Away From It All

Transported

2012-01-27T15:04:00.000+01:00

I could have been my grandmother. Or even my great-grandmother. I could have been walking home from trading fresh milk for fresh eggs at a friend's house on a winter's evening a hundred years ago.

It was cold. I was walking fast and the breeze froze my nose and stung the tips of my ears. I was anxious to get home, to be surrounded by warm air, cozy lighting and happy, glowing faces. Outside it was bitter cold, so I walked on quickly.

I could hear dogs barking here and there throughout the neighborhood. I knew they would bark again as I passed their homes. I always try to be ready, to keep myself from jumping, startled by the unexpected outburst from the other side of a fence.

A scent wafts past me. It overwhelms me. I breathe it in more deeply, further freezing my nose. It smells like home and family and holidays. It is warmth and comfort and safety. It is the smell of wood and coal burning furnaces coming from the houses I walk past.

Two boys are having a snowball fight. They are running and laughing with rosy cheeks and steaming breath.

The snow crunches under my feet. It sparkles beneath me, around me. Surrounded by ice, the smell from the homes fills me with warmth.

When I reach my own home I realize I have been ignoring the cars parked in driveways and the satellite dishes on the sides of the houses. It was just me, just now. 2012, not 1912. Just keeping a resolution, not trading a basket of dairy products. But I loved being transported.

Drug Free for 7 Months

2012-01-19T15:56:00.001+01:00

We aren't big drug users around here. We have taken something when we get very uncomfortable, but not all that often. Still, when I think back on all the times we've been very uncomfortable in the last 7 months and all the times we would have taken a pill or downed some syrup or used ointment or spray it adds up to quite a lot of times.

There are SIX of us in this house and we haven't taken (or bought) any prescription OR over-the-counter medication in the last seven months (apart from Advil for my stubborn headaches). This is true even though we've had (skip the list if it's TMI)

allergies
anxiety
athlete's foot
back pain
bug bites
burns
colds (runny nose, coughing, sore throat)
cramps
cuts/scrapes
digestive issues (every type)
flu (fevers, aches, cold symptoms)
infections (toe)
rashes
toothaches/root canal
etc.

And now, at the risk of sounding like a new age freak, I just have to say that I love, love, love essential oils, which, you may have guessed, we started using 7 months ago. In that time we haven't taken the kids to the doctor except once (when Evie had an ingrown toenail that worried me. We held on to the prescription for antibiotics that the doctor wrote out, used oils with antibiotic properties and didn't have to fill the prescription after all.) There is always something on hand that is completely safe and natural that we can try before taking anyone to the doctor. And we just haven't had to.

Can you tell that this makes me happy? Hugely, hugely happy? We'll use medicine and doctors any time we need to, but I am starting to understand the neighbors of a friend (who I thought were a bit OTT a few months ago) who quit their health insurance policy (except for emergencies or something) because they used essential oils.

I'm glad we have a doctor and access to modern medicine, and I'm even more glad that we pretty much haven't had to use them, or deal with side effects and wait in discomfort to take the next dose, etc.

I haven't mentioned this on my blog, even though it's so important to me (now, though I was quite a skeptic before we tried them). But now that I have, I will probably share some of the surprises as they come. I still am regularly shocked when the oils work on a new ailment and I might just post anecdotes at the end of blog posts, like in italics so you can skip them if you don't care. :)

Do you use oils or know anyone who does? Do you think it makes me a freak? Did you know they can be used in place of medicine? (I didn't) Do you have an ailment that medicine doesn't seem to help that oils might help? Essential oils are so powerful, especially therapeutic grade oils (we use DoTerra's top quality oils.) I'm very grateful for them.
In case it's not clear, I'd be delighted to talk to anyone about oils who wants to! It never gets old. Just drop me a line.

A Wrinkle From Time

2012-01-13T14:30:00.000+01:00

My sister Anne and I were often mistaken for twins when we were kids. Because of this, and the fact that everyone in her apartment complex at BYU knew I was her sister the second they laid eyes on me when I visited from Ricks, we started a tradition of staring into the mirror, cheek to cheek and comparing our faces. Seriously, every time we have been shocked at how alarmingly different we look. Every feature is so different, we are baffled at how anyone could think we look similar.

We are only 13 months apart. Anne used to love to laugh through the entire month in which she was actually TWO years older than me. I was such a baby that month! Ha!

But now the laugh's on her! That extra year and a month has rewarded her with the beloved prize time allows us all: wrinkles. Wrinkles before her baby sister started showing them. Who's laughing now, huh Anne!?! Hahahahahahahaha!

Just kidding.

I hope I didn't have to say that. I would never laugh at the misfortunes of a sibling. Well, that's not true. At all. But whatever. The point is, in this case I did not and will not laugh at my sister. The only reason I even noticed her wrinkles at all was because of the fact that she brought it up about three times a day. We had a number of conversations like these:

Anne: Look at these wrinkles on my forehead!!! And the one on the bridge of my nose!! Can you believe those!?!
Me: Yes. Yes I can.
Anne: But you don't have any wrinkles!
Me: Yes I do (smiling and pointing under my eyes). See?
Anne: Those don't count.
Me: Well how does it happen that you're the one who gets to determine which wrinkles count and which don't?
*****
Anne: You use different moisturizers on your face for day and night?
Me: Uuuuum, yes.
Anne: (Rolls eyes.)
*****
Anne: (suspiciously) Why are you rubbing your eyes like that?
Me: That's how I rub my eyes, Anne.
Anne: See!! You're totally trying to avoid wrinkles!!
*****
Anne: I'm thinking of getting Botox.

Our sister Su is 4 years older than me (that's 3 years older than Anne, if you do the math.). I'm not sure about her wrinkles. Does she have any? I think she does. I don't really remember. I try not to memorize people's wrinkles. And we didn't have many wrinkle-centered conversations in the days I spent with her.

I think wrinkles are fine. They're neat. And mostly they're inevitable. So who cares? It's just your face. And they're only skin deep. Accept them and move along.

I've been realizing that I think I will have wrinkles above my upper lip. Does this delight me? Not really but we age how we age. I'm not going to try to smile less frequently to minimize those wrinkles. (Or, actually, now that I've thought of it, I might. I'll just claim I stopped being happy and nobody will be the wiser. It will be my own little wrinkle-avoiding secret. Except never mind because Greg and the kids are way too funny for me to pretend to be sad through their jokes. Forget that idea, self.)

So to Anne I say: A lot can happen in 13 months. By the time I'm the age Anne is now I may be far more wrinkled, even by her own standard, than she is now. The next time I visit California and we look at our faces side by side in the mirror we may decide to go in for Botox together*.
*Not really.

For Those Days When You Wish You Were Renting

2012-01-11T15:00:00.001+01:00

I know there are times when every home owner wishes they were renting. This post is for those people. The next time you find yourself replacing the air conditioning/water heater/driveway/whatever, think back to this post and remember: this will never happen to you. And be grateful.

Here is what our new door looks like (in "bad" (good for me) weather/lighting).

Note the doormat, which does not say "DOMOWA"

You can also see the large "3" placed too high. And crooked. But we didn't expect much more of the guys who put the door in. What really surprised us was the handle.

Now, I'm not saying that it's ugly (saying being the operative word, because that happens to be exactly what I'm thinking). I'm only saying that I wonder who picked out this handle. That's all I'm saying.

It's metal. It's aaaaa....n interesting design. And it's huge. To put it in perspective let's compare it to a hand that uses it regularly.

Now, this hand, while certainly having proportionally larger proximal interphalangeal joints* than many other hands, is no smaller, in a general way, than regular-people hands.

It is a large and mysterious handle. And if you own your home, you are unlikely for THAT to be the first thing that greets your friends and neighbors. I mean, it wouldn't be if you didn't like it. And that's why you should be happy you own your home. THE reason. (Well, that and the option to hang your own house number properly.)

*Yes, I looked that joint thing up. But see how smart I'm getting!?! For those of you not in a position to smarten up at such an amazing rate as myself, you may refer to the joints as PIP joints. The website I found it on says so.

Priests, Brownies, Doormats and Hellos

2012-01-09T14:00:00.000+01:00

The priest came for his yearly visit to our house on Saturday. Every year at Epiphany a priest goes house to house to sprinkle holy water and ask a blessing on the home, update church membership records, visit briefly and receive a little white envelope. A different priest comes every year, and this one was great. In the past I would say that all of the priests were nice, some were very nice, and some civil-nice. We've had a priest who repeatedly took the Lord's name in vain (but was quite merry and friendly) and one who interrupted Greg almost every single time he tried to say anything. Greg's parents had one, one year, who asked if they minded if he smoked in their living room. I think that was a few good years ago, though. More recently we were at my in-laws for the visit when a priest asked his mother when she was finally going to give up smoking. The priest who came this year had been to Salt Lake City and seen the world and was very open and asked a lot of questions. It was very nice, but the conversation was kind of one-sided, with us doing the most talking (answering questions) before he had to go. (note: we skip the holy water and the white envelope)

*************

Tonight, brownies after FHE will end our Week Without Sugar, which was actually a week without candy, chocolate and sweet baked treats. I still allowed a little jam and the occasional yogurt and sweetened dried fruit like craisins. It was very, very good, but it was also very hard for me. I mean, I did it, and I was okay, but I often felt worn out (despite eating lots of good fruits and vegetables) and ate more than I should have because I always felt I needed something. Yes, I am clearly addicted to sugar (shocker) and this was a very good experiment. We are limiting sugar in our diets from now on (notably, taking the sugar out of breakfast most days) and I'm actually really excited.

**************

We went to get a new doormat and found two options. One had two rows of large, earth-toned circles. The other had "DOMOWA" written across it in enormous type. This was a puzzlement for all of us. I kept thinking and thinking and then I realized, "OH!!" Domowa means "home", but only the adjective. Dom means (and rhymes with) home. Domowa means "home" as in "praca domowa" (homework) or "wojna domowa" (home war, translation: family feud). You read it on the mat and think "Home what?" I think this is another example of google translate fail. We bought the colored circles, but I"m thinking about going back for the other one, as it would be a great conversation piece. Plus it's silly.

***************

On one of my walks (I'm doing great with my resolutions! Still!) I went past a home a few blocks away that has a lovely garden, now barren, which I peek in at thought the fence with my kids in the summer. I've seen the older couple that lives there a few times but don't know them. The man was outside on the sidewalk as I walked past, and instead of the half smile I usual throw at people, I actual vocalized a "dzien dobry" (good day). I used the inflection that is kind of "all business" that mere acquaintances use (thinking this was already too much), where the first two syllables are pronounced low and the last one is pronounced in a higher tone. He responded, going up on the MIDDLE syllable, which is how you say it when you are really happy to see someone. For some reason this totally made my day. I was expecting maybe a nod of the head, if anything. I have clearly been living in Poland too long. Or long enough?

Solving Yet Again

2012-01-03T14:00:00.000+01:00

Am I the only one who's noticed that the joke's on us? That the the term "resolution" comes from the root word "resolve", and that the word resolve* means RE-SOLVE, or in other words, to SOLVE AGAIN (don't check your dictionary, just take my word for it, please). So at the beginning of a new year we all make lists of how to solve the same problems over again. Because we failed last year. Obviously. New Years Try Again, Losers (and fail again, too!) might be a more fitting term.

But whatever.

I've been inspired by so many of my friends who've made lists and really enjoyed reading them, so I will post my own to look back on next year, before I type them up again at the beginning of next January. So here is my list of problems to try solving again:

GET SMART:
I'm getting tired of being dumbish. I've always wanted to know more stuff, but always been too lazy to learn it (I just want to know it, please). This year
I will:
* study scriptures NOT for a few minutes before I fall asleep, but in the morning when I'm not half asleep. This might be easier because we've already started being ready for school early and spending that last ten minutes or so before Greg takes the kids to school sitting together in a quiet living room, each doing our personal scripture study. I LOVE this.
* Do more than a quick scan of Wikipedia when I want to know about something. I do that far too often. I will research subjects that interest me in more detail. I will also learn more about things that other people know/think they know so I can be better informed.
* Read fewer status updates/comments and more non-social-type writings.
* Learn how to do things. On the computer/phone, playing basic hymns on the piano and maybe the ukulele if Evie ever gets off long enough for me to learn. Etc.

STOP BAKING SO MUCH:
*Note to anyone who thought my last post said we're doing no sugar for a year: No, it's just this week. Sucka!
I always think it's so funny when people tell me that the wished they baked more.
I will:
Bake dessert no more than twice, and a sweet breakfast (muffins/scones) only once, per week. I've made this resolution before and only lasted for a few weeks. I will do better.

MOVE MORE:
I don't sit down very much, but I also spend very little time making my heart pump rapidly.
I will:
Get out on my own or with Greg and walk fast at least 15 minutes a day (preferably 30+) after the kids get home and we've chatted over their lunch. I am exempt on days when the blizzard is so fierce that a person cannot move in any direction. Or when there is a flood, fire, tornado or hurricane. Or earthquake.

TEACH MY KIDS MORE:
I've been getting better at this, but ohmygosh I have a long way to go.
I will:
Teach Aaron the alphabet/reading basics, whether he wants to learn or not.
Talk to Aaron and Spence more about things as we go along.
Start more discussions with Ev and Dave. Have more gospel-centered conversations.

EXPRESS MY OPINION LESS OFTEN:
for Pete's sake.
I will:
On facebook. Even when people say dumb or offensive things.
And in real life. I'll stop myself when I feel a room going quiet and realize that I'm expressing my opinion about something as if it is the Holy Truth. (although I still call some of those things holy truth. Like how Poles should not pee in plain sight on the side of the road. :)
On my blog, however, I will write whatever I want.

BE MORE EASY GOING:
I will:
Stop acting like everything matters so much.
Smile more.
Forgive more easily.
Let other people decide things more often.
Never lose my temper.

Well, that oughtta do it! Wish me luck!!
*and to those who are saying, "doesn't resolution come from resolute?" I say, "Don't sass me."

I Hope I Don't Die

2012-01-02T14:00:00.000+01:00

Oh my, it's been a wonderful week or two. Everything this week of the year should be. I hope yours was too!

And now it's time to put away the things of last year, and last week. Like the 5 pies, dozens of peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, mint brownies, toffee, fudge, shortbread cookies (not my idea), meringues and so on.

In an attempt to be a tiny little fraction as cool as the Ken Craig family (read him if you don't. You must.) I am taking my own family off of sugar to start off the year. His family goes off for the entire month of January and I'm taking mine off for the entire first week. Minus the first two days because there are still treats in the house and we need dessert after FHE. But THEN. Then, I tell you, we're off sugar for the first time in EVER. For seven days.

I am not sure if I will survive so I am writing this post as a kind of farewell, just in case. I'm also considering posting something every day so I have something to live for. Muuuuust wriiiiiiiite pooooooost. Like that. Because I doubt that things like feeding children so they don't starve and making sure no catastrophe hits here at home will be enough motivation for me with no sugar to push me along.

Like Halloween, Only at Christmas

2011-12-28T14:00:00.000+01:00

I come from a culture in which people spread Christmas cheer by gathering in groups and going door to door on a cold and frosty evening to sing Christmas carols, usually in harmony. Sometimes they even bring treats for the inhabitants of the homes who's doors they knock on.

As a lover of singing and spreading Christmas cheer I have always enjoyed Christmas caroling. And, really, as a lover of donuts and hot apple cider after caroling I have always enjoyed Christmas caroling.

I have missed it in the years we've lived here. Christmas caroling is, um, different in Poland. And by different I mean that it's basically the opposite of what it is in the States. Beginning with the fact that it is done after Christmas instead of before.

Young or teenage boys dress up as shepherds or wise men (and we once had a grim reaper?) and knock on doors after Christmas. When the door is opened they begin singing. Badly. And in most cases very badly. It is hard not to laugh, but a blast of icy air is usually freezing your face stiff before the laughing comes (when it's just a pleasant smile), assisting you in your efforts to be kind..

Although these young carolers don't come bearing any Christmas goodies there IS an element of giving involved. Those being sung to are expected to cough up something valuable to give to each of the (usually 3-5) boys. Money, of course, is the most acceptable but we've given treats before, too. That was only because we didn't have any coal on hand. At our house "gifts" are only ever handed over after Greg has given the boys a proper teasing and made them all giggle (if they're elementary aged) or slug each other in the arms (if they're a little older). Usually something about how bad their singing was, or remarks about their costumes (the grim reaper that one year really got an earful!).

They take their loot and are off to terrorize the next neighbor. It's really very festive.

Who'll bet I reach crabby old-ladihood before Melanie? Who bets I'm already there?

A Not Very Merry Story (but with a happy ending)

2011-12-20T13:25:00.000+01:00

The flight to London, though delayed by an hour, was quite good, right up until the landing, at which point Spencer vomited all over both of us. A lot. This was the first time he has ever thrown up and, luckily for us, happened to coincide with the first flight for which I have ever forgotten to include a change of clothes for all travelers in my carry on (usually done in case of delayed baggage).

We had the distinkt pleasure of running through one of the busiest (and hugest!) airports in the world looking like I had just drunk a Big Gulp and then peed my pants and smelling like I had just climbed out of a dumpster full of rotten everything, while racing to catch our connecting flight. It was 2am California time and Spencer was in no mood to run alongside me so I had the other privilege of carrying him in one arm while dragging my carryon with the other, stopping every few minutes to switch arms, and then, after awhile, every 10 seconds or so because my arms were done and let me know by offering me approximately zero strength.

When we finally arrived at our gate I was sticky, sweaty, sleepy, smelly and physically exhausted--in its true sense, not just the "very tired" we often mean when we use the word-- only to find that the plane (departing at 12:15) had already departed (before 12:10), even though they knew to expect us. The heavily made-up woman who gave me this news told me to head back to the ticket counter where I should make new flight plans, whereupon I said, "You're kidding.", dropped into the nearest seat and began to cry. So, after a minor breakdown (I've always loved me a good cry in public) we went all the way back to the customer service desk and waited in line to make new plans. Our new flight would leave six hours later. Six glorious hours of hanging out with a cranky, sleepy toddler in, again, one of the busiest airports, trying to keep as far as possible away from anything with a sense of smell.

We did meet another family in the exact same situation (minus the throw up and the single parent and the sleepy toddler -- well, mostly they were on our previous flight and missed the connection to Warsaw, too) who helped us out and walked with us part of the way (and their five year old only mentioned our smell like twice). Also, Spencer wasn't at all sick, it had just been a motion/air pressure thing. Trust me, I counted every blessing I could.

In our last flight (2 1/2 hours) I requested seats situated as far as possible from other passengers, but learned that the flight was booked. I prepared to apologize profusely for the odor to everyone who glanced in our general direction. As it happened, nobody did. And even the young lady sitting right next to us didn't say anything and I just hope she heard me when I hurriedly mentioned and apologized for it half under my breath early on in the flight.

But what joy to finally arrive in Warsaw! Only one of our two checked bags didn't show up, and seeing Greg, Evie, David and Aaron was pure bliss.

I can't imagine anything making me happier than I was to see them, but I have to say, putting on clean clothes was a really close second.

For the reconrd, this was the least offensive vomit I have ever smelled. But it was still stomach contents and wasn't very fantastic.

Two Happy Years

2011-12-18T17:07:00.000+01:00

Two years ago today our family was given the best early Christmas present ever. We will never be the same and are so grateful for all the joy Spencer has brought into our home.

This isn't our home, but it is our family after a long day of District Conference, which is kind of the same thing.

The following picture shows how Spencer approaches the world

With a smile that says, "I bet we could be friends, you and me!" With an implied "especially if you like to follow me around wherever I go and do just as I say!"

In airports he waved and gave a cheery, "Hello!" to every single person we passed. While we waited he counted people's feet (one guy had 5, apparently) and pointed out every person who was using a cell phone.

The most exciting thing he experienced in America was seeing cars. We would drive while he gazed out the window for long periods of time and then he would suddenly proclaim, pointing with great excitement, "AUTO!!" A car! He spotted a car!! That's another thing about him. He can find a car where you'd least expect to, like on the freeway in southern California, or in a parking lot. And he told us every time he did (fortunately he seemed to miss most of them and just randomly caught one here or there). Which is probably why his super cute cousin once gave him a bossy little push and said, "Don't say 'auto' anymore!!" (I was glad someone was brave enough to finally say it!)

William has the shiniest red hair and he and Spence looked so cute bouncing around the park together, while Spencer pointed out all the cars in the distant parking lot.

I'm so glad I got to share him with my family. And that he saved about 95% of his fits for the last two days (and even then it could have been worse). He was a sweet little traveling cousin/nephew/grandson and even the events of the way home couldn't turn me against him!! :) (Just kidding. And that story really is coming...)

And the best part of coming home was his reunion with his best friend.

Aaron and Spence

We all love our boy and are so grateful that he IS ours!

Home Sweet Home Away from Home Sweet Home

2011-12-15T22:52:00.002+01:00

What a vacation! Spencer and I bounced around from Micah's to Dad's to Anne's, to Jon's to Ben's then back to Anne's and then Dad's in the space of 2 1/2 weeks in California. I realized a lot of things while we were there.

I realized/learned/decided:

that I love America as much as, or maybe even more than I remembered.
that I love my brothers and sisters very, very much and am grateful that they married such awesome people and gave birth to such lovely (seriously gorgeous), intelligent and fun children.
that family gossip will never affect me much again. I feel like I "get" everyone in the family. And love each of them a ton*. Oh, I already said that. (*that's 2,000 pounds of love each.)
how people can live without cooking. This has always been a mystery to me.
that minute rice bears virtually no resemblance to actual rice.
that it was a very, very good idea to take Spencer with me.
how different every family is. I loved spending time in so many different homes.
that I am not a good conversationalist, but decided it's okay because silences were never awkward.
that I am lucky to have the parents I do.
that I have it in me to forgive a sister for having a cupboard full of bags of chocolate, vanilla and peanut butter chips which have EXPIRED. It took me about a week, but behold, I did forgive.
that, as a guest, I am terrible at helping with dinner prep/cleaning. This bothered me, but not enough for me to overcome my insecurity and get my rear up and give it a try.
(or rather confirmed) that for me, sitting around at home with people I love is usually as fun or enjoyable as going out to do something with them, and often it's more enjoyable.
more about what kind of person I want to become from being with so many people I admire.
that everybody makes stupid mistakes or bad choices that cause crisis in their lives. And that it's okay to just learn from them and move on. And that it helps to get sympathy from those around you.
that arms do not actually fall off from carrying a toddler for long periods of time. Even if you keep expecting them to. And pretty much wish they would.

Plus a billion other things that kind of made me a little bit of a new person.

And the fact that I would go through what it took to get us home all over again* -- twice, even, if necessary! -- says everything about the trip. It really was one of the best experiences of my life. And I'm still happy to be back home. Home away from home. Together with my family, away from my family. Actually, those last four words are the not-so-happy part ...
*story to come

Judging vs. Being Judgmental (in which I probably come across as judgmental)

2011-11-10T13:04:00.001+01:00

I just came away from a post about what is wrong with our society, which made me remember that I've been wanting to write this post for a long time.

One of my fears is of being perceived as judgmental. Scratch that. I don't care too terribly much how I'm perceived, my fear is of being actually judgmental. It is hard. Especially because I judge. Oh, how I judge. I judge that lying is wrong 99.9% of the time. I judge that breaking the commandments is wrong, no matter what a person's excuses. Including if they don't know about the commandment condemning it. If God says something is wrong, I just think he's right, every time.

Does that mean that everyone who doesn't keep every commandment is guilty? I don't believe so. I certainly hope not! And does it mean that people who break important commandments are always bad people? Don't be stupid (you dummy!). Of course it doesn't.

Let's take Ethan Frome for example. He allowed himself to fall in love with a woman who was not his wife. It is heartbreaking to read. He has a story. Do I think he was bad? No. Do I think he was wrong? Absolutely. Would I have acted better under his exact circumstances? I can't say. Most likely not. It doesn't change the fact that some things are wrong.

Judging (righteously), I think, is knowing the difference between right and wrong. It is the ability to draw a (usually) clear line between what is good and what is bad. The good kind of judging refers ALWAYS to to a behavior or choice or action.

If I say that dressing immodestly is wrong, I am judging immodesty. If I see someone dressed immodestly, I can think that it is wrong to dress that way. I think this is a good thing to think, and what is expected of us. (not to go around thinking about every choice everyone makes, but knowing in our minds and hearts which things are good and which aren't).

But what is not expected of us, and what is as wrong (or wronger!) than the immodesty itself, is if I think, "Ick. She's nasty. What a ----", or place a value on her personal worth in any other way. It's being judgemental. It is wrong. I do my best to keep from allowing myself to shift from seeing "wrong/bad behavior" to "a person who is wrong/bad". Of course this is quite simple if I just remember that everyone has a story--reasons behind why they do what they do or think how they think. I have absolutely no authority to judge anothers' motives. And I'm glad. What a responsibility!

But unfortunately judging a behavior is almost always taken in our day for being judgmental. To claim that something is a "bad" thing is to be INTOLERANT. Suddenly it is taken to mean that I personally will not stand for it. I just will not tolerate others' wrong choices. And, clearly, that I have an aversion to the person who commits such acts or even those who disagree with me about the choice.

It used to be a matter of moral right and wrong but all those lines have become so blurred that the only real "wrong" seems to be when you point out that there actually is a black and a white. But there is. And saying that everything is gray makes the world as useful as static on a TV screen. Separate the black and white and you can see moving pictures and scenes that offer value to the observer. Something can be understood.

I think there is some good in being able to say "It's your thing, do what you want." But I think that if that's all we ever say, there is something wrong. Especially if we consider there to be some sort of inherent rightness in another person's choices, simply because they made them. This is how it seems we are being taught to feel.

A phrase I hear a lot is "living your truth." Thanks for that one, Satan. The world loves it!! Doing what you want--what makes you "happy"--regardless of your creators opinion and instruction. It's a new truth. Create your own truth, and live by it. This has somehow become the new mark of goodness. "She's living her truth." Well, good for her. Except that truth is something that IS, and if your "truth" contradicts it, it's known as a lie.

I believe that God does have an opinion. And that he's always right. I think that judging that what He says is true, without casting judgment on the motives of those who don't follow him (often unwittingly!), is a good thing. An example:

My mother-in-law smokes. As a Mormon I believe that God doesn't want us to smoke. It is wrong. I believe that she is doing something that is wrong. I am not judging her. I am judging the action. I have no idea on earth as to whether or not she is guilty. My brain tells me that she is only as guilty as her religion teaches her she is (?). Mostly, though, it doesn't matter. She can do whatever she wants and I have no problem with it at all (except, of course, that I don't want her actions to cause her to die too soon, please.). But if I say that I believe it is wrong, black like the color I wish her lungs weren't, please don't tell me that it's actually as gray as the smoke she is exhaling. (okay, maybe that line is a bit much...)

I think it would be nice if we could just live in a world where we allowed each other to make choices and didn't think too much about it, and certainly weren't asked to state our opinion about it. But we live in a time when I think it is becoming increasingly important from time to time for us to stand with God, even outside of our own homes, and to share what we believe he expects of us, even when it comes across as being judgmental. And it is not easy. I just wish I could go on watching the scenes on the screen without having to explain what kept me staring for so long to someone who sees nothing but static on the same screen.

I'll Miss Him

2011-11-03T14:03:00.000+01:00

I'm going to miss Aaron for the two (happy!) weeks I'll be visiting family in California. I'll miss the usual everyday conversations, like these that took place this morning:

Aaron called to me from the other room. Not just a "Mom!" but a "You know what, mommy? Blah blah blah blah blah blah..." I told him I couldn't hear him and asked him to come into the kitchen.

He said, "What?" And I repeated that if he wanted to talk to me he'd have to come to the kitchen, where I was.

He said, "I thought you have to come here."

I said, "No, if I want to talk to you, I have to go to where you are, but if you want to talk to me, you have to come to me."

He replied, disappionted, "Well, that's not awesome."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"Mommy, does bad guys go potty?"

"Yup."

"Oookay."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

After prayer Aaron scolded Spencer for not having closed his eyes. I explained that he's still little so it's okay if he doesn't always close his eyes because he doesn't really know how. Aaron countered with, "But mommy, you know what? When Spencer goes night-night he knows how, so he knows how for prayer, too."

Oh! That's right! Spencer does know how to close his eyes! The things I've been letting him get away with...

Just Write: My Life is Just Right

2011-11-01T16:47:00.002+01:00

We're all in the living room. Frank Sinatra is playing. When Greg first turned it on I wasn't sure if it was Harry Connick or Frank. I checked and it's Frank. He sounds like Christmas to me.

Some yummy smelling oil is diffusing. Greg is sitting on an exercise ball rocking back and forth to the music with both Aaron and Spencer on his lap. I don't know how he's doing that, but I'll bet it's good exercise.

Evie is making Christmas presents for her cousins. I will take them to California when I go in two weeks for Thanksgiving. David is drawing -- cars, of course -- with glitter glue paint.

Everyone is talking in low voices and it feels like Family. It feels like Home.

I'm getting up now to make something warm and yummy and good to balance out the too-much-sweets-from-our-Halloween-party last night. But I promised Aaron I'd play one game of Candyland with him first.

I love my life.

I wrote about this moment to join in with Heather's Just Write free writing exercise. You can join in or read Just Write posts from other bloggers by following that link.

Better Food, Cleaner Dishes and No Spiders

2011-10-25T14:07:00.000+02:00

We sort of have this thing about appliances around here. Way back at the very dawning of this blog I wrote a post about our hunt for, and purchase of, a washing machine. It tells the tale of our complete ignorance and relative incompetence when it comes to making an educated purchase of such contraptions.

But it's not the issue of having to choose one that keeps us from buying a dishwasher or microwave. Money isn't the problem, either (because we have bags of money in the basement waiting for us to decide what to spend it on) (don't tell the neighbors). No, we are just prejudiced against these appliances.

I don't like food out of the microwave. As a little girl my best friend had a microwave WAY before the rest of the world did and we would stick a piece of Wonder bread in there and relish each bite of the steaming, rubbery, food-like substance that came out 15 seconds later. But I seem to have outgrown rubbery food and become a disliker of slimy cheese.

I like my cheese crispy. I like my hot-dogs browned (and un-exploded). I like my frozen dinners -- I don't like my frozen dinners. Everything a microwave can do, a stove-top or oven can do better, in my opinion (except soften butter). So we haven't had a microwave for 11 years.

Greg is strongly averse to dishwashers. "They don't work well", he says. "They're not worth the trouble" he says. And I take his word for it about not being worth the trouble because he's something of an expert, since he washes about !% of the dirty dishes around here. So, we don't have a dishwasher (actually we do in the downstairs kitchen but we've never used it).

We also don't have a drier, but that's more for reasons of nobody-in-Europe-has-a-drier. Plus 11 years of not using one has made me a little afraid of them (although I miss them dearly at the same time).

In conclusion, the other morning Evie came into my room and told me there was a spider. I stepped out of my bedroom and found this waiting to jump down on the next person who dared descend the stairs below him:

For comparison, the light underneath is about as long as my humerus. (I always give measurements in bone lengths) (especially while talking about spider size around Halloween) This guy was definitely bigger than my patella. (glad he never got anywhere near my patella, though, let me tell you!)

It was no problem though, because Greg came out and sucked him up with the vacuum. Because we HAVE a vacuum. We are, in fact, firm believers in the vacuum cleaner.

The Hardest Thing

2011-10-21T12:10:00.002+02:00

I'm currently in the middle of a week spent with my in-laws (mom, dad and sister). I love them dearly and they are good people. It's hard for me to be with them, though, without aching to live in a place where my own parents could be an influence on my children, at least a few times a year (or even once a year!).

My in-laws smother the kids with kisses and affectionate talk in altered tones. They are always ready to help the older kids with homework and play the little "games" I don't have patience for over and over and over with the little ones that the kids giggle and giggle and giggle about ("Oh no! Where did Aaron go!?!" x 500). They take the kids for long, long walks and feed them lots and lots of food. I'm so grateful for all of this (...almost always).

With my dad they would have a very different experience. He would get down on the floor with them and play and wrestle. He would show them things and... well, the fact of the matter is that I don't know exactly what he would do because it's been so many years that it makes me cry to think of it (almost 4) (excuse me while I wipe my eyes and blow my nose). His wife would ask the kids questions and be infinitely interested and plan craft projects and make yummy food for and maybe with them.

My mom would read them book after book after book. She would point out interesting things and teach them words and concepts. She would teach and teach and the kids would feel her love for her God and His plan and her Savior and His sacrifice every single day. She would always give them something interesting to do. She would reprimand them when they needed it. She would sit back and watch them interact with each other. And she would laugh.

The things Greg's parents do, my parents would do very little of (or in more moderation). The things my parents would do, Greg's parents do very little of..

I am so, so grateful my kids have loving grandparents living close enough that we see them many times a year. But it's hard to express how difficult it is for me to have my kids growing up largely without their other grandparents. It's probably the hardest thing about living here, not to mention what usually REALLY gets me: all the things my kids do and say and ARE that my parents can't experience.

And don't even get me started on aunts and uncles and cousins. They see their Polish cousin (yes, without an "s" on the end) on Easter and Christmas. He's 23. They pretty much never get to see their (soon to be) sixteen other cousins, who are ages 13 and under and some of the cutest, smartest little people in the world.

I just had to unload. I know it could be worse (My parents are still alive! And I get along with all my siblings! And many Americans don't get to see their family often, either! etc.) but sometimes one needs to throw oneself a pity party. Sorry if I got confetti in your hair.

I Have Another Question (#2)

2011-10-12T22:25:00.001+02:00

What are your thoughts on/experience with the marriage rule of never going to bed mad?

My answer:

If I had followed that rule I would have probably been awake since sometime in the early months of our marriage. When it's late I seem to lose all sense of... everything, and am likely to become a bundle of resentment and/or despair with little willpower to put toward seeing reason/forgiving/admitting I'm wrong/getting the heck over it. Plus, we're not the best communicators. So I/we go to bed mad.

By the time I wake up I have a fresh new, or rather, an 8 hour-old, sense of resentment and/or despair over the injustice that is my marriage but by then, or sometime that day I get sick of talking to Greg only when necessary and in as robotic a tone as I can muster (so mature!), so I stop it and everything goes back to normal (within a day or two) i.e. I start thinking he's one of the best people in the world.

I can't wait until we're perfect and Greg and I are finally decent communicators and he finally understands that I'm always in the right.

I Have a Question # 1

2011-10-11T14:07:00.001+02:00

I actually have a few questions that I would love to hear your thoughts on if you have the desire to share. I'll post them over the next few days and answer them myself in my post. Today's question:

What is your cleaning MUST? In other words, what are you good at keeping clean or tidy because it's almost a pet peeve for it to be dirty or unorganized?

I'm asking this question because once when I was visiting my sister, while she cooked dinner and we chatted I took a cloth and started wiping down the cupboard doors. I think I asked if I could first. She thought I was weird, but I was just standing there talking to her, doing nothing, so why not wipe down the doors? I don't think I offended her (a la "I can't stand to look at these doors for another second!" which is not what I was thinking at all). I hope not, because I regularly wipe mine down, so I was just doing what I would have done at home. She thought it might be one of my MUSTS, but it's not. She then told me about a friend of hers who can't stand to have the splashboard behind the sink dirty. This is why I started thinking about this and wonder what your "issues" are with cleaning.

My answer:

I like my car to be tidy. No wrappers, toys or random items of clothing. Everything is taken out after every weekend trip and it is maintained during the week. I also care more than Greg about it being washed (exterior) so I've made it my job.

In the house Greg dislikes dust so I (or Greg) vacuum regularly and the kids dust mop all floors every evening. We also like clean walls so our kids are discouraged from touching the walls (punishable by a beating) (just kidding), and I do spot-wiping regularly.

One thing I wish I was better at is keeping up with clutter, especially in the kitchen and on the stairs.

Now, please tell me yours, if you have one!

Kids Can Be Such a Pain

2011-09-30T17:10:00.000+02:00

When I realized I'd left three pillows for the boys and a blanket for Spencer at home, I knew our weekend in Katowice was going to be interesting.

Then, when I realized I'd left the pacifiers at home I knew it'd be a nightmare.

Nothing like sleeping six people in a hotel room, three of them pillowless, with a baby that's up crying all night. I was excited.

After 15 minutes of changing positions in bed he fell asleep.

I was awake all night worrying about how he was going to keep crying and nobody was going to get any sleep, making going to church the next day a royal pain.

That's how I know that Spencer whimpered for a second or two twice during the night, 'cause if I'd been asleep like everyone else in the room I wouldn't even have noticed.

How long to do I have to be a mother to learn not to dread things like this? Because I'm as often pleasantly surprised as I am right in my fears.

But, really, why settle in and fall asleep when you can stay up fretting over something that might happen, that surely WILL happen, that will ruin your night and your day? In my defense, though, I was also trying to keep him covered and warm during the night by laying my Sunday skirt back over him every time he moved...

Feel the Top of Your Head to Find Out If You're Me

2011-09-17T14:30:00.000+02:00

If you have some of the same issues as me (which you don't) or you are me (which you're most likely not) then I recommend you stay out of my attic. Strange things have been known to happen when people like me go up there.

For example, if you do go up, the same crossbeam that you duck under to get to the toddler clothes will be right there in the SAME PLACE when you carry those clothes out, ducking not quite as low as you did on the way in. Freaky.

Also, if you go up again a couple of days later, the exact same crossbeam, for some indeterminable reason, will STILL BE IN THAT VERY SAME PLACE. Only a psychic could foresee something like that. Seriously. Attics freak. me. out.

They also give me scabs on my scalp that don't go away for two weeks. Which is nothing compared to the feeling of standing alone, laden with bags of clothes in a dim and dusty room, head throbbing, feeling a deep sense of embarrassment. Is it even possible to feel embarrassed when you're the only one around?

It is if you have some of the same issues as me (which you don't) or you are me (which, lucky for you--and your head--you're most likely not).

Almost Wordless Wednesday

2011-09-14T14:17:00.000+02:00

First I need to thank every person who commented on my last post. I appreciate your thoughts so much. They helped me realize how much I really want to soften the edges of this rough stone that I am. Thanks for your (unanticipated) help. Really good stuff for me.

This morning I gave Spence the last of the sponge cake cookies* (biszkopty):

A few minutes later this is what I found sitting on the couch:

* aka pointless cookies. Because, really? No fat?

"Modern", Huh?

2011-09-12T12:38:00.000+02:00

I quite like the site Modern Mormon Men. I've read some inspiring posts and some thought provoking posts and some funny posts. But I have to say, I've read a number of disturbing posts, too.

I don't call it wrong. The site is meant to have contriubtors on various levels of spirituatlity and activity in the church and with a broad array of backgrounds and opinions. But it's hard for me to read sometimes. I just went back to see if one contributor had responded to my late-coming comment on his post. He hadn't but a fellow commenter had. However, instead of clearing things up for me, it made things harder for me to understand.

The original post is entitled On Reluctant Patriarchy where "Abraham" tells of his journey from thinking he understood the scriptures and knew all the answers, to the moment of his enlightenment, which leads him down a path that makes him happy but turns his wife into a self-repressing sexist that he wishes he could liberate. At least that's the general idea.

My original comment went like this:

"In regards to the women and the priesthood and/or more "power" within the church, I am always very curious how more liberal people view this. Is it something that God is just behind the times on, or is it something that he is anxiously pestering the prophet to change, but the prophet is too conservative to listen or does God just want us to forget revelation and take a vote a la the Nicean Council (but, again, the prophet is unwilling to relinquish his power)? How does that work, the whole, "'The church'is wrong on this major doctrinal issue" thing?"

Followed by this:

"(That's a real question, not just a sass. I do respect other's opinions, and I just want to understand the thinking behind this particular type of opinion.)"

The response I read today goes like this:

"LisAway,

I think the church has been wrong before. Blacks and the priesthood and polygamy are what I think of. Blacks couldn't have the priesthood until 1978 because the church was "behind on the times." As for polygamy, the church had to give it up so it could become a state. I don't think God would command women to love live a life of jealousy and lonliness in polygamous marriages. At least, not the God I know. He(or she) loves women too you know."

I responded:

"JC,

I am absolutely sure that the god that you know (espcially if it's a woman!) did NOT command women to live the law of polygamy. Also, the God I know did not command women to live a life of jealousy and lonliness. Because, WHOA.

So it sounds like your answer to my question is that "the church" is wrong on this one, yet again. I guess my question in WHERE IS GOD in all this? And if your god is a woman, and you believe she is the god of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints then she must be very, very disappointed in the direction things have been going. And also, sorely disappointed that Joseph Smith saw her and then told everyone she was a man and made everyone call her Father for all these years.

I'm sorry, this is just so sad to me. YOUR FATHER LOVES YOU. Find out whether this is His church and whether or not He leads it. And stop calling him a woman until you see him yourself. False doctrine of the most damaging kind."

Reading over that again, I can see that it isn't as loving as I think I meant it. I'm just sad for that modern "Mormon" man.

I kind of feel like the term "Modern"these days is too often synonymous with "dysfunctional" or "confused".

I don't know. I guess the obvious answer for me is that this is a person sliding down the chute of apostacy, and there is no way that I can understand where he is coming from. But I just wish he could have helped me to understand some of the people I know who also hold what I would call "modern" views on some church doctrines or policy. I really want to understand those things better, even if I don't agree with the views.

I am a conservative and I believe that the church is actually lead by a real-life prophet who actually knows what God wants. But I still wish I could better understand the thinking behind those who don't exactly agree with me. Chances are, though, that I will never feel like I get a satisfactory answer. I hope it's not just because I am too proud or self-righteous.

Letting Us Know

2011-09-03T18:30:00.000+02:00

During my second semester at Ricks there was a new guy in my FHE group. He was a surfer from California and we had the instant Californian-in-Rexburg connection. He went out with a few girls, but he and I became good friends and started dating. We got along really well and had a ton of fun together.

He was majoring in Marine Biology. No, not at Ricks College. He'd left his other school to come to Ricks for one semester. Just one. You know, the Semester In Idaho all aspiring marine biologists take time out for.

He said he just knew he had to come. He knew that it was important for him. I didn't know exactly what it all meant. I'm sure at some point I hoped it had something (or everything) to do with me. I was, after all, an 18 year old girl in her first romantic relationship.

He had left a girlfriend at home, presumably with the understanding that their relationship was on hold for a few months. This, of course, was a little awkward for me, but it was his deal.

We only dated for a couple of months but started to get kind of serious. Just at the deciding point things suddenly started tapering off. By the time the school year ended, we said our goodbyes without ever having talked about what kind of goodbye it was to be.

Maybe a month later, during summer vacation in California, my very supportive friends drove with me down to his neck of the woods to attend a huge singles dance. I met him there. We hugged and had a dance. It was the closure I needed. I also met the girl he'd been dating and we exchanged sincere smiles anytime we caught each other's eye.

He and I never kept in touch after that. Just the other night, though, I found him on facebook*. I looked through his public photos and got a vague idea of what his life is like now. He's just as I remember him. In his family pictures I see him, his two sons and the girl I'd met at the dance.

This made me so happy. Like, totally-brightened-my-day happy. Not having found him, but having found out that he married her.

I thought back on that semester. It was an adventurous one. We had a lot of experiences that I can't forget, like the time he left to go home in the middle of Sacrament meeting because he wasn't feeling well, only to pass out in the hallway and end up in the ER for the 4th time in his few months there. And like the discussion we had late one night on a trip with a bunch of friends to a cabin in the mountains. I remember that when I wanted , and probably meant, to say something along the lines of "I'm madly in love with you!" I said something completely different.

The reason I'm writing this all out is because looking back, all the events of that semester make so much sense to me. Besides all the things I learned and the ways I grew, I was kind of witnessing, or even being part of one of the most important decisions of his life. That cold, winter semester really was important for that California kid, and seeing the picture of his family just confirmed for me that our Father does and will help us know what is right for us, so we don't have to wonder in the future, if we will just remember.

I love these confirmations. I've had loads of them come to me through the scriptures, through something someone says or the words to the song that's on the radio just when I start the car**. Most recently a confirmation came in the form of a rainbow. Literally. (which, of course makes a very important experience sound a little silly, but whatev.)

Taking a trip down memory lane was nice, but the nicest was being reminded of how much our Father loves his children and how willing he is to guide us in our lives. I'm so glad he guided me to where I am today and for all the little confirmations he's given me on my way down the road to this place. Not just Poland, but where I am in my life, the things I've achieved, the people who surround me and the experiences I am having. When things are hard, it only takes looking back and remembering, and His peace fills in the gaps of imperfection in circumstance or character that might otherwise allow doubts or fear to creep in. I'm so thankful for the happiness that fills my life because of it.
* I sent him a quick hello and hope that he doesn't think it was creepy and stalkerish. It wasn't. Especially since I've been on facebook for 4 years and only just now looked him up. I'm okay, right?
* Greg doesn't subscribe to the songs in the car thing, but I think it's only because he doesn't pay attention to words and therefore has never had the experience hearing the very sentence he needs to hear from a song.

So They All Rolled Over And One Fell Out

2011-09-01T16:25:00.000+02:00

The first day of school was approaching and we had done precious little to make summer vacation fun for the boys (Evie's was the best of her life, of course) so I decided to pitch the tent in the backyard.

We have two 4-man tents that connect with a little tunnel. Perfect. A tent for me, Greg and Spencer, and one for David, Aaron and Ev. The kids "helped" me set them up and after spending only about one hour and 45 trips in and out of the house, we each had a place set up to sleep (which is the only thing I wanted to do after that ordeal).

We had a party, laughed hysterically and ate candy. We joked about where the starburst that got lost among the bedding would wind up in the morning. With stomachs aching from giggling and sugar overdose, we settled in for the night.

I knew from the beginning that it might be tricky with Spencer. At 20 months old he really just needs a crib. But he was excited about sleeping in the tent and drifted to sleep after only crawling away (usually to the kids' tent) 2 or 3 times.

Before bed I told the kids to make sure they were comfortable and to please, please wake me up if they got cold during the night. (remember, I'm a sleep nazi, meaning I fight for quality sleep for everyone. :)

At about 2:30 am Evie crawls into our tent and says she needs another blanket. I get up and spread one over her. I crawl further in and make sure the boys are warm, feeling in the dark under their blankets to make sure their legs feel toasty. They're cuddled close together and I check one leg, Aaron's, I think. It's warm but there is another leg outside of the blankets. It's a little cold, but not too bad, and I can tell I can't get the leg out from under the blanket and tucked away without a lot of effort and possibly waking kids up, so I leave David to cover himself up when he needs to and go back to my bed, revelling in the thought of spending another 10 minutes finding a position that doesn't KILL my hips.

But first I peek over at Spence. I can make out that there's no head on his pillow and his blanket is pushed down. I don't see him. He must have gotten turned around. I pat around. I don't feel him. Huh. I lift his blanket, and feel around the corner of the tent. He's not there. What on Earth?

I check all around my "bed". Oh! He must have ended up with Greg. Maybe he was fussing and Greg took him? (fussing that wakes Greg and not me? Yeah, right). He's not there. He's nowhere. Greg wakes up from me feeling around him and I tell him the deal and crawl into the other tent to search there. I do a thorough search. He's not there.

A tiny bit of panic starts up as I keep searching, but then I laugh. A tent is a place you can lose a Starburst, but not a child. Still, flashes of scenes from news coverage of children taken from under their parent's noses in the night flash through my mind.

But no way. I'm shocked that Spence could even have moved in the night without me waking to make sure he stayed covered, so the thought of someone unzipping the tent without waking me? Impossible.

The ONLY other possibility is if he was atomized and taken through the wall of the tent. While this could certainly have happened, I feel that we are (almost, but) not quite ~~white trash~~ interesting enough to be singled out by alien life forms for investigation.

Just as I'm assuring myself that it couldn't have been an intergalactic kidnapping Evie whispers, "Here he is!" I go rushing into her tent and she's pointing to the boys. But I already checked there.

I get closer and feel around a little and then I can just make out that Spencer is lying there in between and on top of David and Aaron. He's lying out straight, flat on his stomach (and on Dave and Aaron's arms and legs) with his face under Aaron's pillow. He is fast asleep, just like his brothers.

What a relief. And I couldn't have hoped to find him in a better place. I tucked Spence back in his own bed and made sure everyone was covered one last time before turning to my own bed, where it took 45 minutes, not 10, to get comfortable, but I had plenty to think of after that mini adventure and its happy ending.

Like, for example, that the not-warm leg I'd felt belonged to Spencer, not David, and I couldn't tell the difference. And also, that occasionally a mom's idea of quality sleep: in your own bed with proper covering and a parent nearby to keep an eye on you, might differ greatly from a baby's idea: to sleep squeezed on top of two brothers with no covering at all. Quality. It's so relative.

Broken Gage

2011-08-26T00:19:00.002+02:00

I'm not sure how (or if) it happens, but I think some people's cuteness gage gets a little wonky when it comes to their own children. For example, lately I think everything Aaron (4) says or does is so cute. Then I think, if I told someone about it, would they think it was cute too? And the answer is usually "probably not". The result of these reflections is that I am sitting down to write out the cute things he's said in the last day or two for anyone interested to roll their eyes at.

While playing Gold Miner on my phone (he's very adept at it and it's fun to watch) as he collects the gold nuggets he asks me, "Are those muffins or cookies?" ~Clearly they must be something delicious if Miner Joe is willing to risk his life to get them, right?

Lately he often answers my questions or requests by saying, "Yes, my dear" or "of course, my dear". I adore it.

While showing how much we loved each other (à la Guess How Much I Love You?) I finally told Aaron that I love him all the way around the world. He asked me to show him so I spread my arms as far as I could and said, "Like that, except all the way around the world". Aaron looked from me to Greg and said, "Daddy can do it for you because he has the biggest elbows." ~If you have really big elbows you can reach your arms around the world. Just so you know. Long arms will not do the trick.

He always wears his hat so he can just barely see from under it as seen above, but I guess that's better than how he's been known to wear hats.

He uses "I hope" and "I think" interchangeably, meaning that he often says things like, "I hope there's gonna be a monster in the bathroom!"

This afternoon I gave the kids some pretzels, turned on cartoons and sat next to them on the couch. After a minute Aaron turned to me and asked, "Why are you not taking a shower?" Clearly I've never sent Aaron the message that the TV is a babysitter. Or that the afternoon is a fine time to take your morning shower (although this was at 4 pm and I rarely take them that late. And today I happened to shower way back at 9:30).

******

See the shirt Spence is wearing above? It's a notebook page that says: To do list: Be Awesome like MOM! While Evie was in America she bought it for him. It was a gift for Spencer , but I was even more delighted with it (minus the only wanting him to wear it around the house and hoping nobody thinks I bought it for my own kid thing) (Also, Aaron loves it too because it's yellow and everything that is yellow belongs to him automatically. He still lets Spencer wear it, though.)

So isn't that sweet that Ev bought that? As if she loves me. You would never guess that a few weeks before she had been so excited to see the back of me for a month.

All joking aside, I totally love this picture of our final farewell

And now that she's back home I get both yelled at and congratulated on the same quality. This morning she almost started crying during a moment of frustration when she shouted, "Mom! You said you wouldn't DO that!" "Do what!?!" "Make us laugh when we're mad*!" Then later while we chatted and made a pie she complimented me on my sense of humor and said, "Seriously, I love it so much."

SO DO YOU LOVE OR HATE TO BE MADE TO LAUGH, CHILD!?!

Sheesh. I can't win.
*(I have a hard time not teasing, even when I've promised not to. Oops.)

Getting My Point: A Cross?

2011-08-19T09:13:00.003+02:00

Spencer just loves this toy:

He could play with it for...minutes on end (i.e. forever, in toddler time). With my background in early childhood ed I can sit there for as many minutes as he does doing my parallel play and self talk (or whatever those things were called. No longer comfortable with the ECE lingo).

This toy is excellent for teaching. You've got colors, shapes, matching, fine motor, filling and dumping; what more does a toddler need?

Well, this toddler's mother needs something more. Take a look at those shapes. We have a triangle, square, circle, star and a... a... well, I have no idea what that other one is. Is that an x? A cross? A t? What on earth do I teach my child that is!?!

Why THAT? When did the rectangle cease to be one of the Very Basic Shapes. Even one of the slightly more obscure shapes would have been better, like an oval or a crescent (less sophisticated parents would be free to call it a moon) or an OCTAGON, for pete's sake. With an octagon at least you can find something else with the same shape and show for comparison, "Octagon--octagon!!" With THAT thing you can't even figure out what it is, much less find anything to compare it to.

I could go on and on, but I don't want anyone to think that my frustration lies in the fact that one of the few subjects in life that I feel fairly confident and comfortable with, shapes, has become yet another subject about which I cannot converse intelligently. Even with my toddler.

Size Doesn't Matter

2011-07-20T14:45:00.002+02:00

I remember the Sunday after Evie was born. That morning I had just finished nursing her and, looking at the clock, saw that sacrament meeting must be starting in a few minutes for some ward in our church buiding a few houses down. I realized that I could probably "run" over, just to take the sacrament.

Leaving Ewelina home with Greg I waddled slowly to the chapel, entered and took a seat in the very back row. During the ward business a little girl, maybe 5 years old, in a white dress with a white ribbon in her hair skipped down the aisle to sit with her family. She was darling. But she made me cry.

One day Ewelina would be big like that: my tiny little Evie who I fed all day long and cuddled and breathed in and couldn't stop staring at. She wouldn't always be this helpless, dependent little itty-bitty person for whom my heart almost bursted with love. She would get bigger. She would be so different. Everything was going to change.

Back at home I told Greg about my sadness. He declared that he couldn't wait for her to grow up! He wanted to do things with our kids, teach them things and go on adventures. That seemed so weird to me. Didn't he want to hold them in his arms and have them sleeping on his chest, breathing their sweet baby breath forever and ever?

Fast forward almost 12 years and here I am. No Evie in the house for the month. I miss her. David went home with babcia and dziadek this morning (they'd been staying with us, along with Greg's sister, for almost 2 weeks). I cried my eyes out when David left.

So now I kind of feel like, what's the point? Why bother making a dinner that my big kids won't enjoy? What fun is there in watching a movie in the evening? What is lunch without the conversation I'm used to? And who on earth am I going to fight with to get them to do their jobs!?!

Answers I have come up with (in order): There is no point. Don't bother. No fun. Not a very good lunch, and no fighting at all.

So I seem to have come full circle. Oh, I love my little ones, no question about that! There is every reason to read stories, go for walks, tickle, watch videos, eat snacks and make scary monster noises while running around with my arms up all frighteningly. And I will. I love those things. But I sure have come to love all the things connected with the big kids that I once dreaded to have. I would even say that I still love them AS MUCH (maybe even MORE THAN) I did when they were a week old. Never would have thought it possible.

I'm sure learning a lot this summer. One thing being that hearts do not burst from being over-filled with love. I'm quite grateful for that.

Whine and Hot Drinks

2011-07-12T14:30:00.001+02:00

Organization is required, I'm finding, to do life well. Or even medium-well. This is really too bad for me. (I think I'm currently doing it closer to rare.)

After a fun but hot day out exploring castle ruins with our guests, all our sweaty bodies flooded into the shelter of our home. My in-laws raced to the kitchen to put the kettle on for coffee and tea. What could be more refreshing, I ask you?

Tomorrow I'm sending my daughter across the ocean.

There are about 1,000 emails I want or need to write and almost as many blog posts that I want to read. At this point, though, I'm just hoping I make it through the week without having a stroke.

Life is exciting and I'm anxious to see where it takes me. Oh, I wish it was that easy; just sit back and watch life take you somewhere. Why do I have to be so heavily involved in it all? Can't I just sit down now and again, and watch myself go? SO TIRING.

Hopefully, once there's less going on and I'm not going so crazy and am able to keep my life a little better cooked, it will eventually steer me back to the computer. At least for a few minutes a day...

So Awesome

2011-07-06T15:25:00.002+02:00

Yesterday Greg and I proved our awesomeness to a perfect stranger. This is not an uncommon occurrence for us. When you're awesome it's kind of hard to hide it. It WILL come out. Sometimes it's from strangers and sometimes it's just with your family. For example when, while weeding in the back yard, you suspect your 4 year old of purposefully stomping on a bug and explain, "Oh, honey! We should not kill things that Heavenly Father made!", then turn back around and continue ripping weeds out of the earth.

Yes, you just can't hide awesomeness. In this case, we couldn't keep it from the doctor who was checking out Aaron's leg. For a few weeks our boy was complaining about his leg and limping (even avoiding standing for almost whole days at a time) and the pediatrician sent us to a specialist in the hour-distant Rzeszów.

So we went. At the office, while I undressed Aaron, the doctor started getting some basic background information. (translated from Polish)

Dr: What's his name?

us: Aaron Pawlik

Dr: Date of birth?

Greg: Uuuum, the fourth..... right, Lisa?

me: No, the eighth.

Greg: That's right, the eighth of September.

me: No, ...... (pause while I think of the name of the month in Polish and put it in the right case kwiecien=April, kwietnia= of April*) April.

Greg: Yes, the eighth of April.

Dr: What year?

us: (looking at each other for a good 3-4 seconds) ...

me: ...four years ago.

Dr: Okay, so 2007.

us: That's right.

Dr: And... how many kids do you have?

Yeah, good question doctor. Especially considering Greg gave Evie's day of birth and David's month. Sure the doctor followed that question up with others about our kids that made it look like he was getting potential genetic type information that might help in making a diagnosis, but I'm pretty sure he was just trying to figure out what our deal was.

Fortunately, after a stressful hour of worrying that it might be something serious, x-rays revealed that it's probably not. So, thankfully it looks like Aaron won't have worrisome leg problems for the near future. Unfortunately, he will probably have to deal with parental lameness problems for the rest of his life. Wish there was a cure for that one, poor boy.

*I'm not kidding when I say I still am not sure about the all the names of the month in Polish.

When a Home Ceases to Exist

2011-06-30T14:30:00.002+02:00

Last weekend we went to one of our favorite cities, and one that just won for "Capital of Culture" in Europe for 2016.

Wrocław (VROTS-waf) lies in the south-western region of Poland on the Odra river. It's a beautiful city, and we love it for, well, for the awesome branch it has with some of our favorite Poles, but also for the neat German architecture, lots of brick in beautiful designs and tiled roofs with a different shape than in other parts of Poland.

On Saturday we attended a branch picnic at a member's house in a very small town over an hour outside of Wrocław. Afterwards, we started heading toward the freeway back to the city but weren't sure which way to go. We saw an old lady raking leaves near the street and stopped to ask for help. The woman was confident and friendly and smiled after pointing us in the right direction.

She spoke with an accent. Looking in her face, I listened to her Polish and was sure that she wasn't a Pole. This woman was away from home.

As we drove, Greg and I talked to the kids about this region of the country, how it had been part of Germany, but was granted to Poland after the war. The Germans who had lived here all their lives moved out and Poles came and took over their houses. It's a heavy thing to ponder.

David declared that it was unfair. Greg countered explained that the Germans started the war, caused widespread destruction and death and then lost. This was part of the result of those choices and actions. I added that much of the land that had belonged to Poland on the east was turned over to Russia. As a matter of fact, many of the Poles that were displaced from the east were sent here to the south-west to resettle.

I wondered where this woman we talked to was from. With her face fresh in my mind, I thought about what her life may have been. She was born in a stable country and maybe had a happy, normal childhood. Things started to change as she approached adolescence. The war was a dangerous, tumultuous time, full of fear and uncertainty. And then everything changed.

Was she a German who had stayed behind when everyone else left? Was this place she lived actually her original home, but now in a different country? Had she suddenly found herself in a foreign land, even while inhabiting the home of her childhood?

Or maybe the accent wasn't German at all. Maybe it was a Polish accent specific to the east. Maybe she was born in Lwów and moved to this place when Russia took that part of Poland over after the war. Maybe she really was far from home; a home she can't visit without hearing an unknown language spoken and meeting faces of a people who are not her own.

These are hard things for me to think about. I have moved to a foreign country and find myself among strangers, but I have done it by choice. And they are not strangers. They are my children's people, although they will never really be mine.

I can't imagine the pain and sorrow of leaving your home and knowing it will cease to exist as it was. That everything has changed. Or of staying in your home and watching the world change outside its walls. That your country is broken and will never be exactly what it used to be.

But those things have happened. They will happen. And the people affected will maybe one day smile at a car full of strangers while giving them directions, in their second language, to Wrocław, and not the Breslau they used to visit as a child.

People are strong and adaptable. Still, it all makes me look forward to a day when there will be ONE Kingdom. And no wars.

Getting What She Deserves and Growing Up

2011-06-27T14:30:00.003+02:00

You know how you sometimes send your eleven year old daughter off on a bus full of people you don't know to Hungary for six days?

Yeah, I knew you'd understand when I told you what I did this morning.

Every year our elementary school sends the kids at the top of each class (who have straight A's or better) for a week-long trip pretty much for free. Evie's been working super hard this year to earn the right and she did it (she also won $125 in gift certificates from the mayor)! She's the only girl in her class eligible for the trip, so she had to arrange with girls (she barely knows) from other classes that she can hang with them for the week. But she's excited and I think she'll have a blast.

And all of this only a few months after I decided that we will be a "no sleepover" family. So, yeah. It is a bit of a weird situation, but after a ton of pondering, long conversations with Ev and some prayer, I feel quite good about it.

Then she'll come back home for a couple of weeks before getting on a plane by herself to cross the Atlantic and visit her cousins. My sister, Su, and brother-in-law (Tom) bought her a ticket and she's going to spend a MONTH with them. Away from us. Away from ME! How we will all survive (including my sister), I'm not sure. But I'm so excited for her.

I think this will be the Summer Evie Grew Up. I mean, she's already quite mature for her age, but after this, we'll pretty much consider her an adult, I think.

And mostly I really think she deserves to have all these experiences she's been dreaming of. I just need to figure out how to deserve my sister's generosity and bravery. (did I mention Evie's ELEVEN, and, while she's very helpful and sweet, smart and fun, she's also ELEVEN. The drama has definitely begun with her. But Su has a 12 year old daughter, so I think she has a clue what she's in for.)

I have a feeling Evie starting junior high this fall might not seem like such a huge step afterall.

[Not] For Your Viewing Pleasure

2011-06-18T17:35:00.002+02:00

Warning! Vanity (or lack thereof) post! And possibly TMI! Proceed with caution!

Who decided they were farmer's tans? Can't we all just agree to call them people-who-wear-shirts' tans? Or something?

Or nothing? Is the reason we have a name for that kind of tan at all to distinguish those of us who have one from those who have an even tan all over? Because I personally think there should be a name for the all-over kinds of tans, as if they're the funny kind to have. Maybe, like, nudist tans. Or something.

So anyway, I don't spend a lot of time in (or out of) a bathing suit. And I don't pay to have my skin color changed artificially with or without one, either. So, naturally, I have tan lines. And, really, they're not especially becoming when I do wear something that covers less skin. But I'm kind of okay with that.

And when I do decide to wear a swimsuit, It's not necessarily going to be all that pretty, either. Not just because of the tan lines, but because I don't quite look "pretty". As a matter of fact, in recent weeks my weight has inexplicably been fluctuating about 2-4 pounds. When I don't have the extra few pounds I feel almost thinish (by my own, liberal standard, which still doesn't qualify for "pretty in a swimsuit" by any stretch), but on the days that those dear pounds decide to come back for a visit, I become much-less-than thin. They are the exact 2-4 pounds that trigger the ballooning effect that my, we'll just say "lower torso/hip area" suffers from. And I'm still going to put on a swimsuit. And I'm kind of okay with that.

And I have mentioned the veins on my leg. I had planned to never wear shorts again for the rest of my life. But now I realize I was being a bit over dramatic. When it's hot, covering your legs makes no sense no matter how much you don't really want to show them off. Capris are what I go for. And if anyone looks, they will see those lovely green and purple lines, and I apologize for that. But I'm kind of okay with it.

Because, really, I'm not putting on a show. I'm just kind of living, you know? And I know that some people are putting on a show (like the girl I saw today who had put a little too much glowing bronzing cream on her very pushed up, largely exposed, overly tanned breasts). And that's okay. Well, preferably with a little less cleavage, though. But wanting to look good is a good thing. Heck, even I want to look good! But I'm sort of okay with just living the life I love and not worrying too much about how I look while I'm doing it. You know?

I guess "kind of" are the key words... Maybe next year I'll be SO okay with it, I won't even write an entire post about it!

Froglets as a Compromise (continued from previous post)

2011-06-13T15:00:00.000+02:00

So after we got back from the hospital we had a family council and decided that the rest of us would stay home and Greg would go alone to Katowice. As a "compromise" Greg said he'd take us for a half hour trip to the pond near his work before he left. So while he dug his things out from among all of our things and repacked them into a smaller suitcase I freaked the kids out with x-rays of my foot and then told them to pile in the car.

Spence waited patiently, asking me to please come and buckle him in.
Then we all got in and drove to the pond. When we got out of the car the ground was covered with what looked like flies hovering near the ground. A closer look revealed that they were tiny frogs that we had to walk very slowly to avoid crunching on. It was so neat watching the little wave of frogs hopping out of our path. Then we walked through the forest to the pond.
Evie went off on her own for a minute
but it didn't take long for Aaron to start worrying about her and go to find out if she was okay.
He was also watching out for Spencer and told him over and over, "No-no, Spence. You can't go in the water. It's too cold." (but actually there were a few swimmers just getting out when we got there)
Before heading back to the car we checked to make sure we all still had feet*. Fortunately we did. Mine are the ones with the toes exposed and the pinkie toe on the left is the one I stubbed. To you it probably looks fine (or disgusting if you're a foot hater), but to me it is ugly and deformed compared to the pinkie toe on the other foot, which I consider to be so darling in comparison.
Then we went back to the car
and played with the frogs for a minute.
Yes, that's a frog in her hand. See?

And in daddy's even bigger hand?
I seriously could not get over how cute they were. And there were tons of them. Maybe this is what everyone sees who goes near a pond the right few days every spring? Anyway, DARLING.

And then I was refreshed and ready for doing a weekend alone.
*How does one explain or justify a picture of feet?

Bent Out of Shape

2011-06-11T20:56:00.002+02:00

One thing that bugs Greg about me is that I do way to much rushing and bustling. I far too frequently operate on "urgent" when it's not really necessary, and sometimes actually makes things worse.

"Move more slowly!" he'll say. "We really need to learn to calm down around here" he'll say.

I can't take the stairs less than two at a time. While cooking I work my way through all the bodies in the kitchen like a professional race car driver weaving through and past the competition. When my in-laws are visiting, whenever I enter a room they kind of automatically move to the edges/flatten themselves against the walls to let me whoosh past. And I wish that was more of an exaggeration than it is. I just move fast, especially when we're working on a time frame.

On Thursday morning I knew, as I breezed past Greg standing in the doorway to the kitchen, that he wouldn't like my rushing, but I had to grab the kids' lunches so they could get going and wouldn't be late for school. Heaven knows those 3 or 4 seconds I saved by running around could be the 3 or 4 seconds that made all the difference! Before Greg had a chance to get bent out of shape about my rate of motion, my toe did. Get bent out of shape, that is.

I stubbed it on the door frame. Really, really hard. And it hurt. Really, really badly. And I thought, Greg is so right. I really do need to calm down and move more slowly/carefully.

And he stood there while I wailed and cried (yes, I pretty much did. Baby.) and nary an "I told you so" escaped his lips.

As a punishment (well, natural consequence, really), instead of going to breakfast for our usual Saturday morning date, we only had time to go to the ER to see if they could fix my toe, which I'd only realized was looking extra crooked on Friday night. Then, even though I had us all completely packed and ready for our weekend trip (for church), it was too late for us to make it to the hotel before bedtime (a recipe for a disastrous hotel stay, especially with napping in the car), so Greg went on his own and I stayed home with the kids. But it wasn't all bad. Since we were all bummed we wouldn't get to go, Greg took us for a little 1/2 hour adventure before he left, and that was totally worth everything. More on that later.

And my toe is totally fine. Crooked and swollen, but apparently the crookedness is from the last time I stubbed it a few years ago. When I was rushing around to save another 3 or 4 seconds during some other life threatening crisis, no doubt.

Dry

2011-06-08T14:30:00.005+02:00

I was hungry and, in a brave attempt to keep myself from reaching for something more delicious and fattening, I opened a pack of dried apricots to snack on. They were overly dry. Tough, in fact. Still, I did my best to enjoy them myself and put a bite of one in Spencer's mouth, sure he'd think it was like candy.

For the next hour he hummed all his songs and mumbled all his "words" and before we went out on our walk, I took the same piece of apricot out of his mouth. It was completely reconstituted.

On our walk we passed a number of thoroughly dried frogs on the sidewalk.

You know how after the rain you see dried worms everywhere? It's like that where we live, but with these cute little frogs. We have some living in our backyard (not the dried up ones) and we do our best to keep them watered and happy so we don't find them one day, flat and crispy, in our garage as we have in years past.

As we continued down the street we came to a scattered pile of unused matches on the sidewalk. I stopped and thought for a second. It's been very hot, dry and windy and these matches seemed like an accident waiting to happen. I started to rub them one-by-one into the ground with my flip flops to wear off all the phosphorus (looked it up). As I did it, I explained to Aaron that one of the matches could light and start a fire. Or some kids could come and take them and start a fire.

Aaron knew that kids don't play with matches so I had to explain that some kids do dangerous and bad things like play with matches. I told him that if a fire starts in your house it could spread and all your toys can burn, your clothes and your bed. You would have no place to sleep etc.

Aaron listened carefully and was thoughtful for a minute after I ended my lecture. Then suddenly he looked up at me with worry in his eyes and said, "And Spencer's toys! Spencer's toys could get burned and he wouldn't have anything to play with!!" He was very disturbed. Probably for his whole childhood he will never play with matches for fear that Spencer's toys might get burned.

Tough apricots, dead frogs, and fire hazards.

And one frazzled lady.

I've been feeling kind of dried out lately, too, in case you couldn't tell from the past couple of posts. Not enough healthy food and exercise, not enough planning and meditating and taking meaningful time for myself to feel put together, and not enough time drinking the Living Water.

I am working on rehydrating myself, but it would kind of be nice if someone could just stick me in their mouth, go about their business for awhile and spit me out, a new and improved Lisa.

No, that wouldn't be nice, I guess. Not literally. I'll just work on it myself, one snack, morning walk, and scripture session at a time so I don't end up as unpalatable as the apricots, as unbecoming as the frogs, and as fear inducing (or explosive) to good children as the matches.

Hidden Treasures

2011-06-05T22:30:00.001+02:00

I'd like to "find wisdom and great treasures of knowledge, even hidden treasures". There's just something so appealing about that promise.

So I'm going to finally try to follow the Word of Wisdom, or its spirit. Moderation in all things. Or, not really. Moderation in some things and abstinence in others. So, for me, this is about complete forbearance. Adapted to the capacity of the weakest of all saints. (that's me)

In order to find that wisdom and those hidden treasures, I am going to reveal some hidden treasures of my own with my family:

The caramels are on the baking chocolate shelf,
the Oreos are in the school snack box and
the chocolate covered orange sticks are in the fridge.

I'm not gonna eat them anymore. Neither snack on them throughout the day when I should be eating fruit or yogurt, nor sneak nibbles here and there while making dinner. Or every time I enter the kitchen.

Because I desire wisdom.

And to stop this steady approach to the weight I told myself I wouldn't ever reach again. "No zeros before the decimal," I said. (We're a half a kilo away. Or maybe a whole kilo now, thanks to Fast Sunday.)

But mostly for the wisdom. That's a better treasure than having the figure I want. And I'm seriously NOT being sarcastic. But between keeping (my interpretation of one aspect of) the Word of Wisdom, Fast Sundays and the promise quoted at the beginning of the post, I'm going to be incredibly attractive in both mind AND body.

I can't wait.

Quickly! Turn Me Upside Down!

2011-06-02T14:30:00.004+02:00

It doesn't happen very often, but some days I just spend a lot of time thinking about the things I can't stand about myself. And

1. I think about how poor I am because I get so tired of bathing children and doing the entire Before Bed Routine at the end of the day when I'm already all mothered out, and my husband almost never does it.

2. I listen to Aaron stomp his feet and declare that he "doesn't like the stupid (insert noun)". He makes angry faces and sometimes screams and is a total grouch. Then he has to stand facing the wall because he said one (or more) of his favorite bad words (hate, stupid and shut up).

3. Evie and David bicker and annoy each other and seem to have absolutely no positive feelings for each other. Even after the long discussion we had on Saturday about how we're all playing on the same team and should be encouraging and supporting each other, which they seemed to totally understand and agree with.

4. Spencer wiggles and giggles and generally makes changing his diaper an extremely frustrating minute and a half, no matter how seriously I tell him to stop or even if I get mad.

Then I think about

1. How I'm terrified of being a nagging wife so I rarely ask Greg to do the things that we seem to have established (non-verbally) are my responsibilities. (and there are a hundred other reasons why it's not his fault). Instead I just sit around feeling sorry for myself and my terrible lot in life.

2. How often Aaron sees me get frustrated or annoyed with something small when I should really just fix it and move on.

3. How often I forget to be positive and encouraging to my kids when trying to help them overcome their little faults, but come across as critical or annoyed instead.

4. The few times in a row that I tickled and played with Spencer just before or after changing a diaper, even though I knew I would pay for it later when he wanted to play before/during/after every diaper change.

And I realize that I've created all these monsters. And I think even more about how I sick I am of me.

Then we get out of the house and when we cross a street I help Aaron walk his bike and he says, "I can do it, but thanks, mom, for helping me." And when we pass a little store he asks if we can go get an ice cream. When I say no he says, "But you only have to buy it for one guy: for me!" And I smile.

And my phone rings and Greg says he has a question for me, "Tell me what you think about this: When the kids come home from school we go for a picnic. Just you and me."

And I think that's a great idea. And I think I'm going to pull out my scriptures*, for goodness sake, and start being more like the person I want to be instead of thinking about how different I am from her. I'm gonna smile this frown away.
*A very real key to my happiness and one that I forget about waaaaay too often and just read a quick chapter before bed instead of actually studying.

Modesty is Relative

2011-05-31T15:00:00.001+02:00

That's me letting orange rolls go to waist so they don't go to waste.

Would you ever look at a t-shirt like that and think that it was immodest? Neither would I. Even if it was on someone who was in possession of a tiny bit of cleavage, it would still be quite decent. Not immodest. At least that's what I thought when I bought them (I have a purple one, too). It turns out that they are, though.

See, when you have a toddler some seemingly innocent items of clothing become much less modest. A neckline that seemed very reasonable on the hanger at the store becomes extremely revealing later when it is on your person and little hands grip it and use it to pull up onto your lap. It also doesn't provide enough coverage the twenty thousand times a day you have to lean over and use both hands to clean up a mess, help a child get out of a precarious position or stick a Baby Einstein video in the VCR.

Then there are the shirts Evie likes to buy for herself. She bought a hot pink long sleeved shirt that completely covers her: neck, stomach, arms. Very modest. But Greg doesn't like it because it has a picture of a cartoon owl on it with enormous cartoon eyes. The placement of the owl and its eyes is not bad. I think it's an innocent shirt. Still, it's not Greg's favorite.

I remember back when Greg and I were just friends we would go swimming at the Campus Plaza swimming pool and he once told me that he didn't like my (totally modest, maybe a tiny bit high cut, but not bad) swimming suit. It was royal blue with lime green stitching and a lime green "Body Glove" embossed across the chest. He told me he doesn't think girls should wear things with words in that area. Whatever is written there it might as well just say, "Guys Look Here!!"

I don't buy shirts like that anymore, but I still think he's a little overly sensitive. Unless a shirt is tight and/or a woman is particularly buxom, I don't see much wrong with it.

Then one day Ewelina told me that she found a shirt she wanted to buy. It was just like a shirt her best friend had, but with a different picture. It was a fitted gray tee with a picture of a banana on it. "A banana!" she said. It reminded me of the days when I was about exactly her age and loved things that were random and weird. I, too, would have loved to have a shirt with a picture of a banana or a cloud (like her friend's shirt) on it. Funky, cool, cute.

So she bought the shirt and showed it to me. Super cute cut, very long tee. Big, yellow, old comic style half-peeled banana on the front. "Cute!" I thought.

A little while later I realized that I didn't really like that shirt. I went upstairs and showed it to Greg and asked what he thought about it. He didn't like it a lot more immediately than I didn't like it. He said he really didn't think she should wear it. I totally agreed. I was the lucky one who got to explain this all to her. While it's not strictly immodest, it kind of falls under the same category (i.e. inappropriate (or not quite appropriate) clothing)

So now we have a bunch of new standards. Is the shirt toddler-proof? Does it contain any offending words symbols, pictures or colors? Are the non-offensive words, symbols, pictures or colors located in an appropriate area of the garment? Are we a thousand percent sure that nobody would ever think anything but the very most virtuous thoughts when glancing in our direction while we are wearing this item of clothing?

Sheesh.

We sure know how to make things difficult around here.

Ode to the Period

2011-05-27T15:25:00.002+02:00

I used to take you for granted;
You were just sort of there.
I used you countless times a day,
No gratitude did I bear.

But now I see your value.
I understand your worth.
While many consider you optional
I'm mourning because of your dearth.

And maybe I've made a mistake
by trying to write this in rhyme.
Because in this type of writing
I use you improperly half of the time.

But in other types of writing
You are the only one
Of punctuations marks, common and lesser used,
that keep sentences from over-run. (ning each other)

It's really very simple:
A tiny little dot
To separate my sentences
And make reading less headache-fraught.

Maybe it's about the order,
Organization and proper pace,
But judging by how my house looks
Those values don't hold a high place...

So I guess it's more about talking;
I'm pretty good at that.
I want to be read just the way that I sound
Not a jumble of words to fall flat.

I wish more people could understand
The service that you provide.
You're free, and you want to be used and loved
Statements happily you will divide.

But I must admit, you're a character.
I think that's your biggest flaw.
With limits on numbers of symbols we use
Your end of the deal is raw.

But still, I will never abandon you!
You mean too much to me.
You're worth every space that you take on the page,
As important as A, B or C.

note: this "poem" is the perfect example of exactly how poor my understanding of the usage of punctuation is, but the period? I'm pretty confident in my usage of that one. Dear, dear period.

Give It Up For A Wonderful Husband

2011-05-24T15:45:00.002+02:00

I used to be a wearer of heels. Not like every day or anything, since it wasn't really such a big thing back then, but I almost always wore high heels to church. I always felt so feminine, so sophisticated, so much taller than usual.

I used to dance, too. Oh, how I loved to dance. I would dance and dance and dance at any opportunity. As a teen I was a highly skilled dancer of the Bobby Brown and a hundred other moves (the names of which escape me now, thankfully) that made younger teens, and some humble older ones, crowd around me and my sister at tri-stake dances for lessons on how to look as awesome as we did on the dance floor.

Oh, how I loved to dance. I gave up most of those specific dances that immediately shout "EARLY NINETIES!!!" when I went off to college (because by then it was almost mid-nineties and those dances were so last season), but I still loved to dance. There were few things that made me feel more happy and free than moving to music.

But one of the things that did make me feel more happy and free was when I was hanging out with my friend Grzegorz. Man, I loved that. So much so, in fact, that I thought it would be worth it to give up some of the things I loved for the privilege of hanging out with him for the rest of ... ever.

I don't wear heels anymore. Grzegorz is not a fan. Although I may have felt feminine and sophisticated (and taller) in them, he thought it just looked awkward and impractical. Bye-bye, pumps. (I did get to wear them for my brother's wedding a couple of years ago and learned that it's just like riding a bike: if you haven't done it for ten years, you're bound to be rather wobbly at it.)

I don't dance in public places anymore. My enjoyment of dances and the frequenting of dance clubs came to an abrupt halt. Grzegorz doesn't dance. I don't go dancing without him. The end.

And I'm okay with that. Of course there are times I resent it a tiny bit, but only when I forget that it's worth it. So worth it. What was that definition of sacrifice? Giving up something good for something better? Yes. That's just exactly how I would define my "losses". Something good for something WAY better.

Throw it Away so it Doesn't Go to Waist

2011-05-19T19:22:00.000+02:00

Just after Easter we kept hearing on the radio about a campaign to keep people from wasting food. They encouraged people not to buy more than they need, gave tips for things to make with various holiday leftovers and talked about how people who throw food away are worse human beings than those who don't.

You probably won't be surprised that I'm going to share my thoughts on the matter. First a disclaimer: I try not to waste food. I plan menus before I do my weekly shopping so I know pretty much exactly what I will need and pretty much always end up using it all. I don't pile my kids' plates high with food that they won't eat, but give them tiny little portions that they must finish as a minimum but they can go back for more if they want. If I make something that we'll have leftovers of, I make sure it will be enough leftovers to have for another entire dinner so it doesn't sit and go bad in the fridge. When it's a popular dinner, this occasionally means telling everyone, "no, you can't have any more, it's for dinner tomorrow."

I am so waste conscious, in fact, that I go to great lengths to ensure that we never have to throw out cookies because they've gone stale. I'm always careful to have all baked goods eaten by the next day. Yes, this sometimes means that I personally have to be eating cookies/cake/muffins all day long, but that is a price I'm willing to pay. When people write in a recipe that the cookies "stay good for 3 days in an airtight container" or something, I'm always thinking how much more careful I am not to waste than that person, who tempted fate and almost let the cookies go bad.

Still, I've never quite understood the "think of all the starving children" thing. Yes, there are children who are starving, and that's terrible, but to a kid it's probably like the equivalent of telling a grown woman to apply her make-up liberally because there are plenty of women in the world who don't have any make-up at all.

I agree we should be grateful for what we have and use it wisely, but how does my not leaving any crumbs help the person in Africa who wishes he had crumbs? (I so wish it could somehow)

I have seen people, stuffed to the point of splitting their pants, clean their plate because they didn't want to waste any food. Isn't it more of a waste to force yourself to gag food down when you neither need nor want it?

I've mentioned before what a fan Greg is of capitalism. About all the "don't waste" talk, Greg said, well, the truth is, one of the best things you can do to help those who don't have enough food (besides donating to food shelters etc.) is to buy more food than you need." He then proceeded to explain and, while I can't remember what he said, I do remember that it made perfect sense, so if you have a better brain than me, or were raised under communism and now have an affinity for capitalism, it may make sense to you, too. (I just asked him and he said that it's about the economy and how when people buy more stuff it's better for everyone. So yeah, that makes sense. And is pretty elementary, which tells you what kind of brain I have.)

Well, I'm not going to go out and buy twice as many groceries as I think I'll use, but the next time we eat out and I have more food than I can eat, but not enough to take the rest home, I'm going to leave it on the plate and let them throw it out. Because there's one other argument for throwing food out sometimes: I'd rather waste it than let it go to waist.

Weird

2011-05-17T14:30:00.001+02:00

Things that I think are weird:

That Greg and I rented and watched Green Zone without knowing it. Greg went to get The Bourne Supremacy and the DVD had no title on it, just a picture of Matt Damon and the case was clear. We watched and I briefly wondered why Jason Bourne was now Roy Miller hunting WMD in Iraq and how so many bad words got into a PG-13 movie. Seriously, it wasn't until the next day when I looked up the movie and found that the synopsis didn't match the movie we watched. I was glad because I really had hoped Jason would find out more about his history and was confused that he hadn't. (duh)

That Poles serve ice cream on a plate, and I've seen them eat it with a fork before (I think Greg's mom once asked me if I wanted a fork or spoon with mine, or maybe my memory is exaggerating the weirdness of this). There is a chance that this is more Greg's family than all Poles. I will have to ask around.

That the facial cleanser I use, which is all things organic and earth friendly, comes in a plastic tube. Just kidding. That's understandable, but the wooden lid that made it look so enticing to me turns out to be absolutely unnecessary, and therefore a complete waste of natural resources. I only thought about this when the wood cracked and the regular plastic lid beneath was revealed. (because I totally fell for the marketing trick: it has wood, therefore it's natural and earthy, therefore it is good. Duh again.)

The length of some little boys' eyelashes.

That the packaging on a kid's drink bottle had "SUFER" printed in big, happy bubble letters. I'm not sure if they put an F on accident where they meant to put a P or if they left out the other F.

That a word that makes little American boys giggle can be found on products and even used as company names in Poland because in Polish it means "luck".

The Biology of Motherhood and a Question of Opinion

2011-05-13T19:04:00.005+02:00

The girls in one of my English discussion classes (two 16 year olds) are pretty much everything I hope my Evie will be. They're responsible, thoughtful, hard-working and fun. But they hate biology. I tell them that this is a tragedy. Biology is awesome and interesting, I tell them. I also tell them a lot of other things. Anything I want. This week I will tell them about EFY in Germany and that they're totally invited.

But biology really is awesome. Although I know where my students are coming from. In 10th grade I hated it, too. My teacher sat at the overhead projector and wrote notes for us to copy all class period, every class period. Extremely boring. But then I moved on to AP Bio. With Mr. Margve. Oh, Mr. Margve was the best. He looked like he was wearing one of those fake nose and mustache thingies, only without the glasses. (as a matter of fact, my AP US History teacher was his good friend/rival, and they always played jokes on each other like Mr. M would send a dissected rat as a gift to Mr. T in the middle of class and Mr. T dressed for Halloween with a nose and mustache--glasses removed--and wearing a nametag that said "Mr. Margve".)

He had a passion for biology. He drew pictures on the board and used jokes and grand arm gestures. He made the floor of the lab into gigantic cells with paper parts so we could learn about transcription and other cellular functions by physically making it happen ourselves. I loved it all and remember much of it. I don't believe I have ever used terms like knee cap, shoulder blade, collar bone, or thigh bone, thanks to Mr. Margve. (patella, scapula, clavicle and femur for me, thanks!)

I think that is why I am so deeply in love with this song. I have an affection for biology anyway (up to the most basic college level. :) and it's a true geek song, sung by a true geek. I don't claim to be a geek AT ALL, but one who can appreciate geekiness, when properly expressed.

(as a side note, I think of the term "geek" and in smaller measure "nerd" to mean one who is overly excited about and interested in science or technology or other brainy things (with or without the social ineptness. For this reason I have never quite gotten it when people call themselves Harry Potter geeks, or worse, Twilight geeks. I am still trying to convince myself that the term can also apply to anyone who is knowledgeable about or interested in most anything, and that it doesn't necessarily have to be intellectual. (I always remind myself of how Annette tells us that language evolves and sometimes people use a term improperly enough that it becomes an actual definition, and that maybe that's the case here.)

This song is delightful (to me), the perfect balance of tackiness, catchiness, humor and just all around geekiness. I have it running through my head pretty constantly since Melancholy Smile linked to it the other day. You should really watch it, just in case it brings you as much joy as it brings me. You will learn exactly why slightly more than half of everything your children are is thanks to you. A Biologist's Mother's Day Song:

And now, a question of opinion.

I have never wanted to advertise on my blog. I have only ever wanted my blog to contain things that I personally want and choose to have on it. But now I have a dilemma.

A friend of mine (or two) has written regular, Melissa-esque blog posts that sounds exactly like her and are things that I know she would write about. They're just normal blog posts. Then at the end you read that the post was sponsored. And you think, what? Wasn't that Melissa? Yes. That was definitely Melissa. I enjoyed the post exactly as I would have without the sponsorship note at the end.

So this is a new and awesome way to monetize your blog and I'm thinking that I might want to try it. But I don't want it to feel like I'm not being real or something. But I figure, if a song about biology can inspire a post (however lame) about my AP Bio teacher, why not just let an advertisement inspire a post? For example, Melissa had one sponsored by a clothing company and she wrote about how terrible her own wardrobe is. I could write a post about my wardrobe (couldn't any woman?) and it would be just as real and natural as writing any other post that was triggered by something I saw or heard.

At least I think. But I'm just wondering, not to ask your permission, but I'm just curious as to how you feel about that? Have you read posts sponsored by Broadcast Bloggers ads? Does it feel weird to you? Wrong? Do you care?

Because I've never cared if people I like have their sidebars plastered with ads (I've seen some people complain that they don't like it), but this new way to monetize, while being slightly more in your face, is also a good way to get ideas for blog posts (I think, I still don't know exactly how it works) and still write from your own brain and heart, but also make some money (which some people are rather in need of, from what I understand...)

Anway, do you have thoughts? I mean, on the subject of this type of monetizing?

Sincerely, Lisa

:)

For Life

2011-05-10T14:29:00.002+02:00

"Doesn't this muesli look so good?" I said, holding up the unopened box and pointing to the little window that revealed the freeze-dried berries and granola inside. While Evie and David agreed that it looked delicious I made fake-but-sincere sobbing sounds.

"It's cereal, mom." Ev said, with the sound of eye rolling in her voice.

Yeah. She should talk. Just a few mornings before she told me about a horrible dream she had. She volunteered to go back to the Millar's house to get something. She said it felt so weird being in that now-empty place. She walked slowly around and stopped in front of the picture of Ellyvan, drawn in marker on the living room wall by 4 year old Max. She almost cried in the telling of this dream.

Yesterday Aaron kept including Max in his listing of our family members using toys, "This one's Evie, this one's Dad, this is Spencer, this one can be Max and this one is David."

The Millars, our American friends have moved back to that country. The muesli was from a box of goodies they brought us from their kitchen as they packed up their home (there were also boxes of toys and Christmas decorations!).

We got to celebrate one last holiday with them the day before they left. We had an Easter egg hunt in a nearby beech tree forest. It was fun and warm and almost all the foliage was on the ground-- the dried brown leaves of yesteryear. Those and lots and LOTS of dry sticks and branches making what I'd imagined would be a beautiful stroll through a green springtime wonderland more of a crunching hike through a monotone (brown) obstacle course, but it was still fun.

In fact, anything we did with the Millars was fun. Holidays, FHE, having church at our house, yummy dinners and treats. Fun! But I never cared as much about what we did as the fact we got to spend time with them.

Because those guys are awesome. They share their history so openly and it wasn't always about major athletic achievements and (practically)perfect families. Those have been some of the blessings that have come to them because of their awesomeness. They have been through a LOT and, instead of taking the easy road and using their crises as an excuse to take whatever road THEY want, they've let their trials shape them into really good people who try to do what the Lord wants them to.

This includes being where he wants them to be and I know that they were supposed to come to Poland, in part to be a blessing for our family. I'm so grateful they came. I'm so grateful for their sweet, super sweet little boys. Baby Oliver of the squishy cheeks and beautiful blue eyes and friendly Max and his desire to help and knack for always saying the right and cutest things. Once he asked the blessing on our food and after he said "amen" he looked up and saw that Spencer was starting to climb up the stairs so he quickly closed his eyes and folded his arms again and asked for Spencer to be safe while he's playing on the stairs. Seriously sweet boy.

Ryan sets such a good example wherever he goes. When his volleyball games are on Polish TV the commentators (announcers?) refer to him as Ryan Millar and/or the "sympatyczny Amerykanin", the nice/friendly/likable American. He smiled more in one game than any other player probably in all the games combined. He's funny and kind and looks for ways to share the important things he believes. Awesome.

Then there's Suzanne. What can a person say about THAT lady? She is such a loving and encouraging mother and a sympathetic and helpful friend. She always has something she's read recently that she draws on for strength for herself or shares to strengthen others. I love it. I want to be like that. She's seriously beautiful, but not at all intimidating because she is just so real and open and friendly. Love her. Such an example of a woman of faith.

I'm grateful for the Millars and that they came and provided an extremely welcome break from feeling isolated and so far away from people who understand me. And I love that, even after having only had them as "neighbors" for about a half a year, they are now lifelong friends. That is something you don't get every day, and better than gold.

Sometimes

2011-04-28T21:06:00.003+02:00

Sometimes moms forget to buckle their little boys into their strollers. The reason for this might sometimes be that the mom knows in the back of her mind that the child won't try to climb out and is too old to slip out. However, because the mother might normally buckle the child in anyway, it might also be partly due to forgetfulness.

In cases when this happens (or rather doesn't happen--the buckling, I mean), there are few surprises less welcome than, when the child has been peacefully sleeping in said stroller for some time, the stroller suddenly begins to slow, there are dragging sounds and then, unexpectedly, the sandal of the sleeping child appears near the mother's feet, coming out from under the back of the stroller. And however much the mother might hope he isn't, the child might still actually be wearing that sandal.

Yes, sometimes mothers run over their own children with their strollers, and the little ones sometimes get scratched up noses and chins.

But sometimes small children are far more traumatized by the sound of water popping in hot oil on the stove all the way across the kitchen of an evening than they were earlier in the day when their mother ran over them with with the stroller.

I will leave you to think about what an amazing imagination I have to come up with such a hypothetical.

Seriously, despite his VERY rude awakening, he needed only a good hug and some gentle wiping of his face and he was happy as ever. I, however, needed to hug him a little longer, and again every time I looked at his face for the next few hours. And he was hysterical over the sound of the oil popping.

Somebody or Nobody?

2011-04-18T16:30:00.002+02:00

So anyway...

While she was cutting my hair, the beautician asked me what I do for work. When I told her that I stay home with my kids she paused, looked at me in the mirror and hesitantly started asking how I feel about that. I sort of cut her off (there's that phrase again) and said, "Oh yes, it's by choice! I love it." She gave a sort of half-believing, "O-kaaay."

Then I stupidly added that I do some writing from home sometimes, but I am able to be home with my kids full time.

This all reminded me of a bunch of similar experiences I've had here in Poland. In this country mothers just don't stay home with their kids. All kids attend preschool and often nursery, though many kids stay with their grandparents during the day until they are 3 years old (old enough for preschool).

In one of the English discussion classes I taught years ago I was very pleasantly surprised when, during introductions, one young woman said that she stayed home with her two year-old little girl. I jumped right on that! The first mother I'd ever met here who stayed home! I was obviously delighted and I asked her, "How do you like being at home?", excited to have something so important in common with another mother, happy to have met someone that maybe knew the value of --or at least had experienced the joy of-- spending all day working, playing and eating with your child. Someone who might really understand me.

She suddenly got a crazed look in her eye and said, "I hate it! I'm desperate to find a job! I really can't wait to get working." Oh. So never mind about that. Over the course of the semester, whenever she talked about her daughter it was usually only about what a burden she was.

In a different class a very feminist-type girl loved to talk about how terrible it must be to be home all day with your (my) kids, never doing anything, being totally tied down. She couldn't EVER imagine sitting at home babysitting all day, not being able to get up and go whenever and wherever she wanted. Kids belong in daycare. There are reasons people are paid to take care of kids. She said all this while talking about any possible future kids she may have, as if they would be adornments to be worn when it suited her. She wasn't even sure if she wanted any and I wasn't brave enough to suggest that she probably shouldn't bother.

Another actual feminist felt very differently, however. She thought it was great that I stay home with my kids. I told her that I thought feminists thought women should be out in the world making a difference and getting equal pay to men. She said that feminist believe that women should be able to do whatever they want, and since I obviously loved what I was doing any real feminist should think that was cool.

Before the hair cut, the most recent example, and the one that made me think the most, was when I was checking into the hospital to have Spencer. The nurse was taking down all my information. For occupation I said "mother". She asked what I do for work. I (or Greg) told her that I don't work outside the home. I stay home and take care of my kids. She jotted that down (or possibly wrote "N/A" or "unemployed" and I think there was a brief interchange about it.

A little later the subject came up again and Greg said, well, she's a writer, and explained that I do some freelance writing from home. The lady was hugely impressed. "A writer! Oh! Why on EARTH did you say "mother!?!" You're not unemployed! You have a great job!" She said and/or expressed as much on her face.

I was not flattered by her admiration. I was alarmed that typing things on a computer was something worth mentioning (and praising), while intensively spending my time trying to shape four human beings into the very best people they can be, dedicating all (okay, most) of my thoughts, prayers and energy to four little people that look to me to meet their needs, for direction and guidance in making good and right decisions, for unconditional love and acceptance and for everything else they need to be physically, emotionally, intellectually and spiritually ready to make their own way in the world--that didn't count for anything in the space on the sheet of paper that was supposed to tell What I Am.

But that is exactly What I Am. And it doesn't matter if not everyone understands this--But a mother is not a nobody. She is the most important kind of somebody.

Cut Short

2011-04-14T21:41:00.005+02:00

I finally did away with the terrible haircut I've been sporting for the last few months. The cut I got on Monday was nice except for the three major things that were wrong with it.

So I took scissors to my own hair for the first time ever. Let me tell you, in case you are unaware: cutting one's own hair requires an entirely different level of skill than cutting one's children and husband's hair. In case you have never tried it I will paint you a picture:

It's like writing a story in a foreign language left-handed while looking at the paper upside down and in a mirror. The one difference being that if you get it wrong you can't just crumple the paper up and try again. Instead you are doomed to feel lame or wear a paper bag over your head whenever you're in public OR cut your hair really, really short.

I now have a renewed respect for people who cut their own hair well. Respect and also a slight hesitancy to believe them. (still, mine isn't bad enough to require a paper bag or shorter cut, but I'm not sure yet about how embarrassed I should feel to be seen in public.)

So anyway,

Actually, never mind. That was all lead-up to what I actually wanted to post about which has virtually nothing to do with poor haircuts, cutting one's own hair or even writing in foreign languages. But I'll post that one another day because going to bed sounds so very much better at the moment than trying to remember my point. And plus, cutting this post off awkwardly seems very fitting.

Mind Dump

2011-04-02T15:27:00.005+02:00

I'm getting excited for Conference. 2 1/2 hours to go! (the first session starts at 6pm here). Before that, though, I think it will help for me to empty my brain and thus I shall.

****************************

I'm in kind of a weird state. Between reading Mockingjay, watching Bourne Identity last night and thinking a lot about a facebook friend who just lost two of his fingers I just feel sort of in a war-ish haze. Remind me not to turn on CNN.

I would like to be like the facebook friend. A couple of days ago in his status update he said that by, way of update, he's been watching season 6 of Star Trek this week, made several observations about some of the characters and then at the end said "Oh, and I also crushed my hand and lost two of my fingers." I hoped it was an April Fools joke, but today he posted pictures. I commented that his hand is much cooler than everyone else's boring hands, that I was sorry and that I'm impressed with how upbeat he sounds. He replied that there's no use whining about it now. Then said, "...but for the record: I'd much rather have boring hands."

I think he's awesome.

***************************

Today I found a potato masher in one bathroom drawer and a remote control car in another.

***************************

Yesterday Aaron was running around the house, jumping into room after room declaring, "Mission COOOOM-PLETELY!!!"

***************************

Sometimes I feel wronged by my children and husband. In many ways they are good to me and make living with them worthwhile, but sometimes I just really, really want breakfast for dinner. I plan something delicious (pancakes with buttermilk syrup, french toast with strawberry freezer jam and whipped cream etc.) and every. single. one of them is disappointed when I announce what we're having or when they come sniffing into the kitchen.

It is one of the times I wish my nearest and dearest were a little more American. If I'd announced that we were having mushroom soup and pickled herring with sparkling water to drink they would have been delighted.

**********************

We had a wonderful dinner last night. Before we went into the kitchen to eat I told everyone, "You know how I like breakfast for dinner? (Evie already starts pulling a face) Well, today I decided we'd have dessert for dinner, just to be crazy. For April Fools' Day. I figured as long as we have a vegetable with it, we can call it dinner."

Sorry, this is the only picture anyone took

David almost cried after we made him taste the frosting and then told him he had to eat the whole cupcake. Of course it was a meatloaf cupcake with mashed potato frosting but I guess he doesn't love those kind of cupcakes. In all honesty it wasn't my favorite meal either... I could surely have gone for a REAL cupcake, though. Even if I had to eat all my peas. Next year I think I'll make a non-fake dessert for dinner on April 1st. Or maybe tomorrow night.

******************

Oh good. I think there's a bit more room in my brain for important stuff now. Enjoy Conference, everyone!

You Think You Know Me?

2011-03-25T09:52:00.008+01:00

Well, you don't.

But don't worry, I'm not sure I did either until I answered Stephanie's questions for her Find-A-Friend Friday today on her blog, Diapers and Divinity.

Now I know what I hate about motherhood (#2). I know that I can claim to be a homebody (#10) and then say that I love traveling (#4), all in the same interview. And I know that I can tell a whopping big lie*. (# 11). Oh, and also comment on my extreme honesty (intro).

No, I am not a "complicated" (read: confusing) or ironic person. Not me. And I don't much care for parenthesis, either (almost never use them).

To read her questions and my answers GO HERE. (and check out how awesome Stephanie is
while you're over there!!) You'll know you're in the right place if you see her cute button that looks like this:

*Someone once told me that when you are sarcastic/ironic you are lying. Fortunately for me she was wrong.

The Most Exciting List of ALL TIME!!!

2011-03-17T23:28:00.005+01:00

Please read no further if you have any issues with your heart or if you are not securely seated or standed. Otherwise, the greatness of this post may possibly have the hypothetical potential to BLOW YOU AWAY.

You have been warned.

A bucket list. I'm making one. I'm not much of a bucket list maker, really. I mostly just want to be a better mother and raise amazing kids. I don't care where we go on the way or how many side skills I develop or anything like that. I have no ambition (I believe I have mentioned this lack-of-quality of mine).

So the bucket list I present to you today is things I ABSOLUTELY MUST do before...............
We leave to go to Warsaw tomorrow afternoon.

(if you are still reading despite a weak heart, I beg you to turn away now!)

edit reports written this week and email to client
pack four thousand of everything. A few of each item for each person in the family
bake something to take to the mission president(s wife) since they've invited us to stay in the mission home (bake extra for friends we will hang out with while we're there)
try not to even peek at facebook or Catching Fire
wash all sheets and hang to dry while we're gone
keep Spencer awake, despite the fact that it will be his bedtime so he will sleep for at least part of the 4-5 hour drive
do not explode when Spencer refuses to stop hanging on me/whining while I'm rushing around because he is so tired he can't see straight*
make sandwiches/pack snacks
tidy house after everything (if time allows. HA!)
get as frazzled as possible so the drive and the upcoming fun will be as well-earned as possible

There you have it! Did you survive? I won't ask if that was the best list of any sort you have ever read. I think we all know the answer to THAT one.

This list has been brought to you by Melanie, who, I know I have never mentioned on this blog, so sorry to throw her out at you so randomly. Go here to find out how you can post a bucket list on your blog and get serious entry points to win her book, The List, or other awesome stuff she's giving away.

Add This to Your List

2011-03-09T14:50:00.004+01:00

I can tell you right now that if I had made a list fifteen years ago of the things I wanted to do before I got married -- I mean, if I had sat down and really thought it through -- it would have looked like this:

Make sure he's the right one.

Possibly with another short list of qualities that "the right one" might have.

But I never made that list. Because I was pretty sure I'd know him when I found him. And I did.

But not everyone's list would be as boring as mine. Not that mine would have been bad, just lacking in... adventure. Ambition. Interest. (and actual, un-obvious things to do before getting married)

A friend of mine, Ashley Barrett, had a list of her own. A paper on which she wrote 25 things that she absolutely had to do before she settled down to get married. And how much overlap do you think there was between her list and mine? Exactly none.

No, Ashley spent every day after she made her list (at age 18) specifically trying to not complete the task on my (past tense hypothetical) list. And besides, she had her own 25 things to work on. And though some of them were relatively simple things like "read a Russian classic" and "sing karaoke", there were others like, "get a sports car", "learn a language" and ""get a master's degree". And there's also the fact that for Ashley, "sing karaoke" was a harder one to complete than another one, to "climb a mountain".

Watching Ashley climb mountain after figurative mountain as she worked her way through her list was a joy. Besides that she's just a funny, confident and beautiful person, she also happens to be a smarty and a tiny bit of a spaz. Yes, she's fun to keep tabs on.

But I'm pretty sure she never could have guessed how it would all turn out with that list of hers. After 6 good years of slowly but resolutely chipping away at it, she came to the Summer From Hell.

Her hellish summer included months by the beach, an extremely hot surf coach-turned-love interest, plenty of activities, hanging out and Jamba Juice, a fun waitressing job, and an excellent new online friend.

Now how could that be hell, you might ask? That was the summer that her list started to get a little wrinkled. A bit scruffy around the edges. Not just from overuse (though it was certainly being used), but in a figurative sense, too.

Although she was completing more things from her list in those short months than in many years combined before that summer, the list was still in jeopardy. She lost her original, handwritten copy but typed it up again from memory. Still, she struggled not to lose sight of the goal of the list: to have no regrets when she got married. Nothing to look back on with resentment because she didn't do it when she had the chance.

Life seemed to be getting better and better as hanging onto those last few items on her list became harder and harder. Still, this is Ashley. She has a very strong grip.

Very strong.

I really wish you could all meet Ashley!! She is seriously awesome. Of course I've never met her either, but I still consider her a friend.

I know! Why don't you go get your to-do list and add one more item. I promise this one will be far less painful than "cut the kids' hair" or "scrub the grout in the shower". As a matter of fact, it might even be more fun than "go out on an awesome date with husband*" (don't tell him I said that) or "Eat a piece of Adam's peanut butter cup fudge ripple cheesecake". Write in "get this book:

Because it is FUN. Fun, fun, fun. Funny, sunny, with one Hot Honey. Oh my gosh, I just wrote that. And I'm leaving it. The book is clever, charming, and seriously delightful (unlike my rhyme above). And don't you want to know what happens with Ashley? It didn't all play out exactly how I expected (a good thing!) but/and it is a completely satisfying read. I love. I recommend. As strongly as Ashley holds onto 6-year-old resolutions. Or possibly stronger (see how I don't give anything away? I said possibly).

I've already told you what I think of Melanie J the blogger (hmmm, we could use the same adjectives that I used up there for the book! No, not the bad rhyme again, the clevercharmingdelighful thing), but you really need to get a feel for how stuffy and hoity-toity Melanie Jacobson the author is. Check out her author website. Seriously. Stu-ffy. And then click on the book to buy! If you're like me (and you know you are) you will be reading this one over and over to recapture the humor and FUN of it. (I'm sorry to keep going on about the fun, but the book is seriously ef-yoo-en.)

* I had a hard time wanting to sit down to a movie with Greg on Valentine's Day because I was in the middle of The List and really just wanted to read! Or better yet watch it on a screen with my honey. Maybe some day...

Built-in Girlfriend

2011-03-06T23:30:00.000+01:00

She didn't get much for Christmas this year. In fact, most of her presents were small amounts of money or tiny little gift certificates. The amount of each gift just about enough to buy a shirt.

She went out to spend her gift money at one store and came home excited to show me what she bought, not because she was excited to wear it to school the next day, but because it was for me. She hadn't found anything she loved so she decided to buy something to liven up our living room, a purple vase and some brown decorative rocks.

The next week she went to another store to get something with a gift certificate. When she came home she showed me the scarf and hat set she had chosen... for me. Again, nothing jumped off the shelf at her, so she chose something she knew I needed and made a gift of it.

---

I'm not the most physically affectionate person (or the second most, or third, either) and she recently told me we needed to hug more often, and we do. Now before bed she sometimes says, "Let's do this right" and comes for a hug while we say goodnight.

---

Thursday morning while I made the kids' lunches before school I was reviewing all the things I needed to get done before Greg's sister arrived in the afternoon for a weekend visit. I listed them aloud and Ev calculated that I had a good seven hours to get everything done. I whined that I didn't think it would be enough (I'm a professional whiner).

Without missing a beat she offered this advice, "First just make everything look nice, then worry about all the other stuff."

How well this girl knows me! I want things spotless before we have overnight guests and struggle every time to make that happen. I spend the day or two before they arrive working like crazy and often end up with not a speck of dust anywhere, clean light switches and doorknobs and organized toy drawers but also piles of books that haven't been put on shelves and pots from the night before that haven't been cleaned. And no dinner ready to eat. Whacked priorities.

She knows that, and her advice (tidy first, then scrub) could not have been more sound or helpful.

---

This morning we chatted while she fed Spence and I made sandwiches. Greg came into the kitchen to get some breakfast and listened in as I bagged the sandwiches for the trip (to church) and Ev filled up water bottles, talking the whole time.

It was getting late and we really needed to hit the road and our gabbing made Greg nervous so he said, "Okay guys. How 'bout no more talking; we really need to go." And then, "A little less conversation, a little more action." (which caused me to laugh, and also caused me to have a non-hymn stuck in my mind for the rest of this Sabbath morning)

---

Heaven knows I love my husband and my boys, but Heaven also knew that I needed a girlfriend and that's why He gave me Ewelina. I thank Heaven for her!!

Same to You but More of It

2011-03-01T15:30:00.004+01:00

I don't personally know any bad mothers. I am aware that there are some out there, but only from what I read or see in the news. This doesn't mean that I don't occasionally see or hear a mother doing something that I know is not in her children's best interest (including myself) but as a general rule, mothers are awesome.

We're awesome because every one of us does things right. Not everything, of course. Some days we might feel like we do hardly anything right, but I'm pretty sure we usually do more things right than wrong.

I love seeing when other mothers do something right that I haven't thought to do, or used to do but seem to have forgotten. And I love when another mother thinks I've done something well. I love how we can learn more right things to do from each other.

Two weekends ago we visited a branch that has a few really great families in it. The Zańs are a super sweet clan with a mother who is incredibly patient and takes her responsibility as a mother more serious than most other moms I know. She is also a very good friend of mine and we talk motherhood a lot. She is a super humble person and, despite her awesomeness as a mom, asks advice, always wanting to be better.

She drove with her husband and 3 boys, ages 4 and under, an hour each way just to hang with me and my four kids in our hotel room on Saturday! Being around her made me want to be a better mother. It always does. She is so loving and teaches her very intelligent kids about the gospel and how to be creative in such a motherly way. It's hard to describe, but here's what she and her family look like:

Another family is the Cielenskis, the branch president and his wife and daughter. Agata is a wonderful mother and has lots of experience with kids and is just a logical thinker and instinctive mother. Her daughter is 10 months old but she was already asking me how I get my kids to behave at church.

Well, this is a great question for the wife of a branch president to ask. I asked myself it about ten years ago. Greg has been sitting on the stand for that long (well, only on Sundays. He comes home and goes to work etc. during the week) and, as a Single Sacrament Meeting Mom, having kids who behaved at church was not a luxury, but a necessity for me. I shared my tricks with Agata and then told her what I'd learned from her that Sunday:

Here is her baby chomping on a carrot as a snack/toy (and Aaron staring in wonder). I have never had my babies do that (!). And I really want Spencer to love veggies. I have started giving him carrots to gnaw on (when he is well supervised, of course). My life is better for having learned that.

The main thing other people seem to think is good about my kids is their public behavior. They are mostly pretty well behaved at church, in restaurants and other places where we expect them to be calm and civilized and I am happy, when asked, to share how I try to train my kids in those situations in exchange for information, much of which I gain through observation, such as how to be more patient with my kids or teach them good eating habits.

Thanks, other mothers, for the things you teach me just by being the good moms you are! And also, please never come to my house and see how my kids act in their own environment. :)

Today, and My Kids Can't Speak English.

2011-02-26T14:36:00.009+01:00

We are Gregless this weekend. He is making his way to Warsaw on invitation to attend the District Conference there. On our trip last weekend when he left us in the hotel for the day he told the kids, "Be good and helpful today, guys. When I come back I want a wife with hair." Today he didn't say anything like that, I'm sure because he knows I have this day planned out. Cleaning, reading, story writing, M&M eating, homeworking, baking, movie watching; it's gonna be awesome.

After some cleaning we sat down to our chicken Caesar salad for lunch. Aaron pointed to the bag of Parmesan and said, "I don't like to eat this sugar. It's yucky." I have to say, I think it's the grosses sugar I've ever eaten, too.

While we ate, I asked our well-travelled children where on the road to Warsaw they thought daddy was. They calculated that he had been driving about two hours and David guessed he might be in Kraków about then. Or maybe Kielce. Evie guessed that he was probably somewhere between Kielce and Kraków. This, of course, is only funny if you know Poland or have a map in front of you. The kids only know that our two nearest branches are each about two hours away and they are Kielce and Krakow so Greg must be in one of those two cities, right? (or somewhere in between). Never mind where they are situated compared to Warsaw. Or each other.

********

Aaron is my first child who makes all the cute grammatical errors you expect of a two/three year old. He does not use past tense. Instead he uses did+present tense. Always. Very scriptural of him.

I have no idea why he does this. He comes to me excitedly declaring, "I did find my dinosaur!" I say, "Oh, great job! Where was it?" and he says, "It did be in the play room."

Last night David was explaining why he got an A+ on an assignment and he said, "So I was supposed to write a zadanie (story problem) and I did it really good, so my--". I cut him off with a "What?". Knowing what I meant he answered, "I did it really good...ly?"

I really wish my boys did speak English more goodly.
(not really. I appreciate the laughs I get out of their mistakes.)
Now excuse me while I get back to our excellent Saturday.

Time Traveler

2011-02-24T14:30:00.003+01:00

One of my favorite things about dying is that afterwards (at least at some point) you're able to travel in time. As far as I know this is not strictly doctrine, it is more of an obvious (to me) truth and one of the things that makes dying worth the hassle.

I really wish I could travel in time now. The fact that I'd like to travel back in time far more than I care to see the future perfectly reflects my taste in literature: give me the classics over sci-fi any day. I often imagine taking an iPhone to Molly Gibson or Lucy Snowe and making their day. Which, I realize, would be combining the classics with science fiction or, rather, science fact. And Molly and Lucy may be fictional characters but that wouldn't stop me..

I won't be visiting any of my beloved book characters any time soon but I have done some time traveling.

For our date last week Greg and I went to a little cafe for some cake. Afterward, the romantic part of our date was a visit to a large, German chain drugstore that just opened in our town. Oh how I love Rossman.

They have everything there. Everything I tell you, as this story will show. Wandering down the aisles, staring in wonder at the variety of everything they had, I rounded a corner and saw a wall full of chapstick. More chapstick than I've seen in one store in Poland ever. And one entire row was Carmex. Carmex!! I haven't seen that stuff in forEVER!! (not to be confused with "I have never seen that stuff").

I grabbed a tube and took it to show Greg. "Throughout high school I wore Carmex all day every day and I haven't seen it in forever! I think it's addicting because once you start wearing it you have to keep wearing it. Really, I think I read somewhere that it is addicting. Carmex! Honey! I'm buying Carmex!"

As we walked to the parking lot I took the package out of the bag and started reading it. We got to the car, settled in and started driving through the night toward home. I twisted off the lid and applied the goo to my lips.

Oh. My. Gosh.

Suddenly I was in a car full of friends on our way to a tri-stake dance. The Cure was playing and I had the familiar butterflies in my stomach from anticipation of one of my favorite social activities. I had visions of what the cultural hall would look like and who would be there.

Whoa. After a few minutes I was back in the car with Greg on our way home from our date. The Cure was still playing, it was still night and I still had that vague sense I was back in high school, but I knew I really wasn't.

It was weird. Not just deja vu. I actually travelled in time.

Then a few days later I bought some chocolate covered Digestive cookies. One night we sat around the kitchen table and I opened the cookies for dessert. I took one bite and

Holy. Hannah.

Evie and David were 3 and 5 years old and the warm summer sun was streaming in through the windows of our 9th story apartment. We were having a snack as part of our structured day in our tidy living room. I was an awesome mother with darling kids again! Pass the Digestives!! I could go for more of that and, again, it was so real.

Now I don't want to go all Bella and seek out this kind of thrill by buying up some of everything I've ever eaten or used in the past that has memories tied to it. I also don't want to be obsessed with the perks of the next life like Aaron who tells me many times a day, "I'm gonna get bigger and bigger and then I'm gonna die. Then when I'm a scary ghost I'm gonna FLY!!!" with all sorts of excitement. I'll wait patiently for death and its benefits to come in its proper season. For now I'll just keep building memories knowing that some day I'll love coming back here, like when I am transported upon opening a box of the kind of soap we're using right now, or something.

I found this post that I started months ago unfinished in my drafts but I think it's interesting that I mention the time travel thing after we die, just like I sort of did about being able to revisit the days of nursing babies.

"Please Refrain. . .

2011-02-22T16:45:00.001+01:00

. . . from using profanity while I'm in the vicinity."

My sister, Anne, and I were probably 13 and 14 years old and at the height of our cleverness when we came up with that little gem. What a perfectly polite and intelligent way to let those around us know our tender ears were being defiled by their undiscriminating vocabulary. I'm not sure we ever actually used it, though neither of us was reticent when it came to making our displeasure at the sound of foul language known to those who used it.

On one of our trips to Disneyland we heard some profanity and lots and lots of "Remain seated please. Permanecer sentado por favor", which was our inspiration for a little addition to our catch phrase, "Please refrain from using profanity while I am in the vicinity. Exit to your left and thank you for your support."

Oh, my. It really is a wonder we had any friends given our level of dorkiness. Sure we didn't actually say this to anyone but the very fact that our brains came up with it and we thought it was awesome are clear evidences that we probably did not deserve any.

Once in my 10th grade Spanish class we were taking turns reading some dialogue. When it came to me, instead of "Dios mio!" I said "Ay, caramba!" My teacher did not appreciate it and asked why I could not just read the text as it was printed. There is a slight chance that I was one of the few who understood her extremely dry and harsh sense of humor and the only one who responded with sarcasm, so she did not especially like me. When this incident happened I explained that I do not take the Lord's name in vain. She assured me that this is perfectly acceptable in Spanish. I assured her that I would not say it in any language. She stared at me in silence for a long while before moving on.

I grew up in a home where there was very, very little swearing. I remember running to my parents and tattling that one of my older brothers had said the f-word. My dad asked what he said, and I whispered in his ear, "fagot".

When my mother was at her whit's end she would say things like, "Oh, fiddlesticks!" or, on a really bad day, "Dang, dang, double dang!" I believe my dad swore on the very, very rare occasions he got really angry.

I remember the first time I ever swore when I was about 13. I had a friend who used mild swear words occasionally. She was at my house and we were sitting there chatting and I said, "What the he**" in the conversation. I stopped suddenly, in shock. My friend laughed and told me it was okay! I... started crying and never swore again until after I had children. (no more about that later)

So the concept of using bad language just to color your normal sentences is one I don't get. It seems so very jr.high and high school to me. Some of my old friends from high school still use language like that occasionally on facebook and I feel like, "did you never grow up?" The answer, of course, is "no". I mean, the answer is that they just live in a different world than I do. And also a different country.

And speaking of which: I love living in Poland. I never hear any swearing here at all. This is not because this is the only country in the world that doesn't have or use swear words, but because I don't know any of them. The only way I ever know that someone is using bad language is when my husband or children say something about it.

Teenagers over here live in the same world as teenagers (and former teenagers who became adults and still use obscene language all the time) in America . We were reminded of this one day when Greg was planning to wait in the cafe area of our grocery store while I did the shopping. As always, there was a group of teenage boys hanging out and being extremely cool. Their language was awful. Greg sat there for awhile and then told me that he could not stand it. I told him I was sorry for him and left to shop.

Forty-five minutes later I paid for the food, returned to the cafe area with my loaded cart and saw that the boys were just leaving the area. As they walked past Greg they gave him the "sup?" head tilt (what do you call that?) I asked him what in the world had happened.

He told me that one kid saw him looking at them in disgust and the kid asked Greg if he had a problem. Greg asked him if they had to use that kind of language. The kid was insolent. Greg explained that some people simply do not want to hear that kind of talk. The kid said that it doesn't bother them. Greg explained that he was sure it didn't but that it did bother many of the people who had to listen to it. It was as if this kid had never heard such a crazy thing.

The boys kept cussing but had somehow come to respect Greg for expressing his difference of opinion. They seemed to understand that he was living on a different planet than them and could respect his alien culture. Not enough to give up their swearing for a few minutes, but still.

Miss Delacourt FINALLY Has Her Day (on my blog)

2011-02-15T17:12:00.002+01:00

Last summer, no wait, summer before last (!!) I was in the most difficult part of my pregnancy. I wanted only to lay in bed and read book after book, and that is just what I did. I escaped from the pregnancy induced depression that was threatening to smash my heart, if not my entire self, by stepping into other people's stories. And it helped.

One of the books I escaped into I had been waiting almost a year to get my hands on. My opinion of the author I will state after I tell a little about the book.

It looks like this (the book, not the author, though she's lovely, too):

The large print version happens to look a lot like my current background (put up just for this post in honor of Heidi, lover and grower of the most beautiful roses and also because the book has a rose growing/thieving element!):

See?

This was the first modern regency period romance novel I have read (I may possibly have bungled the genre a little). I saw one review that said in effect, "This book will mostly appeal to those who like other classic or period novels." I have to say, my personal reflections are that this book can appeal to people who prefer books outside the genre. Yes, it is full of phrases in both dialogue and narrative, that harken back to a time when English was more lovely to the ears, but I think there is much about this book that will appeal to readers of modern chick lit as well.

Every character in Miss Delacourt Speaks Her Mind has a distinct personality with their own quirks that contribute to the fun of this comedy. Just like comedies that take place in more modern settings, you have the person you want to smack, the one you roll your eyes at, the one you want to high five, and the ones you are hoping will finally fall in love with each other etc. The colorful cast of characters goes from misadventure to misadventure, much like more modern heroes/heroines, but rather than scoffing at someone's terrible DVD selection they are gagging over a poor recitation of an even poorer poem. Rather than cruising down the freeway, these ones are driving carriages through the countryside and so on and so forth.

If I was better at weaving words together this is the order in which I would put them to describe this book (L.T. Elliot is a master word crafter so I begged to borrow hers. She also happens to be one of the most sympathetic bloggers and future authors I know.):

"Miss Delacourt does speak her mind--which is exactly why she doesn't fit in typical London society. The well-speaking masks and feigned affections are just the sort of thing Ginny would rather do without. So when her great-aunt traps her with Sir Anthony, the very picture of everything abhorrent to her, Ginny is determined to discover whether the mask he wears can be removed of if he's worn it too long to be anything other than a pompous fake.

With broken carriages, quarantines, and poets catching fire, Miss Delacourt Speaks Her Mindentertains up to the very last page. Jovial and light hearted...the characters and side stories will have you guessing who comes out on top while you chuckle over their unbelievable antics. You'll find yourself wishing the Hero will abandon his stoic ways while hoping the heroine can be tamed. Can a happy medium be found? Who will give in? Read it and find out!"

And now the sequel to the story is out!! My copy is on it's way to my sister's house, from whence it will come to ME! It's called Miss Delacourt Has Her Day and looks like this:

Doesn't that cover almost make you wish you lived in a day when your lady's maid spent a half an hour buttoning your dress to get you ready for the day, or more likely, the evening?

You can purchase either (or both!!) of these books by following the links on their titles, or you can request that your library carry them. As a matter of fact, why don't you do that anyway? Don't you think the people in your city need to read these books? Super easy to ask that the library order them next time you're there!

Now, about the author. Heidi Ashworth happens to be one of my favorite blogging friends. Again, our differences (like with Melanie) are the things I love most about her.

She is sensitive and considerate
She has a well developed sense of style and an awesomely decorated home, which looks exactly like you're walking into one of her books.
She is wise. She is slightly older than me, but probably has 20 times more life experience than I have
She has about a billion BIG things that she could complain about but rarely does (I have a few small things that I always DO complain about.)

I have had a number of good discussions with Heidi. These are sometimes centered on things we disagree on slightly. I don't know why, but I love that. I really, really want to sit on a couch with her and just chat. About anything! I've invited her over but she still has never come. I'll bake something gluten free!! Come on, what's a few thousand miles between friends!?! :) I guess we'll just continue to converse through email. Love you, Heidi!

Mourning Temporarily

2011-02-13T11:30:00.005+01:00

Last night after I changed Spencer, I left the room to throw the diaper away and wash my hands. When I came back he was still laying right where I'd changed him, half asleep. It was an hour earlier than he normally goes to bed but I decided to put him down anyway, he was so sleepy.

He and I both have colds so we stayed home while Greg took everyone else to church. In the quiet house this morning I realized something. Before I put Spencer down last night I didn't nurse him. I've been doing only the one feeding right before bed for the last two months or so. In recent weeks it is more and more symbolic and less and less to provide any sort of nourishment. I have been planning to quit completely for the last week or so. This morning I realized that, just like that: it's all over.

And I sob.

I have spent four and a half years of my life nursing my babies. There have been times when I almost would rather have died and times when I was sure it was not worth it. I have often been forced to sit down and cuddle my baby to me when I did not have time or to retrain a newborn who seemed to suddenly forget how he had been getting his sustenance for days or weeks before.

I have spent countless hours pondering the wonder of being able to feed my babies any time I need to, to provide everything their little bodies require. I think about my body and the miracle it is and all that it has done for the people I love most in all the world. I think about how much that love has grown in the days and weeks and months of cumulative hours I have spent gazing down at a sweetly nursing baby. How grateful I am for that. For all of it. The good and the difficult.

And suddenly I have come to the end of it all. And I can't bear it. How do people bear these things, "The Lasts"?

My life is so full. I love my children dearly and find it hard to contain the excitement and happiness I experience watching them learn new things every day. A toy drops and Spencer says, "Uhhh-oooooooh" for the first time, his lips forming the cutest little "O" as he says it. Aaron comes up with the idea to bring a stool to the stove where I'm making "crunchy cheese" for him. Climbing on it he says, "Oh! Now I can see betterly!" David gets his first retainer and is so excited to feel that the protruding tooth he's been hating for years is starting to move backward and I know he will be way too handsome. Evie pulls me into another room, excited to tell me about the "Między nami Kobietami" ("Between us Women") maturation class she had at school.

So many firsts, all the time.

Right now I mourn this last.The grief is real and the sobs are deep. Does it go away, this ache in your heart when one of the most important, challenging and fulfilling things of the last 12 years of your life has ended? Forever?

I will keep a more vigilant eye open for "firsts" and rejoice in all the good things my babies bring into my life today. And tomorrow. And I will content myself with the feeling that somehow I will have all the yesterdays back. I don't know how it works but I know that one day I will have a fullness of joy, and that can only mean that these experiences will be part of me, as they are now, but without the tragedy of their being only a memory.

Recommendations, Please!

2011-02-08T22:00:00.002+01:00

If you're not interested in my blah, blah, blogging journey skip to below the stars if you want to know how you can help me out.

There was a time, years ago, when I was obsessed with blogging. Nothing terrible, just the way most of us felt early on when we were making lots of new friends and really coming to love this community and the ability to toss out things we are thinking about, however important, trivial, silly or serious, and the surprise of realizing that we aren't the only one, or at least if we are, people like us anyway.

It was pretty early on that I realized that it was getting to be too much. I was on the computer too long. The little follower widget was a source of happiness but I realized that I kept looking at everyone's number. I hated that. "Oh! She's got a lot of new followers since I last checked!!" and "What is the deal!?! Why isn't she getting more followers!?!" I felt it was against my own philosophy (blog for fun and don't worry about number of comments or followers). So, to keep from feeling like it was a competition, I removed the widget.

Soon after that I realized that I could not keep up with everyone who visited or followed my blog. I seriously hated knowing that I was missing out on potentially awesome friendships but I hated even more knowing that I was missing out on my children's potentially awesome childhoods.

Awhile later I had the pregnancy from Hades and had no desire to communicate with anyone, though I did try to peek in on others now and again. The baby came and suddenly family was all I ever thought (and sometimes blogged) about.

As things normalized I started getting back into reading blogs and posting occasionally. I realized that many of my friends had also stopped posting regularly (or at all!) while I'd been pre(self)occupied. Sad! But then I definitely understand.

******

Here we are today. I feel fairly disciplined in my blogging habits since getting back into it and I am realizing that with the changes in my friends' blogging frequency I can definitely afford to add a few more blogs to my reader. Now my problem is that I don't know which ones to add. I definitely don't want to spend hours blog-hopping to find people that "fit" me, so I thought I might ask YOU.

I really value having blogging friends that I feel are either like me, or like the person I'd like to be in some way or another. I guess that is sort of the definition of "friend". Duh.

Anyway, so who do you think I might like (or love) to read? I don't read any of the hugely popular blogs but I would if you told me I had to, but mostly I'm wondering about the people in your comment trails that I have seen around all this time but never got around to checking out their blogs.

Could you let me know (by either comment or email) who are maybe a few of your favorite bloggers? I would really appreciate it! It will narrow down the time I spend searching out new people and give me more time to make my children's childhoods awesome. Ha!

(I am looking forward to Stephanie's Find-a-friend Fridays! I'm already emailing the first one from friday, Jocelyn, about some family history info she needs from Poland! Hooray for new friends!)

Becoming My Mother

2011-02-06T20:31:00.004+01:00

There are many ways in which I want to be like my mom. There are also some ways I don't mind not being like her. For example, my mom is approximately three feet tall, and I don't particularly care to sink to her level on that one (kidding! She's like 4'9" or something).

I have earned the absentmindedness she mastered long ago (one of motherhood's awards). I am getting the lack of attentiveness down, too. She showed it by "listening" to what we said with a faraway look and then slowly repeating the last three or four words of our discourse, as if it might help her register the other 300 words that came before (it did not help and she never remembered what we had said). I show my inattentiveness by saying, "I'm thinking of a million things right now: tell me later. " or just "Now is not a good time." or occasionally, "Leave me the heck alone." (they know I'm kidding) or if I'm stressed, "I don't care right now." (such a dear, dear mother!)

Another thing I have in common with my mother is the ability to laugh at myself. I am grateful to have inherited this trait. If my future is going to be anything like my mother's I'm going to need it. It's a good thing she has this one mastered because her offspring are terrible teasers and there is nobody we like to tease more than mom (and she makes it so easy! Love you, mom).

Evie is already starting to tease me a lot. She has always been the best laugher at jokes but now she laughs at my personality a lot, too. This is a good thing because I sort of talk through things a lot and my internal dialogue comes out, which is often humorous (for one reason or another) and so should be laughed at, I suppose. But it's the making fun of me that I'm not sure I'm ready for.

Tonight we had this conversation:

Me: (looking at the clock) What!?! It's 7:20 already!?! I don't believe that!!

Greg: (in a sing-song voice) You never do.

Me: I know. I have never, ever believed it was 7:20. Not once.

Evie: No mom, you're supposed to say, "How did that happen!?!"

Me: (seriously confused) What? Am I often surprised at how late it is?

Evie, Greg, David: giggles/laughter

Me: Ugh.

And so it begins, I suppose. I guess I'd better start getting used to it since as we age my absentmindedness will only get worse and my kids will only get sassier. *sigh*

Peculiar People

2011-02-02T21:37:00.008+01:00

So you know how people in all ages have made a mockery of the prophets and their counsel? The same thing is happening today. I know this because of something David said at school that got his class laughing.

His (nosy) teacher for some reason was asking him in what situation Greg and I would leave him and his siblings home alone. David said, "For example when they go on a date."

After a brief pause his classmates erupted in giggles and his teacher looked confused. "Aren't your mom and dad married?"

I know a lot of the things the prophet counsels us to do seem silly or unnecessary or just plain absurd to many people today. Apparently for David's class, continuing courtship after marriage is one of those things. I am very happy to have had a part in providing such entertainment to those tittering nine year olds.

And after David assured his teacher that we were indeed married his teacher got over her surprise and told him, "Well then, you have cool parents."

Maybe she'll go home and ask her husband out on their first date in 20 years.

Life is not Fair AT ALL

2011-01-31T14:30:00.002+01:00

Being one is hard.

Things that frustrate Spencer almost to tears (over and over):

* When he goes to the effort to bring two pairs of his shoes to me, back and forth, back and forth from the hall, and I only put one pair on him (at a time. He wants four shoes on his two feet, please.)

* When he gives us his sippy cup because he's thirsty and we take it and walk away with it. Sure, we may be walking toward the kitchen and saying things like, "You want a drink? Come on, I'll get you some water." but obviously we're actually just stealing the cup (which he just handed us) and not only NOT going to get him a drink but will probably never give the cup back at all. (hence the flopping on the floor and the accompanying wails of devastation)

* Wooden toys that will NOT stick to the heater (radiator), no matter how many times he puts them against it. Such stubborn, stubborn blocks. If the refrigerator magnets can do it, why can't they?

I hope he makes it through these trials okay, poor thing.
p.s. I'm in the running for most tacky/obnoxious blog background. Think I'll win? What? You're already gone and not coming back after being bombarded with hearts. Oh. Sorry. But Happy Valentines Day!

In which I Gush

2011-01-26T19:30:00.003+01:00

(Consider yourself duly warned, although the title may sound more gruesome than this post is meant to be. Some titles write themselves and will not be changed.)

I have this blogging friend. I love reading her blog. 2 1/2 years ago hers was one of the first I chose off of the MMB website because the first post I read was like something straight out of a Sophie Kinsella book.

Since then I have gotten to know her through her blog. I have read about her awesome life in the OC and her previous life in Louisiana with her deaf parents and a fine-cooking Pawpaw. She has a colorful existence that she writes about with humor and straightforwardness (two things I love).

In 2009 I had the chance to break bread with her (well, split a dulce de leche crepe -- still, division of a starchy food) . I have eaten her delicious mint fudge and have a recipe recommended by her on my regular rotation (corn chowder).

Things we have in common:

love of food
height (just under 5'6")
amazing husbands (plural! Not a common husband. Separate husbands. Both awesome, in different ways.)

Ways we differ:

she has fashion sense (mine went missing after college and has not been seen since)
her baby's a girl (mine's a boy)
her second-to-last child throws up sometimes (mine doesn't, really)
she writes books and they get published (I don't write any and they never get published)

On her blog, Write Stuff, she was once Melanie J but then she became Melanie Jacobson, because she is now a (soon to be) published author and authors have complete last names that they don't mind people knowing about.

Her first book comes out in March and I'm so excited. I've been excited about it since I mentioned it on my blog back when she was still writing it. That was exactly two years before it will be published (!!! Check out this post wherein I mention it at the beginning and end). And I can't wait to get my hands on it. In March. I mean, just look at this:

Until her book graces us we will get by on a few posts of hers that I LOVE.

First: A funny one. Very funny. Melanie is pretty secure in her awesomeness (and well she should be!) and describes a time when it backfired.

Second: A moral one. A story of an exasperated mother at her snapping point and a stranger who rescued her. One that makes you want to be a better and more understanding person.

Third: A moving one. This is one of my new all-time favorite posts. The sad story of true love and dying from the daughter of the lovers. I bawled. (I love every post about her parents).

She is a seriously great writer and awesome person and I'm so glad to call her a friend. If you haven't already, please read those posts!! And then pick up her book in March!

The Fruits (Vegetables) of Procrastination

2011-01-19T22:40:00.001+01:00

(Herbs are vegetables, right? Or vegetable-like, anyway? Good.)

Greg's parents are here this week. This is a wonderful thing. I hardly ever have to wash dishes and apart from meeting some very basic needs of the little ones, the only thing I have to do is remind Aaron to let babcia breathe now and again.

The night they drove in I decided to make chicken noodle soup. I'm a bad soup maker. Yes, I tend to point out flaws in everything I create but with soup I am not being overly critical when I say I really am Very Bad at it (i.e. whipping it up without a recipe).

Actually I think that was sort of beside the point, but I had to mention it in case anybody might think I make delicious soups. I can't have people thinking that.

So I only had chicken, broth, carrots and some spices. I really wanted parsley, but we didn't have any.

Then, when I heard the kids playing out back I remembered something. In the middle of November, before it had snowed I went out into our teeny tiny garden (foot-wide strips in the shape of an L maybe 8 feet and 20 feet long) and tried to dig up everything that should have been dug up months before. It was way too hard (I didn't use any tools because I didn't see how they could help. I'm an idiot.) so I left most everything there. Especially the parsley. We had a lot of parsley and it was stubbornly stuck in the ground. I planned to try again later (meaning tell Greg that it was Man's Work and he should really do it).

Before we had the chance to procrastinate for more than three days it snowed and everything was covered in a foot or three of snow for two months. Last week all that snow melted and what was underneath it? Beautiful, green, fresh looking (albeit smashed flat on the ground) parsley.

That parsley was just exactly what the soup needed to make it approximately as unimpressive as every other pot of soup I've ever made. Hooray for procrastination!

Mea Culpa

2011-01-09T23:00:00.002+01:00

You know how you sometimes do something you shouldn't and then, soon after, something bad happens and you are sure it's your fault for having been so evil?

Well. I have a tale to tell.

It's a good thing Greg has seen On the Way Home so many hundreds of times because today while we were. . . On our Way Home from church we got a flat. Greg was able to change it in his suit and dress coat, (his stylish scarf blowing in the breeze) on the side of a very busy freeway between Katowice and Krakow. I'm sure this is because of his having seen that girl (the one who says "Maybe she's WRONG!!") change that flat tire so many times. However, we did not have great 90's music playing in the background while he did it. I guess that is not built into the process.

So I know why Greg was able to change the flat so quickly and efficiently but I wish I didn't know why we got the flat in the first place.

I was not aware that I had committed a sin until last night. As a matter of fact, even then, I thought it was just funny.

At the hotel, just after turning off my light, I hit "random scripture" on my scripture app. As is often the case when I read by this method, the scripture was incredibly relevant to my current situation.

It was Proverbs 13:24 "He that spareth his rod hateth his son: but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes." That is a good one, but it was the one right after, and the last one in the chapter that hit home:

"The righteous eateth to the satisfying of his soul: but the belly of the wicked shall want."

With my stomach growling from want of carbohydrates I laughed out loud and read it to Greg. I decided to repent and quit my diet the next morning.

But then we went to breakfast and I skipped the DELICIOUS crusty rolls that I usually eat two of with 4 or 6 helpings of butter and had cottage cheese and a slice of ham instead.

Sinner am I. Which, of course, is why we got a flat tire.

We were safe and everything. I mean, if it had happened a half an hour later it would have been dark and very difficult to change. If it had happened last week it would have been below freezing and snowy. It could have been much worse. No thanks to me, though. It wouldn't have happened at all if I had satisfied my soul with those peanut butter brownies last week, making me righteous again.

At least Greg's righteousness (i.e. having church videos memorized) saved the day! Thank goodness we really do balance each other out with our strengths and weaknesses in marriage and make up for what our spouse lacks. (Although, come to think of it, I wouldn't be on this diet if it wasn't for him, since he succeeded at it and set the example, wicked man.)

I think I will print out that scripture and post it on the fridge.

Brownies for Lisa (a Charity)

2011-01-05T22:30:00.002+01:00

People who give up on their diet three days in deserve congratulations too, don't they? I mean, that was a hellish three days. Sure they may be quitting and showing a serious lack of stick-to-itiveness, but do you realize what that person went through?

For example, she (let's assume it's a girl) may have not had any starchy foods at all that whole time, even when she went to a local bakery and bought a drożdżówka z serem (yeast roll with sweet (cream) cheese) and broke it up and fed it to her little boys. By hand. Not even a crumb! H-E-double-hockey-sticks, I tell you.

She may have made regular dinners for the rest of the family containing things like pasta and homemade bread dough (for pigs in a blanket. Said dieter may not be very strongly opposed to good quality hot dogs (making the resisting of the pigs harder than you might expect). In fact she and her birthday brother may have requested them every year for their birthday dinner growing up.)

She may have been deprived of sweets. Sure she could possibly have used sweetner (ICK!) in more than a few cups of fat-free hot cocoa. And maybe she's allowed diet coke (which she doesn't care for but drinks because it's something resembling something sugar-sweet.)

But if this is a person who has spent years living on baked goods, doing away with starch and sugar and fat is literally HELL. (just kidding. I DO know what hell is and what literally means. I'm using hell as a metaphor so therefore I don't actually mean it literally.)

So, yeah. I totally feel like giving up! But I won't! See, I fooled you into thinking I'd quit, but no. Not me! Especially since I lost half the weight I want to lose in the first three days of the diet. I'd be stupid to stop now!

The thing is, I REALLY need some peanut butter brownies. I absolutely must make these ones, which are good, chewy, brownie textured brownies that are deliciously peanut buttery. Simple but fabulous (if you cook them the right length of time). Or maybe these ones. A bit more involved and with a different texture but completely addicting. I've made them both many times and I need to make them right now.

Unless someone would be so good as to do it for me? Maybe someone who's not on a diet (oh, who am I kidding, it's the week after New Years: everyone is dieting.) Please bake a batch of one or the other and eat it for me, would you?

See, this is exactly my problem. Sure I am excited about getting down to my ideal weight; who doesn't love sweaters to look better on them? And sure I hope to have amazingly beautiful skin like Greg's, but mostly I want to cut back on baked goods.

I am, apparently, incapable of just plain cutting back. I can't bake something and then not snack on it all day. It is lame. (and I can't just not bake, either) Knowing quite a bit about the Dukan diet, and having seen Greg and both his mother and sister benefit greatly from it, I thought it was the perfect way to completely break away from my eating habits. I needed an actual list of foods I cannot eat if I want the diet to work. And brownies had to be on that list.

So here I am, not eating cookies or brownies for three days in a row. And I'm not even dying! Almost, but not all the way. This extreme phase will be very short for me and then I'll be allowed a splurge twice a week (eating a completely regular meal or even a dessert. Of course I will choose dessert). When the diet is over I will only allow myself to bake dessert one night a week and have to make it last two or three nights for dessert. The other nights I'll buy exotic fruits or give the kids chips or some other treat we don't eat a lot of.

I can do this. And I will! Especially if you'll go and bake and eat that batch of peanut butter brownies on my behalf!

P.S. I never thought I would do a "fad diet" like this. I have never dieted, but I feel like this one makes sense, especially for what I need it to do for me. Also, I apologize for all the swear words in this post.

This post should probably have some sort of title but it's not really about anything

2011-01-01T21:24:00.008+01:00

*I had a dream in which I saw a lot of people doing different things. I don't really remember details, it was mostly just regular life stuff, but some people would talk about one or another of the others saying that they were "a good Christian". They were all from different religions. This dream caused me to think for days about whether or not anyone would ever even wonder of think about whether or not I was Christian just based on what I say and do (and especially do). I am still thinking about it.

*Aaron (who will be 4 in April) threw up for the first time last week. It was a gag reflex thing because Greg made him try an orange. What a bad father.

*It should come as no surprise that we had Christmas dinner with our holiday friends. I ate one of the best meals I've ever eaten (she did all the cooking) and between that and all the holiday treats we've been making and eating (I've been a little out of control) I am really in need of some serious reigning-it-in. May try the diet Greg used.

*I love the New Year and made a good list of things I want to change/improve about myself in general, goals for the year, monthly and daily goals and plans etc. It is rather depressing to realize how much I need to change to be (even half) the person (mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend) I want to be. Could someone please just zap me and make me perfect? Thanks in advance.

*Finally went sledding today for the first time. Can you spot all four kids?

(hints: one is sweeping snow off the stairs, one's blending into the neighbors' fence and doing nothing, as usual, one's about to throw a snowball and one is trying to grab my phone)

*Kind of a bummer that the snow suit that Greg's parents gave Spencer for his birthday doesn't fit him -- at all. This was the second and last time he will be wearing it. (Greg's glad, as he thinks it is embarrassingly ugly. I think it's fine with the matching hat from an uncle and gloves from grandma, but I do feel like adjusting my own pants every time I look at this.)

*I hope everyone is ready for a wonderful new year in which to become perfect! (no, I'm kidding. I do plan on choosing the most important/doable things for now and worrying about the impossible stuff later. I'm sick of the impossible stuff.)

*So actually just HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

The Last Shall Be First

2010-12-21T22:25:00.001+01:00

Or maybe I should say: "[Our] Last Shall [Have His] First (birthday)" or "The Last Shall Be [One]".

Because Spencer's turning one year old.

I cannot believe it. I almost DO not believe it, but then I sometimes see this little boy in my house crawling around, babbling, and dumping olive oil all over the kitchen floor and I think, "Wait. Do newborns do this? Who is this child?" and, after some internal deliberation, I am forced to believe.

I guess it all makes sense when you actually total up all the minutes he's spent doing things. I mean, he spent:

314,521 minutes sleeping

and about that long hanging out in his carseat
115,306 minutes spending quality time with siblings

3,238 minutes disregarding clearly defined rules such as no fingers in the VCR
and no draining out all the drinking water
5,645 minutes having his cheeks squished, kissed, patted or wiped
40 minutes being mistaken for a doll
216,357 minutes figuring things out
like a mirror
or a glove
and 156,284 minutes shocking his mom with the blueness of his eyes and sweetness of his features

So I guess when you add that all up, and account for (a lot of) overlap you have a total of 525,600 minutes, which is. . . one year. And numbers don't lie. Or so I hear.

There is nothing I could say about this past year that wouldn't sound completely cliche. My heart can hardly hold the love I have for this boy or the joy I feel when I see the happiness he brings to his siblings.

I love how he drops what he's doing at the first sound of laughter so he can stare, smile and then squeal at the laugher. I love how he has just started to give hugs spontaneously. I love, love love the sound of his "da da da", the "d" sound of which I am completely unable to reproduce myself, and the way he sways back and forth at the knees and twists at the waist when he dances.

On his birthday we brought him along as we attended a Christmas party in the mission home, partly because it was his birthday and he deserved a party and partly because he is still nursing and I couldn't leave him with the other kids at their grandparent's house. This picture was taken by the mission president and shows Spencer's handsomeness rather well:
The next day we had a party at the grandparents' house where Greg's sister coached Spence in the blowing out of the candle.
So basically this is all pretty much just to say that after a year we've decided: We'll keep him.

Love My Neighbor? Check!

2010-12-09T21:10:00.005+01:00

We're pretty isolated out here. Of course this is largely by choice, because I'm bad at making friends and very bad at making friends that don't speak my language or understand my culture. (Because I don't really try. Awful, I know.)

A couple of months ago we got word that a new American family was moving into our branch. The family itself wasn't actually new, but the fact of their being in Poland was. Happy news for sure, but even happier was finding out that they were moving closer to us than to Kraków!

I was super excited. Imagine having Americans close enough that we could actually visit each other!! I tried not to get too excited because, really, what if we totally hated each other? No, I didn't actually think that except, only sort of.

See, he's a volleyball player. He came here to play for the team in Rzeszów, one hour away from Mielec. And he played on the US team in the 2008 Olympics and won the gold. Awesome, huh? Super awesome. Except. . .

Greg and I are the least athletic people I know. I mean, Greg walks Nordically and I occasionally spend 7 minutes doing leg lifts and push-ups, but as far as sports? Um, no. We're much more the not-playing-watching-following-or-thinking-about-sports type. So I felt a little worried.

What if they came over and only ever wanted to talk about exercise and physical coordination? What if they only liked to play games that involved a ball? What if they only ever ate volleyball-performance-enhancing foods which I knew nothing about how to cook!?! THIS COULD BE AWFUL!!!

We hadn't met them even once when we invited them to our house for a Halloween party. He had a game that day so we watched it live on TV and then they came over. There was pizza. There were no games involving sports. There was just us (and hardly any decorations).

They were very, very nice. They ate pizza. She brought cookies. They talked about things like what it's like living in Poland, the church, motherhood. Regular things. And, when we asked, they told us a little about their life traveling for Ryan's volleyball career. And I understood and enjoyed every word (none of the technical how-to-play-volleyball talk I had feared) . And I also have no idea if you call it a career or what.

As a matter of fact, we had such a nice time talking that we didn't even do most of the non-sporty Halloween games we had planned for the kids. It was great. Their darling son, Max made my night when, after they had been here for maybe 15 minutes and we were eating pizza, he proclaimed, "This is the BEST HALLOWEEN PARTY EVER!!!" Yes, I realize that this is a four year-old (that probably can't even remember any other Halloweens) and that we had not yet actually started the party, but he was still my new best friend.

Then we had Thanksgiving together. Again, very nice. Our Aaron and their Max were robots. They were the kind of robots that tear apart playrooms, but then put them back together. Robot Max again had the quote of the night when he had finished his mint chocolate pie (another recipe from Chocolate Never Faileth!) and his dad asked, "Hey Max! What are you doing!?!" To which Max replied, "I'm just licking my plate." Sounds like a good Thanksgiving activity to me, even if his dad insisted he wasn't a dog. :)

Up next: a Feliz Navidad party at their place. Awesome. I'm so grateful these guys ended up here. It is so great to have people to spend the holidays with (not "the holidays" as in the holiday season but "the holidays" as in literally each holiday. :) and to get to know in general. We are loving it.
P.S. I exaggerated some of this post, but just the part about my fears, not the part about the gold medal. :)

On Pornography (Again)

2010-12-07T22:30:00.001+01:00

Another one of those posts that are for my personal record more than to share with the world at large.
A couple of months ago, at a random time on a random day I felt I should talk to Ev and Dave about pornography. We've talked about it before of course, but it seemed a good time to talk about it again.

I love having talks like this with my kids. These are the times when I can put into words some of the things that are not easily understood just by seeing an example. My kids know how we feel about pornography, nudity and immodesty (a subject I've gone into great detail about before here) and we obviously avoid it in all types of media, but for them to fully understand the why of it, we have to discuss.

I explained a little about avoiding pornography and how we should make decisions before we meet temptations so that we don't have to make an on-the-spot choice. If we already know that we're not going to look it'll be easier when a situation arises (and the spirit can help us keep resolutions we've already made).

While we talked I compared pornography to alcohol; the seeming harmlessness of it, it's addictive nature, the curiosity young people sometimes feel about it. We talked about how alcohol is bad for our bodies and can be physically dangerous in many ways, besides the possibility of losing a job or even breaking up a family. I compared this to how looking at pornography is bad for our spirits and repels the Holy Ghost (which we need in our lives).

I explained how Satan wants to do everything he can to keep people from following God's commandments and having happy families.

We had been talking for maybe 10 minutes or so; pretty long for this type of conversation, I felt. The kids threw things in now and again, mostly about alcohol and how their friends talk about it sometimes. Overall I felt like they were understanding what I wanted them to know. Then I said something and the reaction I got from David made me realize that, while he had heard what I was saying, he maybe didn't fully get it until that point.

I almost didn't want to say it because it made it sound like they might make such a choice, or that I was even throwing it out there as an option, but I said it anyway. "If I had to choose between you trying alcohol or looking at pornography I would rather you have alcohol," I said. David looked confused. He asked me to repeat. I did, and this time he was shocked.

Finally I found a way to really get the point across about how serious I think it is. I'm so glad he is so clear on how "taboo" alcohol is so he could really get the point about how important it is to avoid pornography. I hope that will stay with him.

I was very happy just a week or two later to hear President Packer's conference talk which, I felt, had a strong emphasis on pornography and how Satan uses it to damage, destroy and even prevent the building of families. I was so grateful to have a prophet's testimony borne so soon after I had shared my own on this important topic, the purpose of the commandment, blessings of keeping it and the miracle of the way back if it has been broken.

As a mother I really love helping the kids understand why they're supposed to do and not do certain things. I love that the gospel makes this so much easier. There's not a lot of "because God said so". Even when the world tries to make us think things are perfectly harmless, or even good which God says are not, it is easy to see past the world's view and through "eyes of faith" when the blessings that come from keeping commandments are so apparent.

Accidental Child Abuse and Fudge

2010-11-23T16:10:00.003+01:00

For some odd reason I did something different today. Usually I think to myself daily that I sure wish I was the exercising type. Today, instead, I exercised.

Oh, I used to exercise every day. I spent about ten minutes doing a little workout I'd clipped out of a magazine that for sure would give you a flat tummy. I'm not dumb, though. I didn't expect a flat tummy. Didn't get one, either. But I did get a tiny sense of accomplishment every morning for a few years and off and on for a few more years after that.

I could tell it had been a long time since I'd done the routine this morning when there were little boy legs and baby heads and bums everywhere I needed my legs and arms to be. Small children used to know to give me a wide berth when they heard me chanting, "One, two, three. . ." (spoken aloud for purposes of educating young people in the vicinity in the numbers, their order and a practical way to use those numbers.)

If I don't start exercising more regularly Spencer may grow up thinking the proper way to count out your leg lifts and torso twists is more like this, "One. . . tw--excuse me!. . . two. . . three. . . oops, move your little bum sweetie!. . .four. . . five. . . six--oh! Sorry honey! Did I bop you on the head with my elbow?. . . " because he'll hear that a couple times a month and will never learn to get the heck out of the way.

*******

So that was all way too many words to dedicate to exercise (see, I haven't quite got the exercise bug yet, even after doing it for seven minutes today). On to fudge.

I'll share with you the recipe I used for orange fudge. I have never had such smooth and delicious fudge. Never. I grew up on Christmas fudge that contained chocolate, sweetened condensed milk and marshmallows. I think. It was yummy, but only now do I realize that fudge can be both yummy and inferior.

Maybe it was a fluke. After all I DID mess things up a little. I only had cheap (Store brand. Ick.) chocolate of the milk variety and I was supposed to use two different kinds (milk and semi-sweet, I planned). I didn't have any sweetened condensed milk and had to make my own. I swapped out the vanilla or mint extract called for and replaced it with some orange flavoring.

It was delicious. Just like everything else I've made from my Chocolate Never Faileth cookbook. I've had the book for four weeks, one of which I was away from home, so I have made five* recipes out of it in three weeks. (plus three** more that I made before I got the book).

I'm only saying this for your benefit and not as an advertisement but you really ought to get this cookbook for everyone you know who loves chocolate and loves to bake and create. Even those who don't do a lot of baking/creating will love it. You really have to hold the book in your hands to see how lovely it is. It is beautiful inside and out. Just like you. That's why I think everyone should have one. I have spent hours and hours looking at it and reading all the quotes about chocolate and little stories about the creation of each recipe. Plus the recipes themselves. I am a reader of recipes (ingredients, instructions, all of it).

I love it. You should own one.

Here's how the fudge recipe goes (in my own words):

Quick and Easy (I'd call it Fabulous) Fudge
4 tbsp butter
1 can sweetened condensed milk (or one recipe of this)
2 cups of two different kinds of chocolate chips (or whatever you have on hand)
1 tsp vanilla or 1/2 tsp almond or mint extract (or orange)
1 c chopped nuts (I don't like them and left them out)

Butter an 8x8. Melt butter, stir in SCM. Stir in chips (or chopped bars), let them sit a minute and stir again until they are melted. Stir in extract and nuts. Mix well and pour into pan. Refrigerate for an hour (or two) until set. Cut and try not to eat the entire pan yourself. Seriously. Ugh. Do you think seven minutes of non-strenuous exercise works off an 8x8 pan of fudge?

Smooth and delicious. You should seriously make it. (And I should make it again with better ingredients and see if it turns out worse. It couldn't turn out better.)
*Quick and Easy Fudge
Classic Chocolate Chip Cookies
Chocolate Muffins
Chocoholic Lemon Bars
French Silk Pie
**Classic Chocolate Buttercream Icing
Sinful Chocolate Cupcakes
Perfect Chocolate Brownies

Just Now

2010-11-17T15:12:00.007+01:00

15 minutes ago:
I cut the kids each a piece of fudge (Chocolate orange fudge tastes like Christmas and I can't stop myself from eating it. Which is neither here nor there, but I said it anyway.). After she finished hers Evie asked if she could cut herself another (I was feeding Spencer). I said yes. She asked, "A sensible piece or what?" I looked over her shoulder at where she was holding the knife poised to cut and I said, "Yeah, that's a sensible piece." She replied, "So. . . bigger than that?"

20 seconds ago (as I typed that last paragraph):
David screams "SPENCER'S UPSTAIRS!!!" A minute ago he was down here with us and then suddenly he was upstairs in my bedroom. He "learned" (i.e. started trying, a few days shy of 11 months old. I tell you, my kids are not overly adventurous) to climb the stairs two days ago. We are vigilant (obviously. . .) about not letting him. Our stairs are terrifying: hard wood, foot-wide gaps between the rails (you can see in one of the pictures here), even all around the landing at the top. We need to do something about it. Like get a gate.

10 minutes ago:
Looking through David's books for homework I noticed they were all covered in crumbs. I helped him clean out that nasty backpack on Monday and today it's all full of crumbs and wadded papers again, so I very calmly and patiently (ahem) ask him what on earth happened. He replies, "It's not my fault, mom! I did not put ANY crumbs in there!"

Then I look through his English homework (they're learning how to tell time, or rather translate it "It's a quarter past two.") and see that probably 40% of the words he's written are misspelled. This is awful and much worse knowing that he was copying off the blackboard. As I point out some mistakes one by one, he says, every single time, over and over, "That's how my pani (teacher) wrote it!" He's such a punk.

This afternoon/evening:
Greg is gone. After getting home from driving back from Germany on Sunday, Greg decided to make a 4 hour round trip journey on Monday to visit a church leader who's having some life struggles. Today, Wednesday he is making a 6 hour round trip drive to a training meeting/fireside. Tomorrow he's agreed to participate in a discussion with investigators: 4 hour round trip drive. On Friday he drives 5 hours to Wrocław for a meeting and from there flies to Prague for an area meeting on Saturday. Sunday he conducts a training meeting back in Wrocław and Monday teaches a class on church history at the Jagiellonian University in Krakow, before coming back home. (Hours given are just the drive, not including meetings.)

That's some driving/meeting/teaching/etc.ing. A good way to spend the week after spending a week at the temple.

Right this minute:
I quite love my family.

Homely Comparisons

2010-11-16T14:30:00.000+01:00

I think I learn something every time I go to someone else's house. I know we say we're not supposed to compare ourselves to others, but I think life would be flat and silly (maybe even pointless?) if we didn't. We're all different. That's what makes the world interesting and allows us to learn and grow.

When I go to someone else's house, of course I notice differences between theirs and mine. (not including decor. Most everyone has better/nicer/newer decor than we do. I don't compare there.) I might make mental, often hardly conscious observations like this:

Man, clean (uncluttered) surfaces everywhere!
Eeek. I'm sticking to the back of this dining chair!
What a great idea for a chore chart!
Wow, they're really teaching responsibility the way they have their kids care for their pet!
I hope that stack of books doesn't fall off the piano onto anyone's head.
I have to ask for this recipe!

I learn about things I could improve in my own home. I also learn about things I am doing well. I am reminded that the little things I neglect and don't notice anymore will be noticed by visitors to my own home (hello, piles of papers on the stairs!). It's pretty easy not to judge because our strengths and weaknesses are different and it is easy to recognize that. It's also pretty easy not to get down on myself because I do have strengths, and can work on my weaknesses.

In every house I learn something about how I think my own home should be.

And then I visit the house in which I learn everything about how my home should be.

The people working there are happy, helpful and calm. They work and seem to care only for the smooth, proper functioning of the house and the joy of those who are inside. They stand, not preoccupied or absorbed with any distraction, but very open, always looking for ways to help anyone that may have problems or who even just may want to chat for a moment.
It is clean there. Very clean.
There is a schedule. It is followed and everyone goes about their business knowing what to expect. Things get done; people do those things willingly.
A spirit of service and love is felt everywhere.

I learn all of these things and do my best to make my own home a house of order, peace and love.

But more than what I learned through observation in that house, I learned through the spirit. I learned what I already know. What I have always known. What matters most to me. But somehow learning it again changes me.

I learn that my Father really, really loves me. I am his. That is amazing. He has big plans for me. I can be so much more than I have been. I have not been who I am. How did I forget who I am, even while I knew it?

How did I forget why on earth I'm here? Or rather why I'm here on Earth? I knew it. I did, and I was reminded and refocused over and over again, but even then, I didn't really get it all the way, I think.

In that house I learned how my home should be. And I learned how and what and who I should be. And why.

In Heaven

2010-11-06T22:30:00.002+01:00

I'm going to be in heaven this week.

What constitutes heaven?:

Greg is not working for a full week and I get to be with him most of the time.
I get a break from the three oldest kids for the week.
We're traveling. I love road trips.
We will spend the week in Germany.

Each of those things alone is a little bit (or a lottle bit) of heaven, but the thing that will make it most heavenly is that we will be in the temple for hours on end for days in a row.

Heaven, I tell you.

Different Over Here, But Also The Same

2010-11-01T01:10:00.004+01:00

It is 1 am. We just got home.

We went to church, went straight to a temple recommend interview and then came straight home. And here we are at 1 am.

I had my interview with my branch president after church at 12 pm, then we drove to meet a member of the mission presidency on his way home from visiting a distant branch to have our second interview, which took place around 7:30 pm.

We had our interviews in his car.

We drove 9 hours today, instead of the 4 we would have driven if we'd only gone to church.

We made a large triangle instead of just boring lines going to and from church.

Life is interesting in Poland.

I had the privilege of giving my favorite answers to my favorite questions on the most important subjects to the Lord's representative.

I love saying yes.

(well, and no, but it's the yeses that make me teary. The nos are a formality.)

It's as awesome saying yes when you drive 5 hours out of your way to do it as it is when you wait for a half an hour in your own chapel.

It's as meaningful to hear those questions and say those yeses in a car as it is in an office.

This was a hallowed e'en.

I am going to bed.

Teaching Evie to Give Her Socks to the Janitor

2010-10-22T14:31:00.002+02:00

Schools in Poland are set up differently than those in America. Rather than hanging your coat on a rack in your classroom, when you first enter the school there is an area with a group of cages, one for each class, in which you leave your coat. You also leave your shoes there.

Every day the kids change into "school shoes". They take this separate pair of shoes, which is usually canvas or some other light type of shoe, in a special bag (which can be bought to match your backpack), change near their class' "cloakroom" and leave their regular shoes in the bag, which they hang by their coat.

The janitor lady locks up the cages after the bell rings and opens it again before school lets out. (this means that if your kids are late they may have to run around looking for the janitor to have her open their door) Different classes let out at different times, and sometimes classes take trips outside and have to change shoes and put on coats etc. so occasionally the cages are open during classes.

This, of course, is all very strange to me. It's a pain in the neck in many ways. Of course it's a good idea in some respects. I mean, imagine walking down the hall at school and not going through all the slush people bring in during the winter. The problem is, it only takes one or two parents or teachers to walk down the hall in wet shoes and then all the kids' clean school shoes are muddy, too.

But whatever. That's how they do it here and I stopped complaining about it after Evie's second year in school (see how good I am, only complaining for two years about something I can't change!?!)

There is, however, another problem. Stuff gets stolen and lost very easily. David has "lost" a couple of nice sweaters, a pair of good new gloves and a pair of (cheap but new) school shoes over the course of 2 1/2 years. Ewelina? Well, she's "lost" a number of items of clothing and two pairs of shoes. Good shoes. Good, new shoes.

Sorry about this tangent, but I can't really stand girls' shoes these days. They are ugly, most of them. And the ugliest ones of all are those that I'm sure I would have died to have when I was Evie's age. Fashion and it's cycles.

Anyway, last year we bought Evie this (ugly) pair of shoes that she was just in love with. They were the most expensive pair we've ever bought her (we're cheap though, so they weren't that expensive). She wore them for a couple of weeks and then they disappeared. From the cloakroom. Into thin air.

She was somewhat devastated. It was cold enough that we just had her wear her winter boots, but when spring came again we finally got her a replacement pair. Shiny red low-tops that she also loved.

A week or two later and the red shoes disappeared, too. Nothing we have ever lost has ended up in the lost-and-found. Thin air, I tell you.

Yesterday after school Evie called Greg (who was getting ready to go pick her up; we don't rush and the kids sometimes wait an hour or so for us (him) to come. Again, every class has a different schedule so there are always some classes still going on and it's very normal for other kids to just be hanging around)

This time Evie didn't want to wait. She told Greg to come as fast as he could. Why? Because she had just seen the janitor wearing her old shoes (the first pair that went missing)!

Yeah.

Those were not a style of shoes a forty something cleaning lady would wear. Unless. . .

So, yeah.

Ev and her friend were looking at the shoes and whispering. When the janitor noticed them staring she left right away. A little later they saw her again and she was wearing the slippers she usually wears around the school.

What a range of emotions I feel about this. The shock and upset that I felt initially wore off pretty early on and is now mostly covered by pity and. . . regret? I just feel bad for her.

I sort of would like to approach the lady. Maybe I would say she could keep the shoes (obviously), but could we please have back the leg warmers that were in the bag with them, which Ewelina's aunt knitted specially for her?

Greg is planning on talking to the principal. I definitely understand this. They really shouldn't have a thief working on grounds. Especially not one with keys.

But I can't help thinking that maybe talking to her would be enough. I don't know. Maybe not, if she has a lucrative stall in the outside market where she sells like-new children's shoes and winter clothing.

Basically when it comes to the "justice" part of the whole thing I'm a little torn (let her keep taking other children's things? Probably not a good idea), but there is no question about the mercy aspect.

Evie was very upset when she got back from school. She really misses her shoes. She is very angry with the janitor. I talked to her about how understandable that is. Then I asked if she knows what Jesus said we should do in such situations. She didn't remember.

Well, it turns out he gave quite a similar example. I quoted that "if any man . . . take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also."

I suggested Evie take a pair of socks to school and offer it to the janitor.

She didn't think this was funny. Or poignant. Or anything other than a little annoying. But I think she's coming around. Sometimes forgiveness takes a little time.

'Tis a Gift

2010-10-19T16:20:00.000+02:00

Head cold. Not a gift. But here are some things I've been thinking of lately.

One of my favorite things in the world is taking a baby out of his crib. Why are babies so sweet after they sleep? They're so warm and cuddly and happy. There is something about not having held the baby all night, or for the hours during their nap that makes it feel like someone is giving me a gift when finally get to I pick that little guy up. Heaven.

****

I always floss before bed and I'm ALWAYS very tired and I NEVER feel like doing it. Last night I went to floss my teeth and realized I'd already flossed earlier in the day so I didn't really have to floss again. It felt like someone was handing me a little package. I was very happy. I doubt if I would be any happier if someone knocked on the door and handed me $50. (I thought long and hard about an amount. More than 50 and I would have been happier than about not having to floss, but less than that, for sure not.)

Okay, I just read over the parenthesis in that last paragraph and am in love with the sense of it all. Not to mention the relevance. It is just so important (the whole flossing thing!) and I'm pleased to now publish it on my blog.

I have a head cold.

Someday

2010-10-15T14:51:00.002+02:00

Aaron tells me that we can have a lesson* someday.

On a rainy morning I tell him we can't go the park to slide and he says, "On Sunday we can go, right mommy?"

When he suggest that grandma is coming over I say, "No, grandma can't come to see us today." He looks outside and says, "But look mom! It's a sunny day! Grandma can come to our house!!"

Here's what Aaron understands: There are some things we don't do on Sunday. There are some things we can only do on a sunny day. Some places we only go on Sunday and some activities we have to wait to do when it's sunny out. And many, many things that we can't do today we may be able to do someday.

Someday, Sunday, sunny day, it's all so confusing.

He'll get it straight Sunday.

*We started having nursery lessons at home each Sunday evening for Aaron, with Evie and David as helper classmates. They ALWAYS end up being laugh fests because, like many three year olds, Aaron is unable to focus or make comments related to the lesson. Or do "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" properly.

Hypocritical Housewife

2010-10-12T16:55:00.003+02:00

I think we have a pretty old-fashioned marriage in many ways. I do 99 % of the cooking, maybe 85 % of the cleaning and 100% of laundry* in our relationship. I regularly treat my kids to cookies and milk (of course I hardly touch the things myself. Ha!) I consider the home my domain and recognize it as largely my responsibility to create the proper atmosphere here. I don't feel at all offended at the concept of a distinction between woman's work and man's work. As a matter of fact, I occasionally tell Greg to leave the woman's work to me (like when he's doing a bad job of something).
*I'm including the kid's help with hanging laundry and doing chores in my percentage

I love this. I've chosen it and I really love it. I spent all my early life wanting to be a wife and mother. Wanting to care for my husband and our children.

This is why I can never watch Father of the Bride without being a little baffled by Annie's reaction to the gift her fiance gives her. A blender!?! What kind of message is he trying to send!?! I've always thought, "I'm so the opposite of her. I would have loved to get a kitchen appliance and been thrilled to be able to use it to create delicious food for my dearly beloved husband."

But it only takes thinking back a little for me to see my hypocrisy.

It was only a few days before our wedding. We got out of the car at the grocery store and held hands. It was December and freezing so he put our hands in his coat pocket. I could feel that the lining was torn and commented on it.

"I know! In just a few days you can sew it up for me!" he said, with the most charming and affectionate smile.

Based on all my previous thoughts about homemaking and wifely responsibilities and the honor it would be to fulfill them, I should have been as delighted as he seemed to be a the thought. But I wasn't. Not at all.

For some unknown reason I had this sudden rush of horror that he expected me to be some domestic goddess, doing anything and everything he wanted me to; that suddenly our relationship was going to change dramatically from the moment we said the proverbial "I do". (or the less proverbial, "yes". Or was it "I will"? It's been awhile. Note to self: do sealings during temple trip this November)

I'm sure he was as surprised by my reaction as I was. (I didn't quite know what my deal was either). But we made it through that trial and still said our proverbial "I do"s.

After we were married I assured him that, though I lacked skill or practice, I was very happy to sew his pocket for him, despite the fact that I had seemed rather repulsed by the idea only a few days before.

Still, he chose to sew it himself. And from that time till now, Greg does probably 95% of all sewing for our family.

Which makes me wonder if Annie ever ended up using that blender after all, or if maybe he didn't do all the blending from there on out.
This post inspired by Melanie's post today.

The Best [Decorations] in Life are Free

2010-10-10T23:10:00.003+02:00

I have often lamented (but successfully kept myself from dwelling on) the fact that the change of the seasons just isn't celebrated in the same way here that it is back home.

At this time of year I love when people talk (or write) about taking their children to pumpkin patches and cider mills. Who doesn't love pumpkin patches and cider mills? I know I do!

So I consider it rather (extremely) sad that none of my kids have ever been to either. The closest we have gotten is rummaging through a smallish box of misshapen, mostly pale peach colored pumpkins at the grocery store, which somehow feels less festive than strolling through a pumpkin patch.

When summer ends back home, you know it. (even if the weather is still scorching) Everywhere you go you find seasonal decoration. Brightly colored leaves hang from the ceiling in grocery stores, shops have harvesty window decorations and, of course the candy aisle reflects the changing seasons with fall colored packaging and Halloween candy.

In Poland you will find none of those things*. You are not hit with "It's fall!" in every store, office, library or school where you may be running errands. I miss being hit like that.

On the other hand, Poland does a pretty dang good job of decorating for fall. There may be no autumn ambiance indoors, but you feel it everywhere else. The air is crisp and mornings are often foggy (oh how I love foggy mornings!). The beautiful trees that I admire year round put on their most colorful apparel. Showers of leaves fall with every gust of wind and those leaves, horse chestnuts and acorns crunch underfoot everywhere you go.

I miss the human-enhanced sense of fall back home (which I know is accompanied by the beauty of what nature has to offer), but I also love the purity of the fall that is experienced here and find that it is enough.

Of course Halloween is a different story. Well, the same story, too, I guess. There are no Halloween decorations. There is no Halloween candy. There are no corn mazes or haunted houses.

But we do have these.

It takes a little time but admittedly very little effort (and no money) to have a collection of the best, most authentic Halloween decorations possible. Most of the time they are invisible, but go out in the darkening, chilly and misty evening and you will find them delightfully beaded with moisture and creepy as can be.

Also, I promise if I ever feel the urge to post any more pictures of fences I will start a separate fence blog on which to post them. (and I believe Erin asked what our fence looks like. Now you know. Boring, but pretty great for Halloween!) (and people keep asking if they're real. Yes, they are. Aren't spiders awesome?)

*at least not in our medium-small city

Randomly Speaking

2010-10-06T14:37:00.005+02:00

I had one of those heart stopping experiences recently. I was bringing a pizza from the downstairs oven (it's better than the one in the upstairs kitchen. What a weird house.) and before I got to the kitchen where Spencer had been playing I heard a loud thud. One of the chairs had fallen backward.

I rushed into the kitchen and Spencer was lying on his back with one arm under the chair. And he was doing the silent scream that only comes out vocally after awhile. His arm was fine, but after a minute or so we could see where the metal bar of the chair had landed on his head. Ugh. I hate that. Very, very much. He was crying hard, but cried even harder when I put a bag of frozen Brussels sprouts on the spot.

For the rest of the evening he had a goose egg of Tom and Jerry proportions but was okay. He slept fine, too. The next morning you could only see that there was a tiny bruise if you knew exactly where on his temple to look. Weird. But good-weird.

***

I bet you wish your blog could look like mine. We're under construction over here, obviously. "We" refers to my blog.

***

In order to dispel the potential notion some may get that I have a glamorous job (freelance writer does sound good, I admit) I thought about sharing what my articles would look like. But when I turn them over to my client and am paid, I lose all rights to them (no real tragedy, I assure you). I'm not saying I wrote those that I linked to, because I can't claim that. And frankly, I'm not sure I would want to. (Holy mistakes! And silly writing! That's what happens when you try to write 20 articles in 2 days from home.)

So anyway, not glamorous.

(edited out link to a site I wrote for)

***

Our friends who brought us to Poland are awesome people. Paweł was a Pole with an American wife at BYU. Same situation we were in. He got the job here and three months after he started he got Greg hired, too.

Once I traveled to an orphanage an hour away with Sheri, his wife, on one of her visits to her baby boy in the weeks before the adoption was finalized. That baby was so obviously hers.

Now they are back in the States. They have three children, all adopted. They have their share of stress and trials, for example Paweł is looking for a job, but they are happy, good people and have always been very generous and kind to us.

I could end the story there, but because they have been good to us I thought I would ask anyone with about 2 minutes who wants to do them a favor to do this. Their middle child is a darling girl, Jaylianna who is in the running (final round!) to model for a line of children's clothing. The voting is done by the number of people who "like" a photo on facebook. All you have to do is "like" the page of the clothing line and then go and "like" her picture.

If you are up for doing that kind of favor they have a blog to make it even easier. Just click on that link and follow the directions in the sidebar. Super easy. (if you decide to do it, thanks!)

***

I hope everyone is enjoying the feeling of fall as much as I am. It is excessively awesome. Way better than the feeling of falling (unintentionally) or, worse yet, hearing or seeing a dining chair fall on your baby's head.

O That I Were A Poet

2010-10-03T22:30:00.000+02:00

I am amazed, overwhelmed and awestruck with this life and the things it is full of. Of course there are the tricky things, and I spend far too much time thinking of, stressing over and moping about those, but there is no question that all that is far outweighed by the beauty.

There are times every day that I wish I were artistic. I feel art (beauty? love?) When my breath is taken away by a view of the clouds, the changing colors of fall, the shape of a tree; when my heart is ready to burst at something incredibly sweet and darling my three year old says, or the way my baby nestles his little nose in my neck, or how the older kids love and sacrifice for the younger ones; when a new season begins and you can just feel it all around. Those are the times I wish I were a poet.

I would love to be able to express the feelings that come from seeing, hearing and touching. I covet the painter who can capture the beauty he sees on canvas, or the poet who can put into words exactly what is inside him.

I can't do those things; I'm left just feeling. It's sometimes almost too much to bear. But in as much as being able to release the beauty felt inside through words or paint is a gift, the very ability to just feel is one of the greatest gifts I have been given.

I don't need to be an artist. I am surrounded by art. The Master Painter has already created the pictures that make me feel. His poetry is in the miraculous experiences I have every day. I will just feel, and be grateful.

What Chocolate and Charity Have in Common

2010-09-30T22:23:00.002+02:00

Almost two years ago Annette Lyon* sent me a recipe for brownies which I made and loved. She knows her chocolate. To the point that she now has her own chocolate cookbook.

The book itself isn't chocolate, as I'm sure you probably thought, but it's filled with chocolate recipes. A couple of days ago she posted two of them on her blog. I made them today. They made big, beautiful cupcakes with rich chocolate frosting. Mmmmmm. I made Greg choose one and take a picture of it (in terrible lighting) and let him try to fix it however he liked. Here is the result.
Needless to say I can't wait to get my hands on a copy of this cookbook. And I love its title: Chocolate Never Faileth. Amen!

(I think I'll go eat another.)
*This isn't the first of her books I've been enthused about. Remember this one? Loved it, and that one wasn't even about chocolate!

You Might Be A Mother

2010-09-28T18:00:00.002+02:00

IF:

...you argue with a three year old over whether or not his eyes are blue and then pull out your phone and take a picture, on the spot, to prove you're right. (then look on the computer and realize that the picture is lot more grainy than it was on your phone)

...while combing a girl's hair you ask if she knows why you came into the world. When she responds, without missing a beat, "To be our mom" you tear up a little and scold yourself for ever, ever complaining about this gig.

...you can't sit down to eat a sandwich for three minutes without being tugged at, pulled on and stared at with eyes that say "hold me, mommy!"
...you sometimes grab a nine year-old boy and sit him on your lap and talk to him, the whole time wondering how on earth he got to be SO BIG.

...you realize that nearly everything you write as your status update on facebook includes something certain kids have said or done. You want to stop boring people but you kind of can't.

...you laugh and cry both with and about the same kids pretty much every day.

...you love to read, write and talk about children and parenting, even with people you have never met before, on a regular basis.

Now, I'm not saying any of these criteria apply to me, I'm just saying that I'm pretty sure I'm a mother.

Cold Turkey

2010-09-23T15:00:00.003+02:00

I just scraped out a pumpkin and it's baking in the oven to be pureed (no canned stuff in Poland) and made into delicious fall food so, under the circumstances, just writing that title makes me think of delicious turkey and cranberry sandwiches on dinner rolls the day after Thanksgiving. But that's not the kind of cold turkey I'm talking about.

I'm talking about a muuuuuuuch less pleasant cold turkey, but one that brings significantly longer-lasting satisfaction. Tonight we're letting Spencer cry it out.

Now I know I probably-too-often get on my soapbox about sleep, but it's something I love and need. I know my kids need it, too and I want them to love it. That's why our philosophy and evening/night time routine is what it is. It works for us so we do it.

Spencer has been a good little sleeper. He was waking twice for feedings around 1 and 5 a.m. from the time he was six weeks old. Since he turned maybe two or three months old he only wakes around 5. Until recently.

Lately he wakes up at 10ish, 1ish, 3ish and 5ish. I end up feeding him two or three of those times. He is nine months old. He does not need to eat two or three times during the night. So instead of letting him outgrow his 5 a.m. feeding I'm sort of forced to force him to learn to fall back to sleep when he wakes at night. By force.

Just kidding. I'm just trying to make it sound as evil as possible for those reading who already think it is terrible and torturous. I want this to be a controversial post. I need to be much more controversial on this here blog of mine.

But I guess that's pretty much what it is (cry-it-out is force, not blog is controversial). Still, I've done it enough to know that it's a quick and easy thing that allows us both to get better quality sleep. And also that he won't think I don't love him because of it. I'm pretty sure jumping out of bed to nurse him whenever he called for nine months showed clearly enough that I love him. Letting him cry for two or three nights shouldn't overshadow that.

Still, it's sort of hard on me (us). So I'm asking for sympathetic vibes sent our direction tonight. And if you only have outrage, don't send those vibes, please (just leave them in a comment).

Anyway, I could go on (and on) about sleep and why we train our kids in that area etc. but instead I'll just leave you with an anecdote that illustrates how ingrained it all is in the heads of our children:

Aaron loves The Aristocats and watches it regularly. A lot happens in that movie, sad, happy, funny, crazy etc. Still, the one part of the show that moves Aaron more than any others is not any of these.

After the "Ev'rybody Wants to Be a Cat" scene, Duchess tucks her kittens sweetly into bed. During this part Aaron starts getting noticeably worried. When mama cat walks away the kittens get up out of bed one by one. As soon as Marie, the first one, gets up Aaron starts calling to me, "Oh NO! Mommy! She can't get out of bed! She has to go night-night!" And watches the darling scene that follows with a look of disappointment directed at those kittens.

See? He knows we need sleep. (And he also loves to enforce rules.) And I'm pretty sure he knows I love him, even though I taught him to sleep through the night when he was Spencer's age.

Fences Are Greener Over Here

2010-09-21T18:40:00.002+02:00

One thing I love about Poland is how ecological people are. There's not so much of the "Save the World" craze, but people just do things that make sense.

This is especially true of the older generations, part of which surely has to do with having learned to conserve during the dark years of communism. Greg's parents still have baby food jars that they use as containers from when David was a baby. That's over eight years ago. The jars are fine, so why not use them? People bring their old plastic bags to the grocery store when they shop. Plastic bottles are made into spinning scarecrow thingies for gardens. The same clothes are worn around the house until they literally fall apart.

And packaging makes sense here. There is a lot of plastic, but it is thin. I am regularly outraged (though mildly) when I visit the states and see how things are packaged with plastic thick enough that it can only be meant to protect the food item from being repeatedly whacked with a hammer. Which could happen, of course, so maybe I shouldn't complain. . .

Reusing is economical and ecological, of course. Take, for example, fences in our neighborhood. There are all kinds of fences; wrought iron, chain-link, wood etc. but there are an alarming number of fences that look like these:

.

t

Can you guess what they are? Well I'll tell you.

Our town has what is now a huge "economic zone" of factories belonging to various companies that get some tax breaks or something. It is also where Greg works. On the map below you can see "the Zone". It's the white blob.

Here it is closer up.

Back in the day (the same "day" that caused people to become so conservative, conservatory and conservationalizing with their things) they made airplanes there. For the commies. Where's your nearest communist airplane factory? (In the factory Greg works they no longer make MiG fighter jets but now make these, which I personally would take over a fighter jet any day of the week. Especially Friday. Preferably this coming Friday.)

So around here there was a lot of metalwork going on. Airplane parts were cut out of large sheets of metal. What was left over was put in the scrap pile. Or. . . it wasn't. See where I'm going with this?

So those sheets of metal made for lovely, decorative and original fences. Sheets of all sizes were welded together, often with metal rings or circles to connect them. Stick them in a frame made of pipe, paint them white, green or brown and you have yourself a fence. A free one.

It's pretty crazy to walk down the street around here and realize that the pieces cut out from all those fences are lying in airplane graveyards all over the former communist block.

So yay for being ecological and hooray for being surrounded by history. It may be a dark history, but I still love how rich this country is in it and how much of that history surrounds me*.
*remember this?
Also, please note how lovely our town is, on the banks of a river and flanked by forest.

Some Teachers Just Need To Retire: A Rant

2010-09-16T10:24:00.003+02:00

I know that teachers in Poland have different background and theories than those I grew up with. They don't seem to understand the basics of positive reinforcement and the self-fulfilling prophecy etc. I also remember that when David chose to go to a costume party in Kindergarten dressed as a bum (thought of it on his own) his teacher told him it was an ugly costume and she didn't like it (can't really blame her but she didn't have to say it in front of the class - or at all). So I really should not be surprised by his current teacher (that he has grades 1-3 with).

Last year before an evening costume party/dance the school was holding he agonized forever about what to go as. People would make fun of the "muscles" in his Spiderman costume, the Batman costume was too small etc. He came up with the idea of going as a spy. He dressed in a suit and made himself a badge to tuck into his shirt pocket and an ID card to flash from his wallet. He wore his "spy glasses" (with mirrors on the sides to see what's behind you) and I thought he took a motion detector or some other McDonald's spy toy we have kicking around.

But maybe he didn't because the next Monday he came home from school and told me that his teacher had told him that he didn't do a very good job with his costume. He should have made some gadgets or something to make it more interesting.

This year on one of the first days of school she had the kids write what their dream school would be like. One girl said that there would be a robot that would go around and if you got lost it would take you to your classroom. Cute, huh? Shows the little girl's fears and her solution for dealing with them.

The teacher didn't think so. She said, "That is a very strange idea. Why would you need someone to show you where your class is? Don't you know where it is!?! A better idea would be if you could fly to school. . . " and proceeded to explain how to use your imagination properly to create a TRULY interesting school.

A few days ago she asked David what his mom does for work. He told her that I write. She was intrigued and grilled him with questions. All he could tell her was that I write articles, send them to a man and he sends me money. When he couldn't explain better who the man was (name, please!) she said, "David! Don't you know anything about your own mother!?!"

The other day a girl needed a tissue and didn't have one. The teacher asked David if he had one he would give her. He didn't. She asked why not. He said because he doesn't have a stuffy nose. The teacher told him he has no culture, coming to class without tissues in his bag.

Other things she regularly says to students:

"Oh, that's an interesting haircut. I liked it better how it was before." Or she just says she doesn't like it.

"You wear your short sleeves over your long sleeves? Is that some kind of new style? Whatever!" and other comments on the clothes they wear.

"What is that!?! That's supposed to be a dog? That looks like a pig."

These are the only things I can remember right now, but David comes home from time to time and cries about how much he "hates" his teacher, usually when she's embarrassed him or a friend of his with her comments.

I just had to get that all off my chest. She's not always such a troll, and we have actually appreciated her sense of humor and hard work with the difficult class she's been dealing with for 2 full years already. But really, when you start resorting to insulting kids to get back at them for being hard to deal with I think it really is just time to retire. Even if you're only in your early forties. (and even if you praise my baking in front of all the other parents)(which is the main problem, praise and criticism all spoken loudly in front of everyone.)

Defining "My People"

2010-09-14T14:30:00.004+02:00

So, I miss my people. The people of mine who I miss the most-- sometimes more, sometimes a lot more and sometimes not quite so much more, but whom I always feel the lack of--are my family. Those people really belong to me and should live closer.

But there are other people I feel rather possessive of. Millions of them. I will explain.

As I put my carry-on in the overhead compartment of a plane that will cross the Atlantic to my Patria, I hear numerous loud conversations going on. This guy is telling his neighbor about a show he saw in Las Vegas, that lady is explaining to a man about a rude person she met while on vacation. Over there a man is laughing boisterously as he tells a story about a family member. It's a bit of an overload for me. I didn't really want or need to hear any of that. It almost seems rude to bombard strangers with personal stories, loudly told, and yet I sit down, listen, and smile broadly. I love these people. They are Americans.

***

As we unload our luggage in a hotel parking lot two young men come walking from the other end of the lot. When they are still quite far away I tell Ev, "those guys are Americans". I can tell because of how they look and. . . seem. They are casually dressed and seem happy and laid back. I cannot fully describe it. Soon we see they are coming toward us, and that they are former missionaries back in Poland for a visit. They are Americans.

***

Walking down the crowded streets of beautiful Krakow I come face to face with a woman and we do the side-to-side trying-to-get-out-of-each-other's-way dance. She makes eye contact, smiles and then we pass each other, without speaking a word. I lean to Greg and we say at the same time, "that was an American".

***

I meet people and within the first few sentences I speak to them I, out of habit, utilize verbal irony. They laugh, or smile or keep a straight face and respond with irony as well. They are Americans.

***

We've had mission presidents' wives from South Africa and then Denmark for the last six years. (I love and admire them both). But now we have a new one and after our first few minutes of conversation I feel like we've been friends for years. She is an American.

***

I get these people and they get me. That (obviously) makes them mine.