Ahhh, January. The month that helps me swirl my self-esteem around the emotional toilet bowl. The month of resolutions, new Weight Watchers spokespeople, and

worst of all

introspection.

Whose idea was it to get all introspective-y in January? S/he is dead to me.

Every January I revisit my worry that Abby will not be prepared for life and that I only have 6.5 years of her left at home for me to shove it all in her brain. Every January, I re-worry that my relationship with Shawn could crumble at any moment if I don’t buck it up and that the little girls are going to become delinquents if I don’t focus on them more. Every January, my mind is flooded with all the things I have yet to do in life and the thought that if I don’t get a-cracka-lackin, I will never do them….which reminds me that all of the women in my mother’s side of the family die very young…

so I better REALLY get a-cracka-lackin.

And probably schedule a check up. You know, for some kind of health-ish resolution.

Exhausting.

So once again, like many Januaries before this, I’ve thoroughly examined my neruoses of failure and a wasted life. Initially, I was making my goal-y list and checking it twice. I had a meaty list covering a range of topics that would no doubt save my soul, better my family, and have me without a wasted moment until 2013. I was proud of my goals, but scared, too. They were laudable ambitions, but just reading them, I felt drained.

Additionally, I realized yet again, I am sorely lacking in actual abilities or talents – thereby making most of my goals a lot harder for me than I imagine them to be for my friends. Hard to learn to sew when your brain has no crafty ability, ya know? Being perky and (reasonably) friendly – basically, my two lone “talents” if you will – aren’t really the kinds of things you build your New Year’s Resolutions on. Being friendly and taking time for others isn’t going to save my soul, marriage, and family.

Or will it? It’s hard to say when I always seem to be stuffing that part of myself down to get everything else done.

I have noticed that through the past few years, I haven’t had much time to be a friend to others. I’ve been racing around like a wild woman. After every major calling at church, the completion of classes, or at the end of my crazy crack jobs I’ve thought,”I will now focus on the relationships around me – my people need love.” But instead of relationship building, I seem to get sucked into some other project of monumental proportions that weighs me down and makes me too exhausted to see straight.

Which brings me to a conversation I had with my wonderful friend who said her best year ever was the year she decided to be more relaxed. To do less.

Bingo.

BINGO!

So this year, that is my resolution. To do less. Less rigidity about working out – more flexibility to be there for a friend. Less worry about helping around the community – more time to listen. Less on the official family calendar – so that more can be slid in when we want with whom we want – and that will meet the needs of that day.

We’ll see.

But I am pretty excited to do less. It’s been a great week or two of doing less so far. As I have been less focused on what I HAVE to do every day, I actually feel inspired to do more. Crazy how that works.

Thank goodness for the wisdom of friends (Emily!)

Here’s to doing less. I posted this after taking a nap this morning. I think I’m already rocking some success.

Annie: Mama, I hate regrouping.

Me: Whhhyyyyyy? Regrouping is like a tiny little math party happening on your paper. Everyone is all moving around – talking to new numbers – changing their outfits.

Annie: 0_0

Annie: Mama. Regrouping is not a math party.

Me: Is too.

Annie: OK. Then it’s a math party where one of the party numbers dies right before it was supposed to do the big entertaining show of the party. And now everyone is sad. And cry-babying.

Score

Annie:1

Mama:0

Rate this sin: How bad is it to ask your 12-year-old to rub your bum? Is it less sinful, more sinful, or equally as sinful to ask your 7-year-old? (And we all know there is no way anyone would ask my 10-year-old. That one has no sympathy for my pain.)

Perhaps, pre-judgement, I should start at the very beginning.

And for what it’s worth, I just heard several of you hum, “A very good place to start.”

So, this summer, I was so stressed I lost 15 pounds. In other words, it was a great summer.

But now, I’m more relaxed. And a content Amy is a chubby Amy. Sure, I might look cuter skinnier, but, when thin, I’m a miserable shrew who is jonesing all the time for pie. (I really should work on that.) But I know my health is better thinner, so, to that end, I’ve been taking my chunky self to the gym with new resolve.

Sadly, resolve + gym action is not nearly as effective for my weight loss program as STRESS, but still, I do what I can.

Yesterday, it was YOGA time at the gym. YOGA. I don’t like to brag, but I totally rock at yoga. I have horrible form doing weights. I run like a git. But you say “Downward Dog” and I say  ”Pffft – how long?”

So I yoga-ed. Score. I was feeling all bad to the bone while everyone toppled over and I stood tall. And that pride lead to my debacle. The teacher announced that there would be cardio strength class. I used to totally do cardio strength class at least 3-4 times a week. Of course, that was back when I was Sorta-Skinny-But-Highly- Shrewlike-Amy. I knew this teacher was a complete and merciless nutter, but as I had so mastered his yoga, I figured I’d give it a whirl.

90 jump squats, 80 lumberjacks with a 25 lb. weight and who the monkey knows what else, I was limp with pain. My legs were wobbling.

Even my eyelids hurt.

I came home and willed my cells to heal themselves. (I don’t know if that is good science, but there’s no need to correct me when I’m already down.)

They did not. In fact, they were crying in agony. I tried to sit as little as possible as my recently-squatted-bummy-was on fire…and there was no relief a full 10 hours later. Rather, hour by hour, the pain was ramping up.

This morning, I hobbled about the home, still dying. After the excruciating labor it was to reach the medicine cabinet and open it, I did manage to stuff some pain meds down. My glutes were hot to the touch and felt like little (sigh…large) gluteus rock-euses. I met my match in that sadistic, post-yoga class.

And that’s when I did it. The unthinkable. I begged Abby to deep tissue massage my bummy and thighs. Begged. Sure, that wasn’t her vision of how home school life would be, but I am weak and desperate.

And sadly, still chunky. (Didn’t lose a pound yesterday but I did have a tasty enchilada and a half for dinner.)

Abby said no. She was pretty firm with me. I guess I needed that. She said we’re past the point in our lives where that is OK. I didn’t know there had ever been a time when it was OK. Which got me to thinking – would it be OK to make Annie do it? She is little and doesn’t think I’m nearly as sick-nast as the other two do.

So, gentle reader, that is my saga. My tale of woe. Make that, my tail of woe.

And yes, I worked out again today. Stair machine AND spin. Yes, my bummy still hurts like the heart of poor Kris Kardashian, I mean, Humphries.

Now is your chance to voice your opinion. Come on. You know you want to judge me. It’s easy to do and you won’t have to lift a muscle.

Ever have a vision for you life?

And then your life rocks on and you think, “OK, that vision isn’t working out yet, but it will someday?”

And then your life rocks on past even that and you come to realize…

….good, bad, or other…

…your life isn’t going to look like that vision. The time has past. Ship sailed.

And you’d be OK with it, if you weren’t still sort of attached to the vision.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I have a dang good life.

And I know that. And I also know

NO ONE

wants to hear about people with dang good lives all crying and whining that they want better.

It’s like the person who goes on the cruise to Europe that you’ve always dreamed of going on and when she comes home, she only complains the food wasn’t as good as it could have been. All the while, you believe you would have been satisfied with even a tour of the ship. No one wants to be that girl.

But I’m sort of in that girl’s place right now. And by “right now” I mean, I’ve been there a while and it is

oh

so

unattractive.

For some time, I’ve been reflecting on the fact that I never ever no never thought I’d STILL be living in Central Florida. I missed my chance to travel and see the world in high school and college by thinking that, as poor as I was then, someday I’d have more money and would go and live in fascinating places. I had big plans for my life. I had hoped we’d move and move and move and that I’d finally escape Florida and get to see the world. Is it a big problem to never get to move and see the world? No. Is it a deal breaker in a marriage? Heavens no. Is it my dream to live in East Orlando until I die? Uhhh, sorry friends that I adore – but no. I’d love to, ohhhh, see a mountain or hike a trail that doesn’t have palmetto bushes on it or live where parks include gorges. Even desert life is sounding good about now. A super bonus would be living where there is a rich side of history and culture that I don’t already know all about from having lived here a long, long time.

Is this a real conundrum? Again, I say no. Things like cancer and job loss and poverty, those count as conundrums. This counts as maybe – a heartache? A really smallish one, if that. But I often feel like I bring nothing to the table in terms of conversation about cultures and places. I’ve been in Florida since I was born. I know Florida. And no one cares what I know about here – until they are coming on vacation. And being an expert in Mickey Mouse wasn’t exactly the vision I had for my life. I am not well-traveled and erudite. I don’t have the frames of reference that others do. When my friends leave all summer for (what always sound like fun and CHEAP) destinations and they stay with their families for weeks at a time, escaping the oppressive heat, I stay home and look those places up on the internet. Lame but that is totally for realzers. I got no place to go to. And (not that I don’t love her, but) staying with my mom all summer isn’t going to be super exciting as she lives on the other side of my same town.

WOE IS ME!

OK, so that said, for whatever reason, that has been seriously bugging the living tar out of me lately. It gets worse every year, but it’s kind of fiercely bad the past few years. Shawn gets job calls sometimes and you should see me practically salivate at the thought of moving anywhere. I am downright ridiculous. And always, we stay. And I feel just a little less refined. A little less traveled. A lot uncultured. A lot home-marmie. (Is that a word? It should be.) This past few weeks, I’ve felt really ridiculously low about it and even prayed to just not be such a grump about living in a beautiful home in a beautiful area with my beautiful family and friends. Because even I know this is NOT a problem. Still, my heart seems to think otherwise. In a lot of ways, I have a really adventurous heart trapped in a very 1950s style life.

Go ahead. Roll your eyes. I roll them at myself. It’s OK. Now stop the eye rolling so you can read.

Fast forward to Stake Conference this weekend. I prayed in sincerity just to have some relief in feeling so inadequate and so simple. I prayed for other stuff too – you know, things that really matter – but that was my little side prayer of personal greediness.  I am ashamed to utter it now, although I wasn’t ashamed to pray it because 1. I really did pray for important stuff and 2.I know God totally gets how much I wish I could just put a toe over the FL/GA line. And seeing as He made the rest of the world, I’m betting He wants me to see it.

We had several wonderful speakers for Stake Conference including Elder Anderson. His humility makes him so endearing and he often mentioned that, in the past, he enjoyed living in Florida. He had lived here for a long time in Tampa and I believe his wife is a native Floridian. I enjoyed his comments about relationships and the gospel in the parameters of eternity and I felt like I was learning a lot. But I continued feeling really sad, as I almost always am, that I will never live in Salt Lake or Europe or any of the other cool places he mentioned.

And yes, even I am sick of myself when I am like this. But hold on!

So, his wife stood up to speak and she asked him, before doing so, if he had anything he wanted her to address. I bet she was thinking he’d go with a topic like “salvation” or “missionary work” – something good and religious-y. I mean, this was a religious conference. Instead, he said to her, “Talk about Florida.”

Immediately, I went to my 0_0 place. She was just going to speak off the cuff about Florida? I was intrigued and skeptical that this was going to do me a fat lot of good.

And then she said that it was a great privilege to be from Florida. She lives in Utah now, but she values her upbringing here. She went on to say that values she feels strongly about were established in her because she is from Florida. She mentioned that her testimonies of her leaders came from being taught and lead by people right here in Florida.

As she spoke, her sentiment about the Florida LDS lifestyle resonated with me.

Rightly or wrongly, my Mormon-ness and my Mama-ness comes not only from how I how I was raised and have lived, but from how I was raised and have lived….in Florida. What I find important are things I learned here. What I value, I value because people here taught it to me. What I’ve been exposed to  - and not exposed to – have made me who I am. What I treasure and what I like – those tastes and even dislikes were formed from a life right here. And especially how I feel about my religion and gospel, those are the product of leaders and teachers and friends here in plain

ole

flat

touristy

Florida.

I know who I am in the gospel and what I want to be, because of my Florida experiences. The lessons I have learned were taught to me at the hands of Florida dwellers. Both in finer moments and in ones like these where I’ve been whining, I’m a testament to what the LDS population in Florida can produce. Today, in hearing this woman speak, I felt a lot less inadequate and a lot more like I need to value wherever I am and see what I can learn. It’s that old Bloom Where You’re Planted and I’m planted here. Guess I better start blooming. It’s not a bad place to grow.

And Annie, like many days in her life, bore the brunt of the sisterly drama.

So begins another Annie/Mama conversation.

Annie: Mama, we got to get them outta here.

Me: I know, darling. But I think we are stuck with those two.

Annie: Not if we run away. Remember how we always were being saying we would run away to Disney World?

Me: Yes Nan. But I don’t really think they will let us live in that castle.

Annie: (sigh) Pleaaaaaaase can me, you, and Daddy run away? To a fun land?

Me: Sure Annie. You arrange it and I’ll run away with you.

Annie: OK (long pause) WAIT A MINUTE MAMA! I have a better-er idea.

Me: Oh yeah?

Annie: If we run away, the big girls will stay here, right? And get the dog and the good beds?

Me: Yup. That’s why we have to run away someplace really stylish.

Annie: I have a better-er idea! (Now whispering) Let’s put them in the car

and not tell them nothing

and drive them to an ORPHANAGE!

Come on Mama! Let’s go right now!

Me: Uhhhh, Annie…

Annie: (again whispering) Is orphanage a word I’m not supposed to know? I want them gone, though and I already know about orphanages.

Me: Would you like some ice cream?

Last year, after having 2  (outside of the home) jobs and living the life of crazed neuroses that accompanied it, I knew I had to call that bunch of shenanigans quits.

So, I’m currently unemployed.

I was so relaxed for a day or two, but now I’m going just the

teeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeensiest

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeensiest

bit

insane

from the boredom.

Just saying.

So, I thought I’d check out Craigslist for jobs for people like me – that is to say…

perky people with very few marketable skills.

Once on the site, I quickly zoomed past all those skill-related jobs. Sure, I could totally weld, work on cars, or clean your teeth and am qualified in my own sort-of way to do so. But I find I’m more about re-creating myself in some new, untested manner. So I thought I’d leave those opportunities there for other, more strictly-regimented folks and I, myself, would scroll on down to the land of subsections notated as

PART TIME and – even better!! – ETC (short for etcetera, I hope.)

My new friend had just told me about this gem of an area on Craigslist – a veritable goldmine of goodness, if one will. I popped on the site this morning and am enjoying it, but I can hardly narrow down where to apply first. Sure there are listings like, Responsible Administrative Assistant Needed and Delivery Driver Wanted but those are hardly going to keep my interest. Ho hum. Been there, done that. I’m looking for a life-altering-extreme job. Hence, my attraction to…

FIRE HOSE TESTER

Hello!  Now we’re talking. Picture it – Me, on the side of the road, in those giant yellow fireman pants with an awesomely huge helmet tucked under my arm. Surveying the neighborhood. I wave with my massive-gloved hand to some kids passing by on bikes.  The plump, boy-child in the biking group asks,

“Hey FireLady – whatcha doing?”

“I’m keeping you safe kids. I’m the Fire Hose TESTER.”

The kids ooooo and ahhhhhh. And I’m totally their hero. Especially when I turn that hose on and let their dog drink from it.

Now, that job is great. But could it compare to

PARTY BUS DRIVER?

Again, I’d be a hero. And I think I look good in pointy party cone hats (not to brag.)

Of course, being Mormon, I don’t drink, so this job seems like an obvious choice for me. And I bet I could help those party busers see that a good time could be had without booze. Ever gotten blindfolded, spun around three times, and played “Tape-the-nametag-on-the-missionary?” So dang fun. And I’d let them play it WHILE the bus was moving. “Why should safety patrols be the only ones allowed to walk around on buses?” I always say.

Now, these jobs are enjoyable and important (in their own ways), but I also have my eye on a really great job that is all about beautification.

That’s right

HAIR EXTENSION TECHNICIAN

While I have no actual knowledge on how to apply even one hair extension – much less to do so technically –  I am a girl who has a plan. I am going to dovetail my Hair Extension time with my other great Craigslist job find

HOOKAH BAR EMPLOYEE

Winning.

Those folks will be so high on Hookah Happy, they won’t notice I ignored their feather extension request and gave them Heidi braids instead. I’ll load all my Hookah friends in my Party Bus, sober them up, and show them my firehose. On our rides about town, we might pick up the men who responded to the Craigslist ad that involves testing Propecia. I think those hair-lite boys could probably use some perking up AND my extensions. My friend spotted some ads for surrogates. We might pick them up, too. I want the party bus to be about giving back to the community. Ergo, the surrogates will ride for free.

Sure, I’ll be busy, but that is how I like my life – a crazed ride of unskilled wonky. Thank you Craigslist for helping me realize my untapped potential.

Abs: What, Mama?

Me: I have what is probably my last great tan of the year and I have bug bites on my legs ruining it. Argh.

Abs: 0_0

Me: What?

Abs: Yeah, you have real big problems. Those people who lived through tsunamis have nothing on you.

Me: 0_0

Abs: People who eat dirt for dinner, they don’t have problems. You and your tan with bug bites – THAT is a problem.

Children these days. They turn on you so young now.

sigh

And then laugh.

At least, I’ll no no never never do that again.

Because that would be wrong

wrong

wrong.

And would leave him feeling like a big crud that his wife would say such things.

Gotta wonder what the rest of the ward is thinking.

So let me back up.  A ways back.

For a while now, I’ve had this feeling something very life altering was going to happen in our family. In many ways, it was starting to consume me. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I had this constant rumbly-tummy-sixth-sense feeling going on like I was waiting for an inevitable shoe to drop in our lives.

Things were just going too well. Sure, I was wondering what would happen with work and classes I was taking. And Abby was making a big school change, but even when I would address those items so that I could feel more comfortable, the slightly-not-right feeling was still there.  I remember one day just pouring my heart out in prayer and feeling that I should be sure our lives were in good order and that all would be OK. I thought maybe I’d get a new job or start a business or maybe we’d move or have to deal with something unfortunate.

So, I think I did just that – in between some trips to the beach and pool, an insane school-filled summer and toting the kids about the countryside – I tried to reflect on our lives and what we could do better, more of, or stop.

When a call came that Shawn and I had to meet, in the middle of the week, with Pres. Pratt, I knew in my heart it was for him and I remember thinking to myself, “Pres. Pratt calls bishops and Shawn could be a great one.” And then I immediately thought that was a very prideful and bad thought and so I wracked my brain for other possible reasons the stake president would want to meet with a couple in the middle of the week.

I remember my eyes meeting Shawn’s and, without saying anything, I think we were both thinking the same thing – that this was a call to be the bishop of our ward. For my non-LDS friends, for a close approximation to what a bishop is, think of a priest or pastor. But LDS bishops do this in addition to their regular job and are not compensated with money. And have, I would imagine, a lot more helpers than a regular pastor would – but that last part is just my guess.

Of course, we weren’t going to say aloud that Shawn might be about to be called as a bishop.

That is like asking for lightning to strike your home.

Instead, we said things like

The church is calling more and more service missionaries – wouldn’t that be great to work together?

and

The Family History Center really does always need good helpers. That could be so fun!

and

I know I won’t get called as bishop because no one really knows me or thinks of me that way. And I’m thankful for that!

and

I’m good with anything aside from being sent to Zimbabwe. And even that would be really cool because we could MOVE! 

In the meantime, Shawn was having some interesting thoughts as well. His mind was filling with ideas of who his counselors would be if he were called as bishop. Of course, after having such a thought, he’d immediately tell himself that it’s not a good plan to ever think of oneself this way. He says his heart was filling with more love for the people in our ward and more concern for their well-being.

Of course, I’d try to lessen the tension by saying really insightful, encouraging things like

They’ll never call you as Bishop – not with all those other great guys around!

and

Those things go through Salt Lake and there’s no way you’d get that seal of approval.

Oops.

My bad.

So, we met with Pres. Pratt and by the time we hit the church for the interview(s), I think we were both pretty much losing our minds. We talked to people, but it was hard to concentrate on the words coming out of their mouths. In that building I really knew, in my heart, he would be the next bishop.

Pres. Pratt met with me first and it was lovely, as usual. As he was speaking, I knew what he was going to ask Shawn.

Shawn, on the other hand, was a nutter. I don’t know much of what happened in his interview (seeing as I was not there), but as Pres. Pratt walked out to ask me to come in, Shawn stood behind Pres. Pratt and made a laughing face and pointed at me and kept saying, “It’s you it’s you it’s you” with his mouth so Pres. Pratt couldn’t hear.

Such bishop-ly behavior, I tell you.

I knew Shawn was wrong.

I was able to walk in that room all light and happy (although my knees were knocking more than a little) knowing it was not for me and knowing what was going to be said.

It was a really beautiful experience and I wish everyone could have been there. Such kind and insightful things were said and I felt quite strongly, once again, that the Lord is the head of this church. It was undeniable that there was something different in that room compared to the outside world. It was lovely and I hated to leave.

I especially hated to leave because at some point, I was going to have to address having told Shawn there was no way he’d be called as a bishop.

My bad.

 Shawn was so humbled and nervous and shaken (and completely red all over – even down to his knuckles and up to his ears) that I had to drive home. It’s a very humbling, nervous-making, shaky kind of a church job. His response was how it should be, I feel. I think I wouldn’t have admired him as much had he left that room acting like Rocky and ready to conquer the world.

As you can imagine, we didn’t sleep that night.

He slept a bit the next night. A smidge.

We went on a little impromptu family vacation before he was sustained and he read and read and read and wrote and wrote and wrote and thought and thought and thought all about this calling.

And he thought and thought and thought about the people. The people are the most important part. Of course.

The kids and I played at the beach and sat by the pool. Someone had to do the hard work while he was in the room.

We’re super supportive.

Speaking of supportive, the kids are trying to work the you-are-the-bishop-and-we-deserve-something-for-that angle by trying to get a dog out of this deal. We’ll see if they get a dog, but they did get frozen yogurt one afternoon because of it.

We were asked to not say a peep about this and I think both of us were happy to keep it to ourselves. It felt a lot like a pregnancy.

At first, we didn’t even know something was growing. Then, we knew, but you never tell anything at the beginning of a pregnancy. Then, you tell your family when it’s far enough along and then – there’s just no denying it and the world will know.

We made our way to the “telling the family when it’s far enough along” stage and took the kids out to fro yo to share the news. They had wondered why we met with Pres. Pratt and had even asked about it, but were satisfied with a “We’ll tell you later” answer.

Since when does that satisfy kids? Clearly something holy was going on.

When Shawn told them about the call, he was trying to eat his happy fro yo and, of course, he quickly felt he was no longer hungry again. After the announcement, Annie said, “OK” and gave a thumb’s up. She mostly wanted to be dismissed from the conversation so she could go back to watching the movie there.

Note to self – Don’t tell your kids biggish news at a frozen yogurt shop as the funky music and movies do not exactly invite the Spirit. Our bad.

Abs was perfectly Abs and said all the right things – of course. She’s Abs.

And Maddie took the same path as her mom and started laughing and said, “No way.” Later on in the conversation she asked, “Wait? That was real? We aren’t getting punked?”

Ahhhhh – poor Shawn.

We had made sure that our LDS family members would be in our ward the Sunday of his sustaining by having Abby invite them to hear her give a scripture as she moved into Young Women’s. It was a really lovely sacrament because Abby and her friend she has known since birth both had a chance to be recognized. Also, two Young Women received their medallions and a new member received the gift of the Holy Ghost.

And our extended family was all there together. So nice.

Pres. Pratt spoke and really set a fantastic tone reminding us all what a wonderful job Bishop Slaughter has done and explaining how these calls take place. And then Shawn and his inspired counselors were called and they took the stand.

And let me tell you – the best part was seeing tiny Shawn on the stand in between those two great men. He definitely looks like the baby there, but I think it won’t be so shocking down the road.

The rest of the day was spiritual and lovely and I don’t want to speak lightly of important things, but it was a humbling and reflective day for all of us.

So, my husband now sleeps a lot less.

And he’s lost a ton of weight from nervous-non-eating.

And he’s so overwhelmingly in love with the people of our ward, I cannot even describe it.

I learned to never tell someone there’s no way they’ll get a calling because it takes a lot of nice texts and frank talks to later get them to believe that you have confidence in them. And I do. More so, I have confidence that the Lord runs this church, and he’s not going to let my freckly husband mess it up. Or his kooky wife. Or anything. Thank goodness for that knowledge.

Shawn and Pres. Hawkes

Helloooooooo sweet freedom.

Welcome back Structure and Dinners-that-are-not-a-choice-between-popcorn-or-Nutella-sandwiches.

We’ve been missing you Super Long Car Riders Pick Up Line.

Waaaaaait. One of those things is not as happy as the other ones. You guessed it. Structure.

(Because – duh – you can totally read in peace in that super long car line. WINNING!)

At any rate, this morning we were back to doing this.

Yay (!!) for regular family scripture study. It gets pretty relaxy in the summer because

uhhhhhh

what excuse to use for that?

Let’s go with “the heat melts our brains and we feel impressive that we remember to pray together?”

 I love love love family scripture study and I love the school year for it.The daily routine really helps us stay on track. From the picture, you will note that at this point in the year, the children are still smiling and excited. They participate and ask germane questions. That look on Annie’s face will eventually change. We know what’s coming in, ohhhh, November or so…things like Amy screaming, “Just read while I brush my teeth. I promise I’m listening!”

And yes, we have, more than once, stood in my bathroom for scripture study and family prayer.  I suspect we are heathens.

But for now, we are riding the wave of spiritual goodness and unified interest as long as we can.  Surf’s up!

And eek!  I’ve got some kids going to school. Mads is headed off to 5th grade and that is good because, frankly, Maddie always needs a venue for her antics that is bigger than this home. It keeps our relationship healthy (ie -I don’t kill her as she has a new place to channel her robust energies.)

Annie is a certifiable second grader and no, I did not tell her to pose like that. No mother wants that for her child. Unless, you know, the mother is some sort of circus performer and the child lives in a pop up camper next to an elephant cage.

But we’re in our happy place today, so we’re going to find that pose “endearing.”

My resplendent Abs is doing Florida Virtual School, so she’s still here with me. And we are in our jammies. And pretty much in heaven. Her sisters left today and we waved byyyyyyyye

and closed the door

and clasped hands

and started jumping up and down and up and down and up and down.

We did not squeal because we like peace. We do not care for loudness. We so get each other. Mmmmmm – I love that kid.

Abs will go into a bricks and mortar school tomorrow for ORCHESTRA! How cool is that?  So while we wait for her online classes to open, that might be her first day at school – orchestra class.

But she had her own big first.

(Please ignore the yellow haze there – that’s my picture-taking-ineptitude rearing its ugly head again.)

On Saturday, we took our Abs with us to the temple.

sniff

Before I even had children (or a spouse, for that matter), I knew that on their 12th birthday, I wanted to take my little lambs to the LDS temple. That is the age when they can begin serving in the temple. Temples bind families and what better way to spend the day than in the temple as a family? We didn’t quite make it on her birthday, but we were as close as we could get. It was wonderful to be together and to talk and explore. I can’t wait until the other girlies join us there.

Making memories. Making memories.

Say what?

Gulp. My little Abby is now 12. Well, she will be 12 at 7:07 pm.

Things that describe Abby:

Nerd-a-licious-ness (she makes nerdy cool)

Naturally happy

Learning obsessed

Great love of reading – and writing

Dancy girl

She’s the best kind of kid, if you ask me. I like her mucho.

And now, it’s time to turn this – like all things – into being about me. Stay with me, I’ll get back on course.

For years, Abby’s birthday was hard for me. I really struggled with trying to not feel resentful of her birth experience. It wasn’t ideal and I hurt for a long time. It was grossly immature, but I felt like “no one got it” – what we had been through and how hurt and scared we were. I wished for a different scenario and different reactions from people and, frankly, I wanted a do-over.

Then, I grew up.

It started with a birthing-expert-friend pointing out to me that the birth experience – while it could certainly be a lovely portion of the memory pool – wasn’t really the important part. Raising your kid was the important part. Light bulb there. Big time.

Part of my growing out of hurt from it was wanting to see things differently and partly it was just experiencing more life. As I’ve matured and as time has rocked on, I’ve seen that so few people have perfect experiences in all aspects of life. Maybe work is perfect, but home is hard. Maybe family life is ideal, but there are struggles with health and employment. Perhaps extended family is not what one wished for or there are heartaches that just can’t be healed easily. Sometimes, life is, like Mary Poppins, practically perfect…for now…and then things crumble. And sometimes, others are presenting things in a way where we see the best and we just don’t even know their hardnesses and difficulties – and that can be a struggle when your hardnesses and difficulties are right on the surface for the world to watch.

Maybe Shawn and I got the short end of the stick with a birth and circumstances and interactions surrounding it – but now, I can see that things did indeed work out just as they were supposed to. I learned to be a little bit more patient with others in their difficult situations and I also grew up quickly in ways I didn’t know I ever would. And to top it all off, I got this certifiably wonderful kid.

And I got to be a mom.

And she is ours forever. No matter what. Our Abby. Did I already say she is the best kind of kid? Because she really is.

And being in her world is so much bigger than a wonky birth experience.

Happy birthday Abs!  Thanks for getting birthed out of me – even though it was a long night and I got sliced open and my innards are all scar tissued up because of you. You were worth it all because you are simply divine.