What Looks Like Love

After spending the morning on the telephone with various doctors, learning how Bear's, Peach's, and my worlds are changing, I announced to The Captain, who came home on his lunch break, that I was going to go take a bath to escape the world for a moment.

Soon after, he came in, Cherry Coke in hand, setting it on my tub's edge. Cherry Coke delivered by my sweetheart, while I soak away my sorrows, without contradiction, is what love looks like in my world. And once again I'm reminded that I can get through anything.

Trash or Treasure?

One thing I love about life is all of the feelings I feel when I use my senses. Beautiful sights (I love photography and art!), Smells (hello bakeries and fine dining and flowers!), touch (knitting, textures, fabrics!), tastes (creamy texture, amazing flavors...), and sounds (music, birds, children, laughter). I love it in abundance.

It also stresses me out... darkness, tar smell, bare feet on grass, sticky things, loud sounds, mean people...

I'm sensitive. The Captain realized that before we were married, and keeps it forefront in his mind. But how sensitive am I???

Bear is undergoing some testing for some different processing functions. Missing those a-MA-zing quizzes I used to do in Seventeen magazine (which I really never read past age 15), I did my own version of his Sensory Processing Disorder quiz. And guess what I learned?

I have Severe Sensory Processing Disorder. For real. Not pretend for real. For real for real.

While I'm not surprised, I'm surprised! After reading more of the material from his doctor, it appears I just hardly complain about the nasty I feel. I don't cry or scream or yell, even if I feel it inside.

Isn't that interesting? So now I get to learn more about SPD, and myself. And I get to decide how I feel about it. Do I use it as a tool to become a "better" person, or do I set it aside, claiming "hogwash", and go along my merry way?

I only wonder one thing... If I'm sensitive, what's "normal" in everyone else's world?

Can I Tell You About My Day?

The Captain is out of town for work, and I miss yammering on to him about my day. He went to bed early, and our conversation was only regarding what time the children went to bed, and our upcoming vacation. So, I'll tell you about my day instead.

The kids and I went to the Canyon to return outgrown baby goods to NM, where it was snowing, pick up my long lost patio set from Bear and Lambie's father's house (with his permission of course. What kind of girl do you take me for?), and visit my dear friend AMc, and her lovely gaggle of girls, E,R,S,and MG. And of course my friend SW and her little lady, C.

AMc lives on her little "farm". The thought of it intrigues The Captain because he's such a city boy. Whenever I go to AMc's home, in the booming metropolis (haha) of Scio, I think of City Mouse, Country Mouse... and then remind myself that neither of us turns our nose up at the other when we visit. Our visits are always so comfy.

I discovered today I get all of the benefits of a farm, without ANY work. (Sorry AMc!) Today I got to confront my fear and pet a goat. *faint* It was kind of anxiety inducing, but I did it, and it just stood there. I wanted to keep petting it, but I didn't want it to turn on me. I got to hold a baby chick, which was deeeevine. I got to pet a sheep. And I got four bags of Romney wool, because I (the City Mouse) am going to learn to spin wool! And I returned home with a dozen brown eggs, which should concern The Captain plenty.

The conversation was awesome, the friends were classic... Bear declared his love for R (to me, in secret) and his desire to outsmart her as they played and raced through the yard. And Lambie was so comfortable, as usual, blending in with the rest of the ladies wearing fairy wings and a flower circlet on her head. I love the opportunity to play and play hard, for my kids. I love that they get to see animals up close, so they are not tentative or afraid. I love that they don't mind getting dirty. I love that sometimes our socks get left there, or that we might come home wearing someone else's socks - it's that comfortable. ...I do mind that afterward I get a wee bit of chastisement that our back yard is smaller than AMc's deck... and that we don't have a tree to do our homework in, like E has... But it is always a good day. A wonderful day. And I always want to go back. I always feel welcome.

I hope my Country Mouse friend always does too, at my home. We live in different worlds, but the drive never seems long, and the visits are always warm.

Suspicious Nights

This is one of my favorite Elvis songs of all time. I love the truth behind acting with integrity, and not having a night that would make the person who loves you worry and wonder. You can't build your dreams on suspicious nights. Right?

The Captain and I love to sing. We sing and sing and sing whenever we can. The other morning I announced that I would be showering because Peach was sleeping. He replied with a song "It's noooow or never. Come hoooold me tight. Kiss me my darling. Be mine tonight..." Meaning "It's now or never, go shower and make it snappy." I then of course stalled --Perhaps I have this sadistic desire to stall enough that he will have to watch Peach, who wakes up mid shower, while I have it on just the right temperature, and don't want to get out-- by asking him what his favorite Elvis song was, because I knew we had the same one.

We both start singing "We can't go on together with suspicious ____." *record screeches* I said "Nights" he said "Minds". Oh I loved it. He was SO WRONG. I had bet him before on music, and lost. Over and over and over again. Unless it was a year of a song. I'm good at that. But I knew I was right about this one. I loved this song. I downloaded this song from Napster as "Suspicious Nights". I have been singing it since I was a child this way. I beamed as I placed my bet... and sat there stunned as I learned I was WRONG!

I was WRONG!

And worst of all, he was RIGHT!

Ay yi yi.

So now I've listened to the song, with new ears. And I REALLY like it! It's such a good song! I love the truth behind giving trust to the person you love, and not stressing a relationship through worry and wonder. It's a great song.

It has helped me love my husband more. But it could be that I love him more because not only does he teach me about songs, but he is now humoring me singing one verse with "suspicious minds" and then surprising me by the next verse singing "suspicious nights", which makes me laugh! What a great man. ...He has rightfully earned me spoon-feeding him Tillamook Mudslide ice cream yet again...

Just Give Me the Whole Pie

A few years ago, a prominent person in my life sent an email that I'll never forget. It stated how this person had served a mission, served in the military, and raised children, and wanted to know when they would get service in return. I was quick to point out that those were services they had given, and *should* expect nothing in return. It's true.

Today at church, SW spoke on humility. It was an awesome talk. And he used my delightful husband as an example of a humble person. (And my heart bubbled with healthy pride.) One quote I keep repeating in my head, so I remember it is: "Humility is not when we think less OF ourselves. Humility is when we think less ABOUT ourselves."

Then in Relief Society (ladies group), the lesson was on service. It was a great lesson. I realized that my bitterness blog the other day was just awful. I was feeling expectant and entitled. While I know no one read it in its entirety, I assure you, it was regarding me having the same "what about me?" attitude from the email that I so quickly chastised.

Service is charity, service is love. Service is not a bank of due diligence.

My first slice of humble pie was after I wrote out the blog and realized I needed to put my unkind feelings behind me. So I deleted. My second slice was realizing I genuinely need to forget myself in service. Not just talk about it, or talk about what I learned from not having it, I need to do it! I have always felt that a better world comes from taking care of your self, taking care of your companion, taking care of your family, taking care of your community, and so forth. So often I keep my world too small, and forget to move outside of my family.

So if you could all forgive me, I will do better at thinking less about myself, and more about others. It is where love is.

Maybe Dreadlocks Aren't So Bad...

Several years ago, I worked for the State Police, in the Firearms Unit. While I was there, I worked with a man, T, who was brilliant, yet very disheveled. His hair was greasy, he was portly, he walked with a false leg, but he was always happy. He also ate food like no one I have ever seen. And it wasn't just food. It was FOOD. He ate hotdogs "I'll take two", chips "I have a great dip recipe", tortas "tor-TAS!", and any treats "Don't mind if I do". --And his usual sayings with each particular food. He would often recline in his chair -don't get me wrong, he was a very hard worker- and rest his hands, clasped together, on his belly, as you might imagine Santa doing, if he had a reclining office chair.

One day, my friend JMc, asked T how he could eat so much harmful food. T replied very comfortably, hands clasped together, resting on his belly, "Well, one day I had the choice of either health or food. *big sigh* And I chose food."

Ever since I have had my Peach, I have struggled with trying to snap back to "me". My mom assures me it's harder with each subsequent baby, and after four... well, that must be my limit. (Yes, I've had four babies, that's another blog.) My hair has been very frustrating. When does a "new mother" get a chance to go get her hair done, if she nurses, and has other children? And then when the baby is old enough to eat cereal, the baby is magically afraid of being without their mom... It's a challenge! So my once, sassy, cute hair, has become a disaster.

Brushing it out before a shower the other day, I was feeling lazy, and frankly, didn't want to bother. Knowing it had tangles from sleep the night before, I wanted to just leave it alone, and whatever it looked like after the shower, I could just toss up into a messy bun, and leave it be. No one would know... Maybe dreadlocks aren't so bad.

And as the thought made its way into and out of my mind, I realized I was making a choice, like T. I had to choose between making an effort on my appearance, or not. I chose to. I made a hair appointment that day, and found a sitter.

Today my amazing mom came by to watch my three children, braving a potentially crying baby. And I had my hair done. It's SO pretty! I am back among the land of the living! I feel like me again.

I discovered dreadlocks aren't for me. They are for someone else in this world, and I confess the free spirit in me thinks they're kind of cool, but I have chosen to keep myself clean and neat, because that is when I feel most beautiful.

Leaving the Bitterness Behind

I feel the need to vent. It is an unholy, disrespectful, selfish, and possibly unkind vent. Turn away if you need to. I just need to get it off my chest.

Okay, I did. And then I deleted it. I hope you enjoy the pictures, intro and closing to my thoughts.

While I'm not going to go inactive over my bitterness, I think I need to change my attitude. I think I need to take this as a chance to be better. From this experience on, I will try to just bring relief anyway, if I hear that someone is not receiving aide through their suffering. I need to be a part of a world that provides relief and charity. I want to be numbered as one who does.

Sorry for the deletion. I'm not trying to start a mutiny. I just had some feelings to sort out. They are sorted. So I left my favorite parts of my blog. And deleted about seven paragraphs.

My Precious Friend

Today I had the thrill of a lifetime. One of my dearest friends, who I lost contact with for six years, got a hold of me via email. I am thrilled beyond words! Overjoyed beyond expression! There are few people I have loved so much, in this life. My heart aches, how I have missed my friend!

I used to say, "If I could find anyone in the world, it would be The Captain, and K." Three and a half years ago The Captain returned to me, and now K. Today is more beautiful than yesterday. My world has peace.

Let Them Eat Dirt!

My mom tells me that her grandmother used to say that "babies need a pinch of dirt every day". For some time I have assumed this was said to excuse that lack of cleanliness... or rather to offer a nod to a baby's keen ability to find every speck of dirt in even the most sterile of environments. Granted, the thought of forgiving minimal dirt intake makes me panic less. I do still obviously stay in tune to the soon-to-be-consumed "dirt", speedily removing it from my baby's firm grasp, or prying open her vice-like jaws to fish out the foreign object.

Bear didn't really put articles in his mouth. Then again, he didn't need a bib past 10 months or so. He was all business, all the time. Peach has a preference for paper. Not a whole lot else either. Just paper of all varieties. And it is a very intense craving. And then there's Lambie. Lambie, if there was no dirt to be found, would peel, with her infant fingers, the wrappers off of crayons, eat them, then eat the crayon. She would also meticulously pull individual carpet (what do you call them?) fibers/yarns out and eat those. I was continuously on patrol with her. Sometimes I wasn't fast enough, but she never choked, she never got unusually sick, she never died.

Which I guess is the point.


There are actually articles online declaring that a little dirt, as a child, can make a child smarter, can help ward off illness, and can even help prevent diabetes. So what they are saying is, not only will a little dirt not hurt you, it might help you. And I wonder...is this a "glass of wine per day keeps you healthy" theory? Or, is dirt really, genuinely helpful?

I've decided that as my children have or have not eaten dirt, they have learned what is nasty, what makes them choke, what will hurt if you pull it down and it falls on you, what feels awful. After watching "Babies", the documentary, I have come to realize that we encourage a very sterile environment in our culture. Imagine what the babies throughout the world learn about their dirt... Do they learn the harm of dirt before our babies, or is it personality driven like my own babies?

After pondering letting a child eat dirt, recognizing that I would risk life and limb to save them from the dirt, if need be, I realized God lets us eat dirt. We make the choice, but we can't choose the consequence. God might let us just eat the dirt, knowing we won't die from it. Or he might wrestle it out of our firm grasp. (Standing back and watching, like he did with Job for a while. Poor Job.) The dirt may be hideous, or we may like it, and have to learn that it wasn't actually good for us in the first place.

Whatever the case is, I am smarter from eating a pinch of dirt every day. I know what dirt will kill me. I know what dirt I hate. I am learning to watch out when I'm eating a little dirt here and there without realizing it. And one day I will stop when I have learned enough.

As far as my children, I will relax, and let my children learn. I will let them eat a pinch of dirt from this world they are a part of, with guidance of course; standing close by in case I need to do a frantic finger sweep...

Baby Baby Baby, Ohhhh...

In my world prior to children, or at least school-aged children, I could merrily ignore the heartthrobs, or celebrity buzz. Even Bear could care less. Taking him to Kindergarten, I saw five year old girls with Hannah Montana backpacks, and I hoped hoped hoped that Bear would not be fazed by celebrity.

He's not.

And then came Lambie. Lambie is the same age as Suri Cruise (although I'm not convinced Tom is the father, but I won't discuss that since I don't want to look back and feel like I need to empty trash from my blog.). At any rate, she's the same age as Suri. And she saw this photo.


Save me.

Lambie's first sentence was (I kid you not) "Oh, look at all of my beautiful shoes!" with hands clasped tightly. Lambie wanted those golden heels. She was, what, four? She wanted to be Suri. She STILL talks about this photo.

Lambie is in awe over celebrity, completely opposite of Bear. Completely. How do I stop it? How do I teach her she's good enough, not being a celebrity?

The other day I was listening to some hip hop, for what I like to call "Dance Party" at my home, which is just dancing, and fortunately is a killer work out too. Lambie asked if I could put on a *gasp* Justin Bieber (sp?) video. *gag* As I obliged my obedient, kind, loving, patient daughter, I watched as she gazed at the video, transparent in her thoughts, that she would do anything (like, donate her most loved princess dress) to be his "girlfriend" in the video. The bubbly hearts rising from her were blinding. Amazing. Justin Bieber.



Save me.

As a youth, I was one of the few girls my age who were not entranced with the New Kids on the Block. They just didn't do it for me. I didn't get gaga over heartthrobs, and I still don't. I say who I think is attractive, but it ends there. No posters on my wall. No Bopper magazine. I am having a really hard time relating to Lambie's interest in Bieber. I do not understand wanting to be celebrity. I do not understand crushes on heartthrobs.

And then Peach starts kicking her legs. Peach has always loved music. Ever since birth. It made me laugh, and tease her father, The Captain, that our seven month old babe had a crush on a Bieber. The next song to come up on Pandora was by Timbaland.

And Peach REALLY started rocking out. I thought to myself "At least she has good taste!"

As I started genuinely listening, I realized there was a major content issue. Lambie thought I was turning it off because of the word "stupid", and applauded my integrity. I suppose Bieber isn't so bad. I suppose Suri Cruise isn't so bad. If it means the worst word Lambie can pick out from the Timbaland song was "stupid", she is in a good world, right now.

I'm really going to have to figure out how to teach Lambie that the nonsensical celebrity really doesn't matter... But for now, bring on the Bieber. I guess. It's a much gentler world than mine.

Our Other Worlds

Today is Friday. I might be the only person in the world that dreads Fridays. While (thankfully) it's not every weekend, it is the day I take Bear and Lambie to their dad's home.

Last night I was thinking about Bear and Lambie's step-brother Ben, who is Bear's age now. He is with his father one week, and his mother the next. I expressed to Bear that it must be strange having half of your belongings at one home, and half at another. And Bear said something that stunned me, but was obvious. He does too. I guess I had always felt like his dad's was kind of like a vacation home. But of course he needs his things, his definition. I'm glad he has that.

I also have a world outside of my children. I put up a new wallpaper (to go with the season), and Lambie asked where I found the beautiful picture. "I took it", I told her. She asked me when I did, and how I took such a good picture. "I'm a photographer, it's my job." And then I realized they are usually gone at school or their dad's when I schedule photo sessions. All they ever see me do is edit. They probably haven't seen me click my "work camera" in a very very long time.

All at once their world is getting bigger, and they are beginning to learn that my universe is different than theirs. I know they'll be amazing, but every time they leave my universe, on those dreaded Fridays (although I know in my head that they need a relationship with their dad), my heart breaks a little. And I ache. But then Sunday comes, and my world is put back together.

Where All of My Words Go

I think my husband thinks I talk too much. I think it gets a little lonely being home so much. I reach out excessively on Facebook, but I think sometimes I have more to say than can be said in 420 words.

I have considered blogging before. For a very long time, actually. I'm afraid I always considered it somewhat narcissistic, so I've been in avoidance... is that a step in the grieving process? Avoidance and acceptance? hmmm...

Women tend to talk a lot. I know. Even the quiet ones talk... and talk and talk... So that is my excuse-- that I'm a woman. Even Pandora needed a box to put all of her words.

My bestie, L, and I, as we were going through our divorces, would send letters "out into the world". It would be a letter of frustration, sorrow, anger, and spite, with all of the things we wish we could say, but don't. It was put in an envelope, stamped, and put in the mailbox. No address anywhere on it. Just sent. The words were there, in the great unknown. It was extremely therapeutic to get the words out.

But now I am happy. There is joy in my life, daily! And still, I have so much to say! So much to share that is happy and sad. Life is what it is. So my words will be out there in the world, with a stamp on them, with no address...

P.S. The date today is REALLY COOL.