I am writing a book.

It’s going… oookaaaay.

I don’t know if anyone other than myself and my husband will ever read it, but it’s getting written goshdarnit.  And it’s getting written this year.

I’ve known I was going to write a book for a few years now.  It was just a matter of what, when, and get going.  The “what” is still developing.  The “when” and the “get going” have finally been decided by an iron-clad contract.  And by “iron-clad contract,” I mean: a hastily scribbled sentence detailing my intent and commitment, written on a scrap piece of paper I can no longer find.  But it was witnessed and signed by my husband.

The deal is I have to write for one hour each weekday this month.  I get one sick day (I already used it).  By September 1, I will turn in my book proposal to my husband.  We’ll evaluate and go from there.  All good goals need a reward, so when I complete this first agreement, my reward is a day of consignment store shopping sans children.

The first morning of my contract, I stumbled downstairs to turn on my computer, and was jealous it could function at the hour I had chosen to wake it — because I certainly wasn’t functioning.

I stared at the blank screen, fingers poised and ready to dance. But my head stubbornly refused to emit any knowledge, wisdom, wit, or even subject matter.  I searched the internet for some writing prompts, found one about Cinderella’s shoe fitting the stepsister instead of Cinderella, and started writing dialogue I’m too embarrassed to share with anyone.  I was checking the clock every minute, just dying for the hour to end.

This was not working.

I tried again the next morning.  And the morning after.  And on and on.  Occasionally I would be able to produce something I was proud of, but most often I ended my session downhearted and frustrated.  But each morning, I have still made my empty-headed way to the computer.

I began to read my old blog posts to just get places to start. Every now and then I was happy with something I had written in the past, but for the most part, I only saw the foolish flaws and the language that could have been funnier, could have been more meaningful, could have been, could have been.

It’s almost a fact of life that once you set your mind to something, all hell breaks loose in the form of self-doubt.  I’m not sure I have the ability to do what I want to do, but for whatever reason, I am currently being blessed with the pitiful ability to trudge along in this lonely journey.

I really like consignment store shopping.

I’ve been 29 for over a month now, and I haven’t even so much as winked at my list of 30 Awkward and Uncomfortable Things to Do Before Turning 30. I suppose that a list compiled solely of things that would make me feel awkward and uncomfortable might have something to do with my reluctance to get started on filling that list with check marks.

So here I go. I’m going to attempt to complete #26 right here, right now.

#26. Give a copy of a Book of Mormon to somebody.

I’m not sure if this seems like a strange thing to make my list or not, but let me venture at explaining myself. I think I’m fairly adequate at laughing at myself and at the world, but when it comes to serious things — sacred things, even — I balk. I want to change the subject and talk about that time a geyser of water nearly knocked me over at the pool, or the time I was the only person on the bus who fell down when the driver suddenly stopped.

See? I’m already starting to change the subject. This is hard.

The Book of Mormon is sacred to me. I hold it close to my heart. I am more than happy to talk freely about this book and my religion to anyone who asks, but because I fear ridicule or even scorn when discussing something so important to me, I am reluctant to be the person to bring it up.

So if it’s so personal to me, why would I want to tell you about it?

Because it is life-changing. Plainly stated, the Book of Mormon is the word of God, like the Bible. The love of Jesus Christ is evident on every page. A lesson is learned in every chapter. An answer to life’s questions can be found in any verse.

As I read, I find peace and understanding. I feel guidance in my personal life — guidance I know comes from my Heavenly Father. I feel direction and purpose.

The Book of Mormon is an account of the people who lived in the Americas between 600 BC and 400 AD. While it is a fascinating history with intriguing stories, the message of God’s love and Christ’s sacrifice is the greatest takeaway from this special book. (One of my favorite stories is the story of the 2,000 young warriors who defended their land and their freedom. Not one of the young men was killed as they went up against real and large armies of grown men. But my favorite part of that story? The young men — boys, really — credited the teachings of their mothers for their bravery. Love that!)

People have given their lives for this book. I have an ancestor, Benjamin Brown, who was beaten nearly to death by a mob because he preached about the Book of Mormon. I suppose if he could endure broken ribs for the truth of this book, I can stand to open myself up to people ribbing me for my beliefs.

If you would like a copy of your own, send me an email with your address, and I’ll ship one to you straightaway.
thrilledbythethought@yahoo.com

As a middle-schooler, I obsessed over Seal’s song, “Kissed by a Rose.”  When it came on the radio, I would rush to hit record so I could have it on a tape to listen to whenever I so desired — which was a lot.  It took a few tries to get to the radio in time to record, but I finally got it.  And then I practically wore the tape out, rewinding and replaying the song while I wrote down the lyrics.  Embarrassing?  It probably should be.

But ever since then, I’ve had an interest in Seal.  I have been so happy watching his relationship with Heidi Klum.  They were the poster-couple for marriage.  They were openly affectionate, made time for romance, loved on their children, and talked each other up whenever they were interviewed.

So I was un-healthily devastated when I found out they are splitting up.  How can it be?  They were perfect together.

And I am completely baffled by the curious reason they gave in their press release: They simply grew apart.

Seal appeared on Ellen yesterday, and talked about how much he loves Heidi, how wonderful she is, how shocked they both were when they decided to separate.  Ellen pointed out that he is still wearing his wedding ring, and he gave some non-answer about how you don’t just take off your wedding ring when you decide to separate — because, get this, there is still so much love there.

So if there is so much love there, WHY are they calling it quits?  They don’t really owe anyone an explanation for their split, but then again — they do. Because they flaunted their happiness.  They told us all how to do it.  And now they are ending it.

“Growing apart” is not a good reason for a divorce.  It’s a good reason for soul searching, a great reason for finding your spirituality, a fantastic reason for marriage counseling, a stupendous reason for — you know, working at something in which you’ve invested your life (and the lives of four children).

We all know “growing apart” is just Hollywood code for infidelity or some other such treachery.  But can’t they give us something a little more… concrete?  Because now they’re going around, telling the world that couples simply grow apart and divorce.  Like that’s a standard we should accept.

Let me tell you something:  Marriage is roses and marriage is thorns.  But most importantly, marriage is a commitment.  You ride the good times with a smile, and you hunker down and barrel through the tough times, and you know what?  You come out stronger.  You come through it together.

I know I sound callous about what is surely a painful thing in two real people’s lives.  But shouldn’t somebody just shake them?  If they grew apart, can’t they grow together?

Seal — I still love your voice, and Heidi — you sure can rock a post-baby body.  But give us a better reason for your split or please please stop talking about it, and making it seem like husband and wife should just walk away when they wake up and find themselves going in different directions.

Well I tell you what… this winter is really throwing me for a loop.

I don’t know what it’s like in your part of the world, but here it’s warm.  Not like let’s-go-swimming warm, but warm enough that my new winter boots are getting awfully jealous of my old flats.  And my flats are feeling just a little… used.  My closet has started taking sides, with the scarves and mittens hurling shameful insults at the t-shirts.  It’s just a mess.

Normally at this time of year, we’re knee-deep in awful, horrid, freezing snow.  Plans are usually being cancelled because the latest snow storm is preventing me from driving to the end of my road.  Each day normally commences with a ceremonial glance outside, fingers crossed with a hope for dry conditions and ultimately a silent (or audible, depending on the day) curse at the housing market that has planted me firmly in freezing, snowy Utah with no escape back to sunny California.

This year, the ceremonial glances are still occurring.  But each day, I feel like I am looking out a California window — and not even a California window in January.  More like a California window in April.  It’s just that nice outside.

I should be happy about this wonderful weather, but I’m having a hard time dealing with this shift.  Yesterday, I gingerly and very timidly stepped outside for a walk with my bundled babies.  I was worried the good weather was all in my head, and as soon as we were two feet away from our house, the weather gods would throw their vengeance upon me in the form of a blinding blizzard.  (“How dare you think you can waltz around outside this time of year?  We’ll show you!”  Eh… Something like that…)  We were all sweating by the time we got home.  What kind of trick is this?

This is just so out of the ordinary that I feel wrong enjoying it.  There has to be some sort of repercussion for such a great gift, doesn’t there?  Even now, as I bask in the sunlight from my window, I can’t help but feel an awful gloom and dread.  Somebody slap me, and tell me to go dance in the sunny streets!

I read a post the other day about women who live under the illusion that other women are perfect.  The writer, Sabrina, wrote about how she was still crying for no reason three and a half months after her baby boy was born.  She felt like she was the only one experiencing this, and pointed to all the “other” moms out there who are able to handle everything with such grace.

I imagine she was surprised at many of the comments.  Most people said they thought she was one of those “other” moms, handling everything perfectly.

I wonder why this seems to happen over and over.  Women take their very worst qualities and set them right next to the very best qualities of their friends.  In fact, nothing they do is as good as what other women do.

But how is that even fair?  It’s like me trying to slam dunk a basketball, and then really hating myself because I can’t — even though Michael Jordan can.  Why don’t I instead say, “Man, Michael Jordan really stinks at breastfeeding.”

I understand we present our best selves to the world, and hide all the ugly, yucky things we hate about ourselves.  And I understand that does tend to create false perceptions of reality.

Even though Sabrina’s post and the comments had nothing to do with me, I felt a little self conscious after reading it.  I started to wonder if I present my best self, and decided I better clear up a thing or two.

There aren’t many perfect women out there… but you are so lucky to know me because I happen to be that “other” woman who has it all together.  Be jealous.  Let me demonstrate.

I have the cleanest silverware on the block.

Removing silverware from the dishwasher is the drudgeriest of the drudges, in my opinion.  Rather than remove it and put it in the drawer, I let it cycle through the dishwasher again and again until my husband unloads the dishwasher.  Since he is currently working two jobs and spends a fourth of a fruit fly’s lifetime at home each week, that’s not too often.  We’ll soon be eating with our hands.

I read a book a week, or close to it.

That’s because I frequently lock myself in the bathroom with a book when I need a break.  My daughter, the constant debater, can’t argue for my time when “Nature” calls me.

My daughter hardly ever eats sweets…

because I eat them all when she isn’t looking.

My daughter has the cleanest bedroom…

or not.  I don’t really know because I close my eyes when I go in or near so I can avoid facing the likely mess and subsequently dealing with it.  But I sure live in a state of ignorant bliss, tell you what.

See?  It’s all in how you choose to look at things.  Read the bold words, and forget the rest.  That’s what you’re doing when you look at Suzy Q down the street with her perfect makeup, high profile job and impeccably-dressed kids, so do the same for yourself!

EMMA!

8 lbs. 1 oz, 21 inches long, blond hair, dimples when she smiles in her sleep!

The little dear was born August 9 and is adjusting to life outside the womb quite nicely.  We love her to pieces, of course.

Big sister Lydia has no problems with her new little sister, but boy, does she have problems with her parents!  We’re all getting lessons in controlling our tempers together.  Hopefully we’ll ace the temper control exam sooner rather than later.

Within a week of my first birth, I was lucky enough to get a severe case of the flu, which ultimately landed me in Instacare with an IV stuck in my arm for several hours.  Nursing a floppy newborn when you have a needle stuck in one arm is no small feat, I assure you.  Thank goodness for my mom, who stood by my side and helped me through that.

This time around, no flu has been forthcoming, much to my great happiness.  Instead, I have been blessed with insomnia.  No, this isn’t sleep deprivation caused by my newborn.  My newborn wakes up twice a night to be fed.  If she cries at any other time during the night, my awesome teammate husband tends to her.

This insomnia is just that: insomnia.  I can’t sleep.  I can’t.  I can’t take naps, I can’t fall asleep at night…I just can’t sleep.  It’s quite miserable.  With many, many prayers, I did finally get a good night’s sleep last night and I’m hoping and praying for another one tonight.

I have determined that it is simply my fate to have some issue to deal with after each birth.  I guess it wouldn’t be a good birth story if I didn’t have some physical trauma immediately after the physical trauma of birth.

And with that, I will share the story of Emma’s birth.  I don’t know about you, but I truly love reading birth stories.  I’ll even read birth stories about people I don’t know.  If you love them too, you’re welcome.  If you don’t, then stop reading right here!

I was induced on August 9 with the intention of giving birth naturally.  After a couple hours, the contractions were incredibly intense and I was second guessing my desire for a natural birth.

My nurse was incredibly supportive of my decision either way but my doctor was clear that he would prefer for me to have an epidural.  My first labor was only 4 hours (also induced) and my doctor worried he wouldn’t make it to the hospital in time to deliver the baby if I went naturally since when you have a natural labor, you can’t hold back the pushes.

When the pains were their most intense, I requested an epidural and my nurse suggested checking my progress to see if maybe I could hold out.  I was only dilated to a 4 and I had been in labor for about 2 1/2 hours by that point.  I really thought I would have been further along since my first labor was so fast so I started to get nervous that I wouldn’t be able to hold out.  Plus, the anesthesiologist was about to go into a C-Section and wouldn’t be available for an hour or more.

So I decided to get the epidural.  And it didn’t work.  Just like with my last birth.  Once it was finally in, it took an hour to get the epidural working properly (while my labor actually slowed down) and guess what?  As soon as it did work, it was pretty much time to push that baby out.  My doctor arrived, I pushed three times and out she came, perfect and beautiful and healthy.

Total labor time?  4 1/2 hours.  Total time it SHOULD have taken?  Probably 3 1/2 because the epidural slowed my labor down for a while.  My nurse was also tied up with another patient for about a half hour and she suspected I probably would have been ready the whole time she was with the other patient.

In the end, the experience didn’t matter because my daughter was born perfect and whole.  But I do wish my doctor had been more supportive of a natural childbirth.  I was nervous as it was, and his doubts really swayed me.  Looking back, I see that I would have only had to have endured another 30 minutes to an hour of labor without an epidural.  It would have been possible, and as crazy as it may sound to some people, I’m sad that I didn’t get to experience natural labor.

Plus, I really hate the epidural process and it left me completely numb for SIX hours after it was taken out.

So I am putting YOU in charge of reminding me to read this post the next time I am about to give birth.  Remind me that I CAN do it naturally and that I WANT to do it naturally.  Remind me that I progress from a 4 to a 10 in minutes and if I can just hold out for a little while, the birth will be over before I know it.

In the meantime, I’m going to attempt a nap.

When my husband and I started dating seriously, he told me that he didn’t notice other women.  He told me I was the most beautiful woman in the world, the ONLY beautiful woman in the world in his eyes.

It sounds like a line, but I believed him.  And 6 years later, I still do.  Why?  Because of his speech, behavior and actions.

He doesn’t ogle famous, beautiful women (or women he knows, for that matter).  I have never known him to say he thinks a famous woman is even attractive.  I know many couples think it’s harmless and even fun to talk about hot celebrities (or even neighbors) in front of each other.  But we disagree.   It’s damaging.  I had boyfriends who talked about how hot “So and So” was and all it did to me was make me feel like I could never measure up.

My husband makes a concerted effort to avoid seeing scantily clad women.  This doesn’t mean he simply avoids strip clubs and porn.  While he certainly DOES avoid those things, he also makes sure he is ignoring and fighting nudity in other sometimes seemingly harmless areas of our life.  When a Victoria’s Secret commercial comes on TV, he changes the channel.  When we walk by a giant poster of a nearly naked woman, he turns his body away from the poster and looks directly at me.  When we were in Las Vegas and a man tried to hand him some porn, he didn’t just say, “No thanks.”  He physically slapped the offending material out of the man’s outstretched hand.

I trust him.  I know I am the only woman for him because he proves it again and again.  I know I am lucky.  I know my husband is a rarity in this oversexed, pornography everywhere world.  I know it.  And that makes me sad.

I have not always been so lucky.  I had boyfriends with posters and calendars of 90% naked women gracing the walls of their bedrooms.  I had boyfriends who had no problem telling me what they thought of my own friends’ bodies.  Boyfriends who loved to tell me how hot their old girlfriends were.  I don’t know why I put up with those boyfriends.  Love and like can do strange things to people.

I DO know that when I found my husband and experienced the OTHER side of things, there was no way I was EVER going to accept anything less than what my husband offers.  The difference is HUGE, something I foolishly couldn’t fully appreciate until I experienced my husband.

I came across this article by Single Dad Laughing and agreed with most of it.  The author, a man, has come to the conclusion that the reason women are so hard on themselves is because MEN are always looking somewhere else- at someone hotter, at someone with a cleaner house, at someone who is nicer.  The author calls on MEN to take a stand and STOP LOOKING at other women.  Just STOP IT!  And I love that.

I don’t particularly like the entire tone of his article.  He places pretty much all the blame for women’s self degrading behavior on men and I just don’t think that’s true.  Men certainly play an enormous part in it and most definitely need to be called to change, but women also need to demand more from their men.  Women need to stop accepting wandering eyes and hurtful comments.  I know some women who will agree wholeheartedly with me and others who will think there is nothing wrong with a man looking at other women.  But I know the difference.  And I know that absolute fidelity includes body AND mind.

Still, I like the general message Single Dad Laughing gives.  I’m interested to know what you think of his article.  Here are some of my favorite quotes from his article:

We’ve replaced that beauty with a standard that is, and always will be, impossible for them to hit. We’ve decided what the perfect legs are. We’ve decided what the perfect body is. We’ve decided what the perfect breasts are to be shaped like. We’ve decided what the perfect face, skin, butt, and neck should be. And we’ve made no hesitations to boldly let it be known.

We declare it, and we do so with little care for the tender women standing beside us.

Now, you may be naively sitting there thinking, I don’t declare that. I tell women they are amazing. That they are beautiful. That there is nothing wrong with them.

Do you not understand? It doesn’t take opening your mouth to propound these things. It doesn’t take flapping your lips to make a statement. It doesn’t take verbal anything to spread this vicious ideology.

All it takes is you and me, stopping and looking.

Please. Let’s stop ogling the very things that are causing this tragic mind game. Let’s stop walking by the never-ending porn that surrounds us with our jaws dangling so carelessly. Let’s stop salivating every time Pavlov rings his freaking bell.

We spent way too much time in the car last week.  I don’t even want to add up the hours, but let me tell you this: it was excruciating.  We traveled to my parents’ house in the Central Valley of California, to Ryan’s mom’s house in the Bay Area, to Las Vegas and back to Salt Lake City.  In between all that, we took day trips to San Francisco and Santa Cruz.  I wouldn’t take the vacation back, but I would have definitely preferred to be in an airplane instead of a cramped car, especially since every one of our journeys was hours longer than it was supposed to be, thanks to weather, weather and more weather.  (And one wrong turn in the middle of the night.)

But this is what we were doing when we weren’t driving!

Showing the German how Thanksgiving is done

Enjoying near perfect San Francisco weather

Stuffing our faces at Ghirardelli

Showing the German how to properly eat clam chowder

Appreciating iconic structures

Riding roller coasters at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk with family we don’t get to see enough

Dancing on the beach in full winter gear

We also loved our trip to Las Vegas (even though it took TEN hours when it was only supposed to take eight), but our camera battery died before we could get pictures on the strip at 1:00 am with our German teenage daughter and toddler (feel free to nominate us for parents of the year).

Our drive back to Salt Lake City was absolutely harrowing, since we were in a huge blizzard.  My little brother was also driving back and he ended up upside down in a ditch full of water after his truck slipped on some ice.  Terrifying, but thankfully he is ok.  We have all vowed to never drive long distances in the winter again.

Hope you had a great Thanksgiving!

Did you know?  Half birthdays do not require a lot of fanfare, but they do require a certain amount of attention.

To do a half birthday properly, wish a happy half birthday to the half-birthday girl.  Give her lots of kisses and tell her how much you love her.

Then give her a half donut (chocolate please).

If she is an adult (and I am), she can eat the other half after the toddler is asleep.

Happy half birthday to me!  (A few days late.)

And thank you to my husband for remembering and showering me with the undeserved, silly attention I absolutely relish and adore on such a silly day of remembrance.

Sorry for the lack of posting lately.  A few weeks ago, I was having bursts of creative thoughts at all times of the day and night.  My mind was on overload and I spent a good part of every day searching for paper on which to write my amazing ideas.

So then I bought a cute little idea journal- a place where I could write and store and keep all these ideas.

I was oh-so excited to start filling it.  But then my good friend irony paid a visit (or at least I think it’s irony.  I always thought I understood the definition of irony, but on the TV show Castle, the character Castle frequently bemoans the general public’s lack of understanding when it comes to the definition of irony.) and my idea notebook has sat empty for weeks.

But here’s an idea:  Don’t you love this shirt?

My uber creative sister in law, Raquel, concocted it from her brain and scraps of material.  I should take a closer picture so you can really see how cute it is.  (But I probably won’t.  Along with my lack of ideas, I’m kind of lazy these days.)  Would you pay for a shirt like this?  Cuz I would.  And I think Raquel should be selling these.

I have managed to get a few things written, if you’re interested.  This week, on www.alwayssomethingtotalkabout.com, we’re talking about working moms, work at home moms and stay at home moms.  I shared my frustrating experiences of being a work at home mom and tried to find some positives.

Also, check out my take on the Chase Home Museum at Visit Salt Lake.  You can read my post here.  It’s a delightful museum that more people should know about.  Plus, they do free outdoor concerts every Monday during the summer.  Next Monday is a Scottish group.  We’ll be there, for sure, being the crazy bagpipe lovers that we are.  (Once, in a student apartment, a guy was out practicing his bagpipe on his balcony.  I now realize that was probably a little bit strange for him to do, but I was like a bug to light, I tell you.  I ran over to watch and very nearly went up to his apartment to ask him out on a date.  I am a tidge shy, though, so the date never materialized.  No regrets.  I have the man I want and need- even if he completely lacks any form of bagpipe ability.)