The Wedding

July 11th Tough Guy, my oldest, got hitched. He married Cutie Pie, his girlfriend for a year now. The ceremony was at the Conservatory in Old Town St Charles, a really beautiful place. The wedding went off without a hitch and they headed off for their honeymoon in Florida. They got back on Monday and tomorrow, Tough Guy will fly back to Iraq for somewhere between 3 and 7 more months. Cutie Pie is a doll and we've grown to love her through the last few months. We wish them all the best. A few pictures are below.

The happy couple.

My kids--Cutie Pie's included in that, she's officially part of the family now!
Only Ruggle's, who's in Thailand, is missing.

Walking down the aisle with Dad.

Grandparent's and Hubder's brother.

Girlie-whirl with the bouquet.

My Chosen Career

Years ago, early in my marriage, I was smack dab in the middle of babydom. My boys were 3 and 2 and I was a couple of months from the birth of my first daughter. I'd wanted this, prayed for this, hoped for this, and now that I had it, it was, well...tough. I'd had four very young sisters when I'd knelt across the altar from Hubders and so I knew that little ones were relentless. But I'd been the helper, the sitter, someone to give my mom a respite. Now, they were mine. I was the mom and it was just what I wanted, except for those moments when I thought I'd go nuts.

Hubders was wonderful. I loved the time of day when he'd walk through the door, with his smiling face, his adult conversation, and his joy at playing with his two little boys. But, he did have to bring home that bacon, and so, days were just me and the kids: the diapers, the runny noses, the laundry, the endless messes, the rashes, the tantrums, the lost shoes, the spilled milk; they were all constants in my life.

Usually I looked on the bright side, and fully enjoyed the sleepy snuggles, the faces that lit up just for me, the giggles, the wonder as they watched a bug at the park, the shrieks of delighted terror as I chased them round our little apartment, the absolute trust in their eyes, the joy of watching them learn new things, and the reading. It had become one of my passions, reading to those little guys. Where the Wild Things Are was a favorite and they never tired of hearing it. Who knew that making a story come alive for your kids could be so much fun?

Most of the time I was able to focus on the good things, but the relentlessness of the hard stuff would gang up on me some days and then it would bother me. Oh, not enough for me to feel like it was a mistake. I firmly believed that being a mother was the most important job on the planet; literally a sacred trust from God. I still wanted this as much as ever, but it was a harder gig than I'd imagined, and in the midst of the necessary drudgery, it was sometimes hard to remember how important being a mom was.

One morning, Sally, a friend from church called. Her babysitter was sick and Sally asked if I would watch her 18 month old daughter, Molly, for the day. I agreed. The day was uneventful and Sally eventually returned to pick her up. Sitting on the couch, she looked at me and said, "You don't know how lucky you are. I wish so bad I could stay home with Molly!" I replied that I did feel very blessed to be a stay-at-home mom, and after a few more exchanged pleasantries, Sally took her daughter home.

After she left, I couldn't get her comment out of my mind. I did feel blessed, but something was nagging at me. I mulled it over until I came to a realization. Sally was also very early in her marriage and I'd been to her home. It was a brand new, nice sized house, tastefully decorated with new furnishings, and there were two cute sporty little cars parked in the garage. On the other hand, Sally had trudged down the stairs to our basement apartment, sat on our hand-me-down furniture and walked past our one and only, on-it's-last-legs car. And it hit me. Sally could be where I was; struggling to make ends meet, with little in the way of material goods, and home, full-time, with her kids. She had chosen differently than I had, which is just fine, but it was a clarifying moment for me. The life I had chosen was more important to me than anything else. Owning a home and new furniture and nice cars would come once Hubders had a few more years of full-time employment under his belt; but they could wait while I did more important things.

I wasn't judgmental of Sally. This wasn't about her. It was the realization that this was the only acceptable way for me to live my life. I firmly believed that no one else could love those boys and give them what they needed like I could and I would have happily given up a lot of things before I'd give up full-time momhood. There was something liberating about seeing clearly why I'd made those choices and that, given the chance, I'd make the same ones all over again.

That realization was important, later on, when Hubders faced a long-term illness and money got even tighter. Although we knew that I may, at some point, have no choice but to enter the work force; together, we decided that until we couldn't even put those twenty-five cent boxes of macaroni and cheese on the table (yes, years ago you could by off-brand mac & cheese for a quarter), I wouldn't start looking for a job. Somehow, that day never came and I'm, happily, still at home preparing to send number six, my baby, off to kindergarten.

Although I may at some point get a job, I don't think I'll ever have a paid career. My past dreams of traveling, teaching in a school for the deaf, serving a full-time mission for my church, performing with impressive choirs, and writing gripping novels, all happily gave way to being a wife and mom. I'm entering a new stage of life now and I'm thinking about dusting off a few of those old dreams, but they will never mean as much to me as simply being a mom.

I'm back, maybe?

It's been a while since I've posted. Life has been eventful and busy and hard. Don't get me wrong, there been good stuff too, but I'm feeling pretty fragile. I've written a couple of drafts about it, but haven't felt like posting them. I want to get back into it; look for the funny, the quirky, the silly, and the heartwarming and post about it all, but I'm not sure I'm up to it quite yet. I may just keep reading all of your blogs, without blogging myself, for a while longer. I'm sure I'll start posting again, but not yet.

By Small and Simple Things

I love the LDS hymns. Nothing brings the Spirit of the Lord and the peace that always follows, into my heart quicker than the singing of hymns. My testimony has been strengthened more in church by the singing of hymns than by listening to the sermons given. (Is that terrible to admit? Maybe so, but it's nevertheless true). There is something about sacred words put to music that bespeaks holiness and sinks the reality of the truths sung deep into my heart and soul. Truly "the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me" [Doctrine and Covenants 25:12]; and many's the time that my heartfelt singing of hymns has been answered with "a blessing upon (my) head".

We went to choir practice after church the other day, something I really didn't want to do. I was tired. We were all hungry. I had to drag all of the kids with me, and two of the three really didn't want to go. But we went. We only sang two songs, both hymns of the restoration. As we sang I again felt the witness that our Redeemer truly is our "shadow by day and our pillar by night" That he saves us today, just a literally and readily as he saved ancient Israel. That the "tokens already appear" and so, we can be sure that "the hour of redemption is near." It's all stuff that I already know and love, but to have it reafirmed as we sang was a sweet and tender mercy from a loving Father.

It's interesting to me that the spirit speaks so powerfully in such quiet ways. No one sitting near me had any idea that anything beautiful and sweet was being experienced nearby, but I came away from that practice refreshed, uplifted and more sure than ever that God is intimately acquainted with me and my struggles. All just from a hymn. "By small and simple things..." [Alma 37:6].

Random Thoughts

A smattering of thoughts rolling around in my noggin:

Fitting into the next smaller size is exponentially better than chocolate!

Being a Mom is the best and the toughest job on the planet!

Mega intense workouts are good for the soul as well as the body.

Organization may have to wait 'til the next life.

A tag-a-long on the back of your bike is harder than it looks.

Husbands are beautiful things.

You're always tougher than you think you are.

Without the peace and joy of the gospel I'd be ready for rubber wallpaper!!

Pain and Results (I hope!)

I just started an exercise class. There were only five of us in the class and one personal trainer. Now, I love tough work outs. I don't see any point in doing it unless you're gonna go for it and push yourself. Having said that, I was totally unprepared for the beating. I've been working out for some time now and although I still have more fat on this body than is recommended, I have some good muscle tone under that fat, thank you very much, and some pretty good stamina going on. But within ten minutes into this hour long class, my entire body was jello with fifty minutes to go.

Here's just the first part of class, so that you have an idea of the experience. First, for our warm-up, we ran up and down the flight of stairs five times. Keep in mind that these are stairs in a commercial building and so they are longer than the flight of stairs in our homes. We were breathing really hard by the end, but it was doable.

Next, she set us up with five different stations and we were to do each exercise for one minute. I could see that most of them weren't going to be that bad. Push-ups for a whole minute would be tough, triceps behind the head with a 10 lbs weight--I'd really be feeling it, but knew I could make it. The bicep one I knew would be the easiest. The tossing the ball over your head against the wall as fast as you can, didn't look too hard, and running the stairs for the other station would leave me winded, but I knew I could do it. Not a piece of cake, but remember, I like tough work outs.

I was at the bicep station to begin with. It wasn't that tough, but my eyes got big as I watched our trainer go over to my friend at the push-up station, place one hand on each shoulder blade and push down. You gotta be kidding me?! Push ups like that? Thirty seconds into it, she moved over to the tricep station, took hold of the bottom of the weight and pulled down. The friend at this station started grunting heavily with each rep. Yep, by now I was nervous!

My second station was triceps. I've done tricep with a twenty lb weight before, but I have NEVER worked those muscles like I did with her pulling down on the weight! At the end of the minute my arms were feeling things they had never before felt.

I moved over to the station with the ball. It looked like a regular basketball. Imagine my chagrin when I picked it up and realized that it weighed ten lbs!! My arms were complete jello from the last station, so the ten lbs felt like thirty, and the minute like at least five!

I then ran stairs and now my whole body is completely exhausted, and it's time for push-ups! Every time she pushed down on my shoulder blades, my arm muscles collapsed! I just didn't have it in me.

She then let us take a quick sip of water, towel off the sweat that was dripping like rain and said, "One more time." We did the circuit again.

That was just the first part of the class. She didn't let up for the whole hour. And I do mean hour --she worked us the entire time, to the last minute and told us that we could cool down and stretch on our own time!!!

When the class finally ended I was very sad to realize that those who designed the building didn't have the forsight to put an elevator in. Didn't they realize that there would be people who were in the state where they'd rather just sleep there for the night than to go down those stairs to get to their cars?

It's only because my dad taught me stay on two ibuprofin to prevent stiffness that I can actually make it all the way down to the toilet seat today. I have a dress for the upcoming wedding that I can zip up, but can't wear until I lose a few lbs. If anything can get me there, this is it. That is, if I can get up enough guts to go back on Thursday!

Can you say big?!

Banana girl celebrated her 11th birthday this week. The only thing she really asked for was a big Hershey bar. She meant the 5 oz. size, but her dad, being all about making memories for the kids, found a slightly larger one. The look on her face was priceless!

Some Things You Just Know

Girlie-whirl had two friends over to play the other day. We decided to pack a picnic lunch and head to our favorite park. The day was warm, the sky blue and the park crowded with families enjoying each other.

After playing for a while, we headed over to the picnic tables for lunch. We hadn't been eating long, when a woman at a nearby table screamed out an expletive. Everyone, of course, looked to see what the problem was. She had just noticed a seemingly dead baby bird under her table. Her family quickly moved to another table.

The whole area had now been alerted to the baby birds presence. It was interesting to watch the reactions. Birds had been flying continually in and out and no one seemed to pay any attention. But one dead baby bird and everyone was riveted. The children, especially were drawn to it. Time and again, moms had to remind children not to touch, not to get too close. Parent's faces showed pity and concern. One look wasn't sufficient for anyone, all eyes continually strayed back to the bird.

Then, the once thought dead bird started to flop and flail. The children cried out, "It's moving, it's moving!" Before, everyone felt sad, but now we were stricken. It was obviously not going to survive, was quickly on it's way out, and watching it struggle just hurt. As we stood around wondering what to do. One woman stood up and with her napkin, gently rolled the bird over, he flailed and was immediately on his back again. She tried again and eventually got the little thing to stay on it's stomach. It now looked more comfortable, and flailed less, but we all knew that it was just a matter of time.

Eventually I went back to the playground with the girls, but I kept going back to check on the bird. The last time, the bird was gone. I think it had breathed it's last and someone removed the body. A nice sign of respect.

Life is all around us, so much so that I think we take it for granted, don't even notice it--I know I do. Death, on the other hand, tends to be hidden from society. Old people move to rest homes where we don't see their physical descent. People dying of natural causes or accidents frequently do so in hospitals, hidden from view. Even the death of animals, something that 50 years ago was a common occurance is now a rarity for most of us. We don't kill the chicken and eat it, we buy a package of meat from the store.

Although our society hides death as much as possible, although we diliberately try to be ignorant of death and everything surrounding it, everyone at the park knew instinctively that the death struggles of that bird were not insignificant, that they mattered. Young or old, educated or otherwise, rich or poor, everyone there recognized that life is sacred, you could see it in their faces. It's a universal truth, and a beautiful thing.

Embrace the Differences

We are not experienced travelers, but the little travel we have done has been an adventure. We've tried to embrace the differences in other cultures and not expect things to be like they are at home. This has generally been easy, but there was the one time when it took some real effort.

Years ago, my husband and I took a 21 day trip that included a three day Aegean Sea cruise. I'd never been on a cruise before and was excited to experience one for myself. I'd been told that the food on a cruise is to die for, and I was eagerly anticipating the food, the islands, the sights and any other delights that were in store.

We happened to board right before lunch, so we hit the smorgasbord and loaded up our plates. Sitting at a table with two friends and our Greek tour guide, Magda, three of us realized that we had big, black, curly hairs in our pasta salad. Can you say, YUCK!!? Magda asked us what was wrong. When we told her, she shrugged, and in her beautiful Greek accent asked, "What can you do?" Because we had come to enjoy our experience in Greece to the full, we determined not to let a few hairs ruin our meal. Leaving the pasta salad on our plates, we thoroughly checked our remaining food to ensure hairlessness and finished off our meals with only slightly dampened enthusiasm.

The cruise proceeded and we visited the islands of Patmos, Mykanos, and Rhodes. The sites were beautiful and enlightening. Our meals on board were good and, although we ate somewhat cautiously, we, thankfully, saw no repeat of the hair incident.

The last morning on board, we breakfasted as usual, eating leisurely while we chatted with friends. As we finished up, a couple at a nearby table asked the waiter for more orange juice. In full view of us all, he walked over to a nearby table, picked up two glasses, one half empty and one seemingly untouched, filled the half empty glass to the brim, placed both on a serving tray, and gave the juice to the couple! We were more than mildly disturbed, slightly queasy, and grateful that our meals on board were behind us!

Sweetie

Sweetie is away at college. Far, far away. I miss her like crazy, but she calls almost every day--a beautiful thing for a mom's heart. I confess that I stalk her on facebook occasionally to see what else I can learn about her life. It's always virtuous, lovely, of good report and praisworthy stuff. One of my favorite things about the whole facebook thing is that every time a friend of hers posts a picture with her in it, I can download it. So I have a bunch of pictures of her college experiences all taken and posted by people I don't generally know. Below is a smattering of my favs.

Taking time and feeling guilt

I've had some thoughts wandering around in my brain for a few weeks that I hadn't found time to write down. Blogging yesterday, I read Mommy Snark's latest on writing and that was the catalyst to get me started. I love that she's actually written a book. What a beautiful thing! And I believe it's wonderful in God's eyes whether or not anyone else ever enjoys reading it. (It should be noted that comments on her blog from those who HAVE read the manuscript are very positive and I hope to have the opportunity to read it for myself someday.) You can read her post here

My thoughts have been on creating and writing and learning and growing, and the smiles I feel from above as I make the attempt to do these things. Every time I purposefully embark on a new learning/growing experience, I palpably feel my Heavenly Father's approval, and this is true whether or not anything actually comes of the attempt. I first noticed this years ago when my husband, observing that I had an interest, bought for me the equipment needed to tune a piano. He suggested that I hire a tuner that would be willing to show me the ropes as they worked on ours. I found one and jumped in. As I proceeded, I felt a great sense of well-being about the process; a sense that my Heavenly Father was tickled pink that I was actively growing and learning something new just because I wanted to. Other things came up, and it mostly fizzled (please do NOT ask me to tune your piano!), but I was intrigued by the message from above.

That feeling has been repeated recently as I've signed up for and started training for a half triathlon, joined and then taken over responsibility for a book club, actively pursued increasing my sign language skills, and now I feel it about blogging of all things! Although I've thought about and wanted to write a book since high school, I have been loathe to start. The actual writing process was always drudgery to me in high school and I've avoided writing as much as possible in the intervening years. But blogging now has this hold on me that I need to explore. I've been pleasantly surprised at how much I'm enjoying this writing thing, and once again, I feel God nudging me forward to, literally, heaven knows where.

I , of course, feel God's approval as I try to be a better wife and mother, serve more diligently in my church, or help out the sick and needy, but for some reason, the immediate inner blessings of peace and approval, for taking "me time" to grow and learn just for the joy of it, were a real surprise to me. A sweet, happy surprise. I know it shouldn't have been. He is, after all, our Father. And being a father with all good attributes in full, he obviously wants me to learn and grow and find joy. I think I got caught up in all the selfless things that we're called on to do and had learned, rightly, to find joy in them most of the time. Doing things just for me seemed to be somewhat of a guilty pleasure, a necessary evil; something that I should minimize as much as possible. (Don't get me wrong I do it all the time, but I feel a bit selfish for it.) To learn that actively pursuing things just for me is heartily approved of by the Lord is a sweet and beautiful thing. (and a bit of a "duh" moment!)

So I'm pressing forward with writing, fitting it in between loads of laundry, doing dishes, and reading to my preschooler. I don't know where it will lead, probably not to a finished manuscript, but, at minimum to some improved writing skills, to more knowledge, and definitely to more joy. And that's a beautiful thing!

SiteMeter problems

A couple of weeks ago, (after reading Inkmom's post on the subject) I set up a SiteMeter account and deleted my old counter. I had been getting 20-30 hits a day but Sitemeter says that I am now getting one or less hits per week. I know that I haven't set things up correcty since I haven't even got the SiteMeter thing to appear on my blog. But try as I might, I can't seem to fix it. Any suggestions? I'd love some help!

I've wanted to learn how do a hot link on my blog. My little sis, Paily, explained it to me and I've just successfully done it for the first time! I've now made too big of a deal over it, but, being fairly new to blogging, it feels good to, bit by bit, learn these things!

Motherhood and Red Faces

I've always loved the mispronunciations that inevitably come as my babes have worked to wrap their tongue around all the sounds needed for coherent speech. The whole family loved it when we heard Banana Girl calling the sacrament "the snackerment", or when she'd say, "It's thoggy outside!" (foggy). We were all very sad when Girlie Whirl quit saying naybe (maybe), and Book of Mornin'. She's still says "that really ignores me." (She means annoys). We've watched them, as they grow, self correct the cute idiosyncrasies in their speech with a wistful sigh, knowing that they're growing up and we'll never again hear those adorable misspeaks come out of their mouths.

I almost never correct my children's mispronunciations. I know that they'll figure it out eventually and in the mean time, it brings a smile to all of our faces every time they speak. The big exception: Tough Guy, our oldest, couldn't pronounce ketchup. His version started with kep and the second syllable started with and sh and ended with a t. Trips to McDonald's could very quickly turn into quite the embarrassing moment as my son's innocent attempts at getting the proper sauce to dip his fries in resulted in dirty looks from other mothers. (I'm exaggerating, it never actually happened like that, but there were times when I was embarrassed by it). I always did all that I could to anticipate his ketchup needs before he asked, and we worked diligently on his ketchup pronunciation.

I think that having our children do things in public that we wish others hadn't seen is a character building moment that our Father in Heaven built into parenthood on purpose. Surely, if God has all virtues in perfection (and I believe that he does), his perfect sense of humor has to enjoy it as he watches us deal with the public embarrassment that occasionally comes with child rearing. To say nothing of the nudge toward greater maturity that these experiences tend to give us. There's nothing that helps us to be less judgemental toward other parents actions, or lack thereof, than watching an unexpected, public misbehavior of our own child.

I confess, I don't have anyplace else that this post is going. Just some random thoughts brought on today by my sister's most recent post. If you're in the mood to laugh at an embarrassing mom moment, take a look at her latest.

http://eulessnotuseless.blogspot.com/2009/05/he-did-not-just-say-that.html

Do you have an embarrassing mom moment to share?

BTW, I wish I knew how to do that thing where you write something like: "You can read about it here" with the "here" being a different color that is a link to the post. Anyone know where I can go to learn to do that?

Vanity!

I do not like my hair right now. It's been short and easy care for years now but I like change. Boredom sets in if I leave it in the same style for too long, so I'm growing it out. Having done so in the past, I remember that it's an annoying process, but I'd forgotten how extreme the annoyance really is. The process of going from short and sassy to long enough to successfully coif behind the head is driving me nuts! I just want to be able to pull it back into a pony tail when running/biking/working out. Is that too much to ask?

The layers are growing out fairly quickly, but the problem is that I have a lot of hair. When getting it cut, it's imperative to have the stylist texturize it to death, or my nice new style cut, all too soon, turns into a bush; an unattractive, over-grown, really needs to be pruned bush. Not exactly the look I'm going for. As the layers grow out, the bush has, sadly, turned into something like a weeping willow. Again, a fairly unappealing look, so I went and got it shaped. It looked great, actually looked like my hair had a smidgen of a sense of style again. But, not knowing any better--what do I know about hair?--I had them texturize it as usual. This wasn't a problem until a few weeks later when it started to grow out. The texturization (I'm sure that's not a real word) caused hundreds of short little hairs to stick straight out amongst the branches of the weeping willow, giving me a porcupine-ish weeping willow kind of look. ARRGH! Some days it looks somewhat okay--not great, mind you--but not horrendous either. And every day is a struggle to get to the point where I'm not abashed to be seen in public. I'm not terribly vain, but embarrassingly bad hair days, stacked one on top of another for weeks in a row are starting to give me a complex! And yet, my hair is still not quite long enough to ponytail it. Something about the shape of my head necessitates longer than average locks to pull off a tail!

Almost at the end of my rope, I mentioned that I was going to give up and get it cut. To which my husband replied, "No, don't cut it!" He almost never gives his opinion about this kind of thing, so the knowledge that Hubders wants me to grow it out, helped me find the wherewithal to stick it out a bit longer.

I know that this too shall pass and that it's not important in the eternal scheme of things, but I will be soooo relieved to put this process behind me! It feels incredibly vain to be terribly bugged by multiple bad hair days, when there is actual real suffering in the world; but the relentlessness of dealing with this is wearing very thin. Once the hair has reached the required length and a professional has trimmed it ever so slightly into a somewhat stylish do; once I am again satisfied that I don't look incredibly dorky, then I'll be grown-up and mature. Right now, I just want to have a meltdown, reminiscent of my teenage years, in front of my mirror each morning. But that would be an incredibly bad example to set before my young-uns. So, instead, I'll whimper inside and suffer in silence whilst I yearn for better hair days.

Surprise!

I've always loved surprises. I love the anticipation, the savoring and wondering, almost as much, and sometimes more, than the actual event/gift itself. Hubders could tell me exactly where my birthday present was hiding months in advance (this is obviously a hypothetical example, I can't quite imagine him actually purchasing a gift that early), and I would not be tempted in the least to peek. That would ruin the surprise. When Ruggles was in-utero (spell check won't help me spell that word!), the ultrasound obviously revealed, even to my untrained eyes, that we were about to welcome son number two into our family. It was interesting to me that the actual delivery was a bit of a let-down. Along with the joy and wonder of seeing him for the very first time, the absolute miracle of one so recently sent down from God, there was also a smidge of disappointment. Not disappointment that he was another boy, but that I already KNEW he was a boy. The surprise part of it had been taken from me. Not a huge deal really, but it was then that I realized how big I am on surprises.

My love of watching things unknown unfold at the proper time is a big part of why I love being a mom. To me, it's the most satisfying surprise of all to watch your children grow and develop into whoever it is they are in the process of becoming. I couldn't have guessed when I was in the throws of diaperdom and refereeing squabbles between my first three that Tough-guy was in process of developing such a love for his country that he'd put himself through the excruciating process of becoming a Marine and literally offer to lay down his life for his country. Or that Ruggles, who just wanted to play and would do almost anything to get out of work, would buckle in, save more than the entire $10,000 dollars needed to pay for his LDS mission and serve with all his heart in Thailand. Or that Sweetie, who is so innocent and pure that you felt you would always need to protect her, would be the first to go off to college half a continent away, and thrive there with a beauty and grace that is a joy to behold. What a lovely surprise this mothering thing can be!

My three younger children are still unknowns. Beautifully wrapped packages with only the corner opened. I still have most of the anticipation and excitement of their big reveal yet ahead. But occasionally I get another glimpse of what lies beneath the paper.

We just got back from visiting my parents on their mission. I absolutely love that after nine years of a twenty hour drive to see my mom, she's now only three hours away!!! Hubders, bless his heart, is simply letting me go whenever I want--not quite three months into their mission and I just came back from visit number three! This trip I took Bikey-boy and Banana-girl out of school so they could come too.

Grandma has generally made a hot breakfast, but she recently hurt her knee (surgery is probably in her near future), and so planned a breakfast of cold cereal. My family loves cold cereal, so this isn't a problem, but she only had the kinds of cereal that adults traditionally like. There wasn't a single choice that didn't have dried fruit of some kind in it. And to top it off, there was only skim milk, something my children have learned to drink in a glass, but are loathe to ever have on any cereal. Not four months ago, we had a protracted struggle at the breakfast table with ten-year-old Banana-girl because she accidentally poured skim milk on her cheerios. I let her know that we were not going to waste that bowl, it was perfectly good milk, not sour or anything, and she could eat it. Although she eventually did, it was NOT a fun morning. Bikey-boy and Girlie-whirl both like raisin bran, so I knew they would enjoy the meal, but I was thinking of how to help Banana-girl act appropriately about her breakfast options when she took the raisin bran, poured it in her bowl, topped it off with skim milk and pleasantly joined in the breakfast conversation as she proceeded to eat!!! She's certainly growing up! It was a lovely surprise!

I'm glad I don't live in Somalia

I learned something new this morning. For the past twenty-four years, whenever Somalia is prominently in the headlines, my husband thinks of me and the different paths my life could have taken. This was news to me. I don't think much of anything when I hear about Somalia, but, apparently, hubders does. Interesting.

The story behind his musings goes way back to college to a tale of unrequited love--(okay, in retrospect, I'm sure there was no real love involved, but that didn't occur to me until I was much older and somewhat wiser). I'll try to make it short, but I may not succeed.

I attended an agricultural university where there were significant numbers of international students. Many of the campus co-eds learned the hard way that normal pleasantries--such as smiling and saying hi--were often interpreted as romantic overtures by said international students of the male persuasion.

I worked the taco bar in the cafeteria and tried to be friendly and helpful to everyone who came to me for Mexican yummies. Every day a guy would come and order a taco salad. Sometimes we would chat a bit if things weren't too busy and I eventually learned that his name was...I'll just call him Asad, and that he was from Somalia. We became what I would call casual acquaintances. He said that the Somali government was paying for his education and that after graduation, he would become the head of agriculture for the country. (I completely believed him at the time, but on reflection, he was probably not completely honest with me--duh!) Soon, he started asking me to go to dinner with him, but I had decided long ago, that once I was of marriageable age, I wouldn't date anyone who couldn't take me to the temple. (For those who are not LDS, temples are where we Mormons marry for time and all eternity--something very important to me). However, standing at the taco bar preparing burritos for customers hardly seemed the appropriate time and place to explain this to Asad. I tried to put him off in more casual ways but he was persistent, so I eventually agreed to go to dinner with him. I reasoned that I would pay for my own meal and there would explain why I couldn't date him.

A few days later we went to dinner and after talking for two hours, a good portion of it about the whys and wherefores of my decision not to date him, he asked if I would wait for him while he went back to Somalia for a year. He would then return and marry me. I was dumbfounded, to say the least! Yup! I won't date you, but I'd be happy to enter into nuptials!? It was most likely a language problem that accounted for this miscommunication, despite his fluent English--that, or a fervent desire to procure US citizenship--again, something that only occurred to me much later. I, of course, explained that marriage was out of the question and that we could only be friends.

He continued to come to the taco bar. He called me frequently, gave me ivory jewelry and a book on Mormons and Muslims. His favorite phrase was, "I don't know, but I think that one day, you will marry me." He seemed completely harmless and I never felt threatened in any way, but I was looking forward to the fast approaching day when he would fly back to Somalia. However, that day came and went and he didn't fly. He continued to call and wanted to see me, but I was invariably busy--usually, legitimately so. One day he called, got a bit angry and told me that he had stayed an extra month just so he could see me and now I was never available. Never being one for confrontation--okay, I'm a wimp!--I calmly explained to him, that I hadn't asked for him to stay and that my schedule was busy and that's just the way it was. He eventually flew home; calling me en route to ask if he could send me a new wardrobe from Paris--which I flatly refused to let him do. The LAST thing I needed was to be made to feel indebted to him because he spent a wad of cash on me!

Although there were multiple attempts to contact me after that, they were easy to deal with, owing to the fact that he was half a world away. I never saw him again. Now I don't want to leave the wrong impression. This was not a case of tall, dark and handsome falls madly in love with me. It was more a case of short, dark, so-so looking and somewhat whiney refuses to take no for an answer--a much less romantic scenario!

By the time he left, I was dating Hubders and the rest is history. In the intervening years, we've seen Somalia in the news for the following: large famines (Hubder's imagining me starving to death); bloody coups (husband imagining me living in exile in Paris, or, worse, murdered with my family); drug cartells (he's imagining me married to the guy who wastes anyone who gets in the way, and me getting wasted as payback or some such thing); and now pirates (use your own imagination--though I doubt it will be as original as his!)

I've always said that life with Hubders is never dull, but I'm happy to report that the excitement of life with him is of the ordinary mundane kind, and much more to my liking than the life he imagines for me as wife of Asad, the Head of Agriculture for the government of Somalia.

Easter Eggs!

I found a tutorial on dyeing easter eggs with silk ties at Our Best Bites http://www.ourbestbites.com/2008/03/silk-dyed-eggs.html and decided to try it. We invited some friends over and tried it out. It was alot of fun. Here are some of our results. I love the subtle colors. Unwrapping them was so much fun.

They're prettier in real life, but then isn't everything!

Springbreak

We went to Springfield, IL to the Lincoln museum over spring break. It was great fun. We went with our neighbors to the north, a family in our subdivision that we have so much fun with. Here are some pics.

The fam hanging out with Lincoln's fam

Chillin' with Lincoln on a park bench (seriously, it was freezing)

Girlie-whirl looking through the Lincoln dollhouse

Our neighbors--very fun(-ny) people

Waiting to go into Ghosts of the Library (a seriously cool show)

An action shot with Hubders--he made it in too

This is actually earlier in the week, before we went to Springfield. We went to St. Raymonds for lunch on Wednesday. A large portion of their congregation are Lebanese families. Since the 1960's they've been doing lunch on wednesdays to raise funds for upkeep of the church. We had grape leaf rolls, kibbi aras, humus with flat bread, and baklava.

Great food and a new experience for the kids.

Notice, they see a camera and everyone has to strike a pose.

Confession is good for the soul, and hopefully, the waistline

I don't want to admit this, but I really think it's best that I do. I've been a pig lately. Really. I had gone back to doing weight watcher points, I was getting a handle on it, and enjoying my food more than ever. I always enjoy my food more when I limit it and eat mindfully--that's why I was able to lose the 60 lbs before. I REFUSE to go hungry, eat food that's yucky or completely give up the foods that I love in order to lose weight. And I learned that I could do it. It was a shock to me-never having had any will power in the past. But beside enjoying my food more than ever, there was such a sense of well-being that came that I just stuck with it--not perfectly, of course, but really stuck with it til I'd lost the weight. But after getting to goal, the eye of the tiger was gone and I haven't been able to get it back. So, not being one to give up, and being the eternal optimist that I am--I continue to try over and over again. Anyway, I was doing great (for a whole three days) and then, I don't know what happened, but all willpower went out the window. It has officially left the building and suddenly I'm this mindless eating machine! I HATE that!! I feel bloated and weak and pitiful, but I just keep doing it this week! WHIMPER!!

This whole thing is, to say the least, mortifying to admit, but maybe, if I can admit it here, just maybe I'll do something about it. See, told you I was an optimist.

In case you're wondering...

When you're getting back into running, the second day is harder than the first. Nuff said.