There's More to Life Than Pregnancy

* I understand why people call the wind "biting." As I stepped out into it today, jacket-free by (stupid) choice, it felt like a thousand little goblins were chomping down on my skin. I stung all over and thought, "Ahhh... the biting wind... I get it now..." I tried to think of how else I could describe wind that was slightly less cliche. Numbing? Cliche. Stinging? Cliche. I thought up a good one, but it's gone by now. Such are all opportunities in life: if you don't grab them, they'll flit away.

* At the last writing conference I attended, Jeff Savage taught a fun class and I had to laugh at myself for all the wrong things I'm guilty of. (Of which I'm guilty?) If I couldn't laugh when he pointed them out, where would I be? Crying? It's better to laugh than cry. One of the things he scoffed at was "Purple Prose." Umm... guilty! However, in my defense, my ridiculously metaphorical writing is not for show. It's not because I want to impress anybody. It's just the way I think! Similes and metaphors are the bread and butter of my imagination. (Wow, I did that without realizing what I was doing. Honestly. Do you see what I'm saying? I can't help myself.) I honestly imagine little goblins biting my skin when the wind whips around me. I honestly think the mountains are lazily sleeping when I look up at them. My brain functions in metaphor.

* When I dropped the twins off at preschool this morning, we heard a fire engine's sirens blaring nearby. We stopped and turned around to watch it pass, but suddenly the lights went off and the engine was silent. I watched the students across the street, waiting at the crosswalk, turn their heads together to watch the approaching engine. It came crawling through the street and I didn't understand why. Was the emergency suddenly cancelled? Never mind, folks. Let's head back to the station! Or.. what? Just as I started entertaining these questions, the engine roared back to life with a whir of sound and flashing lights.

It hit me suddenly: this is a school zone. Flashing yellow lights by the "20 MPH zone" trump the flashing red fire engine lights any day. Those kids all waiting innocently across the street could be my kids: my impetuous little Thomas or my speedy little Elijah. I don't know why it affected me so profoundly, but I cried as I walked into the school. Children are so valuable. Children are so innocent. Protecting the children is important enough for the blaring fire engines and ambulances to slow down and watch carefully. Am I slowing down in my life to protect my children emotionally?

* Winter popped its head around the corner this morning to say hello. "Hi! Remember me? Just wanted to check in and let you know I'll be home soon!" I'm delighted. The plunging temperatures are nothing but good news to my overly-hot, pregnant body. And the rain! Ahhh, if I were ever to compose a very Purple Prose sonnet, it would be about the rain. I love the sound, the smell, the clear air and even the swampy lake that develops in my back yard. (I could choose to be bitter that the contractor of the home behind us didn't put in a retaining wall to keep their bloomin' water where it BELONGS (thank you very much) but I try to enjoy the seasonal pond instead.) The kids put on rain boots and go stomping in the temporary marsh. What fun!

* Could there possibly be a more lovely season than Autumn? To me, Autumn is the time of year for falling in love. Perhaps it's because it was Autumn when I realized suddenly that I was in love with the man who later became my husband. What a shocking revelation that was to me! Now I fall in love with the whole world each Autumn: the red and orange leaves, the warm pumpkin pie, the apple cider, huge apples from the Farmer's Market. Ah, Autumn!

Night-time visitor

"Sometimes I wish I knew the nature of night thoughts. They're close kin to dreams. Sometimes I can direct them, and other times they take their head and come rushing over me like strong, unmanaged horses."

--John Steinbeck, The Winter of Our Discontent

I know the nature of my night thoughts. They emanate from a tiny demon that likes to laugh at me when I'm too drowsy to fight off irrational anxiety. Perhaps the demon is not real, but that is how I picture my anxious brain. I think somebody somewhere must be laughing hysterically as I try to wade through the desperate illusions in search of concrete reality.

Which is to say: I've been having trouble sleeping. When I awaken in the darkness, my brain plays out all the irrational (and rational) stresses that are plaguing me just below the surface during the day. I struggle toward wakefulness to cast out these fears, but my body resists: Sleep! Sleep!

My inner demon has lately been whispering to me all my fears about this pregnancy. It alternately made me terrified of miscarriage and terrified of having FOUR children! I got out of bed grumpy and past my breaking point. My morning was scheduled to the minute until my first obstetrician appointment. I was sure that they'd have to give me terrible news.

When I arrived, the nurses welcomed me by name and told me how excited they were that I was pregnant again. My doctor put his arm around me and told me how much he loves being my doctor. I told him he must have forgotten my last pregnancy and he assured me that it is difficult patients that get under his skin and never difficult pregnancies.

I vocalized all my fears and anxieties and my doctor reassured me that I had all the right symptoms of pregnancy and my uterus was measuring at just the right size. They took me back to the ultrasound room and within moments of starting the procedure, the nurse exclaimed, "There is the heart!"

And then I heard it. I was unprepared for that little thumpa-thumpa-thumpa that means life. I couldn't help it: I cried.

If I cry when I watch "The Biggest Loser" or "The Apprentice" (for heaven's sake!), you can bet I'll cry when I hear my baby's heartbeat.

If I cry when I drive past a traffic accident and think about how somebody's life just got turned upside down, you can bet I'll cry when I realize there is a living creature, with a heart independent of my own, that has just turned my life upside down.

That little heart beat, coming out of a little tiny human bean, washed away all the anxieties and fears. Life is good.

Zen Forgotten

A few weeks ago, I mastered the art of handling Paper Cut Pain. It was swell. Now the pregnancy hormones are running wild and I feel like curling up in a ball and crying myself to sleep. Not so Zen.

This is why I approached the idea of another child with trepidation. Perhaps trepidation is the wrong word. The correct word would be something closer to fear, horror or sheer terror. When I become pregnant, I lose myself. I try not to. I sincerely try to stay grounded and tell myself that I am still in control, but I just don't believe it. There is this tiny, tiny bundle of cells that has made itself at home and has completely taken over my body. It's like the steering wheel has been stolen from my rational brain and been placed in the hands of an eight-week-old embryo.

This new driver, which I can't help but think of as an invited parasite, has switched the "appetite" lever from the "Let's Try to Lose Weight" mode to "If You Don't Eat Every 20 Minutes, You Will Be Severely Punished" mode. It has also wreaked havoc with the immune system (sniffle, sniffle), the bladder, my emotions and my sleeping patterns. And just last week I remembered with horror how the third trimester will bring me heartburn. That alone is enough to make me shiver in fear. I think that my Halloween costume should be an over-sized t-shirt that says PREGNANT on it. If that doesn't make the women in my neighborhood scream in terror, I don't know what will.

I still haven't decided, however, if I handle physical or emotional pain better. Pregnancy hormones make my emotions incredibly messed up. I was just relaxing in my bathtub--seemingly a perfectly happy situation--when the blues sneaked in through the window. I must have breathed them in unaware because I was suddenly crying. Life is terrible. Everyone hates me. I have no friends. I have no talent. Even my children would reject me if they had anywhere else to go. I'm totally inept at everything I try. I'm a lousy writer and people cringe when I sing. Loser. Loser. Loser!

Whoa. That was a fun emotional roller coaster. Thanks, pregnancy.

I couldn't decide if that was better or worse than the dry heaving I experienced after dropping my kids off at school. Being in the car makes me so nauseous, and I'm terrified of the road trip we have planned for two weeks from now. If I can't go 10 minutes to preschool without almost tossing my cookies, how am I going to handle that constant swaying motion for 10 hours?

I was wondering last week why my anxiety level had risen so dramatically--I can feel my whole body tense and on edge--and I think I'm slowly coming to grips with the answer. Happy life of "Mom with kids in school so she has time to herself" is gone. My life is changing every single day as the impact of pregnancy hits harder and harder. The tiredness has turned to fatigue and the queasiness has turned into dry heaving. It's just getting worse and worse every day. My first appointment is in less than a week and I'm thinking that if I get bad news, I'll be devastated for a while but that I'll find peace in ending my family at three children. I just don't feel like I could start this over and do it again.

And I know that even one minute with a newborn baby would offset all the pain and discomfort and crying. Even one breath would be enough for me to say, "It was all worth it. I'm so glad God gave me this one moment." That's how amazing it is to give birth. And that's why I decided to do this crazy thing one more time.

Pregnancy Q&A

Now you don't have to ask. But you can, just to make small talk, if you'd like. These is a fairly faithful re-creation of the reactions I've gotten from most people I've talked to about my pregnancy. The questions crack me up. Especially this first one:

Q: You're pregnant? How did that happen?
A: Why yes. Yes I am. The way it usually happens, thank you very much. Sheesh. Oh, do you mean was I on fertility drugs? Oh, well that makes more sense. Nope. Totally natural this time.

Q: Umm ... congratulations?
A: Thank you for your enthusiasm.

Q: Was this ... planned? Or was this a surprised?
A: Both. The time felt right, but with my history of infertility, it's still an exciting surprise. (I'm amazed with the number of people who think I could have gotten pregnant accidentally. I'm fairly certain that I can manage to not get pregnant if I don't want to be pregnant. It ain't rocket science, people.)

Q: So when are you due?
A: Early May. I am starting my eighth week today.

Q: Isn't this a little early to be telling people?
A: I've known for an entire month and kept my lips zipped. I call that the Accomplishment of the Year. Yes, it will be very unfortunate if I miscarry and have to actually change my header logo again, but I would have told people if I'd miscarried anyway. This blog is about being real and trying to let other people find solace in the inevitability of imperfection and trials. It's what I do here.

Q: So what do you want? A boy or a girl?
A: Yes.

Q: No. Seriously.
A: Okay, fine. I'd love to have a little girl. I'm already outnumbered FOUR to ONE in my household and I find myself staring at the pale pink, shabby chic home decor wistfully when I'm at the store. This is not natural. Plus, it would help the boys learn how to treat a lady right. Right? If it's another boy, I'll be fine with that but I will be bitter for a few years whenever I see my neighbors dressing their daughters up in those cute dresses with hair bows and matching shoes. Mildly to severely jealous, too. But I'll get over it. I adore my three boys and wouldn't wish them away. The same will be true of the next baby. I will love it because it's mine, whatever it is. Gender is only one part of the genetics.

Q: How do you feel?
A: Pregnant. By which I mean, I have the nine month flu. I'm hot, uncomfortable, dead tired 24/7, and I find myself longing for the days when I actually had the flu and could throw up to ease the nausea. I just feel like I'm gonna puke all day long but I never do. Riding in the car makes me feel so queasy that my twice-daily drive to the twins' preschool makes me seriously consider hiring someone to pick them up. I can't sleep through the night and my toilet is my new bff.

My house is becoming more and more cluttered and icky because I can't bring myself to clean for more than about 15 minutes at a time, and the smell of cleaners makes me ill. I have to eat something at least once an hour or I feel like my stomach is going to crawl out of my body and yell at me to hurry up and FEED IT. All of that while I am developing serious food aversions and can't even look at most of my favorite foods anymore. I bought water crackers and saltines today and nearly tossed my cookies while looking at raw meat and sugary cookies. Oh man. I think I'm gonna be sick just thinking about it...

Q: Sounds like fun.
A: I hate pregnancy. I'm super excited that it happened and I can't wait until I have another little member of the family but there will be SERIOUS divine intervention involved to make me ever go through this again. Ever. If I miscarry, which would be both devastating and heart-breaking, I honestly don't know if I'd have the courage to start over. That's how much I hate HATE HATE pregnancy. It's evil. Every time I'm pregnant, I have this recurring daydream where God is laughing at me. Laughing really hard. Because pregnancy seems like a cruel joke.

Q: Ummm, okay then.
A: Sorry. I'll get to the rainbows and roses and cheerful banter again really soon. I can't tell you how excited I am. I'm just also scared to death. My emotions are whirling around in circles faster than I can think and ... well, just give me a little time. The day after I found out I was pregnant, I thought, "God, have you seen how I'm managing with the other three you sent? Are you sure this is a good idea? Because I'm not so sure. I'm happy about it and I wouldn't mind having twins again, but... You know how inadequate I am, so.... are you sure about this?"


Q: Do you think you'll have twins again?
A: No, because I'm not on fertility medication this go around. However, I feel like I'm bulging at the seams already and I'm extremely annoyed with my body. I'm not gaining much weight (which is a miracle with the way I can't stop putting crud in my mouth) but my shape is already changing a lot. If I found out it was twins, I'd feel slightly less embarrassed about the way I look. And terrified about what was coming. And thrilled to get two for the price of one. (Which I learned last time is actually more like "two for the price of three pregnancies all rolled into eight miserable months.")

Well, that's it, folks. If you haven't learned way more than you wanted to know, I'm not sure what more I can do for you. One last note:

YEA!! I'M PREGNANT!! WOOHOO!!

... I'm gonna go take a nap ...

Sepia Sunset

The setting sun has cast the world in sepia tones. A reddish-brown aura infuses the world around me and I ponder my day.

12:15 Elijah runs happily toward the car. He slips. I see him falling. His knees hit the unforgiving concrete first and my knees start to sting in sympathetic pain. His momentum isn't spent and his nose is going straight toward the ground. I cringe in pain and then my palms burn as he raises his in time to protect his face. He cries all the way home and I speed, trying to get him to his placebo/bandaid as quickly as possible.

1:00 I meet a new friend. We both have twins. We both have dark hair and dark eyes. We're both ridiculously short but adorable anyway. We talk and sympathize and laugh together.

5:30 Thomas decides to do his best Zidane imitation and butt his head into mine while I watch a soccer game. It hurts and I sweep him off my lap as I cry out in pain. My neighbors gasp and turn to see the spectacle. I'm embarrassed that I swept Thomas away protectively. They tell me I'm really patient and that I handled it really well because I didn't lose my temper. My stake president is standing about 15 feet away. I wonder whether or not he thought I was patient.

7:30 My upper lip is still numb and my gums still hurt from the impact two hours ago. I'm developing a serious headache and I've informed the children they will all be in bed VERY SOON. Mom's had enough. Mom is tired. Mom's feeling sick and can't take any good pain relievers right now because ...

For those who don't know the Zidane reference, take a moment to enjoy one of the most unexpected, shocking and memorable moments in soccer history:

Spa Day?

Surprising conversations happen regularly when children are involved.

Today:

Joseph, as we round the corner near the pizza joint: "Are we going to Little Caesars?"
Me: "Yes. I need to grab some stuff from Grandma's house and I figured we could just grab a pizza on the way."
Joseph (whining): "Why do we always go to the same old places? You know. Little Caesars. Wendys. Burger King."
Me: "Ummm, last night I got you guys Greek take out. Chicken souvlake. Lemon rice."
Joseph: "I know. I just... I just want to try something totally NEW."
Me (mumbling under my breath): "If you weren't so picky, maybe we could get fast food that didn't taste like cardboard....."

A minute later Joseph is apparently still processing this conversation. He had picked up on my somewhat testy, not very sympathetic, what-kind-of-entitled-bratty-kids-am-I-raising? tone of voice. The conversation continued.

Joseph: "Mom? I wish you could just have a day to relax."
Me: "Umm what? You mean so I'll be more relaxed and fun? Sorry I'm in a cranky mood. You know it's not your fault."

As I start to gear up for my bi-weekly "It's not your fault when Mom is in a bad mood. You can choose your emotions and so can I. Remember that nobody else can define the way you feel...." lecture, Joseph cuts me off. His voice sounds kind of unstable and I look in the rear view mirror to see tears welling up in his eyes.

Joseph: "No, Mom. It's just that I know how hard it is to raise three boys and I want you to be happy. Couldn't you go have a day for yourself like... like... like a SPA DAY?"

What? Where has he even heard the term "spa day"? And how did the entitled complainer turn into my favorite little sweetheart on the whole planet? Sometime in the last two minutes apparently.

Me: "Oh, sweetie, that's so nice but I don't need a spa day. I have lots of fun with you guys every day. You make me really happy!"

Joseph wouldn't let it go. He brought it up again later and I said that we have a nice whirlpool tub and he gives great foot massages, so what more could I want? His reply: "You know. MORE whirlpool tubs. And cucumbers! We need more cucumbers."

Man, I love my kids.

Favorite Recipes :: Costa Vida Sweet Pork

I cannot claim to be (a) a talented chef or (b) a great photographer. So for me to side step into food blogging is a bit frightening & embarrassing. However, there are a few great recipes that I can't resist sharing! So we will take a break from our regularly scheduled rambling to bring you a brief culinary, domestic distraction.


As I said, I am not a talented chef. I am fairly adept at baking desserts, but I rarely find a good dinner recipe that I adore. It has to both taste great and be easy to prepare with three young ones demanding attention. Being inexpensive is always a bonus! Given those guidelines, my latest discovery is my favorite! It's a simple, 3.5-ingredient recipe for making Sweet Pork like you might find at Costa Vida or Cafe Rio. I am fairly certain that Costa Vida's is one thousand times better, but this is pretty dang sweet. (Pun intended.) It tastes great, was cheap and was a snap to prepare. Give it a try and let me know what you think!

Sweet Pork ala Costa Vida/Cafe Rio

Pork butt roast (mine was 99 cents per pound, 4-5 pounds, bone in, marbled with fat all through it. Ick. Yum. Ick.)
Enchilada sauce (I used two cans to cover about 1/3 to 1/2 of my roast in liquid. Adjust as needed for the size of roast you have.)
Brown sugar (This ain't science, so you can do this "to taste." I used about 1 1/2 cups of brown sugar, which is a ton, but... see title of recipe.)
(Oil for browning roast)

Method:

In a large pot (or crock pot), combine enchilada sauce and brown sugar and set aside.

Bring a large frying pan to medium-high heat and drizzle in enough oil to create a thin sheen on the bottom of the pan. Using tongs, lower the roast into the oil and let it sizzle and pop until a medium brown color. Use tongs to turn it and repeat until all sides are browned. Transfer the roast to the large pot (or crock pot) and make sure you have enough liquid to cover one-third to one-half of the roast in the liquid.

Set over low heat and let it cook all day (turning occasionally to let it cook evenly) or until the pork shreds easily with a fork. I allowed mine to cook for probably 8-10 hours, but this ain't rocket science. You don't want to under cook this, but a little extra time on simmer won't do damage too quickly. Give yourself plenty of time and experiment!

Note: I was VERY skeptical about this as it was cooking because it smelled overwhelming like plain old enchilada sauce and that wasn't what I wanted. Be patient. The final product won't really taste like that at all.

To finish it off, pull the pork out (piece by piece, because it should be falling apart) and let it sit for a few minutes to let the juices settle. Take the bone out, discard any fat you can find, and shred what is left. At this point, it won't be terribly flavorful so don't be disappointed if you pop some in your mouth and it tastes overwhelmingly like plain old pork.

While you are shredding, deboning and taking out the fat, turn up the heat on the sauce and let it reduce down to approximately half of the original volume. This is the trick to turning something so-so into something ooh-la-la! I also skimmed off any floating fat or gick that was left in the sauce.

Once your sauce has reduced and thickened up, put the shredded pork back into the sauce and simmer it together a while longer until you like the meat to sauce ratio.

Mine was better the next day, so I would recommend making it in advance, refrigerating it for a day or two and then re-warming to serve, but that's your prerogative. Mine just seems to taste better each time I try it. It's gone from "not too bad" to "pretty good" to "I know I shouldn't have another serving, but dang!" in four days.

Total cost: approximately $7 for many, many servings and more to freeze!
Active prep time: 10 min before cooking, 20 minutes to shred and prep sauce after cooking
Serving suggestions: taco salad, sweet pork tacos, quesadillas

Bonus recipe to go with this:

Corn ala Deliciousness
Do you love that corn they serve with your food at Bajio? Me, too! Try this as a super fast at-home alternative!

After you sear your roast and add it to the larger pot, drain off as much oil as possible from the pan and then set it over medium-high heat again. (Hey, why dirty two dishes, right?) Add a little* butter and let it sizzle until it melts and starts browning a few seconds later. Throw in a couple cups of corn kernels, chili powder, garlic and onion powder, salt and pepper. Stir it all together and let the corn get toasted a bit but not dried out. Dump that into a bowl and do the same with some precooked rice if you like! Add these spicy two-minute side dishes to your meal later on and turn up the heat a bit!

* By a "little" butter I mean a lot of butter, like a couple tablespoons! But don't cook this too often 'cause it ain't heart healthy!

Acknowledgements: I used the following resources to put this recipe together and you might find some great tips to make this recipe work better for you:

1. Methodology: the executive chef of Costa Vida, Dave Prows, braises his sweet pork, so I had to do it the same way. Here is some more info, which makes me already want to do things a bit differently next time! (I really debated whether or not to use two separate pans... I decided on two to minimize oiliness, but next time I might just use one for reasons mentioned in that article.)

2. Recipes: famfavoriterecipes, suite101, epicurious, recipezaar, bellaonline, mealsmatter, dinner-inspiration. Note: almost all the recipes use canned soda pop for making sweet pork, but I just refused. Why should I? It just seems gimicky, like you really want to have that "secret ingredient" to tell people. But it's just not necessary and it's not the secret to yumminess! One site I read said that the soda is for tenderizing, but if you're using the braising/slow cook method, that shouldn't be an issue. Mine turned out great without soda, but do your own thing if you want!

3. Other resources I browsed: Alton Brown's "I'm Just Here for the Food" and the Culinary Institute of America's "Professional Chef"

Under Construction

Things are under construction here at True Confessions. I am so sick of this pink crud that I could scream. It's just so... so... 2008, you know? ;)

So if you visit the blog in the next little while and things look screwy, I apologize for being too lazy to do this all in the dead of night when people aren't as likely to be surfing.

California Dreamin'

Joseph wants us to move to Nevada.

"Why???" I asked. Yes, there were at least three audible question marks after the question. Nevada???

"Well, if we live in Nevada, we're only one state away from California!" he answered seriously.

This was after Josh and I making up snarky songs about Nevada all along I-80. Almost heaven, West Nevada...

I informed Joseph there is no way in Nevada that we are moving to that hell. Well, I did not word it that way to him, but seriously folks: Nevada??? It's like one big hill of sagebrush interrupted only by casinos and never-finished highways. (I-80 in Nevada is a deep, gleaming black with sharply contrasting yellow paint. Large sections of this are being torn up, seemingly at random, and rebuilt as if they have to justify all the taxes they collect from gamblers. Once we hit California, the roads were in constant disrepair. I couldn't help turning to Josh and asking, "What the...? Is this state bankrupt or something?"

All the above is my long-winded way of saying we had a great family vacation. I was so shocked/thrilled by my children's lack of complaining during the 12 hours of driving each way that I wasn't even bummed by the vomit that erupted all over the car yesterday afternoon. We just dealt with it, thanks in part to some serious serendipity involving air fresheners.

I wasn't bummed when I asked Josh ten seconds too late, "How much gas do we have left?" and realized we had less than a quarter tank right after passing the last gas station in seven billion miles. (That's one more lovely thing about that scenic stretch of I-80 between Salt Lake City and the California border.)

I wasn't even bummed when Josh developed an allergy in our hotel room in San Mateo and we had to deal with the uncertainty of where that would lead us.

I was a little bummed about the Labor Day weekend traffic in Marin County that made my internal Mommy Clock cut our trip to Muir Woods short so the kids wouldn't be up too late. Josh was even more bummed. My internal Mommy Clock is a force to be reckoned with.

I think my favorite part of the trip was realizing that bad things could happen but it didn't affect my mood. It could have made me a screaming, stressed out banshee but... well, there was only a hint of that. In general, I was just thrilled to be with four cool boys who were so incredibly chill and funny and easy to get along with.

Who would have expected that from my boys? Seriously. Raise your hand. You know what I'm saying. They're cute. They're funny. But they're also wildly energetic and loud, and that doesn't usually translate well into a good road trip. Stepping into that car was a huge leap of faith and my boys shocked me with how awesome they were. Yea!

So now for the travelogue portion of the blog entry. We drove to scenic downtown Elko Wednesday evening and stayed overnight (just to get a jump start on the next day of driving.) We stretched our legs at the Salt Flats on the way, which is a family tradition. The boys got salt on their fingers and touched it to their tongues, which didn't gross me out. Then they went into the rest stop bathrooms and Elijah decided to lick the wall. That did gross me out. Enormously.

On Thursday we drove into California and drove straight to Emeryville (via a rather frightening "detour" in scenic downtown Oakland, which is not known for being a haven of well-behaved non-criminals). In Emeryville, we got to visit a friend at Pixar and give the kids a tour. The kids have never been there with me and they were incredibly stoked. We took pictures, stared at concept art (which I could do all day), played video games and got a special treat in the form of an open door.

An open door is not very intriguing, but an open door with a sign stating emphatically, "THIS DOOR MUST REMAIN CLOSED ABSOLUTELY ALL THE TIME NO MATTER WHAT..." is vastly intriguing. Out of respect for whoever left that door open, I won't comment on what I saw. We'll just say it was concept art for something that looked completely foreign to me. Josh said he thought it was connected to Toy Story 3, so we'll see if it looks familiar when that movie is released.

After Pixar, we went with our friends for dinner at Fenton's, which is featured in Pixar's latest movie, Up. It seemed appropriate. The Bay Bridge had just closed hours before, so we missed out on the treat of going over that anxiety inducer. (Does anybody else think of the San Francisco earthquake when they see a bridge with a double-decker design like that?)

On Friday, we took the kids to the Exploratorium for four hours. I had pencilled in two hours but the kids were really enjoying themselves. Afterward, Joseph said it wasn't what he had expected and thought it was totally boring. Yeah, kid, that's why I had to drag you out kicking and screaming. Because you were so bored. The highlight for me was the nauseating demonstration of a cow eyeball being dissected. Who would have guessed it looked like that inside?

Then we went to Ghiradelli Square, ate at Lori's Diner, got ice cream at Ghiradelli, walked across the street to the beach and cursed the freezing cold, windy San Francisco weather. Then we hopped in the car and drove up to Muir Woods, which I totally missed out on because the twins both fell asleep and my Inner Mommy couldn't wake them up, even for Redwoods. Josh and Joseph went for a 30-minute hike and then that mean old Mommy Clock made us drive away into two-inch-per-hour traffic. Ugh.

On Saturday, we met up with my sister and brother-in-law for breakfast and then drove down to San Jose for a memorial service for my Uncle who died recently. He was only my Uncle for a very brief time, and it makes me hurt inside to think about it, but it is what it is. The kids had a great time with my Auntie and we had a nice afternoon at the park. Then we drove to Half Moon Bay and let the kids run and splash in the ocean for a while. The water was a totally agreeable temperature after my feet went numb.

For dinner, we went to the most amazingly delicious restaurant I've been to in a long time: BJ's Restaurant & Brewhouse. Their pizza was... well, I'm almost crying right now just thinking about it. Some food is just that good. Why do they not have any restaurants in Utah? They would be wildly popular and packed all weekend long.

On Sunday, we drove around trying to find a church for 40 minutes and then enjoyed 30 minutes of the church service. Then we packed our hotel room up, cleaned it out (sort of), packed up the car and headed to Sacramento. Here comes the bittersweet portion of the blog entry.

We drove past my Dad's childhood home, 2700 Northrop Ave. This was where we came to visit my grandparents. This was our vacation destination when I was a kid. This was where I was wrapped up in a fresh-out-of-the-dryer sort of undeniable love that I'll never forget. Then we went to the cemetery where those grandparents are buried next to their daughter who died before she was 30 years old.

But that's not the bittersweet part. The bittersweet part was visiting another grave in that cemetery, a little distance off, in the children's section of the cemetery. A little gravestone bears the name of my parents' first child, my older brother than I never knew. I knew I'd cry. Obviously. This is my brother.

When I looked at his birth date and realized I was visiting him one day before his 40th birthday, the crying was much harder to keep respectable. We didn't have flowers so we sang him the song that was sung at his funeral: "Give, Said the Little Stream." It was his favorite, and it might be an odd "over the hill" birthday sort of present, but it came from the heart.

I wish I could have seen that mature-beyond-his-years, blonde-haired, blue-eyed two-year-old become a man. We would have been throwing him a crazy big birthday party today and ribbing him about his age with black crepe paper and "RIP" napkins. The RIP bit doesn't seem as funny, now that I think about it.

The drive home was uneventful except for the vomiting that started right after we left the cemetery, the numerous potty stops and the questionable hotel arrangements in Reno. The kids were amazing and never complained at all about the drive. Or maybe they complained so much that I was traumatized and blocked it out of my memory, but I don't think so. I'm stoked to do this all over again next month for a family reunion in southern California.

So much to be grateful for. All is well, all is well.

Google Fail

Apparently (and surprisingly) my love of irony is even stronger than my love of Google.

Screenshot of Gmail failing to load on my browser of choice, Google's own Chome. The instructions state, "Please try using Gmail with a supported browser."

Zen & the Art of Telling Pain Who's in Charge

In one of the books I recently read, Eat Pray Love, the author talks about her experiences with meditation. She talks about her quest to enter that tranquil state of meditation where pain and annoyances are irrelevant.

I've thought about this idea before--being able to just "take it" when you're in pain, without being ruffled or upset. So today when I got a seriously, seriously painful paper cut right before going into the grocery store, I thought I'd give it a try.

"Just let it go," I said. "Accept the pain. Accept that you cannot do anything about it right now and don't get upset."

Paper cuts are evil. They can sting and throb in pain until you get them covered up in a bandage. This was a particularly deep and nasty cut and it was really throbbing. So I didn't expect my little "accept the pain" mantra to do much.

However, once I told myself that I would just accept the circumstances and move on with my life, the pain miraculously disappeared instantly. Disappeared--I couldn't feel a single thing. This was somewhat unfortunate, because then I was shocked and started marveling how this could be possible until I was obsessing about the paper cut. And once I started thinking about it, I realized I was still in a lot of pain.

Again, I decided to just let go. The pain was gone again in an instant. Or rather--the pain wasn't gone but it was forgotten completely. I couldn't feel it at all. I let appreciation fill me up and float me away and then went on with my shopping. A few times during the trip, I was reminded of the throbbing pain in my finger and each time I told myself: "Just let go."

Now I'm feelin' pretty tough, although in reality I am a total pain-abhorring cry baby. I literally can't stop my eyes from tearing up when one of my kids does something particularly ferocious like jumping onto my nose or grabbing my hair and then trying to run away with it. Luckily, those times are extremely few and far between, and so are paper cuts.

But what about other kinds of pain and frustration? What about everyday annoyances like somebody driving three miles per hour in the no-passing, 35-mph zone when you're late for a really important, non-reschedulable appointment? What about times when life just isn't fair and you can taste the bitterness starting to sink into your chest? Can those kinds of pain just *poof* disappear?

I think so. I think it takes a lot more maturity and a lot more practice than most people care to give it. I also think it's the key to inner peace and continuing joy. So next time my kids wake up at 2:00 a.m. barfing and it's just NOT FAIR that I "get" to clean it up ... I'm going to try to just tell myself: LET GO. Let go of the pain. Let go of the frustration. Move on ... or relive this unhappiness until you've made yourself sick, too. Just let go.

Unintentional Lessons #3

As I struggle to develop my own healthy lifestyle, I try to help my children learn healthy habits in their youth. However, being a hypocrite makes it so difficult to be a stellar role model. Sigh. And so I present:

Lessons My Children Learned from their Mother #3

It is vital to eat a variety of healthy foods with every meal. For example, pizza is a very well-rounded food with carbohydrate (crust), dairy (cheese), vegetable (tomato sauce) and protein (pepperoni.) After eating a healthy meal like that, you can enjoy an ice cream bar without guilt!

Unintentional Lessons #2

Good hygiene is important for social and physical reasons, in addition to an overall sense of confidence and self-respect, which brings us to part two of my misadventures in parenting:

Lessons My Children Learned from their Mother #2

It is important to always keep your body clean and free of dirt and germs, so it's a good idea to bathe every night before bed. In the event that I throw a temper tantrum and make Mom's life miserable until she gives up and begs me to just put on my pajamas and go to sleep so she can go have a bubble bath herself, twice a week is better than nothing.

Unintentional Lessons #1

My children love to learn from me. They love to learn from my mistakes, my shortcomings, my failings and my frustrations. Some day, I am hoping they will pick up a few positive lessons as well, but I'm not holding my breath. So I present to you:

Lessons My Children Learned from their Mother #1

Sunday is a day of rest and worship, so we don't play the Wii on Sundays ... except under exceptional circumstances, such as (a) the day we received the Wii as a gift, (b) the day after Mom bought a new game, or (c) any Sunday when Mom wants us to go upstairs and stay quiet so she can sleep in or take a nap. Other than that, it's strictly verboten.

Book Talk :: The Kitchen God's Wife

The Kitchen God's Wife

by Amy Tan

I finished reading, "The Kitchen God's Wife" for book club. It was ... all right. It seems like exactly the kind of book I'd love, but it wasn't. I still can't figure out why I found it so dull and anti-climactic. My favorite author is E.M. Forster, for pete's sake, so I know I can tolerate a bit of slow-moving plot. If you've only read "A Room with a View" then you don't know how long-winded and rambling Forster can be. But he's brilliant, insightful and a fabulous story crafter. Amy Tan's novel just left me vaguely disinterested. I should have really wept in parts where I could only muster a tear or two.

Was it because of the main character who is first introduced by her daughter in a very unflattering light? Did that cause me to just have a hard time sympathizing with her? Was it because we were constantly led on by the promises of the main character's "deep, dark history" that she hasn't shared with her daughter... only to realize, in the end, that the secrets being kept were really not that earth-shattering?

I tend to think that it failed to do what my favorite book, The Book Thief by Markus Zusak, did brilliantly. In both books, we are given vast amounts of foreshadowing and then taken back in time to tell the story. In Zusak's "The Book Thief," the events that unfold are still heart-rendingly beautiful. The characters are built up so beautifully--the children's innocence, the foster parents' complexity and unlikely likability--that we really care more about them as the book goes on.

However, in "The Kitchen God's Wife," we know that whoever the main character once was, she will eventually turn into a nagging, controlling tightwad. It's hard to care how difficult her youth was when she apparently turned all that life experience into "cranky old lady" fodder. I'm sure others found the character far more sympathetic than I did, since it was a New York Times bestseller. It just fell flat for me.

As the characters develop in each novel, the plots jump back and forth in time. In Zusak's novel, although we know the ending will not be a happy one, there are just enough loose ends to wonder, "Who escapes the tragedy that we know must be coming?" and when Zusak suddenly starts a chapter with the observation that Rudy Steiner didn't deserve to die the way he did, it's hard not to break into tears and sob with the knowledge that Rudy will not be one to escape.

In Tan's novel, the shifts in time wanted me to shout to, "Get on with it! We know she ends up getting away from the abusive husband and moving to America! What else you got??" The single most "shocking" reason why the main character has not told this history to her daughter is revealed in the first half of the book, leaving very little climax for the last part of the story.

In the end, it was a sweet story about mother and daughter learning to trust each other, but it fell flat for me. It just seems that a few plot changes would have given the book a much more climactic feel to it and given the reader a chance to become engaged in wondering how the story would end. Since we were given that all in the beginning, the route to get there was far less compelling than I expected it would be.

Advice for Aspiring Writers

I just got home from our local "Authorpalooza" at Barnes & Noble. It was a memorable experience for several reasons, but since it is late and I am tired, I thought I'd blog the simplest tonight and save the others for later.

A few months ago, I attended another Writer's Thing-a-doo-hickey and was impressed with the seasoned professionalism of one of the writers, whom we will call "Nick."* When I heard he would be at the Authorpalooza, I thought I should get one of his books and have it autographed for one of the kids. (I figure that it's a great thing to support local authors. We're lucky in Utah to have a great, tight-knit community of writers.)

So I approahced "Nick" and asked him to make the book out to Thomas, who loves reading. After he signed it, we chatted briefly and I told "Nick" that I had considered taking some classes at BYU to kick-start my creativity. After talking about that for a few moments, he said suddenly, "My advice to aspiring writers is: Don't do it ... unless you have to."

I stopped dead in my tracks. Wait... what? What about the muse that must be fed? What about the need to write being likened to the need to breathe or eat to survive? What about the optimism and encouragement? Did he really just say that?

"Well, that's encouraging," I stuttered in shock.

"Look," he said. "It's hard to support a family by writing. It's hard work. People think it's a great way to express themselves creatively, but I'll be honest: there are a lot of ways to express your creativity and I'd rather see a lot of different forms of creativity more than just another book on the book shelf."

With that, the conversation was basically over. Thanks for the ... encouragement. And for signing the book for my son. And have a nice day?

I'm still mulling over the advice that "Nick" gave me. I haven't decided if it's the worst advice I've ever received or the best. It could go either way. At least it was refreshingly, startlingly honest. And honest is good.

* Name has been changed to protect the innocent.**

** By "innocent," I mean "guilty"

Conversation with a 4-yr-old

Thomas: "I peed and pooped in my Pull-Up this morning."

Mom: "I know. You got grounded from the Wii because you didn't use the toilet when you were supposed to."

Silence while Thomas stares at Mom.

Mom: "What are you thinking about Thomas?"

More silence and staring.

Mom: "Are you sizing up your Mom and thinking about how you'll show her exactly who is in charge by not finishing potty training until you've decided you're good and ready?"

Thomas (without hesitation): "Yep. That's what I'm thinking about."

I'm sure this will be funny to me someday. In the meantime, you can all laugh on my behalf 'cause it ain't funny yet.

Changing Lanes

12:04 p.m.

Coming home.

Slow truck--so slow.

Out of the slow lane.

A flicker of movement.

It is suddenly in front of me.

The furry head sees me, panics

Jerks slightly to the left

To the right

We both know it's too late

A sickening thud reverberates

Front

Middle

Rear

That's life in the fast lane

One moment between life and death

My hands grip the wheel of the car

The instrument of death

I say to myself

Death is part of life

Just a skunk... I think...

It was all so, so fast

I slow down, pull into the slow lane

I think about blood and fur and flesh

Is it clinging to my car?

I think of my children's innocent eyes

What is that, Mommy?

It's late. Dark. I'm tired.

I have to wash the blood off my hands

And my car.

The gas station is open

I hate the smell of the car wash soap

But it cleanses my car

My confession of innocent guilt cleanses my conscience.

12:24 p.m.

Time for bed.

Emotion And Reason

For years I've told myself that to be an adult means to master my emotions; to calm my anger, to chide my jealousy and to never get carried away--even with happiness. I'm not sure whether I misapplied this basic principle of "growing up" or whether I was influenced by a keep-it-together-at-all-costs society, but I somehow didn't quite get it right.

I've only recently realized that emotion is a wonderful gift. Naturally I understand the counsel to bridle my passions, and I certainly don't want to be tossed about on the waves of emotion, but even moderation can be taken to an excess. I think I got it all wrong. I took my emotions and placed them in carefully-labeled bottles and shelved them away inside my brain.

Emotions don't belong in the brain. They must be tempered by logic and reason, but they must never become a next-door neighbor. This is why even the scriptures counsel us to listen to our minds and our hearts. They work together as two distinct and complementary units of humanity.

Yes, it feels corny and strange to enjoy my emotions. It feels childish to feel the sand squishing between my toes and say to myself, "That is a simply splendid sensation!" It feels cliche and immature to actually watch a sunset for no other reason than to enjoy its' beauty.

...but...

... always that immortal "but" ...

I feel so alive, like I'm human and immortal at the same moment. I can feel myself breathing and I remember that I'm not a robot or a slave to conformity. I'm unique. I'm on fire with love and joy and desire. I can feel the cleansing power of pain and suffering and discomfort. That's okay, too. Better to be alive and feel the pain than to be emotionally and spiritually dead.

I realize that it's the emotion that's been missing when I sing. It's just this note, that note, keep it smooth, don't forget to breathe, don't push it, don't hold back, here comes that high A so brace yourself...

So this morning I put on my favorite emotion-laden songs and really performed them the way I feel them. I sang them to my wall, which never applauds but is very patient with me and never criticizes.

I stood perfectly still, because a dying woman who is grieving her missing child and the man who deserted her doesn't fidget. ("I Dreamed a Dream") I paced disconsolately, like a woman whose glory years have passed by but who still remembers and dreams of a better day. ("Memory") I stood on my toes, longing for those impossible dreams to be reality. ("On My Own")

Then I stopped singing and spun dizzily drunk with emotion. My whole body was electrified with life and I wondered if I might faint or just fall over. The intensity was draining and renewing. The sensation lasted for 10 or 15 minutes until normality stepped in, businesslike, and swept the tingling electricity out of my system.

For some people it's dance. Or singing. Or painting. Or the glories of nature. Or running. Or kickboxing. Or even cleaning. Whatever it is that transports you out of the mundane and into a different realm, embrace it. Keep your feet firmly planted on the earth, but make time to let your mind and your heart soar into the heavens. (Just don't be gone too long. Logic without feeling can kill your soul, but emotion without reason is far more dangerous...)

Duet, the number 53, Twitter, Happiness and Self-Indulgence

My miscellaneous blog posts are sometimes the most fun. So here we are:

* Josh and I are slated to sing a duet in church two weeks from today. Josh decided yesterday that he didn't like the song we have been working on, so now I have a rising sense of panic and impending doom. Duets for bass and soprano are not easy to find. If you know of any great sheet music along those lines, send it my way. Send it by yesterday, if possible.

* I now have 53 RSS subscribers in Google Reader and 15 "followers" ... but my Mom and Dad have still never visited the site, as far as I can tell. Nor has my brother. My oldest sister visited once. It's interesting that my neighbors and cyber-total-strangers-who-happened-on-my-blog-but-I-totally-love-even-though-we've-never-met know more about my life than my parents. Sometimes I wish my husband didn't subscribe so I could be all snarky about him, but... it's probably better this way.

* Just checked out my analytics and realized I've gotten a mention at this site about blogs for Christian Mothers. How fun. (#41, FYI)

* I joined Twitter in January of '08 because it seemed like the Hot New Thing. I tried to talk all my friends into it and they gave me cyber looks of scorn. My friend, Mike, signed up and wrote: "Trying to figure out why in the scrud I would want to use this thing." We had a couple debates on Google Talk re the values of Twitter and I secretly agreed with his opinion. My enthusiasm died down around the time the rest of the world decided it was Hot New Thing. So my love affair with Twitter has faded away, replaced by my hot, new lover named Facebook. It's interesting to see my friends all discovering it and beginning that new romance. I wonder if it will be a long-term commitment or a one-night stand. I pride myself on one quirky little talent: forecasting the death of companies. It will take a few years, but unless Twitter becomes more competitive and multi-faceted, I cannot see it being a long-term competitor for other services. I could write a long essay on the subject, but let's be honest: yawn.

* I wrote another article for the Utah Baby Guide. It was lots of fun and it may become a more regular thing. We'll see what the future holds. :)

* This morning, my son was having a little trouble parting with 10% of his allowance money for tithing. After he finally decided to do it, I told him he could also give money to other projects for our church like the humanitarian fund. As soon as he learned that he could give money for people around the world who were poor or in emergency situations, he wanted to give the rest of his allowance to that. I tried to talk him into just giving them $1 (moderation in all things, after all, right?) but he wouldn't hear of it. So he saved $1 for himself and gave $4 to the poor. I love that kid. We both cry when we hear about people who are hurting or in need.

* I am almost finished reading the bestseller "Eat Pray Love." I'll write a proper review later (maybe) but just wanted to share a few random thoughts here. Like: I've been on a parallel journey in so, so many ways. But I didn't have the bank account or freedom to do it in Italy, India or Indonesia. I had to face it all right here within the confines of my own home and with kids who required much of my time and attention. But the end result is, in so many ways, the same. That path of self-discovery is so painful and so indescribably uncomfortable when you are accustomed to pretending that problems don't exist. I've gone from depression to anxiety to nervous twitches to desperation to wishing my life were over to ... hope and renewal and self-acceptance and a zest for life that makes me want to embrace every sweet moment on this earth.

Today, as I was fasting, I realized that I need to be happier in my life. It's so easy to see the negative side of things. It's so easy to blog about it and make people laugh and say, "Oh, isn't that so true!" But ... isn't the goal to be happy? So as much as it feels good sometimes to blow off steam and let out the frustration, does that really make me happy? Can I live life with cynicism and hope simultaneously? Can I keep my eyes wide open but not be blinded by the cruel unfairness of the world?

The answer, of course, is: I have to choose. Being happy and content does not mean being naive or sheltered. It just means accepting life and making that active decision every day to be grateful for what I have and am. And letting the snarkiness sneak in only on occasion...

* I want to be a writer. Like a real writer, not just another dweeb who thinks she's important because she can self-publish a blog. (Err, sorry if that offends any of my fellow dweebs... just kidding.. dang it, see above bullet point about sarcasm. I gotta work on that.) I am trying to work through why it is that I have so much trouble sitting down to write anything but my blog. Am I scared to make that leap into the ever-whirling sea of rejection letters? Am I just too scared to have people tell me what I secretly fear: I'm just not good enough? Does the amount of bone-crushingly painful work intimidate me? Am I just afraid of taking something I love and crushing the joy out of it by trying to monetize it? I did that with desktop publishing years ago and it was a painful blow. I hate tempering my creativity with a desire for compensation. That is so naturally inhibiting.

I have a few really wonderful concepts for novels that I would enjoy working on, but I just can't JUMP. People say that if you're a true writer, it means writing is like breathing: you have to do it or you'd wither and die. I look at that and say, "Well, I guess I'm not a true writer." Which, naturally, makes me want to fight back and say, "Maybe that's true for YOU, Mr. Bradbury! But maybe it's more complicated than that for some of us!" Which makes me wonder why I'm arguing with one of the greatest writers of the 20th century who doesn't even know I exist? Why am I just arguing with myself? At this point in the internal dialogue, I recognize the dual futility and insanity of what is happening and I check out of the conversation. I think that's a good thing except that I never progress to answering my question: Why can't I just leap into my stories and let the creativity overwhelm me? What am I so scared of?

* Have you noticed that my blog posts become exceedingly long and rambling? I worry about that. Would people like my blog better if I made it more twittery and easy to read? Should I just post a few cute photos of my craft projects, happy children and vacations with cheerful captions? That would definitely be more palatable to some, but it just wouldn't be me. I'm a writer, dang it. So that's what I do on the blog: I write. It's self-indulgent to the extreme, but I love it. Thanks for sticking with me. :)