A Little Spot of Sunshine

The last few weeks were kind of brutal. School started. This is a great occurrence, as anyone who's dealt with bickering siblings for months at a time can tell you. (Unless you're a teacher. Then it's probably dread and horror. Except that teachers are amazing and actually seem to look forward to having my kids come to school and spend all day with them.) But I digress. The problem with my oldest starting school is that my kindergartner didn't get to start for another week. So I got to hear the injustice of his situation for hours at a time every day. And he is unfortunate enough to have an October birthday, which puts most of his friends a year ahead of him in school, so when he was waiting for school to start, most of his friends were already in school and unavailable to play with him. There was a lot of whining. So the first week of school wasn't ideal.

The following week started with Tim departing for the next 8 days. His dad needed help getting a large piece of land ready to sell, and there was a lot of physical labor that needed to be done. Tim needed to help him. It was the right thing to do. But it didn't mean being at home without him was super fun or easy. I'm not going to describe every day of that entire 8 days, but I will say that there was not a lot of sleep on my part. There was a lot of yelling on my part, though. I'm not proud of it. I never pictured myself as that mom that's snapping at her kids all day, throwing adult tantrums because she's not getting her way. But I was that mom. It was horrible. Some highlights of the week include the following:

My 37th birthday. The boys fed me breakfast in bed. It was amazing. I fed the boys Eggos for dinner and ate ice cream and better than sex cake for dinner (I made it for myself. I am always looking for excuses to make that cake). My friend came over that night and we watched Austenland, which totally saved the evening for me. It was a much better day than I'd anticipated. (Also, my friends kept giving me chocolate all week in the name of my birthday, which made the horrible week a lot better.)

 My 5-year-old's first day of kindergarten, where I had a mini-meltdown outside the classroom after dropping him off (I was really stressed and even more tired). He emerged from the school with a huge smile on his face, and told me he loved his teacher and school in general. I almost melted down again from relief.

I had a little break in the middle of the week when my friends took me out for dinner and shopping. That, plus all the chocolate I was given, saved my kids from more mama drama than they'd have gotten. I should have them make thank you notes for all my friends.

The low point was Thursday, my 5-year-old's second day of school, when I moved his bike from its original parking spot at the school so it would be closer to the kindergarten's meeting spot, resulting in a huge panic attack from him when his bike was missing, me running around the school to find him (after a very long bike ride), then running back around when I just missed him, then walking him around one more time so we knew what we were going to do every day. This was followed by a bike ride home with me listening to him scream insults and threats at me. The rest of the afternoon went pretty much the same way. I had promised my oldest a movie night that night, and, after a harrowing hour of getting the younger two kids in bed, I came into the living room to start the movie. This is what I found, along with a bag of mini-Oreos and a box of Mike and Ikes:

  And when I flipped it over:

(Blogger won't orient the picture right, no matter what I try. You'll have to read it sideways.)

"I love you more than Oreos and Mike and Ikes!"

My week wasn't much easier after that, but it didn't seem to matter anymore.

Last weekend Tim had to go out of town again for an 11-year-old Scout camp out. Once again I had promised a movie night to the 9-year-old. Once again, I ended up yelling at everyone after an exhausting evening with very little cooperation. My poor kids looked beaten down. I felt like the worst mom ever. So I sat down and explained that I was tired and it was really hard not to have dad's help, so I needed their help, and I'd try to stop yelling so much. Bedtime happened, and this time, when I came downstairs, there was a tall glass of chocolate milk and this:

I did not deserve it. But I enjoyed it, and I enjoyed hanging out with him and watching a movie together. He is my little spot of sunshine.

Looking at Retirement Homes

On Sunday, my 2-year-old fell asleep on my lap during church. He weighs 35 pounds, and half of that is his head. Which was resting on my forearm. I was holding extremely still, because, as uncomfortable as a dead-weight sleeping toddler is, an awake toddler that's already been to two hours of church is much much worse. So I held as still as my body would allow, and successfully kept him asleep for the entire hour of Sacrament Meeting. I didn't think much about it, and came home and went about the rest of my day. The next morning, though, oy, did I feel it. You know in the cartoons, when they hit the ground and end up in a body-shaped hole in the ground? There was a Rachel-shaped hole in my mattress, and I was 3 inches inside it. And I was pretty sure the Hulk had just thrown me around a few times then slammed me into the ground. After lifting my head three or four times and giving up, I decided the best move would be to swing my legs out of the hole and onto the floor, then ease the rest of myself out of bed one vertebra at a time. Crack, crackle, CRACK. And I'm up. After limping downstairs and getting going for the morning, I figured I'd limber up. But halfway through a shopping trip to Walmart, which was taking a painfully long time due to my excruciatingly slow pace (you try pushing a cart with 2 stout boys and a load of groceries while sporting a backache), I still felt like a fragile old woman. I came to the conclusion that I AM GETTING OLD.

Actually, that whole day was just a confirmation of a suspicion that has been growing since our trip to Lagoon last week. As a teenager and young adult, I'd hop on the spinny rides without a second thought, ride them four times in a row, and happily skip to the next twirling ride. Roller coasters didn't phase me once I stopped being afraid of them. They were just another way to find excitement and hang out with friends. Last week, I went on the Colossus (a roller coaster with 2 loops and a few twists) once with my 9-year-old, and had to hold onto the fence and regain my equilibrium so I wouldn't vomit into the zinnias. And that's a classic ride! I would go on that ride 5 times in a row without so much as a twinge when I was in my twenties. The Wild Mouse made me feel like my neck was going to crack. When Jacob suggested we go on Wicked, a much more exciting roller coaster than the Colossus or Wild Mouse, I knew I couldn't do it. I wanted to ride it. A much younger part of my soul was shouting "DO IT!" at me. But my weary, dizzy, older self said no. We met back up with Tim, whose birthday we were celebrating (I'm not telling you which birthday, but I will tell you this is his last year in his thirties), and I suggested that he take Jacob on Wicked. He said, "Honey, I'm getting old. I can't handle these rides anymore." That's when the thought occurred to me that perhaps I haven't gotten wimpier, just older. My body doesn't have the stamina to endure being pulled in 5 directions over the course of 30 seconds. My inner ear is losing its grip.

So I'm getting old. I understand now why, when I ask my mom to come along to Lagoon with us, she cheerfully declines. I understand why Tim wanted to invest in a pricey air mattress for camping instead of using the older, thinner one. Our bodies just aren't what they used to be.

HOWEVER, my parents have given me hope. They still go mountain biking, backpacking, play tennis and racquetball, ride horses, and go camping. So tomorrow, If I can peel myself out of my bed, I'll hop on my bike and haul the kids up and down some hills and try to feel less than eighty years old.

Remember when...

Remember once upon a time when I actually posted regularly on this blog? I vaguely remember it, but it's been so long it's just a fuzzy and distant hint of a memory. I felt like I had interesting and funny things to blog about, and then, for a while, I had absolutely nothing to say. Funny or otherwise. I have my own personal theories as to why that happened, but the point is that I'm going to make one last effort to get my lazy bum in gear and write a post more than once a year.

Today, I'd like to discuss ice cream. And chocolate. And chocolate ice cream. And treats in general. I was super duper healthy and fit about 3 months ago. I had awesome self control when it came to my dessert eating habits. I was eating veggies and chicken breasts and exercising EVERY DAY. I felt amazing! Then something happened. School got out. We went on a 2-week long road trip with a 2-year-old. It got so hot outside that my extremely calloused bare feet couldn't even touch the porch, which meant no bike rides, no long walks, and no tennis. Which brings me to ice cream. Did you know you can buy a giant box of Nestle ice cream treats at Costco? This box includes Drumsticks, ice cream sandwiches, and Crunch ice cream bars. This is a fact. What is also a fact is that if you lose one habit it is generally replaced by another habit. So I have spent this summer eating ice cream instead of riding my bike. And now I'm sporting a muffin top and can't seem to give up the ice cream. Yesterday, I ate the bottom of my chocolate Drumstick, you know, the part that's solid Nestle chocolate, and suddenly found myself unwrapping a caramel Drumstick. I looked down at my hands and went, "What? Huh. Oh well." Chomp chomp chomp.

Now, I'm sure there's an essential oil that could cure me of my ice cream addiction. I'm sure there are a million quinoa "dessert" recipes that could replace the ice cream. And I've even begun cutting up a bunch of fruit and sticking it in my fridge as a substitute for that second ice cream cone (because I'm still going to have the first one, no matter how tight my pants are). I have even eaten some of that fruit, then congratulated my healthy snack by eating a Crunch bar.

My solution is this: Just like I've replaced my bike riding and tennis with ice cream, I can replace eating ice cream with buying shoes. Bam. Problem solved. (Shoe Carnival is having a buy one get one half off sale right now. Also, I saw some fabulous pink sparkly shoes for ten bucks today while buying the boys their school shoes.)

Try Numero Dos

I'm guessing that when I watched 20 seasons of the Amazing Race a year or two ago I probably posted on here about the same things I'm going to post now, but I'm going to post now about it anyway. The trick will be to see if Blogger allows this post to actually be published. Here are a few thoughts:

1. Can it really be possible that after 23, almost 24 seasons, no one has died in a fiery taxi crash in a third-world country? This just seems miraculous to me. In Season One, the teams go to Bangladesh and go screaming through the streets in three-wheeled taxi carts at ridiculous speeds, scooting around buses and trucks and barely squeaking by. There were no stop signs, traffic lights, lines on the roads, or order of any kind. Yet no one died. Amazing.

2. American tourists already have a bad rep for being loud and obnoxious. Offer American tourists a million bucks if they hurry really fast through foreign lands, and they become ridiculously abrasive and embarrassing. Which is why I'm surprised that no one has started a war between the U.S. and the rest of the world. I think the most cringe-worthy behavior exhibited is the screaming at taxi drivers that "IT'S AN EMERGENCY! MOVE YOUR (insert crude word for bottom)!!!" Ian and Terry from Season 3, Ian in particular, made us all look like jerks. When he wasn't saying something offensive about the culture, he was either yelling "Come ON, Terry!" or "DRIVE FASTER! Man, this country is full of morons!" I was very glad he didn't win.

3. I want Phil's job. Everyone is happy to see him, he gets to travel all over the world, someone does his hair and make-up, and he probably flies first class and stays in fancy hotels wherever he travels. Lucky. If only my teeth were that white and I had a cool accent.

4. There seem to be consistent types of teams from season to season. The "We're Seeing if Our Relationship Can Be Salvaged by Going a Month without Sleep and Enduring High Levels of Stress," the "We're Buddies that Have Never Been Annoyed by Each Other Until We Just Found Out Neither of Us Can Drive Stick or Read a Map," the "We're Finally Done Having Little Kids and Want to See the World" Married Couples, and Siblings. The most functional teams I've seen are Siblings and Married Couples. I honestly don't understand the whole idea behind thinking that having cameras following you around while you are dealing with preexisting relationship issues will bring you closer as a couple. Most of the time what it becomes is a chance to bicker on every continent. The friends always amuse me greatly. There have been a few successful friendship teams (Season One winners and the Cha Cha Chas, for example), but most of them seem to leave a little less chummy than they were at the beginning. The Siblings are used to being annoyed by each other, and have already spent their whole lives together, so they are the perfect team. So, my siblings, anyone want to listen to me cry for a month and give the Amazing Race a try? My husband gets stressed out just watching the show, so he's a no go.

5. There are also the Nice vs. Wicked and Sneaky teams. I'm always extra happy to see the nice teams win. The Cha Cha Chas and the Cowboys are my favorite teams ever. They are classy and also kicked butt. The current season also has a team from Utah, so naturally I want them to win, but if they don't, I sure hope it's the Cowboys. Colin and Christie from season 5 are the epitome of Wicked and Sneaky, with a side of Anger Issues. His meltdowns are priceless. The meltdowns come in every season, and it's usually hilarious to me. Maybe that means I'm a horrible person that would be on the Wicked and Sneaky side and not the Nice side. I just know I'd be on the crying side.

Seasons 1-22 are available on Hulu+. Come on. If you can't travel, watch other people do it. It's fun!

A word

I just spent an hour writing a post for this lovely, neglected blog. However, blogger decided that instead of publishing it, it would save an older version of the post that I had reworked completely. I give up. The point of my long, carefully written post was that I'm in the mood to post again (maybe), and that I'm addicted to The Amazing Race because I never get to go anywhere exotic anymore. That's all. Let's see if Blogger decides that this is worth publishing.

Word to my sister friend

In my last post I listed some ways I pulled myself out of a funk I'd been in all summer. But what I failed to mention is what woke me up to the fact that I was struggling and needed to pull myself out of my terrible rut. 

This is my friend, Rachel Knecht. She was my roommate for 3 years in college, and we are as kindred as kindred spirits can get. We are both short, but in her family I'm referred to as the Short Rachel, being an inch shorter than her. Her dad would call and ask for "The Tall Rachel" when he wanted to talk. We share a love of ANTM, coloring (I covet that set of crayons she's holding), Mr. Darcy, Mr. Thornton, and chocolate. We get the same jokes. We are soul sisters.

She and I both have August birthdays (a week apart), and she happened to be in town from California the week between our birthdays. So we had a Birthdaypalooza of fun. This week also happened to be one in which I had spent every day moping on my couch, watching trash on TV and feeling bad. So a weekend with Rachel was the shot of joy in my arm of mopeyness that I needed. We colored, we watched America's Next Top Model, we went out and ate delicious food, and we talked and talked and talked. Rachel K. is the sunniest, most positive person I know. She helped me remember all the good things about my life, and that is when I realized I needed to do something about my sad funk. So thanks, sister friend.

The Funk is Gone

I swore I was going to blog regularly all summer. But then I didn't. And I got in a big old funk and didn't feel like doing much of anything, especially not blogging and trying to be witty. I'm still not feeling particularly witty but I'm not in that funk anymore. And here are some things that pulled me out of that funk:

I read this book a few years ago and tossed it aside because I thought it was kind of dumb. Then my parents told me a few weeks ago to go see this movie. They said they'd laughed a lot. I thought maybe I'd get around to it if I could talk a friend into going with me. Then I decided I really needed to get out, and pull myself out of the funk I was in. I figured a silly movie might help. I didn't have high expectations, especially after having read the book. My friend and I hit the theater and caught a late night showing. It was us and a bunch of other women in the theater, and it was like a huge girls' night. At one point a woman sitting somewhere behind us yelled out, "She's got a bird in her hair!" and the whole theater erupted into laughter. We'd already been laughing a lot. I went back and saw it again a week later with the same friend and one other that really needed to see it as well. It's showing up at my doorstep from Amazon the second it's released on DVD. It got horrible reviews. From a bunch of grumpy old men that don't get the joke. It pulled the funk right out of me, and that's all the review I need.

Remember this show? Remember when it was good? I spent a few weeks watching One Tree Hill, and realized it was driving me deeper into the funk I was in. So much angst and drama, and so little joy and humor. I was digging through the DVDs one day to get out the next Animaniacs disc for my son, and ran across my DVDs of Vampire Diaries, season one. Eureka! Oh my, how I've missed that show. I had forgotten how good the first few seasons were. Remember Aunt Jenna? And nice Rick Salzman? And all the pre-Klaus fun? Yeah, I'd forgotten. So. Much. Fun. And watching something that fun pulled me off the couch and into the laundry room. I started putting away toys. I swept the floor. No, this show isn't miraculous or deep. It's just fun, and I needed to remember fun.

I went to visit my sister with my mom back in July, and my sister pulled out the tennis racquets and balls and took us to the tennis courts. I hadn't really played since I was 14 and was taking tennis lessons. I was terrible then, and I'm terrible now, but dang, it's fun! I came back from Colorado, got a racquet and a bucket of balls, snagged a few super cute tennis skirts from Albion, and started playing tennis with my friend. She is much better than me, and played on the team in high school, but I'm getting better, and sometimes I even hit it into the court. Tennis is way more fun than slogging along on a walk or doing sit-ups. Of course, I'm not going to look like What's-Her-Name Sharapova, but it feels great to get outside and move around. In a cute skirt.

And there you go. Feeling down and having a hard time happens. The important thing is pulling yourself out.