My FREE Summer

One of the beautiful things about being *whisper* "poor" is that you find blessings in the simplest of places. You find that what might be ordinary to most, is actually amazing.

I plan on writing much more about this journey in my life when I am no longer *whisper* "poor" because I don't want anyone to actually know. You know? As with all struggles, I have learned A LOT. And when I think I've humbled myself and learned much more than possible, I learn even MORE! Yes, I will write about it later. I promise you. Hopefully sooner than later... because I can't wait for it to end.

At any rate...

This Summer is exciting! I have loved every single moment with my children, except yesterday when they were pick pick picking on each other until The Captain came home and distracted them with play. (Hooray for an amazing man!) At the beginning of the summer, I wrote down EVERYTHING possible to do around this town that was FREE! Free library program, free movies in the park, free bowling, free coupons for Bulwinkle's with the library program, free magic shows, free puppet shows, free Lego builds at the Lego store (3 hour wait), free movies on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, free lunch at the school, and so forth. And then there's the always free picnics at the park, kite-flying, boomerang and frisbee throwing, soccer ball kicking, bike riding, popsicles, sidewalk chalk, bubbles, treasures frozen in ice that you break apart with a hammer, kiddie pool, and art projects to name a few...

However, I learned today, the hard way, that there are no more free lunches at the school. The free movies at the theatre are now $1. The free bowling charges for shoes if you get the angry "old" man. I almost lamented the demise of the freebies, but then realized how much we've already enjoyed this week. Friends on Monday with a picnic trip to the park (enjoying our Country Mouse family daughters stand among the playground figuring out exactly what to do, since it did not involve climbing trees or "throwing chickens".), Fourth of July crafts, trips to the library for reading time, science time, songs and games, and playing with MDV and KMcI and children at the park after learning about the non-free's, playdates, and Cub Scouts. Tomorrow we will enjoy a magic show and a movie with Boombah (my dad), and Friday... Well, Friday has yet to be discovered!

What a joyful time, and a fun time. We live in a great town, with endless, safe, possiblities. I am blessed. We are busy and spend most of the day smiling. I remembered today that the times when I have been *whisper* "poor" in all of my life, I have had the most fun because I, or my mother has found need to be creative. I have learned the most, as a child, and taught the most, as a parent, during these times of joyful, eager experimentation and discovery.

May this summer continue to be one of the best, ever, for our family. May my precious children look back fondly, like I do of the summers of my youth.

I will never forget laying in bed, waiting for the sun to dip below the horizon, watching my dad and mom, out my window, working on the garden, pausing to reflect, my dad's arm around my mom's waist, their troubles seemingly light, their home happy.


photo by nativeagle on flickriver.com

Look How You've Grown!

There is a phenomenon in my life occurring right now that I can't wrap my head around. Perhaps you can help me.

Various people who have only recently known me, have expressed their awe at how far I've come, or how much I've grown.

I'm not a person that offends easily, but I do not understand this. Who do people think I am? What sins do they think I've committed? How bad of a person did you think I was? To me, my pendulum did not take a far distance to swing.

I have always had a testimony of truth and righteousness. I have always wanted to do good. I have not participated in illegal crimes. My "dark years" were short lived, with minimal rebellion, or testing the waters.

Those who have commented, did not know me in my dark years, so I can't help but wonder if family has told potentially exaggerated tales of my lifestyle. Perhaps not? Perhaps it's perception?

Am I perceived to have been a poorly behaved person? Do I look like someone clawing their way out of the sewers of life and doldrums of society?

I know it's supposed to be a compliment, but I think the compliment is better suited for someone who actually has come a long way.

Where I have come a long way is with the suffering and sorrows in my life. I have had an unusually challenging life, thus far. And while some hardship came as a result of my actions and choices, most did not. I continuously, fervently try to rise above, knowing that the positive choices in my life and faith will get me through the ongoing struggles life enjoys to taunt me with.

But then, I rarely complain of all that's occurred. The pain, the sadness. They are mine. For these things, I have grown so much. I have become stronger. I have become kinder, gentler, happier, because I seek after joy.

My weaknesses are becoming strengths, but I am growing more from enduring the challenges that fall before me.

I will pretend, from now on, that when others see me as one who has "come a long way", that they know the trials of my heart, and see what has truly helped me grow.

Like a seedling in rich soil, I will seek after light to provide me strength, so the storms don't seems so rough. And with each storm, forgiving the harshness of its delivery, I will take the rain, and allow it to nourish my soul.

And after the storm, perhaps I will be able to understand when people proudly say to me, "Look how much you've grown!"

Being Forgiveful

Lambie did it.

Today she did something that required the use of her first, middle, and last name.

Remember in my last post, I talked about the single red tulip gracing my otherwise barren stretch of flowerbed near my front door? Yes, she did. She absolutely did. Right now I have the salvaged head of a tulip in a small vase, trying to enjoy its dying breath.

As we were driving to meet The Captain for lunch, celebrating the rarity of him working locally, she said, "Mom, you're very forgiveful." Naturally I asked what "forgiveful" meant. "It means you take what made you unhappy, and chose to be happy anyway." What a perfect definition of forgiveness.

When I have forgiven others for some of the pains I have suffered by their wrong choices, I have felt release and freedom. I have been able to feel happiness in their presence. I have long felt that forgiveness brings more joy to the forgiver, rather than the forgiven.

When I am unhappy, I will need to look back on this definition of "forgiveful", and assess if I have someone I need to forgive--that I might chose to be happy.

The Captain

My treasured friend, LC, asked me today if I actually called my husband "The Captain". I know she was referring to a TV show, but since I do not exactly watch TV, I don't know what she was talking about. Except that she mentioned Kyle MacLachlan, and that can't be too bad, right?

I would like to imagine that I call him The Captain because he has always wanted to learn to sail. Or that he is control of this crazy ship that is our life. Or that our first, uber romantic, date involved sailing out into the sunset. Or...

How it really went is...

One day he came home after I had super detailed the house, which is a ridiculously difficult feat with three young children, and plunked a handful of change on the bookshelf. We have an "A" vase...which might be described in another blog, or perhaps you'll never know what "A" stands for, ever... but for now we'll say "Adventure" vase. It's where we put all of our loose change. For trips. Frustrated by his plunking down the handful of change, when he was about to run upstairs to the room where the "A" vase is, I said in my best shrew-like tone, "Why don't you put all of that in the 'A' vase?!?!?!" (--Ending there, not finishing with something evil like "you lazy slob". Because in my non-shrew state I really don't see him that way.) To which he replied a sarcastic "Aye aye, Captain." Which of course, in my evil state of shrewness, made me reply in a much gentler tone, "What did you just say? Because I'm sure it was very kind, since I know you love me more than anyone in the world." He indulged me by repeating the sentiment.

Soon after, I forgave him, and he forgave me. And now, as a joke, when the other is being a little too bossy, we call each other "Captain", and chuckle. One day it will become funny enough that we'll really, REALLY laugh. And it will be much more fun.

What he calls me, when he loves me, is Chief. And I love it. I feel like we have our own language because no one would know that "Chief" is loving. And I call him "Buddy".

What's Your Style?

I woke up this morning at a horrifying 5AM. I had just had a dream that my mother-in-law was telling me that I was so difficult to buy gifts for, that The Captain's previous girlfriend was so much easier. She could just purchase anything, and the previous girlfriend AS, could do wonders with it. "She is eccentric, and can work miracles with books, and odds and ends," my mother-in-law in my dream told me, The Captain in my dream nodding in agreement.

Poof!

Suddenly I'm in AS's home. It was an early 1900's home. And it looked something like this:
Feeling defensive, I argued that it was cluttered, and lacked warmth and direction. That it was not a home, etc etc. I woke up feeling...lousy. And I worried about how The Captain felt about my style.

In my previous life, I had a great sense of style. I had people asking if I could design a room for them, or complementing my decorating. In my current life, I just make do. It all looks fine. It is not fancy. We don't spend much extra to spruce it up or decorate. I'm not sure if it's kids or money, or just outside stress... but I don't care like I used to. Part of me misses it, part of me just wants to have a day off from laundry.

This morning, after I was awake, and calmed down from my dream, I asked The Captain if he liked my style. (You know, to confirm that I was after all his dream girl with the most captivating look and fashion sense and decorating sense of anyone he's ever met.) And he told me what I know to be true. We are at a time in our lives when we focus on family and kids, and keeping cars running. We don't have time or resources to focus on expressing personal style.

And then he described his dream living room:

Don't forget a flat screen TV.











And I described mine:







or something like it.









I realized compromise would be in order, and really, it's fine to have a makeshift living room that we're both "fine" with. There's so much more to life than looks. However, if you're comfortable, it can do good things for your spirit. And we are. There is love in our home. And that's my favorite style, in all the world.

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?

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.

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.

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.