My friend Jaime (yo Omaha!) recently reminded me of her advice to write out my stressors and divide them up like the Solemnity Prayer: things I cannot do anything about, and those which I can.

I discovered there were very few things I had absolutely no control over, such as my cousin’s liver or Great White’s transmission. Most things could be wrapped up into a larger category (homemaking), and I am at the point of making peace with my own capacity for now. It’s a process not completed, but at least I am in the vicinity of the parking lot…

I just found out I’m losing another friend to the rural parts of Arizona. Good thing I like to drive, right? That’s what I keep telling myself. Not that I’ve visited the other two who have moved in the last couple of years…

We made a trip to LegoLand this past weekend to get a second use of our expires-next-week-three-month pass, and I was stopped at Border Patrol checkpoints 4 times, pulled over by a BP agent, and had to declare my fruits/live plants at the California border. Good thing bananas are an acceptable produce item. Also, you can’t say that they aren’t trying to work on our illegal immigration problem!

My hair is pretty long right now. I’ve been keeping it in clips for most of the summer because my neck gets so hot, but I do like to wear it down when I can. It’s very very straight, unless it was wet when it went in the clip and then it gets this funky curly look.

A couple of years ago a friend went to work with a spiral curling iron, and this was the initial result:

She kind of frizzed it up intentionally, as she was trying to make me look like a character for a themed party she was throwing. (Side note: never accept an assignment when the phone call isn’t crystal clear. I thought I was going to be dressing up in a “victorian” style)

Lately I’ve been trying to do something more with my hair. I never learned to braid like my grandmother or my sister, so my attempts to do that look very amateurish. Or I can get the braid part to work but the positioning on my head keeps coming undone. In any case, it’s not as cute as I’d like. So I’m thinking about getting a spiral perm, just to do something to it.

That’s a big step. It means my hair will be shorter (both from the curl and from trimming that which will not curl), damaged, and potentially more frizzy. If it goes wrong there are all sorts of Annie or Ronald jokes waiting to happen, and I will have spent good money for the privilege. On the other hand, I have enjoyed the times I’ve tried to curl my hair for special occasions (like prom). Curly hair can look good with minimal effort from day to day. It would be ‘styled’ already.

I’m torn. I’m vain. I’m not swimming in time or money. I’m loathe to make a mistake. I’m doing nothing for the time being.

This is my navel, er, follicle-gazing post of the day. That is all…

Taking my children to the dental clinic affords me lots of time to think, and while I’m there, some time to read as well. Each visit can last around 3 hours, so that’s a lot of time to be in a waiting room.

Now, I’m fairly certain, dear reader, that you are not there with me. I have almost the same degree of certainty that you do not engage in the same horrifying behaviour. But, if by chance the lovely woman in the white tank-top, jean shorts and sparkly flip-flops is perusing this page, please do me, and the world, this favor:

STOP TALKING LOUDLY ON YOUR CELLPHONE IN A WAITING ROOM!

Now, perhaps there can be some excuse here. It was perhaps a little hot to step outside to take/make a phone call. But there can be no excuse for the details, and I mean DETAILS, you were sharing with the world. I didn’t want to know what role you thought your boyfriend’s ethnicity played in his behaviour, or his family’s, or in why he didn’t want to get Asian food with you the night before. I really didn’t want to know anything about your sex life whatsoever, frequency, positions, accessories, what you’ve tried to teach to the person on the other end of that conversation, I wanted none of it. By the time I realized what you were yammering on about I felt too horrified to lean over and say something, so I made a sarcastic remark to the students and receptionist instead. They walked me back to my seat just to hear what you were talking about–one of them joked about taking notes. Thankfully you were winding down after an hour or so. Maybe your lungs were tired from the extended workout. I know my ears were grateful.

Just know that next time, I won’t be so gracious. I will say something, and I will be smiling while I tell you to move out or shut up.

That is all…

Imagine overhearing (not that you are one to eavesdrop, my dear reader, of course not) quite by accident listening to this conversation:

“That sounds like an excellent idea. Now what?”
 ”We should figure out how to put it into action. How?”
“We could form a committee to discuss ways to implement it.”
“We will now discuss the proposal to form a committee to discuss forming a committee to discuss that most excellent idea.”

Ah, so ridiculous, no? It pains me to admit that my mind works very much like that from time to time. This month, in particular, my mind could make any Congress’ efficacy rates soar through the roof. 

When I look at a draft like this from January 2009, I wonder if I will ever really change. Certainly we all have certain tendencies that are rather ingrained, whether nature or nurture, and some weaknesses that can be overcome more easily than others. “Part of [my] mission upon this earth,” according to my Patriarchal Blessing, “is to build character within [my] own individual self and then to reach out to others to give them strength and direction…” Can I just say this seems as far away as the blessings later promised to me in the resurrection? (At least, I hope those are far away. Life may suck and all that, but most days I really do want to keep on keeping on for a long time. I can get a nap in here and there)

I’ve been putting off printing photos for Anya’s baby book, reluctant to take the time to wade through the myriad files to find just the right ones, crop them, take red-eye out and generally make them the best they can be. I have the opportunity to work on the book she doesn’t have, and I need to get this done before the weekend. I never want to do this again. Talk about my procrastinated projects! But I can tell whenever someone pulls out a sibling’s binder, she really would like her own. Even if Ephraim can’t express it yet, he needs something beyond his actual birth in his book as well. It’s going to be fun with friends and accomplishing something that has oozed guilt well over three years now. If can make friends with the online photo shop tonight, that’s a start. I guess that’s better than forming a committee, right?

At least it feels that way right now.

At least it means I’d be running right now.

Perhaps it’s the heat, melting my resolve.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wrote this almost three years ago, and it’s been hanging out aimlessly in my drafts ever since. Determined I was going to write something today, I startled at how applicable the words felt.

Lent was going to be to be a time of re-dedication for me, getting all of those pesky projects tamed and my daily life back to where I could sleep well at night instead of counting my undone list at the end of the day. Unlike how Henry B. Eyring used the hymn this past weekend in General Conference, “Have I Done Any Good?” was self-flagellation, not inspiration. I have many days where I feel I “have failed indeed” and these forty days were to be my “wak[ing] up and do[ing] something more”.  And it would stick, and life would be good, “a joy beyond measure” filled with “blessing[s] of duty and love.”

More than halfway through now, and I find that procrastination is entrenched more firmly in my life than I pictured. The built-up consequences cannot be undone in mere days, the overwhelming tide does not go out just because I want it to be so. I thought I could just take charge and make it all right, and that hasn’t been the case so far. Thank you letters that we completed on Christmas Day are sitting in a folder on the desk right now. I haven’t made it to the post office. Forget about the birthday greetings. It’s just so embarrasing and I only include this example because I hope I shame myself into doing it tomorrow.

I celebrated my birthday this week and painfully reflected upon the past year. Another moment of candor: I had a breakdown last May. I don’t know how much was stress and how much was inevitable brain chemistry, but it happened all the same and we suffered through it and the roller coaster of multiple medications and their side effects trying to ‘fix’ me. My husband is a saintly rock for all of us. I can’t fathom how deeply he loves me to carry on. I only know how grateful I am for my eternal helpmeet. His big gift to me this year is our first night without children, the roughly 13.5 years since Duncan was born (not counting the nights we spent in the hospital maternity wards). It’s as much from my friends as it is from him, as they make it possible for us to know our children are in good hands while we’re away.

This month has so many wonderful things planned. I have so much to look forward to; is it any wonder I wish to run instead of crawl?

~ I popped in a new CD Monday night. Richard and I exchanged knowing smiles as the soaring music prompted others to rack their brains searching for the title. A moment later Elena started jumping & shouting for joy. “John Adams! John Adams! It’s the music from John Adams!”  Her enthusiasm waned a tiny bit when she realized it was just the soundtrack and not the DVDs. (If you want a tiny snippet of the title track, it’s on Itunes but those 30 seconds don’t do it justice)

~Ephraim can spell his name, and can write E p h r n i m. His a’s aren’t quite there yet, so he sticks to Eph most of the time. I love it when my children pick something up without me pushing them in that direction.

~I had a double del cheese burger (no tomato, no onion, add bacon) at Del Taco at our Fake-o de Mayo outing Tuesday evening. Everyone else enjoyed stuffing themselves with the 3/ $1 tacos. Macho rootbeers were slurped by all.

~Richard told Emma that we were going out for Cinco de Mayo, and that everyone eats five packets of mayonaise to celebrate the deposing of a dictator. “Do we each get five, or do we have to share?” she asked.  Between giggles I made Richard pronounce Mayo like the spanish month and not the clinic, and she thought tacos might be okay after all.

~Anya lets me know when she wants to watch Lion-O and the gang by shouting “tuhcats ho!!!!” We’ve worked our way up to season 2 now, disc 1. I tell ya, they just don’t make cartoons like they used to…

~Richard’s statement of benefits arrived in the mail this week. It analyzes what his total compensation package is when one adds retirement, vacation and sick time, employer tsp match, employer health insurance portion, etc, to salary. His wages make up only 71% of that figure! It doesn’t take into account the benefits of the work car (like not having to pay for gasoline, insurance, maintenance), the health improvement program and all that good stuff. Let me tell ya, dear reader, the biggest things can’t even be measured on paper–my husband loves his job and he’s very good at what he does.

~Richard & I caught the Star Trek exhibit at the AZ Science Center last Saturday, just a day shy of them packing it up (for Portland?). Loved it, learned a lot, sat in all of the Enterprise D bridge chairs, cursed the occasionally malfunctioning audio guide. I think we’re on the verge of raising a family that loves both great series: trekkies and jedis, we are.

~I pounded out a rotating chart of daily household chores recently–for now Eph & Anya share a slot and Ken is subbing for them while he’s here. We have one copy downstairs on the side of the freezer and one upstairs underneath the hallway thermostat. Everyone is scheduled for each job once during the week, but the number of jobs any one person has varies.

Here’s what Wednesday looks like:

• Upstairs bathroom: Duncan
• Ducky bathroom: Emma
• Hand wash dishes: Cheanna
• Unload dishwasher: Téa
• Living room: Duncan
• Front room: Téa
• School room: Richard
• Kitchen & Dining room floor: Eph & Anya
• Loft–movies & games: Emma
• Loft–toys: Elena
• Stairs & hallway: Cheanna
• Laundry Day: Eph & Anya, R & T whites, special care items
• Bedroom Zone: Floor

~Reading the Book of Mormon around the dinner table eating Lil’ Drums last night was pretty cool. Can’t do that everynight, but we had no trouble getting everyone to sit down with a smile! 

~Now I’m off to eat some grilled chicken, watermelon balls, and steamed corn-on-the-cob.  Yummy and I had no hand in preparing any of it. Wait, no, I did the shopping, and I did use my hands for that  ;)

Or mostly unrelated unedited thoughts of late

I had a post that I took down last week(?) on self-loathing. My husband wisely remarked that it might not be something I would want to have follow me around; it was journaling appropriate, not blogging fare. I could see the logic… I wanted to bare my (tormented) soul to those I call my dear readers, knowing that you would either recoil in disgust (saving you future reading time), nod understandingly, or shake your head in confusion. If you were still here when the self-critical dust settled, then I could say you were making an informed decision, my dear reader  =)   But this is not some cyber-sleepover where we are sitting around, sharing our darkest thoughts and secret crushes–what I write online could come back to haunt me more than any whispers in the dark. I respect his view from the outside, and thus it disappeared. 

The next morning I woke up with those three text messages waiting for me (yes, typed out on his little LG qwerty, completely as-is, no thx 4 u, kwim?) and I opted to put those up instead of a revised version of my original words. I envy Richard’s ability to rapidly compose entire paragraphs in his head; entire essays spring forth with very little, if any, editing required. His wisdom arrives like Athena–without the headache.

I listened to Pearl Jam’s “Black” on the radio this week, first time in several years. It brought back memories of a good friend, her older brother who liked me, and his artistic note explaining the sudden end of our relationship. I was his date to a school dance, we went out for coffee a couple of times, it wasn’t anything serious or exclusive. But he wrote that he’d always thought of himself as different from other guys, that he wasn’t going to let himself be this ‘raging ball of hormones’, and since I was changing all of that for him, he needed to call me just his little sister’s friend. He closed with a quote from “Black”

I know someday you’ll have a beautiful life,
I know you’ll be a star
In somebody else’s sky
 but why
         why
             why can’t it be
why can’t it be mine? 

I can’t stop the tears as I sing along with Eddie Vedder, words that frustrated me at the time now a reminder of how incredible my journey’s been thus far. I do have a beautiful life, I have someone who loves me, and I understand why it couldn’t be, why so many others couldn’t be…  (like the one I envision whenever “Better Man” starts playing)

I often ’trip the light existential’ around my birthday, which makes sense, I suppose. Entertainment with themes of self-exploration, growth, rebirth, purposeful identity, these songs, movies, novels, they strike me with greater force these days. I woke up with puffy lids after crying for Christopher Johnson McCandless, or at least Sean & Emile’s portrayal thereof. Would I finally come to my understanding and definition of happiness too late to do anything about it? Would any ‘quest’ I undertake end in relative disaster? I identified with the foolhardy, fearful, lonely, frustrated, and the surprisingly optimistic, grateful, yearning, learning… too much for my poor soul at 1am, I’m afraid.

I’m struggling to express those thoughts in an intelligible way. I’m not winning that battle just yet. Again with the envy of his mind, his pen (or keyboard as the case may be).

Everything happens for a reason, sure. But it doesn’t mean it’s a rational one, or higher power directed. The question of how God draws the line between being intimately involved and hands-off is one for the ages. Whether or not God can even be both is debatable.

Salvation Mountain blows my mind enough, to be honest. “God Loves Everyone” is amazing, eh? Even my nontheist dear readers out there can agree that it’s unbelievable, heh heh heh. More often than I do, I need to remember that I am part of Everyone. It doesn’t take away those pieces and parts of me I loathe, but it can keep me from throwing myself out with the bathwater.

There’s hope for me yet.

Life is good. In the words of Dave Ramsey, I’m doing better than I deserve. 

So here’s my confession this time around: I have an ever-growing case of thriver’s guilt. (more…)

I used to think that unless I was in hospital, under doctor’s quarantine, incapable of sitting upright or facing uncontrollable bodily fluid spewage, I should be at church meetings on Sundays.

My “excused” absence list is a lot longer these days, and rightfully so.

Today I’m keeping my cold/flu symptoms to myself.

If I attended today, while ill, would I be a disruptive influence? Probably no more than usual. Increased coughing with fewer participatory comments–balances out in the end for most, I’m sure. Hymns aren’t heard well in the foyer and I stopped singing out loud in Relief Society quite some time ago, so my vocal status wouldn’t affect much there either. I could be there, miserable as quietly as possible, and it could seem like any other week, really. Except for the person who inhales at the wrong time, or the child who doesn’t wash up… those germs would make themselves known, even as I did my best to fade into the background.

Knowing that no one else is ill because of contact with me, that’s priceless.

And now back to my day of rest.

If you have not read the original post and its comments , you’ll be jumping into an already-in-progress conversation by only reading this one. I suggest you familiarize yourself before you click to read more. Why? ( in my best fairy tale wolf voice) All the better to add your own thoughts, my dear reader.

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