Trish In Texas

Like I'm 17 Again

2010-05-10T13:23:00.012-05:00

Last night we were having our regular Sunday evening planning session with the older kids when Matt announced a change in his June schedule. He has a conference coming up, and it looks like it's going to affect the plans we'd originally made to go to Utah in late June/early July.

Which is fine, really. We'll go to Utah later in the summer when we don't have so much going on. But it means I'll most likely have to go to my 20-year high school reunion by myself.

By myself.

The thought of it brought tears to my eyes. My heart began to pound and I brought my hands to my face.

My children were mystified by my reaction. "What's wrong, Mom?"

I think of myself as a nice person. Even a friendly person. But a social person? Hardly. The only time I ever go out socially is when I am with Matt. I do attend the occasional Girls' Night Out and even go to lunch with friends once in a while. I'm always glad when I go, but it takes some serious self-talk and a lot of convincing on Matt's part to get me out the door.

I can see the value of social experiences. When I go a long time without them I can tell I'm getting a little crazy in the head. Being around other people helps me gain a fresh perspective and gives me someone other than myself to talk to.

(Just kidding.)

(Kind of.)

Matt, on the other hand, is very social. He loves people. And he's so good at putting them at ease, smoothing over awkward conversations, and making sure people are enjoying themselves. So I really count on him when we go out to help me ease into the social scene.

Last night he asked, "Why are you so worried? If I remember right, at your 10 year reunion I hardly saw you once we walked in the door." He was right, of course. But seeing him across the room--catching his smile or his wink--always helps me remember I'm safe and loved and enough.

I forget that stuff sometimes.

So I cried, just a little bit, at the thought of walking into my high school reunion all alone.

My daughter got all Eleanor Roosevelt on me and said, "Mom, you should do something every day that scares you."

(Seriously? Isn't she a little young to start repeating things her mother would say?)

I agreed. I told her that was the reason I was going in the first place. Plus, I'm aging pretty well. That's as good a reason as any, don't you think?

Beet Muffins And Other Miscalculations

2010-04-25T20:23:00.008-05:00

Not too long ago I signed up for a CSA, which gives us a half bushel of vegetables from a local grower about once a week.

I've never been a vegetable-lover, but I'm really trying to be open-minded about this venture. Each week I eagerly head home with my basket full of green stuff and start planning what I can do with all of it.

Some of it is familiar, some of it is not. But in the spirit of frugality, I try to put all of it to good use. Most of it ends up in green smoothies, where I can usually mask at least some of the strong flavors of stuff like endive, swiss chard, and collard greens.

If we have spaghetti or tacos for dinner I can chop up a few extra veggies and add them in without anyone catching me. I tried to put parsley in chicken soup, though, and even Matt turned up his nose. (I know--fresh parsley? Blake said it tasted like soap.)

I got beets in my basket last week and for the life of me, could not figure out a way to prepare them that did not include actually tasting them. But I found this recipe for "Red Velvet Coconut Muffins", and I wondered if maybe I could pull it off.

Turns out, I could not.

First, I made the mistake of announcing that there were actual beets in the muffins. One by one, every family member rejected them. I put them away and then tried to casually serve them for breakfast the next morning and, once again, I was denied.

Truthfully, I got a little offended. The little (ever-present) voice inside my head was like, All I do is find creative and tasty ways to--heaven forbid--include a little healthy stuff in their meals and they can't find a single nice thing to say about it?!

It wasn't the best way to start out the day. It went downhill from there.

By the end of the day I was feeling so miserably sorry for myself I was actually in tears. Over muffins.

I mean, not really over muffins. Over all my hard work. And dedication. And hard work.

No one appreciated me.

Finally, I got around to tasting the muffins myself. They weren't too bad. At least they didn't taste like soap. But they didn't taste very good, either. And I guess, in theory, muffins should taste good.

I put the rest of the beets in a blender with some fruit and the rest of the wild greens and (quite literally) gagged it down.

And then I got over myself. It took me a while, but I realized maybe I was making mountains out of molehills. Or muffins out of beets. Neither of which make much sense.

Sea World Souvenir

2010-04-18T08:57:00.003-05:00

Two weekends ago we had visitors come from Utah, and, since Sea World has been on our To-Do List for quite some time, we decided to load up everyone and head south to visit Shamu for the day.

This was a Saturday. Which came on the heels of a very difficult Friday. The kind of day Matt came home from work to find me curled up in the fetal position, crying over what a terrible mother I'd turned out to be.

You've had days like that, right? (Right??)

But Saturday, when our guests arrived, I was determined to put it behind me. However, the little girl that had led me to that conclusion the previous night awoke ready and willing to do it again. I had a feeling 'putting it behind me' would be the least of my troubles that day.

She fussed. She whined. She cried the whole way there. My nerves were on overload, yet I managed to keep it together for the sake of our guests. And for the sake of my other children who were so! excited! about Sea World!

About five miles from our destination I motioned to the other car in our caravan that I was pulling over. Matt and his brother were confused, but followed my hand signals. To their suprise, I met them on the side of the road with a car seat and a little girl. I strapped her in to their car and climbed back into my vehicle for eight whole minutes of peace and quiet. It was heavenly.

By the time we got there, I took one look at Matt's face and realized something was wrong. Ella had thrown up all over her dress. Oh, she was carsick! I thought.

We rummaged through both cars and came up with an old t-shirt left behind by one of the youth in our ward. We told Ella it was a "dress" and she willingly slipped it on. She was pale, but calm. I put her in the stroller and hoped we had seen the worst of it.

We made it to the main gates and realized we were not going to be able to take our bounteous homemade lunch in with us. So we plopped down under the nearest shade to snarf up our meal before it was confiscated by park officials.

It was there that Ella, noticing my clean outfit, elected to throw up on my jeans. This was not a problem. We had plenty of water to wash it out with. And maybe she was still just feeling a bit carsick?

It was somewhere near the first attraction we came to that I realized Ella was not just carsick. She was SICKsick.

She proceeded to throw up again. And again. On me. On herself. On me again. On other people. On me again.

I thought about my options. I could leave. But that left nine people to squish into one car with only eight seatbelts. Not to mention the 2 1/2 hour drive I'd have to face on my own with a very unhappy little girl.

No, my only choice was to stay. So I made the best of it. After washing out two dresses and one blouse, I asked the heavens for help and curled up under a tree to hold my (now naked) 3-year-old while she slept.

The heavens answered and blessed Ella with a long, peaceful nap. The temperature was a perfect 78 degrees. The bugs left us alone. The crowds left us alone. The throwing up stopped (for a while). We rested and I held my tranquil child, whose turbulence just the day before had nearly knocked me off my feet.

I was grateful for the moment. Just me and my baby girl. She's growing up, I could see. I sighed as I found a part of me wishing to hold on to her babyhood, while another part eagerly anticipates the years to come.

I've captured that day in my memory. I got to hold her close all day long. All she wanted was my arms. I held her each time her body retched, and was there to rock her while her tummy settled. Kind mothers brought me baby wipes and bottles of water, smiling knowingly when they saw my predicament. We were well cared for. She slept close to my heart for hours at a time, waking here and there for a sip of water or a bite of cracker. When my back and shoulders ached at the end of the long day, I was happy, knowing it was probably the last time she'd sit so contentedly for so long in my arms.

In all, I'm grateful for the day at Sea World. Not only did it give me such cherished time with my daughter, it also provided memories we'll laugh about for years to come. One in particular was at the dolphin show. We were waiting for the show to begin. A clown/mime was in the audience, splashing water on everyone in the vicinity. We were just a couple rows back from him, just outside the "Splash Zone". All around us people were focused on the clown, laughing and trying to avoid getting wet.

Ella began vomiting again, right there in the stadium. With the distractions around us, I felt I could safely stay where I was and manage the "flow" without disrupting anything. Just when I thought she was done, there was just a bit more that flew from her mouth . . . and onto the lap of a man sitting in front of us.

It was like we were frozen in time. I looked at Matt, who had seen it. He was wide-eyed with surprise. I sensed on my right that the couple next to me had seen it as well. I did not make eye contact. Making eye contact would be acknowledging that it had happened and then I would have to say something to the man in front of us...who had not yet noticed the little splash of cracker and water and stomach bile that had landed on his leg!

He did not turn around. He did not look down at his pants. He smiled, enjoying the show going on in front of him. Up until then I was annoyed by clowns. Suddenly, I was grateful for the splash-happy man who happened to splash our way at just the right moment.

We never did say a word about it. What you don't know can't hurt you, right? And besides, you haven't really had fun at a theme park if you don't take a little throw-up home with you.

Liberated

2010-04-13T10:28:00.003-05:00

Yesterday evening, after dropping off Matt's car at the repair shop, I suggested we sneak back home, leave my car in the driveway (so as not to awaken barely-sleeping little ones), and go for a quiet walk around the neighborhood.

Matt loved the idea.

But then I realized after a day of cleaning and laundry, I looked a bit like a hag. Maybe I shouldn't go out in public?

But Matt said, "You can do it. You're a liberated woman."

I was hoping for something more along the lines of, "Oh, honey. You don't look like a hag. You look great!"

But liberated?

Maybe.

My friend and I often take turns during the week watching each other's youngest children. One morning a couple of months ago I answered the door wearing my typical morning ensemble (purple robe and slippers), expecting it to be Drew & Kelly on the other side.

I got a bit of a surprise when I saw that it was my new visiting teachers. I suddenly remembered deep in the back of my brain an appointment I had intended to place on my calender. But hadn't.

Guess what this "liberated woman" did next? Without another word I closed the door in their faces and proceeded to discuss the situation through the small crack in the doorframe.

Could you wait there just a few minutes? See, I was waiting for my friend. I thought you were her. See, she answers the door looking just like this. We kind of have an understanding between us. Do you understand? Kind of?

So, liberated?

Not so much.

But we did take that walk. And it was lovely.

What Would Ma Do?

2010-03-22T13:10:00.003-05:00

We recently took the next step on our whole foods journey and placed our first order of raw, unpasteurized milk from a local dairy farm.

That's right, we're drinking milk straight from the udders, people.

(There's a reason for this. Of course there is. Email me if you want details.)

I've never thought of myself as the Ma Ingalls-type. And yet, the first thing I did with that milk (once the cream rose to the top) was turn it into butter. And then yogurt. And finally, buttermilk.

I went so dairy-crazy that all five gallons are now gone and we are anxiously awaiting our next order.

I set aside a couple of gallons for the kids to drink at breakfast time, and really, anytime they wanted it. It's been a milk free-for-all around here. (And seriously, if you tasted it, you'd understand why. It's good stuff!)

But I saved the skimmed milk for myself.

I've had a hard time transitioning from the store-bought fat-free stuff I've always drunk to the full-fat unhomogenized stuff I eagerly serve my family.

20+ years of being terrified of fat will do that to you.

I started, like most teenagers, wanting to lose some weight and feel good about my body. "Fat makes you fat" made a whole lot of sense to me and I embraced it like a personal creed.

Funny thing is, it worked. And I have managed to stay within 3 or 4 pounds of the exact same weight for most of my adult life (except during pregnancy). The only time it was any different was after Maddy was born, when I took the concept of "Fat makes you fat" to an extreme and literally allowed my body zero fat. I dropped down to 100 pounds or so.

I couldn't get pregnant again, I was depressed and tired all. the. time. And sick. But, boy, I was skinny! And that's what mattered.

After realizing I'd probably never have another baby again, I went a little crazy and added a few grams of fat back into my diet. Surprisingly, I was able to get pregnant with Blake.

For all the years since, I've generally eaten a strict low-fat diet, complete with nasty fake-foods like fat-free sour cream and fat-free cream-of-whatever soups. I thought I was eating "healthy", and yet I remained semi-depressed, exhausted, and hypoglycemic.

I've learned a TON in the last six months. I'm a little bit horrified by my former eating habits. I feel better now than I ever have in my life and can't believe it took me so long to get here.

But fat? We have a tenuous relationship.

I am convinced fat is good for me. Good fats, that is. And I incorporate them into my diet every chance I have. (And have lost 3 pounds in the process...hmmm.)

I'm working my way up to the whole milk. I can drink it in smoothies but can't quite tolerate it in my morning bowl of granola.

In the meantime, I'm going to make like Ma Ingalls and go bake up some bread for the menfolk.

Spring Break: A Recap

2010-03-20T22:36:00.003-05:00

Each year Spring Break takes me a little by surprise. All my friends and neighbors manage to plan (the key, I guess) elaborate trips to exotic locations, while we hang out on our front porch hoping the rain stops so we can go for a bike ride.

Told you I was no fun.

Spring Break is scary, because it's kind of a barometer for the upcoming summer season. You know, the time (not too long from now) when my children are here, under my feet, hour upon hour upon endless, never-ending hour, without a single thing to do but to sit and complain that they haven't got a single thing to do?

Love that time of year.

So each year I take Spring Break as a little sampling of what I can expect for the warm weather months when a calendar and a schedule are but a long lost memory.

1) I can expect a lot of whining.
2) I can expect to put two small children in time out, over and over again, for the better part of the afternoon--every single day.
3) I can expect to spend a lot of time re-reading all my parenting books.
4) I can expect to spend hundreds of dollars purchasing and endless hours putting together toys and other distractions that my children spend exactly ten minutes playing with or on.
5) I can expect to give up entirely and loudly declare "It's MOVIE DAY!" almost every day.
6) I can expect to feel guilty. All the time.

I can't wait.

How was your Spring Break?

Fun With Rabbit

2010-03-15T20:54:00.004-05:00

This is a hard habit to get back into. But after taking a great class that ended with a focus on the importance of keeping a journal, I'm determined to keep things a bit more regular around here.

Uh...now what?

Let's see.

Today was the first day of spring break.

We celebrated by cleaning the house.

The kids think I might be in the running for Funnest Mom EVER.

Speaking of fun, my sister Sara recently came to visit. She could easily win Funnest Mom EVER (or at least Funnest Aunt EVER.)

Spending time with Sara reminds me of Ella's favorite library book, "Too Many Frogs". It's the story of Froggie and Rabbit, and how Froggie is super fun and Rabbit is super uptight. Froggie eventually convinces Rabbit that spontaneity and whimsy are truly the spice of life, and, while a neat, tidy, predictable life is fine, there is far more fun to be had in throwing caution to the wind and shaking things up a little.

I love how Sara is the Froggie to my Rabbit.

I am practically surrounded by Froggies, so I must really need them around to remind me to "let go" a little bit. I married one, I shared a womb with one, and I gave birth to at least one, maybe even two!

But because the universe demands balance in all things, I think I might sit down and write a children's book--a sequel, if you will--about how Rabbit (with all his organizational skills and his penchant for planning ahead) hops on over to Froggie's house and shows him just how fun a quiet, predictable existence can be.

Watch for it in a bookstore near you.

Playing Nice

2010-03-08T13:45:00.008-06:00

Cole, as of late, can often be found playing a game I like to call "The Right/Wrong Game".

It involves some Uh-uhing and a bit of Uh-huhing, mixed in with a little "You don't know because you're not in Kindergarten!"

His favorite playmate in this game is his sister Ella, but anyone in the family can be drawn into it.

I usually step in to referee with some success, but even I fall prey to his know-it-all-ness. Most of the time I just send him to his room. It's exhausting.

So I had to laugh the other day when I was describing in great detail a conversation I'd had with Matt to my son Blake. I carefully crafted my version of a time his dad and I had disagreed on something (super important, of course), and spent a lot of time explaining to Blake how awesomely right I was while Matt was, of course, entirely wrong.

It was all in fun, of course, but the point was well taken.

Especially by Cole, who happened to be listening in on our conversation.

"Mom," he said pragmatically, "It sounds like you and Dad were playing The Right/Wrong Game."

So I sent myself to my room.

Muffins on Monday

2010-03-01T18:03:00.007-06:00

If you were a regular reader of this blog (before I went AWOL), you probably know I once had something of a love affair with cereal.

Well, no more.

(I know, I'm surprised myself.)

After reading this and this, watching this and this, and reading endless blogs and various online articles, I came to many conclusions, one of which is that cereal is no longer something I want in my daily diet.

Sigh. I do miss it sometimes. Okay, lots of times.

But I'm committed. No more cereal. At least until the day comes when I'm too tired to put together something different.

Which is fairly often, as it turns out.

But today I turned over a new leaf. I've put together a month's worth of meals (breakfast and dinner, anyway) and I'm determined to stick to it.

It should be easy. I've taken good notes from this post and suited it to fit the needs of my family. This is how breakfast is going down:

Monday - Muffins
Tuesday - Toast & Eggs
Wednesday - Waffles or Pancakes
Thursday - Oatmeal
Friday - French toast (or, more likely, Free Day)
Saturday - Smoothies
Sunday - Cereal

I told Cole about my plan and he was kind of upset that there were no "Th" breakfasts that would work for Thursdays. He loves alliteration as much as I do.

I tried to think of dinners that would correspond to the days of the week but only got as far as "Mexican Monday". Plus, Fish on Fridays? Yuck.

I was planning to start today, but I got a little distracted last night watching the closing ceremonies and all and, well, I forgot to make this morning's muffins.

Which is usually how I roll.

And then I was all set to make the older kids' favorite spaghetti, but they decided to go to Aunt Julie's talent show instead (where they could eat pizza).

I gave the little kids leftovers (again, Cole not pleased with my lack of imagination--"There's no 'L' in Monday, Mom!") and fed myself a salad.

I think the lesson from today is that flexibility will be key to the success of my monthly meal planning.

Well, that and finding foods that begin with "Th".

Thanks

2010-02-28T23:00:00.006-06:00

Today is day 8 of Matt's extended business trip to New York. Days 1-6 were not too bad. We're used to him working long hours so, while we've missed him, it was manageable.

But then the weekend hit, and his happy, smiling, helpful face was no where in sight, just when I needed it to be most.

I can't complain. At least, I shouldn't. I'm aware of how lucky I am to have a husband who loves me and is out there willingly providing for the needs of his wife and young children.

It's just . . . I'm a little tired.

And when I'm tired, well, you know the drill. Mom's not exactly the most pleasant person to hang around.

So tonight, when out of the blue my 12-year-old son came up and wrapped his arms around my waist and gave me a big hug and said, "Thanks, Mom", my first thought was, "What could he possibly be thanking me for?"

After recovering from my hysterical laughing fit, I asked, "For what?"

"For just . . . I don't know . . . Just for being a good Mom. Thanks for being patient."

I said, "Are you kidding? Every night before I climb into bed I pray that Heavenly Father will forgive me for being decidedly impatient. And right after that I pray that you guys will forgive me as well."

Maddy, who was sitting across me at the bar said, "Well, you're a lot more patient than a lot of other moms out there."

Which I know isn't true.

But still.

I'll take it. At least for today.

(Why do we want so badly to believe that we are bad parents? That all the good we do (or at least attempt) is canceled out by that one time we lost our temper and sent someone to their room.)

Being a single mom is tough. My heart goes out to those women who are doing it full-time.

It probably goes without saying that I could not be half the mother I am without the support of a good husband, who takes up a huge amount of slack and steps in when Mom really needs to be in time-out.

Those moms who manage to succeed without all that?

They deserve all the praise in the world.

Three Wishes

2010-02-25T19:42:00.008-06:00

Tonight at dinner I took a random poll:

What would you wish for if you had three wishes?

After we tossed out "wish for more wishes", we had a solid list from each child. I took notes, you know, for posterity's sake.

Maddy's first wish was for MONEY (billions, preferably).
Second was FOR EVERYONE TO BECOME MORMON.
Her third wish surprised me. And slightly frightened me: THAT EVERYONE WOULD STOP SMOKING WEED.

I think her high school experience might be slightly different from my own.

Blake first wished for THE ABILITY TO FLY.
Second, INVINCIBILITY (like, unkillable, he says).
And last? It gives us a little glimpse into his complex mind: THE ABILITY TO BEND REALITY.

My first thought, after hearing this list, is that he might be playing too many video games on the weekends.

Cole's first wish was to BE SUPERHERO MAN. Which he replaced with a more specific name, INVISIBLE MAN. Which he quickly changed to LIGHTNING MAN.
His next wish was to be able to SHOCK STUFF WITH LIGHTNING.
His third wish was that he could SHOOT SPIDER WEBS FROM HIS WRISTS.
He had one more wish, not at all concerned about the rule of three wishes. Which makes sense, considering his last wish was TO CONTROL THE WORLD.

Shocking, really.

Ella started out telling us she had six wishes. We told her it was three, but she insisted.

First, A GUITAR.
Second, A HORSIE AND A DOLLY.
Third, A NEW BARBIE.
Fourth, A BOOK.
And then, after a brief period of silence she said thoughtfully, "If you give a cat a cupcake, he wants a sprinkles to go with it."

Ooooooookayyyy.

She never did get to six. But I think I do know what to get her for Christmas this year.

Good Night

2010-02-23T23:19:00.004-06:00

I was chatting with one of my friends not too long ago about how she managed while her husband went on extended business trips.

She told me one of the things she did to make it special for the kids is to let them take turns sleeping in her bed.

Knowing that Matt had a business trip coming up, I mentally tried that on.

Nope, can't do it.

I haven't had a kid sleep with me in ages and that's for good reason. All of my kids are wild, noisy sleepers and every time I've even attempted such special-ness, I've wound up exhausted the next morning.

I slept with the first two as babies. I don't recall how I managed it--I just remember that the last two kicked me in the ribs, even as newborns, until I gave up and put them in a porta-crib next to my bed.

I slept much better after that.

When we got a king-size bed I tried it again, but they always wound up snoring or talking in their sleep or kicking me or worse.

Sometimes they'll find their way into our room and stand at the side of my bed until I wake up and freak out. Then they quietly ask if they can sleep with me and I always say, "Go ask Daddy."

Daddy is perfect to sleep next to because he can fall asleep sitting straight up if he has to. He doesn't mind elbows in the gut or stray hands slapping him in the face at night. Usually there's enough room for all of us and as long as Daddy is in the middle, I get to go back to peaceful slumber.

But when my friend spoke of such special quality time with her kids while her husband was gone, I felt just the tiniest tug of guilt over my indulgence in solitude. I absolutely looove climbing into a big empty bed and curling up under the covers and falling asleep to the sound of . . . silence.

Don't get me wrong, I love my man. It really isn't the same without him and I miss him every single minute he's away. It's just that he's snored my ear off for 16 years so I do enjoy the rare occasions I fall asleep to the sound of my own minty fresh breath.

So when Ella climbed into my bed sometime during the darkest hours of last night, my first instinct was to give her a kiss and gently guide her back to bed. But then I thought, "Just this once can't hurt."

So I cuddled up next to her until she fell back to sleep, slowly untangled myself from her grasp, and turned over to go back to sleep. Which lasted all of six seconds before I felt her knees in my back and her arms snaking around my neck. "I love you, Mommy-kitty," she said.

Awwww . . . she loves me even when she's half asleep.

Little brown-noser.

So I slid her back over onto Matt's pillow, wrapped a blanket around her, and rolled over to go back to sleep.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

By the time I rolled out of bed this morning, I felt like I'd been hit by a tricycle.

Just now I went and checked to make sure each door was locked and the alarm set. I checked on each sleeping child and kissed their beautiful, snoring faces as they slept contentedly in their very own beds.

Then I made the guilt-free walk to my room, curled up in my big quiet comforter and listened to the silence of the fan blowing above my head.

It's going to be a good night.

I Love Mondays

2010-02-22T21:03:00.004-06:00

Something I've started recently is taking specific days of the week and assigning specific tasks to that day.

On Sunday, I go to church and do church and calling-related things.
On Monday, I clean my house top to bottom and do all the laundry.
On Tuesday....well, so far that's all I've got.

Sometimes I get so worn out after my whirlwind Mondays that it often takes me a day or two to recover.

Okay, not really. It's just that I get so much accomplished on that one day that sometimes I run out of things to do the rest of the week.

Today I cleaned top to bottom (minus the older kids' bedrooms and bathrooms--I let them do that) and am currently finishing my last load of laundry.

This afternoon my floor looked so shiny after I mopped it it that I decided to dirty it up a little by doing some baking.

I made two kinds of muffins, breakfast "cookies", and some peanut butter granola bars.

It was a full day. And lest you start thinking I'm too awesome for my own good, keep in mind I never made it into the shower today and might possibly smell a little funny. Which is okay because my dear husband is sitting in a hotel room a couple thousand miles away right now and doesn't seem to mind one bit.

Also, I may have slightly ignored my children today, but I made sure they were armed with dozens of library books, toys, games, coloring books, and a trampoline. I also may have plied them with a few too many episodes of Curious George.

But, oh! What I've accomplished!

Just another Monday around here.

One of the Cool Kids

2010-02-21T21:41:00.005-06:00

We live in a very sports-focused area. Of course, in a state where football is considered a religion, that's not that hard to imagine. If a kid is naturally inclined toward athletics, he or she tends to have an easier time finding their way.

Not so much with the non-sports kids.

And Maddy happens to be one of those.

Sure, she has put in her time on the soccer field. She's dabbled in volleyball and even played a little ward basketball. She just hasn't found her sport.

Earlier this year she wondered if she should sign up again for soccer. She feels the pressure on many fronts. All the "cool" kids are into sports.

She's just not that girl.

I mean, she's cool, for sure. Just a different kind of cool. Recently she discovered she might be fine-arts cool.

She tried out for her high school musical last fall and just finished a three-night production of Bye-bye Birdie. She had an absolute blast. It's been all she has talked about for four months straight.

She practically floated through the door last night when she got home from her cast party. She was eager to fill me in on all the details of the play and how much she was going to miss being with her new-found friends. We sat together in the kitchen talking about all kinds of things and stayed up chatting well past our bedtime.

Before she climbed the stairs to bed she said (with a sigh and a big smile on her face): "I'm so happy I finally found something that I love to do."

I can't think of anything cooler than that.

UPdate

2010-02-20T14:08:00.010-06:00

(If you're easily bored by the typical Christmas card letter, this post is probably not for you. Just sayin'.)

My last post here was sometime in September. At the time, things were a bit, um, in flux. Matt was in the middle of an intense job search and the rest of us were in the middle of the hottest summer/fall on record. (Or at least it seemed that way.)

In spite of our concerns at the time, the kids were thriving. Each of them had recently started the new school year at a new school. Maddy, the oldest, was now in high school. Blake was in his first year of middle school, Cole was a new kindergartener, and I'd put Ella into a preschool co-op that I'd eventually have a turn or two to teach.

They're almost three-quarters of the way through the school year now and doing really well.

Maddy's just finishing up her first high school musical--Bye-Bye Birdie--and has done great. We told her she'd have to keep her grades up to continue participation in the play, and suprisingly, she's done better with her full schedule than she did without it. She's so much fun to be around. Everyone who knows her tells us how loved they feel by her.

Blake skipped baseball this spring and has spent a lot more time at home with us, which is a nice change of pace for everyone. He recently turned 12 and began passing the sacrament, which he loves. He hangs out with his friends a lot and if it will just get warm I'm sure he'll take his new airsoft rifle out for a spin. He's considering going from regular math up to Pre-AP math because, as he says, he'd like to challenge himself. He's such a cool kid.

Cole is our happy boy. You rarely see him without a smile. He was particularly estatic when he learned to ride a two-wheeler last month. He's had a fantastic year in Kindergarten and loves his teacher almost as much as he loves me! In fact, he often calls me Ms. Preslar. One day he told me that she was much, much smarter than I am. I told him he was probably right.

Ella is so much fun. She has a ton of personality and a vivid imagination. Combine those with her sass and we've got a firecracker on our hands! She loves preschool--even when Mom is the teacher. As the baby, she's still babied--something I'm sure to regret more as time goes on. In the meantime, she's my little shadow, constantly helping me in the kitchen and following me around on cleaning day with a little rag and a spray bottle.

Matt got a great job with a wonderful company back in October. We still say a prayer of gratitude every day for the way things turned out. He's happy there--and that means the rest of us are happy, too. He's also teaching early-morning seminary, which means most nights he's falling asleep on the couch before 9:00 p.m. We are officially cured of our habit of staying up late!

As for me, I'm happy. Bordering on content, actually. Life is good.

But more on that later.

Back In The Saddle

2010-02-20T11:43:00.005-06:00

I've been debating coming back into the blogging world for some time now. At first, I thought I'd start a niche blog, focused on things I found interesting and that I assumed others might as well. I did start it, but it never really went anywhere.

If you must know, it was all about my fascinating journey into the world of real/whole/organic food. Seriously.

I was going along pretty well, coming up with post after post until one day when I stumbled across this particular thought:

"There is no one so annoying as the recently reformed."

And I thought: That's me.

I didn't have to go far to see how annoying I'd become. My kids and husband have considered strangling me for months...if for no other reason than I've taken away all the foods they knew and loved and replaced them with things like...lentils.

My sisters, bless them, continue to get daily healthy-eating updates in the form of our private family website. Occasionally they're all, "Wow! How interesting!" But mostly it's like, "Uh, for the love of little green apples, Trish, we get it!"

(Not really. I think they secretly appreciate knowing how good butter is for them.)

So, buh-bye Healthy Food Blog.

Hello Trish In Texas?

Like I said, I've debated about returning for a while. This morning I read this, and it helped me see the value in keeping an (almost) daily recording of my life as a mother:

"...in the first chapters of the Book of Mormon, the people are told to keep records for family genealogy and to preserve the language. To keep the religion alive and persuade each other to believe in Christ...Mormon women have unique justification for writing...Modern day prophets have told Mormons that writing is a source of power: it follows the example of scripture, Christ commanded it, and also, it keeps God in daily remembrance." credit

I'm not saying anything I write will ever be comparable to scripture. But if writing is a source of power and will help me to keep God in daily remembrance, I will do it with a happy heart. And maybe you'll laugh along with me as try my best not to annoy the heck out of my family.

So, for better or for worse, I'm back.