the cop. As the truck was placed in park, my oldest daughter said, “Dad, I can’t get out this door, there are mason jars and lights in the way.” My husband quickly said, “Yes, just climb over them, you’ll be fine.” As I opened the door and the cab door, like a sound-effect from a movie, glass shattered across the blacktop.

Everyone in the truck gasped. Froze (for about 4 seconds), then I helped the children out over the glass, while my husband scurried to pick up the large pieces. After helping them all climb out, I helped him pick up the remaining. It’s unheard of to spend that much time, during drop off, in the line, not to mention taking up three car lengths of space. We were probably being observed by the school surveillance camera by the office staff, and they absolutely know who did it because of the large advertisement of my husband’s business on the trailer. How humiliating. Not to mention, how many people in line behind us were cussing us, because we picked up the glass while smiling and laughing.

As we drove home, we discussed the conversations that were probably occurring behind us and wondering if we would get a call that little Tommy got cut on the playground by a shard of glass. Or even worse, a parent getting a flat, if we missed a larger piece. That would be the death of us.

Did I mention the children voted for President of the United States, in school? Maybe the most notorious scenario from this historic election was our sweet Kindergartener, Jude. As he ran out of school, the day it happened, he announced to his sister, Remi, and I, “We got to vote.” Then he quickly added, proudly, “I voted from Trump.” Then he snickered. Surely the snickering was because he’d heard our dinner conversations about the election and how both parents were voting third-party. He may’ve declared his choice, with much confidence, out of spite. I’m not quite sure.

Later, he said, “You know Trump was the elephant, because he has a ‘trump’.” Remi quickly corrected him and said, “Jude, that’s a tru-NK.” Maybe it was more about being an elephant fan as opposed to a donkey fan. Let’s go with that.

So we’ve been through Halloween, Reis’s musical, “Annie”, where she was orphan (loved it), I ran a marathon, Spell Bowl, and I think that brings us up-to-date. I’ve uploaded my camera roll a few times, so I’ve probably missed something. It’s busy. I’ve realized there’s never going to be a break. It’s always going to be busy.

It’s another day and I’d like to report the satisfying taste of Penn Station’s fries. Those, my friends, are real food. I spent my lunchtime, smiling, laughing, and being the opposite of miserable.

I laughed about like I did on Sunday, when Jude announced he and Remi were having a “Cat Pageant”. We don’t have cats. They had paper-doll-cats. In fact, I’m quite glad we don’t have cats after watching a few minutes of that.

It’s funny how food is so heartwarming.

A couple of other updates that I must keep in the archive. (Quoting myself about running my second marathon, Monumental ) >>

“ Tomorrow I'm running the Monumental Marathon. I'm not looking to break any records, obliterate my PR, or anything crazy. Just get through the 26.2 miles and have a fun time doing that. I'm dedicating this one to Kristin! I always knew she had a passion for running but after she left this life, I found out a marathon was on her bucket list. This one is for her!”

“ I guess that was nonsense about not obliterating my PR because I did obliterate it by 26 minutes. 04:13:26 The weather was ideal. The course fabulous. I tried to keep it positive because if I got too emotional, my chest would tighten up and I couldn't breathe and breathing is important, especially when running. 😉 I kept reminding myself to give it all I had for Kristin. I gave little children big waves and high fives because I'm sure that's what she would've done. “

About the Indiana Bicentennial Torch Relay and Celebration >>

“So this past Wednesday, I had very unique privilege of participating in the Bicentennial Torch Relay to celebrate Indiana's 200 years. The honor, was running posthumously for my grandfather, Lee Clingan. Big Daddy, Grandpa Lee, Grandfather, Senator Clingan, Lt. Clingan, Auctioneer, were just a few of the names he had gone by. This man had seen more in his lifetime, undoubtedly, than many of us Gen X or Millennials will ever see.A few years ago, I'd visit him and offer to clean out his refrigerator and he would collect anything perishable and feed it to the birds, in his backyard. I'm sure that frugality came from enduring the Great Depression.

He fought for our country in World War II, even being a Prisoner of War and enduring the Poland Death March, a 500 mile trek.

He earned the Purple Heart, Bronze Star, and Combat Infantryman Badge.He returned to Fountain County, later, and served in Legislature for 24 years. First as a State Senator for 8 years, then in the House of Representatives for 16 years. He was a Democrat, believing in less government. He also was a local auctioneer and insurance salesman, in Fountain County.My husband and I had many political conversations, when we'd visit with him, before his passing in 2011. Lee believed we needed less government and less bills. While serving in the House and Senate he would send notices to Congress from the Indiana legislature urging it then to balance the federal budget. Talk about a man predicting the future circumstances of his country. Lee Clingan truly put community above political ideology.

During the Bicentennial Celebration, I was told by a gentleman, that my Grandfather Lee had bought this man, then a young boy, his first pair of glasses, because he had heard his family couldn't afford to. He noted how much respect he had for Lee Clingan. My grandfather Lee truly loved Gala Apples, Maple Corner's Pickled Beets, and Cracker Barrel Sharp Cheddar, from the IGA. I loved just talking to him. We had many great conversations. I fondly remember his impeccable animal impersonations he would perform for Remi, and leave her awestruck, as a baby. He was a jack of many trades.I miss our conversations, dearly. When I think of service, I think of the life of this extraordinary man. It was a true, unforgettable honor to carry the torch in his name.”

Flash forward to me still not posting a blog, and it’s 10:54 on the 23rd of November, the night before Thanksgiving.

Today I’ve prepped food, broken my vacuum and washing machine, replaced a vacuum, cleaned, set the tables, and went for a family movie night to see Trolls, which was adorable. Am I just old now or is the music-remakes what makes family movies amazing? I’m sure my eleven year-old thought I was “cray”, as I whispered the lyrics to every song on the movie to her. Stunned, she would say, “How do you know the words?” every. single. time. Toward the end she even added about this song from YouTube called “True Colors”, then when I started singing along, her jaw dropped open, yet, again.

One of our favorites was of course, “Hello”, because Allen and I have history with that song from Bar Noble, back when we met or began dating. I think we enthusiastically agreed to play, “Hello” as I basically laid across the jukebox. I’m pretty sure we found a $20 bill behind it that evening, too. So, while we’re watching this movie with our family, this evening, I look over at him, because I know he knows this song has history, and his head is back and his mouth, wide-open, asleep. Jude was sleeping by this point, too.

Another oldie but goodie was “The Sound of Silence”. On the way home we listened to every version under the sun, but our very favorite still was Disturbed. I don’t know if we’re drawn the the darkness of that song or the piano or maybe it’s because in high school, I did spend some time listening to Disturbed and anything along the lines of Disturbed. It’s the best version, though, and Simon and Garfunkel’s sounded great as Anna Kendrick sang it on the movie, too. Ah, I LOVE music.

There is one last thought I’d like to expound on.

I began writing a blog when my daughter, Reis, was a Kindergartener, I think. My consistency hasn’t been the best but she’s now a Fifth Grader. I love reading and reading the past, because I’m grateful to have it written, like a book, for my children and for generations to come. Another huge reason for beginning a blog was to help people realize how we’re just normal, very imperfect people, trying to do our best to be good parents or have love in our home. We focus a lot on harmony, happiness, and the Gospel. Life is really, really good. I’m very grateful, not just because it’s the season to declare that, but because I truly am full of gratitude for my life.

We had a great Family Home Evening on Monday. We made a “Thankful Tree” and watched a video of a family living in poverty. I think it was eye-opening for our children to see how this family was grateful even for living in a hut, sleeping on a dirt floor, and cleaning their clothing and bathing in dirty, unclean water.

Our circumstances as citizens of the United States of America, may not be perfect or may not be the way we’d like them to be 100% of the time, but we’re prosperous.

I saw a funny meme that said only in America can we be grateful on one day (Thanksgiving) and greedy the next (Black Friday). I may sound very Unamerican for this comment, but I’m personally opting out of Black Friday. The whole scene gives me a massive headache to think about and I feel like placing my focus elsewhere. If you do shop, that’s great and congratulations for coping with copious amounts of people much better than I do. I think I get social anxiety in huge crowds. Actually, I know I do. I prefer un-busy malls and un-busy restaurants.

I’m rambling, I think this is enough. Enjoy your Thanksgiving and Black Friday and hopefully I’ll be back before the new year! :D

Fuzzy Caterpillar Diaries

My life has been hurling forward, at such an impeccable speed, that the two times I left my house today, I had to double-check I was completely dressed.

It's sad really because I've missed writing about a few beautiful milestones that have happened. But sometimes I add too much detail, so I'll cut right to the point, of everything (that I can remember happening), and hope it isn't too dry or so far removed from my memory that it becomes a tall tale. Fortunately, I take "big notes". “Big” meaning if something I can't allow myself to forget happens. I grab put my handy dandy notebook (just kidding)! I grab my handy dandy iPhone, and I create a note. For example, on August 26th, I noted the following: While Jude was brushing up on his baking skills, fixing gluten-free pancakes Sunday morning, with my husband, he said, “I think I can be a baker, when I grow up, Dad.” He paused in contemplation… “that can be my disguise for Ironman.” Or back just a little further, on August 15th, when school had hardly been in session, like we're talking less than a week -- On a Monday morning, Jude looks up from his cozy spot on the couch, all curled up, watching the iPad and says to me, "If it's raining... do we have school?" "Nice try. We do, Jude." Or tell me when will 'poop' no longer be an everyday word or topic of conversation? Jude: "Mom, I can't believe I'm growing so fast. I know how to open food and poop on my own." My last update was the first week of school. Which equates to approximately 609 photos, 195 miles of running, 33 days of school, 18 cheerleading practices, 16 meetings about the new playground, 14 dance and gymnastics classes, 12 piano lessons, 11 chorus practices, 3 nights at youth, an 11th birthday party, and a princess pageant – and we’re still in September.

To highlight the most memorable moments, I’ve already elaborated on those cute comments from our youngest, so let’s move on the girls.

Miss Remi was invited to be in the Apple Fest Pageant, as a princess. She had a mentor, or a Queen Candidate, that she was paired with and she got to go on stage and introduce herself. Can I just say I’m incredibly proud of how far that little girl has come?

If we can think back, (or even read back, in this blog) we all remember how shy and introverted Remi was. She developed Epilepsy after routine vaccinations when she was seven months old and almost died. She had many reoccurring seizures, initially, and was on an anti-epileptic medication, taken twice daily, for a year. We didn’t know how Miss Remi would turn out because we were told she would be mentally handicapped because of the area of her brain affected by the initial seizure. It was responsible for learning.

We all remember the stories of her attempting preschool for the first time. Bawling hysterically, kicking and screaming for a couple of weeks while the aide pried her away from me and into the building. She did get over this but shy always fit her personality description.

So, seeing this seven year-old darling little girl with her naturally, curly blonde hair, beaming with her sweet smile, on a stage in front of lots of people, telling them, in a microphone her name and age, and where she’s from, made me want to bawl my eyes out. What a long way she’s come and how much she’s grown. She loved this experience. It wasn’t a devastating loss, by not winning a crown, (even though I feel like learning early to be resilient is important), but it was a building-experience.

I hope you can feel the warm fuzzies.

Our oldest daughter, Reis, turned eleven years old, on the 13th. Wow, since she’s 11 that makes me old. Knowing that I was introduced to her dad when I was 12, makes me scared.

She wanted to have a rockin’ Backyard Movie Night and invite boys and girls. We gave her the thumbs up and planned it for her. We borrowed our friend’s projector and popcorn machine, plus some large party games and even painted lawn twister on the grass, outside. We made little popcorn cupcakes and made it a festive occasion.

On party day, it rained and rained, rained and rained. So, we moved everything upstairs, in our loft. and created a theater, complete with movie theater candy and Hollywood Vibes.

As everyone arrived and things got chaotic, we’re talking around 20 ten and eleven year-olds, they all began playing outside and even cooking marshmallows over the fire pit. As the first several minutes went on, we began hearing thunderstorm warnings (although it was still nice out and no rain) and even tornado warnings. So, we moved the party inside but one-by-one I received phone calls and texts from parents about needing to seek shelter because there were tornado touchdowns, nearby.

Luckily, our neighbor (his daughter was at our house) mentioned nonchalantly in a text to my husband if we needed to get in the basement, we could use theirs.

Well, I’m sure they didn’t think we’d need to take them up on that offer, but after several minutes and it was getting pretty real, before the rain set in, we field-tripped it, two doors down, to the neighbors and all huddled up in their basement. Luckily their little Wiener Dog, but most importantly, their Rottweiler had no problem with 23 strangers coming into their home and going into their basement.

All 23 of us were down there. We had a few emotional breakdowns, but most of the kids were chill or could relax their peers into believing all would be well. This was an example of positive peer pressure.

As the evening went on, the warning extended and we were expected to be hit, head-on, within a 15 minute-window. By this time, my husband and another dad were outside, standing “tornado watch”, as the rains poured and the lightning crashed around the carport. My sister, mother, and I began looking for ways the children could protect their heads and necks. There was a possibility with a mattress and some shelving units, as well as a few tables. Since the children were smaller, they could fit in a tight space well. We determined the best wall to be against, depending on the direction of the storm and I told the children, cheerfully and as positively as possible (without the slightest bit of shake to my voice), “Hypothetically, if there were a real tornado, we’re going to “practice” what we’d do, kind of like at school!” (Even though for a few minutes we were pretty sure we were gonna get pounded and we needed a game plan).

Slowly, the hour and half passed and finally we all went upstairs and back to the party. No tornado touchdowns in Covington, thankfully! Everything resumed wild and crazy, as previously. I’m pretty sure these kiddos will never forget Reis’s Hollywood Birthday Tornado Party.

We also had house guests during these past few weeks. This was incredibly exciting for our children, we were up late on school nights, eating ice cream, going bowling, picking corn, and hanging out with built-in friends for a few days!

Allen and I did some trailblazing at Forest Glen. In fact, we went back to Forest Glen, of a morning, last week. We were told by several people the last end of the backpacking trail was relatively flat, so we went to hike that.

Lies and deception. Actually, I don’t think we were in the right area, it couldn’t have been the same area because after 37 creek crossings and hiking up and down 23 steep ravines, straight-up, I felt like I should resign for the day. Intense, to say the least. Needless to say, miles 8-10 will not be on the Pioneer Trek, for next year’s Youth Conference. When we emerged from the trail, we saw another area and that must’ve been the last mile of the trail. Oh well, it was great cardio for the day. I even run a lot and this was hard. Probably because I like to keep a nice conversational speed while I run.

Speaking of running, I am in love with the new trail. So much so, that every time I go out for a run or bike ride, I have to do the whole thing. While I’m out there running miles, sometimes with others, sometimes alone, I’ve noticed those fuzzy caterpillar-worms. The ones that they say determine by color if it’s going to be an easy or hard winter. I’ve always heard the lighter the fuzz the lighter the winter and if they’re black, we’re screwed. These fuzzy, pokey creatures must not be communicating well with each other, because some are black and some are golden. So it’s still a toss up. Anyway, the trail is a few feet wide, blacktop, and sometimes I see a worm that has almost made it to the other side, which probably feels like all eternity to it, in the scorching sun, radiating off of the blacktop, it’s so close, like within a couple of inches from the grass, but it’s stopped. It’s stopped or dead, I don’t know. Let’s pretend it’s not dead, I don’t like to think it’s dead when it was so close to reaching the other side.

I think these little fuzzy bugs can show us a great lesson in life. Sometimes, we’re so close - almost there - and we just give up. We give up and we stop trying because we think it’s so far out of our reach (but it’s right there).

What I want to tell that little bug, because apparently I’m delirious is, “Keep trying! You’re almost there! Just a little more! Push yourself!” But sometimes, as human beings we need this same reminder.

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