Drafted

It has recently come to my attention that I have roughly 24 post drafts lingering in blog land.  So, for the delight of all, I will post some of them for you now.  (Please keep in mind they are mostly unfinished posts.)  (My favorite is the post from 7/27/10 titled Maintain THIS! mostly because of the story about Droc.)


Ahem.

2/28/08 Awkward 

On Valentine's Day the Elders Quorum in our ward held a dance, complete with cheesy prom-like photos, which I will show you later if I remember to ask my husband how to use the scanner. We had a good time, the hubster and I, shaking our groove thangs and acting totally ridiculous when the swing steps they were trying to teach us went over our heads. I, normally, am not interested in attending activities. I hated Young Womens activities and would do all I could to get out of them, though I usually wound up going anyway. But, we're in a new ward full of people our age with children our children's ages, and since I don't want my children to not have friends, I have made a goal to make friends. While we were slow dancing to BoysIIMen I told my husband that we needed to talk to people. You know, introduce ourselves. He said he already knew the guys in Elders Quorum and that I just needed to talk to the girls. I said, "But they scare me", and while I meant to make him laugh, it was still the truth. There is nothing that intimidates or overwhelms me more than girls in my own age group. Nothing. I think I've always been this way. I've always had a hard time making friends and when I do, I usually end up being a bad friend at that. I don't call, I forget things, I struggle with conversation. I'm totally awkward and, even worse, I can feel that awkwardness oozing out of me. On Sunday, in Relief Society, a girl (I guess I should say woman) with a baby girl my baby girl's age sat next to me.  She had sat behind us in Sacrament Meeting.  She said hi, so I said hi.  I then said that her baby was adorable.  She said that my babies were adorable.  That my son looks just like me, but she couldn't figure out who my daughter looks like.  I told her "She looks like her daddy's sister.  She's pretty, so that's good.  I always wanted pretty babies."  She kind of smirked then ceased talking to me and since I lack conversation skills I found no way to recover.  Why on earth would I say something like that?  In all honesty I am vain and was always afraid that my children would not be cute (so shallow), but do I have to broadcast it to the wide world?  Especially to someone I'm trying to make a good impression on?  Good grief.  

Feb 2008

Aidan likes to sit in a red plastic wagon with his pillow, his ducky blankie, his Cosmo/Sunshine Bear (it's name changes depending on the day) and his Osbert while watching TV. And it has to be in front of the line where two of the couch cushions meet. He's very particular about it.

March 2008: 

I needed this today.  

(You aren't going to go over there are you?  Well, I dare you.  You will be grateful you did.  Or you may hate me because once you go there, you will probably find yourself wandering back there more than you'd like, but that can't be helped.  Just go.  I can wait...)

I often wonder what business I ever thought I had having children.  I am a mean mommy.  No, before you try to tell me I'm not, let me tell you that I am.  Very much.  You can ask my neighbors because I'm sure they have heard me yelling and screaming at my children, not to mention their ear-drum piercing cries.  It's not uncommon.  What is uncommon are the days where my well of patience runs at capacity, where I can usher my emotional, dramatic, stubborn children through out the day with very little freaking out on my part.

Most days I yell.  Most days I roll my eyes and slam things on tables or chairs.  Most days I want to pull my hair out and shut myself in my room and never come out.  Most days I feel like I am drowning in frustration.

I have a stubborn child.  Incredibly stubborn.  I know there could be worse things to deal with, but for some reason, his stubbornness completely undoes me.  And he's always been that way.  Everything has always been on his terms.  He can be completely capable of doing something, but simply will not do it.

March 14, 2008

My husband said of Mikhail Baryshnikov, one of the greatest ballet dancers of all time:

"Isn't he that ballet guy?"

Kudos 

(I really wish I knew where this one was going...)

7/13/09  

My husband thinks I'm a hypochondriac. I know this because when I said to him, "I know you think I'm a hypochondriac" he didn't say one word. Not a "No, I don't!" (which I, possibly, would not have believed) or a "That's because you are!" (which would have, possibly, put him in the doghouse). Instead of declaring that I was or denying that he thought I was, he chose to say nothing. Which means he does. Think I'm a hypochondriac, that is.

I also know he thinks this because when I said to him, "I think I have elevated testosterone levels because my skin still looks like I'm 15 (although I think I was taking Accutane when I was 15, so my skin was probably looking fantastic) and I have more facial hair than any girl should ever have. Not to mention my anger management issues," he just kind of raised his eyebrows and pretended not to hear me.

I got similar reactions when I told him I thought something was wrong with my bones, when I told him I have CCT (or chronic cryptic tonsilitis) and that having my tonsils removed would cure all my other ailments, and that I think my senses of taste and smell are on the fritz.

11/7/09 Parental Luxuries

1.  Being able to sleep.  Period.

2.  Being able to walk from one spot to another without being obstructed by little bodies every step of the way.

3.  Being able to walk through a room without stepping on a toy.

4.  Empty hands.

5.  Watching grown up movies.

6.  Attending all three hours of church and being able to pay attention and actually get something out of it.

7.  Going a day without cartoons.

8.  Going where you want, when you want.

9.

6/30/10

My feet got zapped today.

7/27/10 Maintain THIS!

Our dishwasher is being fussy, and by that I mean that it is leaving soap scum on everything we put in it.  Dishes are being ruined, people.  We've resorted to using paper plates and/or washing everything by hand, which is really loads of fun.  Luckily, we live in apartment, which means (you'd think) that you can put in a maintenance request and have it looked at without too much lip from the help.

Our neighborhood handyman is Droc.  Okay, that's not really his name, but it IS the name of the waiter we had on Friday at Ruby River in PC.  No kidding.  Droc.  The Hubs and I had a whole discussion about whether or not that was his real name.  I think we settled on assuming that it was his Dungeons & Dragon name because no parent in their right mind would name a child Droc.  We couldn't even think of something it could be short for.  Draconias, maybe?!  But even that begs the question, what parent would do such a thing?!  Anyway, I digress.  Oh, except that I have to say that if anyone on this earth ever looked like a "Droc", this kid did.  Okay, now I truly digress.

So, Droc (the handyman, not the waiter), is a bit of a joke around here.  When we first moved in, we requested to get a screen put on our bedroom window as it was missing.  By the time he got around to it, it was 6 months later and we had already "borrowed" one from the vacant apartment next to us.  My friend, Mindy, went an entire summer without a working swamp cooler and she was in the last trimester of her pregnancy.  He finally got to it in the fall, commenting that perhaps he might as well wait until spring to fix it.   

Anyway, we haven't had much need of his services since we moved into the new apartment.

11/4/10 Let It Be.

Why is it so hard for us to just let people be who they are and love them anyway?  Why do we pick and nag and criticize and belittle instead of lift up and

11/12/10 Body Image

I've been thinking a lot about this issue recently, why we base our self-worth on the way we look, why other people have such a profound effect on how we feel about the way we look.  Why skinny makes a person good and fat makes a person bad.

I read this article on msnbc.com today.  It's an excerpt from a book called "Good Girls Don't Get Fat: How Weight Obsession is Screwing Up Our Girls and What We Can Do to Help Them Thrive Despite It."

3/7/11

Maybe two months ago we were in church sitting behind a family who has two kids the same ages as Emily and Aidan and a baby.  Not a newborn baby, but a crawling, squealing, into everything baby.  During the course of the meeting there was crying and potty trips and smashed crackers and diaper changes and lost toys.  At the end of the meeting, the dad of this family whisked the two eldest to their classes and left the mom to deal with the aftermath of confining three young children on a 6 foot bench for an hour and 10 minutes.  She kind of just stood their gazing glassy-eyed at the destruction with the baby on her hip while she formulated a plan of attack on getting it cleaned up.

"So, three, huh?"  I said to her.  She looked me right in the eye with a look mixed with panic, exhaustion, and a little crazy and said,

"DON'T DO IT."  I laughed a little and she said,

"I'm serious.  DON'T DO IT."

We've been trying for almost two years for baby #3.  Husband really wants another one and I go back and forth between being overcome with needing a baby and being SO GRATEFUL that baby #3 hasn't come along yet.