Really Too Late To Post But . . .

I decided that the last post was not the one I want to keep coming up as people check in over the next few weeks. Although I will say that your comments were very sweet and extremely helpful. I didn't mean to sound like I was fishing so much, as I was looking for ways those in the blogosphere have come to grips with lots of marriage and little romance.

Anyway, on a more cheerful note! At least I've sacrficed my body for three beautiful kids! These are pics from "the last supper." You know, the big family meal that grandma plans before a family member moves to the back of beyond. Obviously these are not all mine, they are also my brother's and my sister's kids. You can see we have a real shortage of girls in this family. Only one out of eight.

I zoomed in on my two big ones. Of course, baby brother has to be clear over on the opposite side. Still, this is way cute. Scallywag went from throwing a huge fit over the group picture (taken earlier, without him, on the porch) to acting like child model. I think he is going to finally outgrow these fits just in time for puberty to get him.

What is a family picture without the, "Okay, everyone make a silly face!" Of course, this made the babies cry so this was the last one we were able to get. They scattered like cockroaches a mere 1.2 seconds after this photo was taken.

So serious. That is scallywag for you. He mostly hates to have his picture taken and he is probably thinking, in this picture, that someone is breaking the rules and he needs to go fix it. Unless, of course, he is breaking the rules. Then, apparently, it is okay.

The poopy pirate also has his share of pensive faces. Even his baby pictures are serious and intense. He is holding a train in his hand in this picture and explaining to my brother, the photographer, all about Thomas and Diesel 10 and Pinchy. You moms of boys will know what I'm talking about. And thank you, forecastcallsforrain for giving us the "Thomas and the Magic Railway" video. It is totally Alec Baldwin's finest moment as an actor.

This is the baby with his oldest cousin. The baby has moments when he looks cuter, you know more smiley, but I think it would be hard to find a sweeter expression anywhere than on this 10 year-old's face. It is rare to catch this look on anybody--and harder and harder as they get older. I think I'll save this one until he is about 15 and send it to his mother so she can remember who he is underneath all that teenage angst.

So, happy posting my friends. Keep checking in with me; I'm hoping to be on-line soon. I know it seems a little bit silly, but you have no idea what you mean to me, my fellow bloggers. Especially as I embark on this latest scary adventure in my life. Until I make some real friends I'll probably cling pretty heavily to the virtual ones. Okay, you are real too, but visits are rare gifts when you move so much. Each of your wonderful personalities come through in your writing and comments, and I feel as though I'm part of a conversation if only for a minute. In the movie "You've Got Mail" Meg Ryan says, "I know in this medium, you are more likely to talk about nothing than something, but all this nothing has meant more than so many somethings." I feel a little bit the same way. Even when we "talk" about nothing, it is a few minutes each day to share my thoughts and learn more of yours.

See you soon . . . .

Instead of Reading Harry Potter

Okay, okay, I'm posting instead of reading Harry Potter because it will probably be a couple of weeks before I get to do this again. And the budget may only allow for dial-up so my posts may be further and fewer between.

A couple of weeks ago, Nem posted about frustrations with the "pretty" Relief Society lesson. Having started each pregnancy 5+ pounds heavier than the previous, I'm thinking a lot about the way I do look, the way I want to look, and yes, I must admit, the way I should look. Twice in the last few weeks I've seen pictures of myself that just about make me want to gag. In each instance, it was a day I'd really put myself together and felt very PRETTY. This pretty gives a certain level of confidence. Then I see the pictures and I think, "I really look like that? But I felt so great!"

The person I see in the mirror is not the person I see in the photos. So what to do about this? Avoid cameras all together? Still, I cannot help but shake the feeling that this is what other people see. They don't really see me. They just see the dumpling I've become. What a stupid, insecure way for a 32 year old mother of three to feel.

Now, perhaps this is a little over the top. (It is MY blog after all. Am I not entitled to certain moments of ridiculous self-pity?) Still, I saw Plantboy last night after 5 weeks. I spent a ton of time on myself yesterday. New outfit , great hair, perfect makeup. I smiled the c'mon baby smile in the mirror and I felt fabulous. Is it unreasonable to expect hubby to gush to the limits of his personality after what I've been through the last five weeks? He didn't gush or praise or, well, darn it, act like a newlywed. Maybe after five weeks I've forgotten the limit of the gush associated with his mellow personality?

No. I haven't. There was once a time when he could almost make me shy with his looks and sweet talk. What has happened? Eight years and three kids. Maybe the expectation has to change. But a part of me, I'm almost embarrased to admit, doesn't just want to feel good about myself, I want others to feel that way too. Maybe not even others with an "s." Maybe just that significant other.

If you can avoid it, never try the single parenting thing. I think it is hard on a relationship in ways I hadn't even anticipated.

Who Says You Can't Go Home?

This is the title of a song that came out rather recently. It is a fairly jubliant song, I think they are contending that you CAN go home.

The problem sometimes is knowing where home is. I'm writing this because of something of Nemesis's recent posting. She is just saying that after a year in Cache Valley she is not really attached. I can see where she is coming from. It seems like everyone that Plantboy and I met in Texas couldn't believe we didn't want to stay there forever. We just never felt that way, but I saw more than a few bumper stickers proclaiming, "I wasn't born in Texas, but I got here as fast as I could!"

So what makes a person love a place?

Because, unlike Nem, I love Cache Valley. I don't think I could ever live in Utah unless it was in the Valley. (For those of you unfamiliar with the area, in way northern Utah "The Valley" is Cache Valley, not Utah Valley.) I'm not sure why this is. I didn't grow up there, although my parents did. Many of my aunts and uncles and cousins are still in the area. But I don't think that is the real selling point either; there are many things about dealing with extended family that are difficult, although they have been a HUGE help to me in recent weeks, as they are to anyone in need.

I do know this. After 16 months of missionary work in Australia, I came back to a house my parents had only owned for a few months before I left into a ward with about three familiar faces. I was disoriented and confused and lonely. But when we drove through Sardine Canyon and came upon that view (there was less smog then) of the temple and the university in the center of all that beautiful snow just before dropping down into Wellsville, I finally felt home. And I knew that everything would be okay despite the fact that all my friends had graduated, and/or gotten married, and moved on.

To me, Logan is my first kiss. My first love. Tubing down the canal in the summer. Running the River Trail. Hiking to the Wind Caves. Getting caught by the UPS man while making out with Plantboy in the cooler at work. Passing notes during Evolution 560. Classes and professors I'll never forget. Roommates and neighbors who have become lifelong friends. It is where I met my husband. It is where I had my third baby. Canoeing on the Bear River. Cool summer nights watching movies outside with friends. Eating lunch out on the terrace behind the student center. Hockey and basketball games. Crushes. Being a True Aggie three times over. It is where I held three jobs I loved. It is Aggie Ice Cream. Mudding in the canyon just south of Paradise on that PERFECT day. The chair I sat in when the first real inkling of testimony hit me like a ton of bricks. Sledding down Old Main. Shopping for engagement rings. Wildflowers at Tony's Grove. Letters sent to a special address in Canyon Road nearly every month for the past 10 years. Rook and even, dare I say, poker games until four o'clock in the morning. The Old Hogi Yogi on Monday nights. Ultimate frisbee. Crying myself to sleep some nights over lost opportunities. Two fateful phonecalls before spring break of my freshman year. My endowment. My wedding.

As I look over the above list, I begin to realize what it is. This is not just a list of things I did in Logan, these are things that are a part of me. Memories so vivid and important they define me. Yes, I have made memories, wonderful memories, in other places. But my years in Logan were such a formative time that the place is inseperable from my sense of self. I never lived in Cache Valley until I was 18 years old, and I still feel like it is where I grew up.

I hope that each of you who reads this has a place like that. A place that feels like home even when you move so often you begin to wonder if you should just put everything on eBay and start over. No doubt, many of you will respond that, especially after you have kids, home just feels like wherever they are at. I will certainly not argue with that, but I think it is important to have a place that is special too.

So I guess, although my little family will be together in our cozy cottage, in many ways, I feel like I am really leaving home. Again.

My Inner Diva

Okay, so we got moved and checked out. Here is a shout out to karatemommy for helping watch my kiddos today while I ran some errands in Logan after the checkout. Even Captain Tootypants was an angel baby for her. I'm quickly learning that an hour of alone time for a mother of three is a great gift.

But this afternoon I'm not thinking about any of that. The reason being that all three of my kids fell asleep in the car, so I turned the radio up and flipped through the channels like a mad woman, stopping only on sing-a-long songs.

This is one of my favorite vices, and has been for some time: I love to sing out loud in my car to the radio. If you were to drive by me when I was alone in my car, you'd see me really belting it out. (As did the missionaries in Texas once; it was embarrassing because Plantboy was the WML at the time and the missionaries were at our house at least once a week. It wasn't like I'd never see them again. They just smiled and waved.)

But I digress . . . .

What I want to do here is give you the top ten songs (in no real order) I'd drive 8 times around the block for, just to hear every note. I've even included my favorite line from each. These are songs I know every word to; time or distance doesn't seem to strip their magic for me. And when I get my IPod (I'm saving my pennies), these are some of the first that I will download:

1. Total Eclipse of the Heart (Bonnie Tyler) "Every now and then I know there's no one in the universe as magic and wondrous as you."
2. I Need a Hero (Bonnie Tyler) "Where have all the good men gone and where are all the gods?"
3. It Matters to Me (Faith Hill) "Tell me how far it is, how you can love like this, cause I'm not sure I can."
4. Its All Coming Back to Me Now (Celine Dion) "The flesh and the fantasy all coming back to me now."
5. Bad (U2) "If I could throw this lifeless life line to the wind and leave this hollow place."
6. Like a Prayer (Madonna) "I hear you call my name and it feels like home."
7. Against All Odds (Phil Collins) "But to wait for you, well that's all I can do, and its a chance I've got to face"
8. Once in a Lifetime (Keith Urban) "Well the first one's born and a brother comes along and he's got your smile"
9. The Search (Survivor) "Then I look into your eyes, I can see forever, the search is over, you were with me all the while"
10. Faithfully (Journey) "Wondering where I am, lost without you"
11. Insensitive (Lisa Loeb) Any line from the whole song!
12. As I Lay Me Down (Sophie B. Hawkins) "I want to meet you, barefoot, barely breathing."
13. Forever Young (Alphaville) Again, take your pick.
14. Falling Out Of Love (Reba) "Ain't it funny how his voice cracks, when you're saying goodbye?"
15. Meet Me In Montana (Dan Seals and yes, Marie Osmond) "I want to see the mountains in your eyes."

Wait, did I say TEN songs? Okay, well there are 15. I couldn't really choose, and there are others too. Each of these songs is like a little gift when they show up at odd times on the radio. I wonder if when they do get downloaded to the IPod they will lose some of the magic?

Butter, Not Smallpox

Aren't kids cute? BabyPete is starting to take on a personality of his own and is always happy when being smiled at. He is quick to respond with his own grins and goos and it is so cute. Oh, and Mancub thinks we should call BabyPete Captain Tootypants. So he has a new name.

The Poopy Pirate said to me with a grin the other day, "You the grumpiest mommy I ever had." I am sure he is just repeating something he has heard from his older brother; I've noticed that he sometimes talks better than he understands. Or maybe he did mean it. It was still funny.

But Mancub (who is calling himself Scallywag Plankwalker these days--if you haven't noticed we are way into pirates around here) takes the cake. In the last week, two VERY funny things have happened.

The other day he wanted to watch "Polar Express." One of his favorites. Now, we've never pushed the Santa thing, we just let it evolve kind of naturally. Last Christmas he got really into Santa and the presents. Well, near the end of Polar Express they all get to the North Pole and meet Santa. Scallywag starts asking questions,

"How do those Reindeer fly?"

"Why doesn't the sled tip over with all those presents?"

"How come he didn't hear the bell?"

I've kind of got my mouth open finding myself in the middle of a conversation I didn't expect to have for a few years with a boy who is very interested in how EXACTLY things work. Before I can answer any of his questions he shrugs and says, "I don't know if I believe in Santa, but I believe in presents." Nothing like getting right to the heart of the matter.

But the best was last week at my parents' house. We found a model that my older brother got in the late 70's called Fort Apache. The pictures offer a far better description than anything I could hope to give. Anyway, Scallywag has found it and likes to set it up and play with the cowboys and Indians. This toy has been a little tricky for Mommy to explain. After all, I was raised with a revisionist idea of history not available to my brother in the late 70's.

One of the little accessries with the set is a butter churn. The butter churn is the same size as the little action figures and Scallywag is fascinated with it. Anyway, we get it all set up last week and Scallywag tells me that the cowboys and Indians are fighting.

"Can't they get along?"

"No, Mommy, they can't."

"Why not?"

"Because the Indians need some butter and the cowboys have it all. And they won't share. The Indians have been needing some butter for weeks!"

"And why do they need butter?"

"For their corn muffins. The Indians have all the corn and they want butter for their muffins."

"Oh."

Anyway, I was grateful to have the facts straight. It was perfectly clear to me why the soldiers and Indians couldn't get along. I too love butter. It seems hopeless.

Austenphiles, Start YOur Engines

I was visiting with a friend here in the Village the other day and she had a book on the table that was given to her as a birthday gift. It is called Austenland. It was written by an author I've never heard of before, Shannon Hale. She has written a few other books, mostly young adult novels. One of them was even named a Newberry Honor book. Oh, and she is a young Mormon gal from SLC with two little kids. I hate her.

I was watching the movie The Queen while I was rocking my baby at three o'clock in the morning the other day and saw a preview for something else that looks very promising. Becoming Jane is due out in early August. Less novel adaptation and more made up biography about the master herself, but it looks like fun. I'm kind of an Anne Hathaway fan. I don't think I'll talk Plantboy into being at the premier or anything--our summer will be full of Jason Bourne, pirates, Spider Man, and (if I'm lucky) Harry Potter. Jane may have to wait for Netflix to bring her to my mailbox.

And here is a shoutout to Desmama for friendship above and beyond the call of duty. Thanks, girlfriend. May you find a similar good Samaritan on your moving week.

Invasion

I'm talking about Leptocoris trivittatus. Also known as the Box Elder Bug. This disgusting little creature takes its name from the trees they feed off of. Plantboy has informed me that these trees line the canal behind our apartment.

These sneaky bugs get in the house somehow. Once they are in, it is only a matter of time before there is a veritable infestation as the primary function of the adult seems to be flying around scaring my kids or copulating. I'm sure it is only a matter of days before my observant five year old asks me if they are wrestling when one sits on the other like that.

In Texas, I had a six year old tell me once that it was easy to tell which bugs were the love bugs. They were the ones with the two heads. Now, I may be scienceteachermommy, but I wasn't HIS mommy, so I just smiled and said, "That's right dear."

I'm not REALLY complaining. I mean, it isn't like they are malaria-infested mosquitos or anything like that. But the bugs in conjunction with the heat and the moving and the single parenting are really getting to me.

The newstory, right out of Hitchcock, will read, "Woman Instituionalized After Infestation: A woman staggered from her apartment today covered with Leptocoris sp. insects crawling in her hair. She was muttering over and over, 'All I did was lay down for a nap.' Her husband has flown in from Oregon to pick up the kids. His only comment was, 'She kept saying she was okay; I had no idea it had gotten so bad. At least the move will be easy now. It appears the bugs have taken everything.' Even his wife's sanity."

I will dream in orange and black tonight.

More than Fireworks and Barbecues

It was with no little amount of trepidation that I attended Sacrament meeting today. The first Sunday of July is very often the America-amony meeting. (Like the Fast Sunday near July 24th is the Utah-amony meeting.) If you have ever attended church in another country for any period of time, you may feel that this American Indepence slapped into a church setting is slightly unsettling. While it is true that the United States had to be founded the way it was in order for Mormonism to have a fighting chance, there are good people and countries everywhere. So I was very pleased when today's testimony meeting actually served its actual purpose by staying church-centered, and I came away very uplifted.

I know this blog may inspire some controversy, or hopefully at least provoke a few thoughts beyond breast feeding and diarrhea and tears. Maybe that is why I'm writing it. Maybe I need to think on something outside the realm of mothering. I found a quote last week that has been much in my thoughts as I look at the current political climate and controversy in our country.

Last week I was cleaning out several file drawers of papers and getting rid of a bunch of old stuff. I came across a quote that I had copied from a Canadian Sunday School teacher. It was from a lesson in the Old Testament that was based around a war fought by the Israelites. In June of 1976, the following was written in an address about idolatry given by Spencer W. Kimball. (Bear in mind this is just 14 months after the end of Vietnam.)

"We are a warlike people, easily distracted from our assignment of preparing for the coming of the Lord. When enemies rise up, we commit vast resources to the fabrication of gods of stone and steel--ships, planes, missiles, and fortifications--and depend on them for protection and deliverance. When threatened, we become anti-enemy instead of pro-kingdom of god; we train a man in the art of war and call him a patrtiot; thus, in the manner of Satan's counterfeit of true patriotism, perverting the Savior's teaching. . . "

He then goes on to quote Matthew 5:44-45 from the sermon on the Mount about loving your enemies.

He concludes with, "We forget that if we are righteous the Lord will either not suffer our enemies to come upon us . . . or he will fight our battles for us."

Very interesting. Before I finish my thoughts tonight, I think it is important to say that I am not a pacifist. I think there are wars that need to be fought. I think that when our country has agreed to send our troops into battle we should support them with every resource at our disposal. I think the congressmen who vote to send men and women into battle are the worst kind of cowards and hypocrites if they then turn around and cut taxes, forcing the next generation to pay for their war.

I suppose these thoughts have been with me because mid-summer days and the promise of fireworks always causes me to consider my patriotism. Lately, I have begun to feel much like Bono, when he says that he is in love with this IDEA of America more so than the place.

America is the greatest experiment in civil harmony every attempted in the world's history. And more than 200 years after its inception, by some of the most brilliant (though flawed) men to ever walk the planet, it is still working. The greatest evidence I have seen in recent years of the success of this venture called America is when President Clinton handed his office over to President Bush. Although Al Gore had won the popular vote and there was a lot of bad feeling floating in the air, everything about the change in presidency was done according to LAW. There was no coup, no military uprising. And every citizen in this country was entitled to have their opinion about the outcome and to tell others their opinion by any means necessary.

This is why, in recent years, it has been very difficult for me to see the current administration say over and over that if you don't support the WAY the government is choosing to fight terrorism, then you are no better than the terrorists. It is one thing to say to Iran or North Korea or the Taliban or Al Quaida, "If you're not with us, you're against us." It is quite another for the reds to look across the aisle to the blues and say the same thing.

The beauty of America is that there is dialogue. The challenge of America is to be a part of it.

Thomas Jefferson said that America was great because the people were good. He further said that when the people ceased to be good, they would not be able to sustain their society. Indeed, this is the greatest challenge of any semi-democratic society. I would further add that when its people slip into indifference, America will falter.

That is why I say that these days I'm more in love with the IDEA of America than place of America these days. America is still the place where people can come and make something remarkable of their lives. A man can become President of the United States even if he is raised in backwater Arkansas by a single mother. America is a place where a woman and a black man and a Mormon can each step forward with ideas that make them fit to lead our country. America is a place where a man with an idea can make a million dollars if he is determined enough. But too many of us have lost the wonder of the ideal.

The American culture marketed abroad this days is rife with immorality, substance abuse, disrespect and money. Lots of money. America has graduated from being the wide-eyed can-do anything optimist to the global peddler of excess and vice. We have somehow distorted the American dream to mean that we can have whatever we want and as much of it as we want regardless of how that affects others.

Nine months ago I stood on the steps of the Lincoln memorial and imagined Martin Luther King in that very spot so many years ago. His words echoed through my head. I've since learned that the second half of his speech was unscripted. As he begins to plead, "Let Freedom Ring!" his speech sounds like a mighty prayer and not just an admonition to politicians.

And maybe this is where the heart of the gospel collides with the heart of America--AGENCY. If any of us would truly be free then we must surrender to the will of God. We must be righteous and plead with the Lord to fight our battles and guide our leaders. We must pray for our enemies. We must love those who hate us. We must commit our vast resources, not to things that would destroy, maim and kill, but to causes that would create, restore and bring life.

As mothers, we are the ones who will decide how the next generation views the world. So take that into consideration as we celebrate the holiday with our little ones. How will we make them patriots and Christians at the same time? What formula will we use to teach them to appreciate their country but love all of humanity? What can we do daily to raise a generation who will make peace with their neighbors?

Happy Fourth of July.