For the Love of All that is Holy

I have mentioned before on my blog that I am a Mormon.


In the Mormon religion we partake of the Sacrament (pieces of bread and cups of water that symbolize the sacrifice made by the Savior for all of mankind to pay for our sins both on the cross and in the Garden of Gethsemane) every Sunday. This is the primary purpose for our main Sabbath Day meeting rather appropriately named “Sacrament Meeting”.

In a typical Sacrament Meeting this is how the Sacrament ordinance would go:

The young men line up near the Sacrament table. One young man sitting at the table blesses the bread with an established blessing. Then the lined up young men take the bread trays and disperse amongst the congregation passing the trays down the aisles in a reverent and organized manner.

The members of the congregation upon being passed the tray take a piece of bread, eat it, and pass the tray down to the next person, all the while pondering upon the Savior and taking the opportunity to renew baptismal covenants with humble hearts and clear minds. This process is repeated for the water.

It is a special opportunity to think of our Heavenly Father and Savior and to partake in the power of the Atonement. It SHOULD be a sacred, quiet, peaceful time where hearts and minds are focused and open to the whisperings of the Spirit.

And then there’s how the Sacrament goes for our family:

As the Sacrament prayers are being given Jeigh is turned around almost standing on the pew to look at the people behind us. Elle is yelling, asking where her elephant has gone. Dee is whining that he’s ready to go home. Never mind that we have been at church a whole of ten minutes. The baby is probably the best behaved out of all four children…

Until…the trays come by. Then she is squirming, twisting, and reaching to grab a hold of the trays as they come down our pew. As I wrestle her back with one arm and hold the tray steady with the other I feel as if I know what it must be like to be a calf wrangler.

She’s simply a curious baby and this wouldn’t be so bad if Dee wasn’t taking his sweet time figuring out exactly which tiny hunk of bread is destined for his tummy and eternal salvation. He likes to study the tray, wiggling the fingers on both hands in the air with the anticipation. Obviously it is crucial to get the RIGHT piece of bread as sometimes he grabs one and tosses it back after a moment of examination. If I weren’t holding a near screeching baby back I would grab one for him and shove it in his mouth, but this is wholly impossible. Instead I choose to cast him a dirty glance, dripping with maternal meaning. Finally he chooses the one piece of bread that is farthest from him requiring him to reach over and around the tray, nearly knocking the entire thing to the ground.

The three year old is much faster at picking her bread. But in her haste and hunger she usually grabs a good handful of bread instead of the one piece and crams it into her mouth before I can stop her. Maybe she’s hoping to be forgiven of extra sins.

As I pass the tray back and try to bow my head and close my eyes hoping to salvage some of the opportunity to commune with my Heavenly Father, a finger pokes my side. I look over at Dee who has chewed up his bread and spread it all over his teeth like a set of those cheap Halloween hillbilly teeth. I just stare at him unsure if I should puke or punish.

After the water tray comes and goes Jeigh is loudly swishing her reserved water through her teeth. The baby is happily kicking the hymn books against the pew in front of us. Elle is still in a dire and vocal search for her toy elephant. Dee is slumped over and sulking after being pinched with church appropriate chastisement. My husband Joe is rolling his eyes and muttering threats under his breath. I have broken out in to a sweat from embarrassment and effort at “helping” my children to learn how to behave appropriately during this sacred ordinance.

As the Bishop stands up to announce that the Sacrament is over I am feeling anything but Christ-like. Quite the opposite actually. Every Sunday I find myself wondering if the Sacrament still counts when you have visions of knocking a few heads together in the middle of it. Surely there is some kind of addendum to the Atonement for mothers of young children…

P.S. Of course I say this all very tongue-in-cheek. In my heart of hearts I KNOW it is important for my children to be at this meeting and learning about the Atonement and the Savior. I KNOW it is important for me to be there as well, knocking heads together or not (I kid, I kid. Kind of...) One day we will get this right. And in the meantime, we have been given the wonderful opportunity to repent, partake of the Sacrament, and try, try again.

The Proper Protocol for Purchasing Pregnancy Tests

As of late, my little newborn Cee has developed a picky palate when it comes to nursing.

(Really? Breastfeeding again?!)

(Yep. Really. That's twice in one week. I really need to get out more.)

She's started to squirm and wriggle and even pull away crying when I have tried to nurse her lately.

Uh oh.

When my mom was nursing me when I was two months old, I started to do the same thing.

Wanna know why?

Because my mom was pregnant with my little sister. (We are eleven months apart. Good grief. Could you even imagine???)

Since history tends to repeat itself...I rationally and calmly began to totally freak out. One thing you need to know about me...I like to jump to the worst conclusion possible first. That way I know I will be prepared for anything.

Well, I guess I'm not prepared for ANYTHING. I don't exactly stock up on home pregnancy tests.

Needing to put my tortured mind at ease, I started to plan my trip to the store to purchase a home pregnancy test.

And yes. I did use the word “plan”.

A woman in my position does not take buying a pregnancy test lightly. There is some policy and procedure to be followed in purchasing pregnancy tests.

Allow me to enlighten you on this protocol.

A woman in my situation, that situation being a mother of four children, ranging from ages six years old to newborn, cannot simply dash to the store wearing her pajamas, with four snotty nosed kids in tow, grab a handful of cheap pregnancy tests, and dash back home again. There are details to be attended to in order to avoid The Checkout of Shame.

Firstly, whatever you do, DON’T take the four kids to the store with you. Especially the newborn. No need to send everyone in a panic that you and your husband are single-handedly repopulating the planet. That or deal with the whispering gossip about you-know-who can’t keep their pants on. The resulting embarrassment could just be too much to handle.

If you simply can’t avoid taking your entourage to the store, at least try to convince people you’re the nanny, fun aunt, or helpful friend. It probably won’t work, but it’s worth a shot.

If you do take the kids, make sure they are dressed to the nines, hair combed and styled, and have clean hands and faces. Be absolutely certain they will not misbehave in the store, therefore drawing unwanted attention to you as you peruse the family planning aisle of the store.

Carry tissues with you to catch any stray boogers. If you have to bring the kids and people are clever enough to see the family resemblance, at least people will assume you are Supermom, that you have it all put together, and that a fifth baby will only be a piece of cake instead of just another piece of welfare woe.

It’s not just the children who need to look squeaky clean.

Put some pants on, Mama. And not your stretchy ones or that pair of jeans stained with newborn baby poop and spit up. And don't even think about sneaking on the maternity pants. You raise your arms and that panel is a dead give away.

Take a shower. Dress up. Do your hair. And for heaven’s sake slap some makeup on. We are going for classy here. Not out-of-control, rabbit-breeding freak.

Once you are at the store, looking more like a civilized human being than you normally do, and have decided on which pregnancy test you are going to purchase, take the pregnancy test and stash it in the bottom of your grocery cart. This will prevent judgmental looks from other shoppers. At least until you get to the checkout stand.

Even if you don’t need a single other thing than the pregnancy test, grab a few other items to purchase along with your pregnancy test. This will create the outward appearance of nonchalance about pregnancy.

“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not. What’s it to you?”

If you drop a single pregnancy test on the checkout counter and nothing else, you know what people are going to assume. By purchasing other items along with your at home pregnancy test, you might be able to avoid the critical stares from the cashier and nearby shoppers.

Word to the wise: Maybe avoid items like duct tape, toilet snakes, two or more boxes of diapers, and condoms.

Finally, make sure that all your movements are slow and deliberate. Don’t rush. Don’t look flustered or sweaty or out of control. Don’t let them see the fear in your eyes.

Good. Now that you have purchased your pregnancy test and are safely back at home, take pregnancy test. Never mind the toddler banging on the door and the newborn wailing from her car seat. We've got priorities. We need to KNOW if you've got plans to claim TWO new dependents for the year 2011.

What does it say???

A
.
.
.
.
.
.
big
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
fat
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
NEGATIVE!

Whew.

So does this mean I'm not allowed to wear my maternity pants anymore???

It's a Sickness I Tell You

Remember how I told you the other day in my vlog that I am a "picture frame fiend"?




I wasn't lying.

Or even exaggerating.

For the past several years we have been renting temporary places of residence. It's hard to want to nail a picture on a wall when you know you aren't going to be sticking around for long.

Plus, there just hasn't been any room. So all my pretty pretty frames and decorating items have been biding their time in dusty boxes in storage...

...Until we moved here and my family helped us unpack and settle in our new spacious home.

While I sat and held my week old newborn, my sisters, sister-in-law, and mom unpacked box after box of frames, stars, Americana, shelves, and assorted decorating paraphernalia that I have been hoarding collecting over the last almost eight years of marriage and moving.

They laid all of it out in that front room I was showing you the other day on the vlog and then called me in for an intervention.

Let me tell you...those pictures do no justice.

I may need a testimonial from my sister Camille. She'll tell you how bad it was/is. She was more than willing to tell me I had a problem that day. (In a loving, humorous, sisterly way of course.) And I began to wonder if I did when I saw it all laid out in one place.

It looked like an episode of Hoarders.

I almost started crying. Out of happiness at seeing all my pretty things again. Out of shock that I could possibly be one of those crazy people who collects stuff simply for the sake of collecting stuff.

My story is on its way to a happy ending.

I have not allowed myself buy a single frame since being faced with my frenzy of frames. I even went through the ones I already have and purged some of the less desirable.

I am on the road to recovery.

Now to get all the ones I have sitting in boxes in the corner up on that big white wall. (I keep saying I am going to wait until we get it painted, but I think my self-dictated therapy may require a sooner-rather-than-later approach.)

This episode of Hoarders is ready for HGTV.

The Girl Who Cried "PIG!" Learns to Shut Her Fat Mouth

Warning: This post is most likely contagious. If you intend to read on first grab a mask, a bottle of hand sanitizer, and a handful of Vitamin C. Oh, and have you had your flu shot?

I didn't. And neither did my kiddos. For three reasons.

Reason #1: Sometimes I think flu shots are just the result of dirty rotten propaganda spread by money-grubbing pharmaceutical companies.

Reason #2: I think as a society we have become a little overly occupied about germs. I can't help but laugh at the moms who trail behind their kids at the park spraying them down with hand sanitizer any time they plop off a slide or swing. Ridiculous.

Reason #3: Apparently Northern Nevada is so remote they kind of forgot to send any flu vaccinations this way. In spite of Reason #1 and #2, being the good mom I am I asked our doctor about getting my pregnant self, my asthmatic son, and two girls vaccinated only to be told "Sorry. We don't have any".

No big deal. We'll live.

Then January came. Now I'm wondering.

Earlier this week I found myself asking audibly to no one in particular "What else can go wrong?!" I've learned my lesson. I'm not asking anymore because I keep getting answered.

Shutting. Mouth. Now.

It all began last week with Dee having the nastiest case of pink eye I have ever seen.

Hold up! It started earlier than that...

Ten months ago my husband and I...put an order in with the stork and were blessed with a "response".

At the same time the "response" was making its presence known on a little home pregnancy test, we found ourselves separated by over 700 miles. Joe was in Nevada beginning a new job and finding us a home in our new town and me in Arizona packing up our entire household whilst trying to keep three--make that four now--children alive. The move was hard and long and stressful, but completed semi-successfully.

Fast forward seven months and we discover we are moving again. Sure the timing is insane with a baby due anytime, but we're tough! We can do this! Bring it.

And oh my. Has it ever been BBBBB-ROUGHT!

Dee had nasty yucky pink eye last week.

Our medical insurance ended up not covering nearly as much as we thought it would for this baby. Bummer.

Then we found out Joe's dad was going in for a simple in-and-out gallbladder removal. What was supposed to be "simple" and "in-and-out" has turned into a daily saga of surgery and suspense. His dad ended up being cut open to have the offending gallbladder removed, only to have someone stick a staple in a wrong place, damaging something important and causing liver issues. After several other procedures and a surgery or two (to be honest, I'm beginning to lose track) he was ambulated to a different hospital in Utah where hopefully no one else can screw anything up and they can piece Joe's dad back together again. Hearing the words "possible liver transplant" makes one slightly nervous.

Our one and only personal computer suffered a toddler takedown. The withdrawal shakes are just beginning to die down. I have missed my bloggy buddies! And did you realize how often we use the internet to look up the littlest things? And in the middle of a move when I am trying to find a house, the new school system, church, utility options, etc. Wow.

Really, it has been a mixed blessing that the computer has been out of commission. My hands have been completely full with sick kiddos. Four nights ago I put Elle to bed as a perfectly happy and healthy two year old. Within four hours she crept into our bed feverish and coughing that nasty croupy cough. Croup? Again?! Ugh. Okay. The baby may be due in a week and we are moving a week after that, but I can handle croup. It's just a wait-it-out kind of thing. Right?

As the days stretched on and her fever and cough worsened, my mommy instincts prickled. To the doctor's office we went where we found out Elle has the H1N1 virus. Yep. Make that swine flu. Awesome.

Not even the doctor would touch her. Fortunately he at least stayed in the room long enough to write out a prescription for her and the other two kids in hopes of preventing further spreading of swiny sickness. Then he high-tailed it out of there as quick as possible. Real comforting Doc.

He even had the gall to tell me to avoid contact with Elle so as to keep myself healthy. He tells me this as my poor little zombie daughter is laying curled around my belly and shoulders. Stay away from my sick baby??? Obviously he has never been a mom.

We like to share in our family. Especially germs. Four year old Jeigh was next. Fortunately she isn't quite as bad as Elle. And Elle is bad. I feel like I may literally explode every now and then from the sheer fear and exhaustion that comes from holding a feverish, gasping toddler through four subsequent sleepless nights.

Dee's sixth birthday was yesterday and I'm afraid the sleeplessness and stress has left Mommy in less than a celebratory mood. His little birthday, which he has been so excited for this year more than any other year, has taken a back seat to sick sisters. I know he will get over it, but it makes me sad to not be free to make his special day a big deal.

In the midst of all this, there is a sweet little baby taking refuge in my belly threatening to come any day. Two weeks ago, as her due date crept closer and closer, I was mildly irritated that she wasn't making her glorious appearance in a timely manner giving me time to recover for our move. Now I feel relief for each day that passes with her still safely tucked inside. She can stay in there as long as she wants!

Well...that's not totally true. If she doesn't come on her own by Wednesday the 19th, I am scheduled for a "two-day induction" (doesn't that sound positively gruesome?). The induction is a heartbreaking event in and of itself for me, but that's a different post for a different day.

As sickness and stress has swirled around us, I have begun to laugh, hysterically sometimes. I mean REALLY! What ELSE can go wrong?!?

When I looked into Elle's goopy, red, teary eyes last night and realized she had pink eye on top of H1N1...

I'm not asking anymore. I'm not even giving the fates a chance to grasp onto anything.

Anyone actually still reading my novel here? You mean you haven't exited as hastily as possible in hopes of saving yourselves?

I know this is a long drawn out post of woe. It probably appears that I am whining. Maybe I am a little, but the reason I write this post (on Joe's work computer no less) is first of all for posterity's sake. You can't make this stuff up.

Also, I KNOW that we will make it through this very troubled time. And then we will look back on this and laugh and laugh and laugh, maybe with less hysteria and more relief.

I hope we realize that because we were able to make it through this, we can do other hard things that will most definitely come in our lives. And I hope that we can be grateful for the good things that have happened in this time.

Things like the baby NOT coming in the midst of the disease and distress.

Things like my family showing love, faith, and support with prayers, fasting, and phone calls.

Things like friends lending sympathetic ears and shoulders.

Things like meals from church members.

Things like Dee, who tends to be the sickest out of the kids, staying healthy thus far {fingers crossed}.

Things like being able to laugh, even if it is hysterically, instead of cry at everything.

Things like sweet little toddlers who cuddle even more and are extra sweet when they are sick.

Things like helpful little four year olds who think it's fun to play nurse and help Mommy.

Yep. Life is good. Or at least it will be in February.

P.S. I am taking the comments option off of this post. I didn't write this hoping you all would gush over my sorrows and tell me how bad you feel for me. It has been good for me to just get it out and in words. Somehow it makes it slightly more manageable. But if you really want to send bottles of hand sanitizer or better yet chocolate...my address is... ;)

Auction Item #070708: 2 Year Old Child

*tap, tap, tap*

Your attention please.

The next item up for bid is my two year old child. This item has entered our auction as it has recently become overwhelming for the current possessor.



The exterior is in fantastic condition. Adorable facial features, lovely blond hair, brilliant little smile. Tall and sturdy frame.




The hot and cold features are in working order. Sometimes this item is sweet, loving, singing songs, drawing pictures, giving hugs, happy, and responsive. Other times it is destructive, sassy, messy, hitting, and screaming, whining, or crying.


There is some question about the reliability of the internal plumbing this morning. There may be a "slight" case of diarrhea that could cause for some embarrassing visit-teaching moments. The inspector also suspects a major gas leak.

This item currently resides between nap-time and time-out, but is DEFINITELY mobile. Most often functions at high speeds and loud volumes.


Will require constant maintenance and monitoring, but will pay for itself with the high-yield output of hugs, kisses, sweet little songs, giggles, grins, and little golden moments.


The bidding will now start at one Milky Way Midnight candy bar. Do I hear two??


Do I hear a case of MWMs, A Dr. Pepper on ice, date night with a nice meal AND a movie, and a two-hour long uninterrupted nap???

SOLD!!!

Putting My Club Foot Forward

You know how we all write about "those" bloggers???

You know the ones... The popular ones with beautiful blog layouts, bigger-than-life pictures, droves of followers, fancy schmancy ideas, and loads of time on their hands which they fill by spending ridiculous amounts of quality time with their perfectly dressed and groomed children, building Eiffel Tower replicas out of popsicle sticks or single-handedly saving a third-world village through a handmade headband fundraiser. That or working out and running 15 miles every morning to maintain that pre-baby body for their super hot, super successful "DH", or skillfully refurbishing every piece of wood, fabric, or metal within a 100 mile-radius.

Those ones.

Well, if you've read much of my blog, you know I am not one of "those" bloggers. Where they like to put their best self on screen, I go for a different technique.

If I tried to put my best foot forward this would be the most boring blog on the planet. I could see it going something like this...

"Look, look 13 followers! I did the laundry today!"


Or "Hey! Comment on how I finally got those dishes washed AND put away! Woohoo!"
Or maybe, I would tell you how awesome I was to get this cupboard cleaned, all the while knowing those papers simply transplanted to one big fat laundry basket to be sifted through "later". But I would NEVER tell you that because I am the "perfect" housewife and mother, remember? At least that's what my blog would tell you.
Or I would tell you how I bathe the kids twice a week or how everyone's teeth are brushed or how we {try to} say prayers every day or how perfect my children are.

So. Not. Interesting.

It's so much funnier to see the chaos, the drama, the big fat FAIL, don't you think? That's because I assume you are laughing WITH me, not AT me. Which you are, right? RIGHT?! Besides, sometimes your comments show that you RELATE. You mean you live real lives too???

I love telling you about all the spilled milks and the public nudities and the maniacal neighbor girls. Plus, who wants to hear their own horn tootin' away all the time? Booooorrrring.

And you do get that I tend to be sarcastic on here sometimes, right? Example: my husband are NOT even close to divorce over the $100 I spent at DI. On the contrary, I think he was grateful for all the back-to-school clothes I found. I know sarcasm doesn't translate so well onscreen sometimes, but honestly, in real life, I am not such a failure. Not always.

I don't feel the need to post it on here every day, but TODAY, I want to say:

I mess up a lot and do so many stupid things. I can be lazy and grouchy.

BUT! BUT!

I am a good person. I am a good wife. I am a good mom. I do good things.

Like what you say? Well...

I read to my kids.
I take them to the library.
I work to expose my children to different events and cultures and foods.
I take them to the park at least once a week, if not more.
I try new recipes.
I wash bed sheets often.
I teach those kids to say thank you and please.
I help them make thank you notes when they receive gifts.
I don't let them watch Nickelodeon or Cartoon Network.
I kiss my husband everyday.
I give breastfeeding a good solid 9 months before calling it quits.
I don't let my kids eat tons of junk.
I never forget to feed my kids. (Now, as for my husband...)
I keep taking three irreverent children to church each week by myself because I know it's the right thing to do.
I don't let my kids listen to Lady Gaga. (So what if they know the words to "Single Ladies"?!)
I don't smoke, drink, or do drugs in front of my kids. (Do I need to clarify I don't do it not in front of them either?)
I teach my kids how to fold their clothes, put their dishes in the sink, wash their hands, and flush the toilet.
I enlist their aid in cleaning house.
I make them dress themselves.
I take care of the paperwork and bills.
I try to express to my husband OFTEN how grateful I am for his hard work at his job.
I tell my kids I love them EVERY day.
I teach my children that all people are Children of God and deserve to be loved and respected.

What good do YOU do?

It's not a contest. It's not arrogance. It's not something I'm likely to repeat much. It's just a Monday morning proclamation that behind this cranky, crusty, snarky, lazy, failing blog front there is a mom/wife/girl who is TRYING to do some good in the world.

How about you? Come on. Don't be shy! I know you do good things too! Tell us all about it!

Confessions of a REAL Mom

I know it's proper to put your best self forward for people to see, especially in the blog world, but can I just be real for a minute?

My house is absolutely trashed. Don't even try to make me feel better by telling me "but you're moving; it's okay". No it's not. It's gross. The sink...umm...make that sinkS are overflowing with dishes. The floor was swept two days ago, but could desperately use another sweeping and honestly I can't even remember the last time it was mopped.


There are toys and clothes and chaos strewn everywhere. Probably a few old apple cores too, thanks to Dee's bad habit of just tossing them aside when he's done eating his green apples. Not a single laundry basket is full, but I think that's probably because the clothes never made it into the basket in the first place, NOT because of my stellar laundering habits.

My to-do list is overflowing. Strike that. I have so much to do I don't even want to write it down. So as of this moment, there is no literal to-do list. Just the one in my very muddled, overflowing brain.

As I type this I hear Jeigh screaming dramatically at the top of her lungs. I'm pretty sure Dee just hit her with a swimming flipper. Yep. That was the weapon of choice this time. She is now crying for "MAMA!" at the top of her lungs and I imagine the neighbors are once again thinking "Is now the time I call CPS?" Oh, the crying stopped. Looks like Jeigh might live. Hooray!

And it's awfully quiet now...I wonder where Elle is. Are the bathroom doors closed? I sure hope so.

Hmm, let's see what else I can be real about. Oh yeah, I filled out my fat pants quite nicely today. And when I say nicely...I think you know what I mean. That's okay. I think I have a few chocolate-covered raisins hiding in the pantry somewhere to ease my suffering.

I miss my husband a lot, but honestly I'm getting rather irritated hearing him say over the phone how bored he is and how quiet it is without us. I wonder what that's like. Sounds nice.

So, now that I've been real, and sometimes it is all too real...Can I be real in another way?

This morning I woke up to the sounds of Dee quietly "reading" to himself while he sat in his room waiting for the rest of us to wake up. I rolled over to the sounds of Jeigh rustling around in the bed beside me. I fell asleep again and woke up again to the sight of Dee and Jeigh laying next to me, hugging each other and telling each other how much they loved each other and what good brother and sister they were. I laid there hoping they didn't see me awake, just watching and hoping that friendship lasts through the ages.


I got up to the sounds of Elle calling from her crib. When I lifted her out of her bed, she curled up in my arms and snuggled in. As soon as I changed her and set her down she got one of her baby dolls and tenderly cradled it.

We sat and watched Dee and Jeigh play dress-up for a while. Their little imaginations swept them far from the small bedroom we were in. Jeigh sang e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g and I feel sure she is going to be an Opera star someday.


Dee walked around in swimming flippers most of the morning (yes, the very same ones that were used for violence) and pretended he was a penguin, a dragon, an explorer. One day, his curious nature will lead him far from me.


I walked upstairs when it was "too quiet" and watched Elle from hiding as she played with a little farm set with a big, bright blue, dress-up hat tilted on her head. She played in comfortable silence, gently moving her toys, tender and sweet, content to be playing alone. What will this little old soul become one day? A master gardener/farmer? A careful and attentive nurse? A surgeon? A writer? A sweet and loving little mother?


Sure, my house is a disaster. My schedule is a war-zone. My pant-size is a national crisis. But I am going to forget all that and just enjoy what I am seeing this morning. My children. While they are still children.