I'm reading a book called, Amazing Things Will Happen by CC Chapman. I won the book from a promo on condition that I would write a review on Amazon. I haven't finished the book and hence haven't written the review, but I had to blog a bit on his chapter called, "Learning to Say No."
As my social media clientele has increased, my time has become committed to doing the things I promised to do for them. As a stay-at-home (now work-from-home) mom, this has some serious impacts on other things I can do.
Among them, my time commitment to PTA--what I have time to actually do is decreasing. Certainly, this takes people by surprise as I have had to say no to things I might have said yes to two years ago. CC covers a lot of import things in his chapter, to it I would add saying no when someone is trying to force you to say yes. I think men tend to be a bit more upfront, but women can be kinda tricky. Whether this is intentional or too much of beating around the bush, is up for debate, but feeling really forced happens.
I had an experience recently in which someone said, "Perhaps you could do something small like (info about small thing)." "Perhaps I could," I replied. And BAM, unbeknownst to me, I had just signed up for something.
I had only meant that if the stars aligned and the job was reasonable, small and the timing perfect, I could help with something--not necessarily *that* thing and definitely not in the near future. To my surprise, I received a follow-up email thanking me for "signing-up" and then more emails about doing this thing that I didn't want to do.
I had a whole internal struggle. Should I just find a way to do it or should I say no since I had never intended on signing up in the first place?
Ultimately, I said no. I explained that I already had serious time commitments and just couldn't do it.
As soon as I pressed, "Send" on the email, I felt lighter. It's like sorting through your stuff and getting rid of everything you don't use. Your drawers shut, your shelves are useable, you're not tripping over stuff that you don't need but somehow hang onto.
A friend of mine told me that after her year of being PTA President, she realized that she could spend the same amount of time doing good, only she'd get paid for it. I couldn't have agreed more. And, though at the time, I couldn't have imagined what I'd be doing this year, that was the end I had in mind too. But it also means that I no longer have the time for a huge PTA commitment. Which means learning to say no.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Things I Love About Being Mormon: Visiting Teaching
When I was 18, I graduate from high school, seminary, and my ward and was switched into a single's ward. I was immediately given a calling as a visiting teacher. My mom was always an exemplary example of visiting teaching, so I was excited to have this assignment. As I sought out my companion I learned that she had recently left on a mission and was no longer in the ward. Even though I would be in the ward a mere 2.5 months, I worked up the nerve to call my sister's and make appointments by myself.
When I arrived on the doorstep of the apartment, I could hear loud noises. This young woman in her late twenties answered the door and invited me in. She was not alone inside, with her were three severely handicapped adults. Her job was caring for these people during the day.
As we sat down to visit, I hardly had to say a word--she was so starved for conversation. After we had visited a long time, I gave her a spiritual message and went on my way.
"Thank you," she said as I left. "I haven't had visiting teachers come in a long time and it's so lonely being with here all day."
Although it was only my first visit, I had already gained an incredible testimony of the importance of visiting teaching. I promised myself, and the Lord, right there on the doorstep, that I would always consistently visit the sister's whom I was assigned to visit teach.
When I arrived on the doorstep of the apartment, I could hear loud noises. This young woman in her late twenties answered the door and invited me in. She was not alone inside, with her were three severely handicapped adults. Her job was caring for these people during the day.
As we sat down to visit, I hardly had to say a word--she was so starved for conversation. After we had visited a long time, I gave her a spiritual message and went on my way.
"Thank you," she said as I left. "I haven't had visiting teachers come in a long time and it's so lonely being with here all day."
Although it was only my first visit, I had already gained an incredible testimony of the importance of visiting teaching. I promised myself, and the Lord, right there on the doorstep, that I would always consistently visit the sister's whom I was assigned to visit teach.
Wednesday, January 09, 2013
Bill's Hand
Christened, William Woodruff Hughes, Bill was the second of the four Hughes children. If Lloyd, the older brother, was the scholar, then Bill was the sportsman. He loved to try his hand at everything and excelled at seemingly everything: bowling, baseball, tennis, even rollerskating. Athletics came really naturally to Bill.
When Bill was 10 he scaled to unnatural heights, a tree in the Hughes family's yard. Fern, his mother and the resident family photographer, ran out and snapped a picture of him up there. Bill lived an exuberant life with many harrowing adventures.
When Bill was around 11-years-old, his parents had opened a grocery store. All of the Hughes children worked around the store from time to time and on this day, Bill was helping in the meat department. Pounds of beef and been placed in the top of a meat grinder and Bill was helping to push the meat into the grinder.
Bill kept after his job until the meat was ground. Both the meat and the store were freezing cold, so Bill crossed the room and stood on a heat register to warm up. When Fern came into the room, she noticed Bill's hand was bleeding.
"What's the matter with your hand?" she asked.
Bill held his right hand up for both of them to examine. Unbeknownst to him, with his hands numb from handling the cold meat, Bill had accidentally ground down his middle finger to where it was essentially the same height as his index and ring fingers.
Ever a practical woman, Fern ushered Bill out.
"You go over to the drug store and see what they can do to help you. I've have to throw all the hamburger away."
When Bill arrived at the drug store, his finger was still bleeding profusely. Not knowing what else to do, they tied a string around the end of his finger, and put him on a streetcar with directions to see a doctor.
As the finger healed, his nail grew out and curled around the end of his shortened finger, protecting it. Bill was alway very self-conscious about that finger. He kept his hand in his pocket or curled up in a ball, so people wouldn't notice.
When Bill was 10 he scaled to unnatural heights, a tree in the Hughes family's yard. Fern, his mother and the resident family photographer, ran out and snapped a picture of him up there. Bill lived an exuberant life with many harrowing adventures.
When Bill was around 11-years-old, his parents had opened a grocery store. All of the Hughes children worked around the store from time to time and on this day, Bill was helping in the meat department. Pounds of beef and been placed in the top of a meat grinder and Bill was helping to push the meat into the grinder.
Bill kept after his job until the meat was ground. Both the meat and the store were freezing cold, so Bill crossed the room and stood on a heat register to warm up. When Fern came into the room, she noticed Bill's hand was bleeding.
"What's the matter with your hand?" she asked.
Bill held his right hand up for both of them to examine. Unbeknownst to him, with his hands numb from handling the cold meat, Bill had accidentally ground down his middle finger to where it was essentially the same height as his index and ring fingers.
Ever a practical woman, Fern ushered Bill out.
"You go over to the drug store and see what they can do to help you. I've have to throw all the hamburger away."
When Bill arrived at the drug store, his finger was still bleeding profusely. Not knowing what else to do, they tied a string around the end of his finger, and put him on a streetcar with directions to see a doctor.
As the finger healed, his nail grew out and curled around the end of his shortened finger, protecting it. Bill was alway very self-conscious about that finger. He kept his hand in his pocket or curled up in a ball, so people wouldn't notice.
Tuesday, January 08, 2013
Identify
The words were spoken softly and gently, but they hit hard as if he were being slapped.
"I need you to come identify the body of your son," the mortuary owner said in that gentle way people attain when they constantly deal with death. "Mr. Hughes?"
"Yeah," Lloyd replied.
"Sometimes when people die...like he did, especially in intense heat--often, when they've been out of that situation for a few hours, their bodies turn coal black. There is absolutely nothing you can do about it. But I need to prepare you...in case."
Lloyd hung up the phone, grabbed his hat and coat, and drove to the mortuary. In 1940, it was only days before Christmas--the holiday that would never happen in the Hughes home again. It was cold, but even with his coat on Lloyd felt eerily chilled. He had no real recollection of the drive to the mortuary, yet somehow he arrived. He grabbed the heavy door handle and entered. Lloyd was ushered back to where the bodies were kept. Standing together with the undertaker, the body was uncovered.
Lloyd held his breath, grateful that the body was not an unnatural black and simultaneously devastated that he was looking at the body of his 19-year-old son. There he lay, handsome as always, but now missing the spark that meant he was Bill. Lloyd checked for Bill's right hand where his middle finger had been damaged in an accident and stood shorter than was usual. On Bill's left shoulder was a one inch yellow butterfly tattoo.
"Well, that looks like my son," Lloyd said in his slow Iowa way. "But then he's got that tattoo. My kids all know how I feel about tattoos. None of them would have ever had a tattoo on them. I don't know what to say," He paused and spoke a little more quietly than before, "I think that's my boy."
The mortician glanced at Lloyd. There was no doubt in Mr. Hughes' face: this was his son. "Thank you, sir, for coming in."
"I need you to come identify the body of your son," the mortuary owner said in that gentle way people attain when they constantly deal with death. "Mr. Hughes?"
"Yeah," Lloyd replied.
"Sometimes when people die...like he did, especially in intense heat--often, when they've been out of that situation for a few hours, their bodies turn coal black. There is absolutely nothing you can do about it. But I need to prepare you...in case."
Lloyd hung up the phone, grabbed his hat and coat, and drove to the mortuary. In 1940, it was only days before Christmas--the holiday that would never happen in the Hughes home again. It was cold, but even with his coat on Lloyd felt eerily chilled. He had no real recollection of the drive to the mortuary, yet somehow he arrived. He grabbed the heavy door handle and entered. Lloyd was ushered back to where the bodies were kept. Standing together with the undertaker, the body was uncovered.
Lloyd held his breath, grateful that the body was not an unnatural black and simultaneously devastated that he was looking at the body of his 19-year-old son. There he lay, handsome as always, but now missing the spark that meant he was Bill. Lloyd checked for Bill's right hand where his middle finger had been damaged in an accident and stood shorter than was usual. On Bill's left shoulder was a one inch yellow butterfly tattoo.
"Well, that looks like my son," Lloyd said in his slow Iowa way. "But then he's got that tattoo. My kids all know how I feel about tattoos. None of them would have ever had a tattoo on them. I don't know what to say," He paused and spoke a little more quietly than before, "I think that's my boy."
The mortician glanced at Lloyd. There was no doubt in Mr. Hughes' face: this was his son. "Thank you, sir, for coming in."
Monday, January 07, 2013
The Project That Wasn't...Like I Thought
Apparently my grandmother and I had a miscommunication. She has asked me to quit my blog project immediately. I am beyond bummed to cancel not only this project, but my major personal goal only a week into the year. She has agreed to let me continue writing, but only offline.
I am still going to write about family history, but only stories that I don't get from my grandma. My mom's dad passed away in 2002. He was an only child and I don't know what of my Granddad's history has been recorded. I do know that we are his only family. Only my mother and her two siblings and seven grandchildren (of which I'm one) know him well enough to write anything.
Even though I'm incredibly disappointed not to be able share my grandma's story, I'm still going to try to meet my goal of writing about my family history. It's going to take a several days to pull everything from my Grandma into a Blurb book and I've got two scheduled posts that I'm not sure how to "unschedule" for tomorrow (1/8) and the next day (1/9). But I am honoring my grandma's request to remove anything connected to her identity and write off-line about her for the rest of the year.
I am counting on my mom and her siblings to share stories of their dad and his family history with me so that my project isn't a complete bust.
I am still going to write about family history, but only stories that I don't get from my grandma. My mom's dad passed away in 2002. He was an only child and I don't know what of my Granddad's history has been recorded. I do know that we are his only family. Only my mother and her two siblings and seven grandchildren (of which I'm one) know him well enough to write anything.
Even though I'm incredibly disappointed not to be able share my grandma's story, I'm still going to try to meet my goal of writing about my family history. It's going to take a several days to pull everything from my Grandma into a Blurb book and I've got two scheduled posts that I'm not sure how to "unschedule" for tomorrow (1/8) and the next day (1/9). But I am honoring my grandma's request to remove anything connected to her identity and write off-line about her for the rest of the year.
I am counting on my mom and her siblings to share stories of their dad and his family history with me so that my project isn't a complete bust.
The Family
Lloyd Delton Hughes married Fern LaRue Woodruff on Aug 2, 1919. They had four children in rapid succession, with only about a year and a half between each child.
Lloyd Chalmers was born first on April 10, 1920. Since he and his father shared the same first name, Fern sometimes called him "Junior." Nevertheless, since he had his own middle name, Chalmers, named after Fern's father, he wasn't really a "Junior."
William Woodruff or Bill, as he was known, was next, born on Dec 11, 1921.
Beverly Bernice came third on July 21, 1923.
Florence Carolyn was the fourth and final Hughes child. She was born in the middle of a storm on Jan 24, 1925. Carolyn is my grandmother.
You'll see why as we go along, but we're going to start by sharing Bill's history. My grandmother is one of the last living people who knows Bill's story, one of the reasons why it's so important to share it.
Lloyd Chalmers was born first on April 10, 1920. Since he and his father shared the same first name, Fern sometimes called him "Junior." Nevertheless, since he had his own middle name, Chalmers, named after Fern's father, he wasn't really a "Junior."
William Woodruff or Bill, as he was known, was next, born on Dec 11, 1921.
Beverly Bernice came third on July 21, 1923.
Florence Carolyn was the fourth and final Hughes child. She was born in the middle of a storm on Jan 24, 1925. Carolyn is my grandmother.
You'll see why as we go along, but we're going to start by sharing Bill's history. My grandmother is one of the last living people who knows Bill's story, one of the reasons why it's so important to share it.
Friday, January 04, 2013
Arrival Part II
Dad and Mother had rented the large two-story home for their growing brood. They had sub-let the second floor to four college girls to help with the cost. The girls were huddled around a floor vent that went between the first and second floor bedrooms waiting to hear my first cry. Mother said quite a cheer went up when the girls finally heard me.
Mother had chosen two sets of names for me and she asked my father which set he preferred. The choices were: Harriet Hope and Florence Carolyn. (Can you imagine being called Harriet Hope Hughes?) I am extremely glad my father chose Florence Carolyn. Mother's choices were names of special people in her life. Florence was a close friend of Mother's, a nurse who had taken care of Mother when my sister, Beverly, was born. Carolyn was the name of Mother's voice teacher. Mother never explained why chose the other set of names, but I've always like my name, Carolyn.
Florence was a nurse overseas during World War I. She gave Mother a large rose-colored glass bowl for me when I was born. It is very heavy and beautiful. I don't know whatever became of her. Carolyn was killed rather young. She was driving her car much too fast and drove up over a raised railroad crossing out in the country. Her car became airborne and was impaled on a tall broken-off pole on the far side of the tracks. She was killed instantly.
Perhaps because of the circumstances around my birth, all my life my favorite kind of night, or day for that matter, has been one that has pouring rain, lots of thunder and crashing lightening! I love to put on my jacket and boots, grab an umbrella and just walk. I love the sounds and find them all very soothing, restful and peaceful. As Mother would have said, "Storms to Carolyn are hyacinths for her soul."
That is true! Is there any more beautiful sound than rain beating on a metal roof, or perhaps against a windowpane? No, not to me.
Mother had chosen two sets of names for me and she asked my father which set he preferred. The choices were: Harriet Hope and Florence Carolyn. (Can you imagine being called Harriet Hope Hughes?) I am extremely glad my father chose Florence Carolyn. Mother's choices were names of special people in her life. Florence was a close friend of Mother's, a nurse who had taken care of Mother when my sister, Beverly, was born. Carolyn was the name of Mother's voice teacher. Mother never explained why chose the other set of names, but I've always like my name, Carolyn.
Florence was a nurse overseas during World War I. She gave Mother a large rose-colored glass bowl for me when I was born. It is very heavy and beautiful. I don't know whatever became of her. Carolyn was killed rather young. She was driving her car much too fast and drove up over a raised railroad crossing out in the country. Her car became airborne and was impaled on a tall broken-off pole on the far side of the tracks. She was killed instantly.
Perhaps because of the circumstances around my birth, all my life my favorite kind of night, or day for that matter, has been one that has pouring rain, lots of thunder and crashing lightening! I love to put on my jacket and boots, grab an umbrella and just walk. I love the sounds and find them all very soothing, restful and peaceful. As Mother would have said, "Storms to Carolyn are hyacinths for her soul."
That is true! Is there any more beautiful sound than rain beating on a metal roof, or perhaps against a windowpane? No, not to me.
Thursday, January 03, 2013
The Thing About 2013
The older I get and the bigger the projects I decide to tackle, the more I realize that I'm going to have to be very disciplined in order to get it all done. (Which brings me to wondering if there's anything I need to let go? )
The biggest thing I want to do this year is this blog project. Working with my grandma to create a beautiful family history record of many of her family members will mean so much to me and my family in the years to come.
And, dear family, I want this to be a group project. If you see a typo, misspelling, improper grammar, or verb tenses that aren't making sense; speak up! I will also be happy to listen to your take on events and apply what I can where I can, but if your version differs from Grandma's--I'm going with hers. This is her history from her point of view.
This year I'd also love to lose weight, get organized, get a couple more clients, and hopefully get a new church calling (I've been doing Primary music for 6+ years now). But all of that pales in comparison to the job of recording this family history.
I have moved upon by the Spirit of Elijah and I've found a way that I can contribute in a meaningful way. So this year, my most important goal is to record at least 40 family history posts.
This year as I work on this family history project, I'm not moving in a linear way though time or through the family. I will be jumping around quite a bit, from person to person and story to story. Whatever is pressing on my Grandma's mind is what I'll write about. Please take each story on it's own merit. I hope you enjoy the ride.
This year as I work on this family history project, I'm not moving in a linear way though time or through the family. I will be jumping around quite a bit, from person to person and story to story. Whatever is pressing on my Grandma's mind is what I'll write about. Please take each story on it's own merit. I hope you enjoy the ride.
Wednesday, January 02, 2013
A Word on 2012 Goals
Every year, I post about goals. At the end of every year, I've usually fallen short in some aspect or another. Sometimes, I realize that I've set a nearly unmeasurable goal. (As I did in the case of "Things I've Been Putting Off." What counts? What doesn't count?)
In other cases, I began the year with a goal in mind, only to realize that I'm going to redirect. This is precisely what happened in the research that never happened for the GRE. A big part of that was because I got a job. Having been a stay-at-home mom for 13.5 years, I was sure that I'd have to go back to school in order to get an interesting job where I could be in charge of my own schedule. Yet here I sit with such a job, and a year and a half before Beck is in 1st grade, and, therefore in school full-time.
I've decided to sit back see where this takes me.
Sometimes goals are much harder than they appeared. Thus continues my struggle with organizing. Still, I'm incredibly proud of what I got done last year and I'm working to build on that this year as well.
Tuesday, January 01, 2013
Arrival
A fierce storm raged overhead. Rain came down in torrents. Lightening slashed the black midnight sky, and thunder rolled and rumbled through the heavens. The clock in the town square slowly pealed twelve times, the sound flowing over the darkened, sleeping little city.
In a large clapboard house on the corner, however, all the lights were ablaze, the storm was hardly noticed. In a bedroom on the first floor lay a young mother, twenty-two years of age. Her husband of six years was with her, and so was a doctor who was helping her through the final stages of labor. For the young mother it was the first time she had been away from family when one of her babies was born. The new child was baby number four for her, and all four of the babies had been born at home. The mother was afraid if she went to the hospital to give birth she might not bring her own baby home. That was unthinkable!!
The town clock pealed once, it was 12:15. Labor continued. Time passed so slowly. Then the clock pealed twice, it was 12:30. Labor was ending. A little after midnight on January 24, 1925, as the storm screamed and howled around the corners of the house, a baby girl was born. I was that baby girl.
In a large clapboard house on the corner, however, all the lights were ablaze, the storm was hardly noticed. In a bedroom on the first floor lay a young mother, twenty-two years of age. Her husband of six years was with her, and so was a doctor who was helping her through the final stages of labor. For the young mother it was the first time she had been away from family when one of her babies was born. The new child was baby number four for her, and all four of the babies had been born at home. The mother was afraid if she went to the hospital to give birth she might not bring her own baby home. That was unthinkable!!
The town clock pealed once, it was 12:15. Labor continued. Time passed so slowly. Then the clock pealed twice, it was 12:30. Labor was ending. A little after midnight on January 24, 1925, as the storm screamed and howled around the corners of the house, a baby girl was born. I was that baby girl.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
2013 Project
I'm doing something so exciting that I can hardly contain myself! My grandmother, Carolyn Kirkwood, (my mother's mother) is helping me record her family history on my blog this next year. I'm so, so excited! I've taken my digital recorder over to her house and had a lovely chat. These stories will be anything but boring.
In my family history there are murders, suicides, train wreaks, rushed marriages, tragic deaths, divorce, conversion, vacations, and happy family holidays.
2013 will be a year to remember.
In my family history there are murders, suicides, train wreaks, rushed marriages, tragic deaths, divorce, conversion, vacations, and happy family holidays.
2013 will be a year to remember.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Policy
Most businesses I know have policies. Sometimes they have policies around policies in a Pharisee/Sadducee kinda way. As I'm working up policies for Facebook contests--official rules we'll call them, I realize that I have several policies myself even if I don't share them.
The more I've thought about it, the more I realize that it's OK to have policies and you don't have to make any kind of excuse for having them.
So, without further adieu, here are my personal Facebook policies.
1. I don't play games. Look, in my life I hardly have time to get the dishes and laundry done. I have to pay someone to clean my bathrooms and mop my floor. I definitely don't have time to play games. I will also admit that in college and early in my marriage I played a fair amount of games on the computer. I found them to be highly addictive and monumental waste of time.
2. I don't vote for contests. Period. One summer, a few years ago, we ponied up the money to go to Disneyland. It was one of the worst years of my life. I was beyond depressed, but I went to the happiest place on earth and survived. I had expected our income to increase in the summer, as it usually does, due to more people buying cars then. It didn't happen. Our industry, the auto industry, was one of first and earliest hit by what was later called, The Great Recession.
That summer, after our return from Disneyland, not one, but two of my Facebook friends had entered a contest to get a free trip to Disneyland. I voted for neither. They both won the trip. Here I was with a giant heartache, a hole in my wallet and now struggling financially, and I had paid for my trip. I figured everyone could do the same.
I have made one notable exception by voting repeatedly for my child's school to win a grant. We didn't win, but the effort garnered enough publicity to help us win a $100,000 from Target--some three times the amount of the grant we were going for.
3. I block kids. If you're a kid under 15 on Facebook, I reserve the right to block you from seeing my posts. I may be your aunt, but I'm not giving you material to tease my kids with.
4. I'm not friends with everyone. If I don't know who you are, I'm not friending you.
So what social media policies do you have?
The more I've thought about it, the more I realize that it's OK to have policies and you don't have to make any kind of excuse for having them.
So, without further adieu, here are my personal Facebook policies.
1. I don't play games. Look, in my life I hardly have time to get the dishes and laundry done. I have to pay someone to clean my bathrooms and mop my floor. I definitely don't have time to play games. I will also admit that in college and early in my marriage I played a fair amount of games on the computer. I found them to be highly addictive and monumental waste of time.
That summer, after our return from Disneyland, not one, but two of my Facebook friends had entered a contest to get a free trip to Disneyland. I voted for neither. They both won the trip. Here I was with a giant heartache, a hole in my wallet and now struggling financially, and I had paid for my trip. I figured everyone could do the same.
I have made one notable exception by voting repeatedly for my child's school to win a grant. We didn't win, but the effort garnered enough publicity to help us win a $100,000 from Target--some three times the amount of the grant we were going for.
3. I block kids. If you're a kid under 15 on Facebook, I reserve the right to block you from seeing my posts. I may be your aunt, but I'm not giving you material to tease my kids with.
4. I'm not friends with everyone. If I don't know who you are, I'm not friending you.
So what social media policies do you have?
Friday, December 28, 2012
Things About Blogging that Scare Me
I love blogging. As I go through my day, I'm writing in my head. Only occasionally--a few days a month--do I actually get time to put even some of it down. Part of that is out of respect.
I recently read C Jane Kendrick's post about her elopement. She writes about her then future husband sitting on the bed and sobbing, worrying if he was making the right decision in marrying her. It's an amazing piece of writing. I think my husband would have a cow if I publicly shared a story in which he was sobbing.
In Jane's piece, her family finds out that she and Christopher are driving to Vegas and her family whooped and hollered with joy over the phone. Although I think every family *should* react like that to any impending marriage no matter how ill fated, I don't know of many who would. I think most parents would be pretty ticked off. I think I might be ticked off.
So how do you share your story without hurting anyone? Any time I do any writing that's any good, I'm nervous. I work hard to cloak things so I don't hurt any feelings. Even at the Honda blog, I wrote about an amazing woman who headed up a huge Christmas Dinner giveaway, even while herself getting devastatingly bad news.
I quote one of our conversations in the post. I know it makes it more relatable. I know that readers will like Debi without even knowing her. Yet I worry that she now hates me and will never talk to me again for fear that I'll put it on the blog.
That's exactly what I don't want--for people to fear me. I don't want to throw anybody under the bus. Yet I think writing that's brutally honest--like Jane's--is awe inspiring.
I also know that people have different perspectives. I remember a niece asking me about a (cringe) fight--a physical fight--between her mother and me when we were teens that is, apparently, going down in family lore. "Tell me about the time..." she began. As she explained which story she wanted to hear I was shaking my head, "That's not the way it happened at all!" I exclaimed.
Even when you share your story, your life isn't lived in a vacuum. It intersects and weaves with other's lives. Your perceptions of the same events, the same experiences, heck, the same conversations, can be dramatically different from someone else.
Jane Kendrick is gutsy. Perhaps it's why her blog garners a million views a month. But is there a down side? Has she lost friends or offended family? Or when we know each other's real story--the whole story--do we just feel more compassion?
I recently read C Jane Kendrick's post about her elopement. She writes about her then future husband sitting on the bed and sobbing, worrying if he was making the right decision in marrying her. It's an amazing piece of writing. I think my husband would have a cow if I publicly shared a story in which he was sobbing.
In Jane's piece, her family finds out that she and Christopher are driving to Vegas and her family whooped and hollered with joy over the phone. Although I think every family *should* react like that to any impending marriage no matter how ill fated, I don't know of many who would. I think most parents would be pretty ticked off. I think I might be ticked off.
So how do you share your story without hurting anyone? Any time I do any writing that's any good, I'm nervous. I work hard to cloak things so I don't hurt any feelings. Even at the Honda blog, I wrote about an amazing woman who headed up a huge Christmas Dinner giveaway, even while herself getting devastatingly bad news.
I quote one of our conversations in the post. I know it makes it more relatable. I know that readers will like Debi without even knowing her. Yet I worry that she now hates me and will never talk to me again for fear that I'll put it on the blog.
That's exactly what I don't want--for people to fear me. I don't want to throw anybody under the bus. Yet I think writing that's brutally honest--like Jane's--is awe inspiring.
I also know that people have different perspectives. I remember a niece asking me about a (cringe) fight--a physical fight--between her mother and me when we were teens that is, apparently, going down in family lore. "Tell me about the time..." she began. As she explained which story she wanted to hear I was shaking my head, "That's not the way it happened at all!" I exclaimed.
Even when you share your story, your life isn't lived in a vacuum. It intersects and weaves with other's lives. Your perceptions of the same events, the same experiences, heck, the same conversations, can be dramatically different from someone else.
Jane Kendrick is gutsy. Perhaps it's why her blog garners a million views a month. But is there a down side? Has she lost friends or offended family? Or when we know each other's real story--the whole story--do we just feel more compassion?
Friday, December 21, 2012
Frontrunner
Out here in the west, we are slow at things like mass-transit. So in 2012 we have our own new-fangled train: Frontrunner. It runs from Provo to Ogden and is largely responsible for getting commuters to Salt Lake City. Wendell and I went on an anniversary trip to New York City just six months ago, where we got our fill of trains. So we weren't as super excited about train riding as our five kids were.
We knew full well that the train ride was the big draw of them and important thing about this excursion. So we focused on the train rather than Temple Square. It's really good that we kept the focus that we did because we got to the Orem station at 5:45 and returned home at 9:00 with time at Temple Square = less than 30 minutes.
To compensate, we took pictures, so it LOOKS like we spent plenty of time there.
The UTA Frontrunner was super clean and our group rate wasn't a bad deal. It took us 1 hour 26 minutes to get to Temple Square. If we had driven, we could have made it up in 45 minutes and parked for $2. I can't actually think of a reason to take Frontrunner again (if my car was broken down maybe...). But we had a ton of fun!
We knew full well that the train ride was the big draw of them and important thing about this excursion. So we focused on the train rather than Temple Square. It's really good that we kept the focus that we did because we got to the Orem station at 5:45 and returned home at 9:00 with time at Temple Square = less than 30 minutes.
To compensate, we took pictures, so it LOOKS like we spent plenty of time there.
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| Waiting for the train |
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| On the train |
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| Boys at Temple Square waiting for the girls to get out of the bathroom |
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| Proof we were there! |
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| All 5 kids |
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| Picture with Dad in it so we know he was there |
The UTA Frontrunner was super clean and our group rate wasn't a bad deal. It took us 1 hour 26 minutes to get to Temple Square. If we had driven, we could have made it up in 45 minutes and parked for $2. I can't actually think of a reason to take Frontrunner again (if my car was broken down maybe...). But we had a ton of fun!
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Instructible!
Scene: My living room with Wendell and Beck (5) sword fighting.
Beck: Ha! I chopped off your arm.
Wendell: (hiding arm) Ha! I chopped off your arm.
Beck: No you didn't.
Wendell: Why?
Beck: Cuz I'm instructible!
Note: Instructible 5-year-olds always win sword fights.
Beck: Ha! I chopped off your arm.
Wendell: (hiding arm) Ha! I chopped off your arm.
Beck: No you didn't.
Wendell: Why?
Beck: Cuz I'm instructible!
Note: Instructible 5-year-olds always win sword fights.
Friday, November 30, 2012
What Was Lost...
Wendell lost his church keys. This is like losing the keys to work. They are big, clunky and expensive. I was told once that it cost over a hundred dollars to replace them.
Wendell had been looking for several weeks for the keys. He had to schedule Elder's quorum presidency meetings only when he was sure someone else would be in the building. To say that it was a hassle was somewhat of an understatement.
So Monday night, I was in charge of the Family Home Evening lesson. I read a little story from the Friend, about finding lost things. I directed my family to their knees and we prayed to find the lost keys.
I have to admit that about the time we settled into the lesson, I felt a sense of panic. After all, what if this doesn't work? What if God doesn't answer this prayer the way we, collectively, wanted it to be answered? Even as my mind became flooded with doubts and concerns, I felt a sense of peace that if that were the case, I would be given the lesson to help guide my children.
During our brainstorming session each person shared where we thought the keys might be. Anson thought behind the couch. Emma thought in Dad's car. Annika thought we should try the key rack.
Some of the ideas (like the key rack) were met with a bit of pessimism. Every now and then Wendell would say, "You have no idea how many times I've check there."
I offered that it couldn't hurt to check again. Then the search began in earnest. Anson and Nathan were moving the couch, Wendell went out to the garage, then came in and began looking on the key rack. We'd only been searching for a few minutes when Wendell said, "Jenna."
I came into the kitchen where Wendell was standing by the key rack dangling his keys. From "Amen" to finding the keys was about 5 minutes. I was blown away. Anson asked, "Did you plan this?"
"No," I chuckled, "we did not plan this. Dad has not been able to get into the church, we've asked the bishop twice about replacing the keys."
Wendell piped up, "I've spent 3-4 hours over the last couple of weeks looking for these. No. We did not plan it."
As it turned out, I had put a fancy-ish bracelet-style watch on the key rack, to remind us to replace the battery. My watch had surrounded the keys, so each time the watch was moved to look for the keys, the keys moved with the watch.
I have no idea how many times Wendell had looked there, but I had looked through that key rack 3-5 times in the last week or so. Yet after the prayer, there they were.
I don't know that this FHE made a huge impact on the kids, but it certainly made an impression on Wendell and me. God is in the details. He cares about the little things. And he blesses people who act in faith.
Wendell had been looking for several weeks for the keys. He had to schedule Elder's quorum presidency meetings only when he was sure someone else would be in the building. To say that it was a hassle was somewhat of an understatement.
So Monday night, I was in charge of the Family Home Evening lesson. I read a little story from the Friend, about finding lost things. I directed my family to their knees and we prayed to find the lost keys.
I have to admit that about the time we settled into the lesson, I felt a sense of panic. After all, what if this doesn't work? What if God doesn't answer this prayer the way we, collectively, wanted it to be answered? Even as my mind became flooded with doubts and concerns, I felt a sense of peace that if that were the case, I would be given the lesson to help guide my children.
During our brainstorming session each person shared where we thought the keys might be. Anson thought behind the couch. Emma thought in Dad's car. Annika thought we should try the key rack.
Some of the ideas (like the key rack) were met with a bit of pessimism. Every now and then Wendell would say, "You have no idea how many times I've check there."
I offered that it couldn't hurt to check again. Then the search began in earnest. Anson and Nathan were moving the couch, Wendell went out to the garage, then came in and began looking on the key rack. We'd only been searching for a few minutes when Wendell said, "Jenna."
I came into the kitchen where Wendell was standing by the key rack dangling his keys. From "Amen" to finding the keys was about 5 minutes. I was blown away. Anson asked, "Did you plan this?"
Wendell piped up, "I've spent 3-4 hours over the last couple of weeks looking for these. No. We did not plan it."
As it turned out, I had put a fancy-ish bracelet-style watch on the key rack, to remind us to replace the battery. My watch had surrounded the keys, so each time the watch was moved to look for the keys, the keys moved with the watch.
I have no idea how many times Wendell had looked there, but I had looked through that key rack 3-5 times in the last week or so. Yet after the prayer, there they were.
I don't know that this FHE made a huge impact on the kids, but it certainly made an impression on Wendell and me. God is in the details. He cares about the little things. And he blesses people who act in faith.
Friday, November 16, 2012
What Happens When Mom's Not Home...
This is what happens when Mom is gone to a class and Dad has an extra-long meeting at work.
My favorite lines:
When my husband asks who is messaging and Anson doesn't just say, "Anson." He says, "Anson Wood."
SOS can't find any dogs.
I also loved that Annika found the hot dogs. Can my 12-year-old find them? No. Can my 13-year-old find them? No. Can my 10-year-old find them? No again. It takes the 1st grader who's 6 and a half to save the day.
Things I also love:
All of the smiley faces. They crack me up as much as anything.
That Anson can't spell. He get's that from me.
Tuesday, November 06, 2012
Every Single Day
Recently, I read a fantastic post about doing things everyday. Lately, I've struggled with feeling productive. As I look over my day, it's easy to notice all the things I didn't get done, even when there's a lot I did get done.
To be sure, I waste time. Some of it is good waste, like that impromptu visit with a friend I didn't know would stop by. Even though "visit for an hour with a friend" wasn't on my to do list--oddly, it rarely is--I felt happy, understood and comforted when she left and, even though my living room is STILL a mess, I feel like it was time well spent.
There's other time wasters that are really that. Facebook is an incredible time suck. With my new job, I spend a ton more time on FB as well as time researching best practices, third party software and info for blog posts. I want to do a good job, but I can spend all day doing it, which isn't really the goal and my paycheck won't reflect it.
Then there are those things I *should* be doing everyday that fall by the wayside. When I opened my journal last, it had been three weeks. It had probably been a week or more since I'd spent time on my own scripture study.
Whenever I open my scriptures or my journal, it seems the devil is there saying, "What about dishes? Or the laundry? It will only take a second to throw in a load. Do that first. Wait. Isn't there an email you've been waiting for? Why don't you check?"
So I find myself doing one thing after another and never getting to the scriptures. Meanwhile, when I'm on the computer, I swear the devil is saying, "This will only take a minute. Ooooh. Let's go here and read this."
I digress. The point is, that I like Gretchen Rubin's idea of doing certain things every single day no matter what. Then you can't say, is this the day or can it wait for tomorrow? and so on with all of the different possible procrastination tactics.
Therefore, I have put scripture study, where it belongs, on the everyday list.
In more food for thought, and we'll just have to see how I do, Gretchen Rubin (you know Happiness Project fame) says that she blogs 6 days a week. After getting a great start on my work blog, I found it a struggle to get posts up and I've lagged blogging here notably. So, I was thinking of copying Gretchen and trying to blog daily. I need to blog biweekly for Honda of Orem, but I could blog here the rest of the time!
So, I'm wondering, what does everybody else have on their must-do-everyday list?
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| Photo credit: wmich.edu |
There's other time wasters that are really that. Facebook is an incredible time suck. With my new job, I spend a ton more time on FB as well as time researching best practices, third party software and info for blog posts. I want to do a good job, but I can spend all day doing it, which isn't really the goal and my paycheck won't reflect it.
Then there are those things I *should* be doing everyday that fall by the wayside. When I opened my journal last, it had been three weeks. It had probably been a week or more since I'd spent time on my own scripture study.
Whenever I open my scriptures or my journal, it seems the devil is there saying, "What about dishes? Or the laundry? It will only take a second to throw in a load. Do that first. Wait. Isn't there an email you've been waiting for? Why don't you check?"
So I find myself doing one thing after another and never getting to the scriptures. Meanwhile, when I'm on the computer, I swear the devil is saying, "This will only take a minute. Ooooh. Let's go here and read this."
I digress. The point is, that I like Gretchen Rubin's idea of doing certain things every single day no matter what. Then you can't say, is this the day or can it wait for tomorrow? and so on with all of the different possible procrastination tactics.
Therefore, I have put scripture study, where it belongs, on the everyday list.
In more food for thought, and we'll just have to see how I do, Gretchen Rubin (you know Happiness Project fame) says that she blogs 6 days a week. After getting a great start on my work blog, I found it a struggle to get posts up and I've lagged blogging here notably. So, I was thinking of copying Gretchen and trying to blog daily. I need to blog biweekly for Honda of Orem, but I could blog here the rest of the time!
So, I'm wondering, what does everybody else have on their must-do-everyday list?
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Monday, October 22, 2012
Why Would You Use WordPress, When You Can Use Blogger?
My new job has me on the hunt. Not only am I blogging (and learning more about the auto industry than I even thought I wanted to know), but I am also managing my client's Facebook page.
I have to admit, that I've been slow to get to the FB party, only joining in 2009 because there was no other way to learn about my 15 year high school reunion. And, for whatever reason, I'm one of those people who LOVES high school reunions.
In the last 3+ years, I certain feel like I've mastered FB for my personal use. But being assigned to run a business FB page was new territory. So I spend 30 minutes to 2 hours, almost daily, searching out any and all information I can find on how to best run business FB pages, including how to promote, advertise, and engage fans as well as what FB can really accomplish and to whom you should spend your time gearing promotions.
In tonight's research, I found a link to an old article (Nov 2009) spouting the benefits in a Blogger verses WordPress face off. This was particularly interesting to me, because I had just gone to lengths to persuade my client to use Blogger instead of WordPress. And in speaking to an author at my HTML class, I was trying to persuade her to ditch her WordPress account and come over to Blogger. So, why, I wondered, did this author think WordPress was so much better?
His complaints include trackbacks, subscribe by email and adding a poll--all of which are standard options in the current version of Blogger. He also complains of RSS feeds, now nearly obsolete and SEO, which is every bit as easy to use in Blogger as it is WordPress and Blogger has more versions of Label Clouds, a feature that makes searching within a blog both fun and aesthetically pleasing.
So, three years later, here are the reason's I recommend Blogger over WordPress.
Share functions. On the free layouts on WordPress, there are no viewable share buttons (like to Facebook, twitter, etc) unless you specifically click on the article in order to comment. But if you arrive on the blog instead, you can scroll up and down and never see a share button anywhere.
Free layouts, video, etc. Bloggers services are extensive and free. WordPress nickels and dimes you for every little thing. Want this layout instead of that? That'll cost you $55 - $75. Want to be able to change your background color? Upgrade to the "Pro Bundle" for a mere $99. The "Pro Bundle" can also get you video or you can pay around $50 to upgrade to a service with more storage. Every feature listed here is completely free on Blogger. Why would you pay $50-$100 for something you can do on Blogger for no cost?
It's easier to use. Even in the webbiquity article I'm quoting, the author notes that it's easier to use Blogger. It was created more intuitively. It was easier to use 3 years ago, it's still easier to use today.
To get a domain. Through WordPress you'll pay $18 a year. Through Blogger? $10.
I've been with Blogger since 2006. If it fell behind WordPress for a time, so be it. It's not behind now. In fact, if money matters to you, Blogger's way ahead.
I have to admit, that I've been slow to get to the FB party, only joining in 2009 because there was no other way to learn about my 15 year high school reunion. And, for whatever reason, I'm one of those people who LOVES high school reunions.
In the last 3+ years, I certain feel like I've mastered FB for my personal use. But being assigned to run a business FB page was new territory. So I spend 30 minutes to 2 hours, almost daily, searching out any and all information I can find on how to best run business FB pages, including how to promote, advertise, and engage fans as well as what FB can really accomplish and to whom you should spend your time gearing promotions.
In tonight's research, I found a link to an old article (Nov 2009) spouting the benefits in a Blogger verses WordPress face off. This was particularly interesting to me, because I had just gone to lengths to persuade my client to use Blogger instead of WordPress. And in speaking to an author at my HTML class, I was trying to persuade her to ditch her WordPress account and come over to Blogger. So, why, I wondered, did this author think WordPress was so much better?
His complaints include trackbacks, subscribe by email and adding a poll--all of which are standard options in the current version of Blogger. He also complains of RSS feeds, now nearly obsolete and SEO, which is every bit as easy to use in Blogger as it is WordPress and Blogger has more versions of Label Clouds, a feature that makes searching within a blog both fun and aesthetically pleasing.
So, three years later, here are the reason's I recommend Blogger over WordPress.
Share functions. On the free layouts on WordPress, there are no viewable share buttons (like to Facebook, twitter, etc) unless you specifically click on the article in order to comment. But if you arrive on the blog instead, you can scroll up and down and never see a share button anywhere.
Free layouts, video, etc. Bloggers services are extensive and free. WordPress nickels and dimes you for every little thing. Want this layout instead of that? That'll cost you $55 - $75. Want to be able to change your background color? Upgrade to the "Pro Bundle" for a mere $99. The "Pro Bundle" can also get you video or you can pay around $50 to upgrade to a service with more storage. Every feature listed here is completely free on Blogger. Why would you pay $50-$100 for something you can do on Blogger for no cost?
It's easier to use. Even in the webbiquity article I'm quoting, the author notes that it's easier to use Blogger. It was created more intuitively. It was easier to use 3 years ago, it's still easier to use today.
To get a domain. Through WordPress you'll pay $18 a year. Through Blogger? $10.
I've been with Blogger since 2006. If it fell behind WordPress for a time, so be it. It's not behind now. In fact, if money matters to you, Blogger's way ahead.
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Summin' Up the Digest Diet
I've made it to the end of the three week Reader's Digest Diet. So, you may ask, with all of your belly aching 1) how much did you lose? and 2) are you going to keep doing it?
My husband and I have a teeny tiny master bathroom. (I promise, this story has a point.) So tiny, in fact, that before we redid it, there wasn't a spot for a scale to live and be able to lay down. (In fact at the end of our bathroom redo my husband, our friend/contractor and I were all standing in the bathroom at once which was somewhat of an impressive feat, because our bathroom is so small.)
For years our bathroom scale lived on its side. Each time we used it, we had to pull it out and set it on the floor. Sometimes the kids would get it out. It got dropped a lot. We knew it wasn't super accurate, but, you know, it was something.
Once Wendell and I started doing the Reader's Digest Diet, the fact that our scale only kinda worked became problematic. We could gain or lose as much as 4 lbs just getting on and off a couple of times.
With our bathroom redone and the new configuration being more conducive to a laying a scale flat, Wendell and I splurged and got a new scale. There are serious down sides to getting a new scale just at the end of the three week diet.
Because I didn't trust out scale and also because I'd already paid for the month at Weight Watchers, I've been weighing in there as well. The down side to that was that it didn't jive perfectly with when we started the program, but that's the data I'll use.
Weigh-in #1 (two days in) -1.8
Weigh-in #2 (week and two days) -3.6
Weigh-in #3 (2 weeks and two days later and after a fall break trip) -1.2
Total lost = 6.6 lbs.
Part of me is like: Uh huh! I'm good! This is awesome. And the other part of me is like: This is awful! People 50 lbs thinner than me lost more than that in this challenge! I'm ashamed!
But here's the deal, I have still lost 6.6 pounds in just over 4 weeks. It's not a record. But it's progress. I've also had some (clearing throat) serious hormonally driven carb cravings and still came out OK. Every single weigh-in has been a loss. And more importantly, I feel great. Not good. Not better--great! And it's not because I've lost a ton of weight, because I haven't yet. It's because I'm eating really, really healthy. And I've cut waaaaay back on sweets.
In answer to the question, will I keep doing it? Heck, yes. Would I recommend it? Absolutely.
I am continuing to overhaul my diet, seeking out sources of recipes that fit with this diet and improving my cooking. But I plan on keeping on keeping on.
Monday, October 08, 2012
Am I a Writer Now?
I started blogging, more than six years ago, in June 2006. At the time, I'd just shut down a failed small business and I had a 3-month-old baby girl. I don't know that I really began blogging with any specific expectation other than to connect--to not feel alone.
There were times I thought that, maybe, I could make it big time. You know become a well read blogger, like her or her or her. Ultimately, I realized that it wasn't to be. And that was OK, too.
But today, I am proud to announce that I am officially a paid blogger! (See that exclamation point? I'm really excited!) Of course, I'm not getting paid to write this blog, though it's earned me a product every now and then. Nevertheless, all of my working and striving and practicing have amounted to something.
A business, Ken Garff Honda of Orem (where my husband happens to be the internet manager), has hired me to write their blog and manage their Facebook page.
A friend teased me that she knows how I got the job. *Smirk* While those rumors are true, I believe I was hired on my merits as a writer. I put together a few blog posts, test drove a sweet car and let my husband's bosses see what they thought of my work.
They loved it. Right off the bat. It took very little discussion to offer to pay me for what I do best. And, as all bloggers know, I get to do it from the comfort of my own home.
So, from now on when someone asks me what I do for a living, I'm going to say that, in addition to being an A+ stay-at-home mom, that I am also a writer. And I'm terribly excited to see where I might be able to go with it.
Thanks so much to Carlos, Tyler and especially my husband, Wendell, for giving me this amazing opportunity.
There were times I thought that, maybe, I could make it big time. You know become a well read blogger, like her or her or her. Ultimately, I realized that it wasn't to be. And that was OK, too.
But today, I am proud to announce that I am officially a paid blogger! (See that exclamation point? I'm really excited!) Of course, I'm not getting paid to write this blog, though it's earned me a product every now and then. Nevertheless, all of my working and striving and practicing have amounted to something.
A business, Ken Garff Honda of Orem (where my husband happens to be the internet manager), has hired me to write their blog and manage their Facebook page.
A friend teased me that she knows how I got the job. *Smirk* While those rumors are true, I believe I was hired on my merits as a writer. I put together a few blog posts, test drove a sweet car and let my husband's bosses see what they thought of my work.
They loved it. Right off the bat. It took very little discussion to offer to pay me for what I do best. And, as all bloggers know, I get to do it from the comfort of my own home.
So, from now on when someone asks me what I do for a living, I'm going to say that, in addition to being an A+ stay-at-home mom, that I am also a writer. And I'm terribly excited to see where I might be able to go with it.
Thanks so much to Carlos, Tyler and especially my husband, Wendell, for giving me this amazing opportunity.
Sunday, October 07, 2012
Digest Diet Part 2
I'm going to admit that I was being a big baby last night. I feel a ton better today. Maybe it's because I got to eat a burger (a burger!) today. It was sooooo yummy. It's a Turkey Mushroom burger with garlic, broiled and topped with tomato paste. YUM!!! (I also learned that I like tomato paste as well as ketchup, and I only lose the salt, sugar and additives.)
I'm also going to fess up that I've cheated a little. I ate some trail mix that included dried cranberries and dried blueberries and a couple of chocolate chips. Like, 10 chocolate chips. (It also included peanuts and cashews which are phase three foods.) At snack time, instead of eating my favorite Wasa crackers topped with natural peanut butter or laughing cow cheese (Wendell just found a laughing cow that has cinnamon!), I had a SOFT piece of white bread, my same natural PB and some honey. It was divine.
Tonight we made Rhodes Cinnamon Rolls. I don't actually like cinnamon rolls so I ate a couple bites of Wendell's that had frosting (I do like frosting) and I was OK.
I feel so much less deprived. I remember when I started on this path (the Digest Diet way to healthy eating) Ithought knew that it would be a hard plan for me. So, my agreement to myself was that I would do a "modified" version--a term I got from a friend who's been super successful at Weight Watchers.
When this friend and I went out to lunch, I asked her what she was doing. She'd dropped a lot of weight and looked fantastic and seemed like she felt really healthy. "I'm doing a modified version of Weight Watchers," she told me.
I never did get out of her how she was modifying the program, but when I saw this plan, I felt pretty sure I'd need some modifications as well.
A few years ago, my kids' elementary school principal lost a shocking 100 lbs. I don't know what plan he was doing, but he'd gotten a serious scare at the doctor's and was told that unless he did something, he wouldn't be around to enjoy his grandchildren, yet unborn.
His weight loss was so rapid and so impressive that you felt compelled to study what he ate. I remember the end-of-year PTA luncheon. He loaded up with fruits and veggies, but he also took a single Doritos chip. One. (This reminds me of the Lays commercials that said, "I bet you can't eat just one.") I remember being impressed 1) that he could have a treat--or something bonafide bad for you and 2) that he did it with such moderation.
That, I guess, is the key to this whole thing. It's not that I'll never get another treat again, but can I enjoy just a bite or two and stick with this healthier lifestyle.
I must admit that I feel physically better than I have in a while. I feel more energetic, more limber, I've been able to cut down on my arthritis meds and I've become optimistic that I might actually be able to reduce my anti-depressant dose.
I'm definitely not sugar coating or gushing about this program. It's hard to get off sugar and bleached flour. But it seems worth it.
I'm also going to fess up that I've cheated a little. I ate some trail mix that included dried cranberries and dried blueberries and a couple of chocolate chips. Like, 10 chocolate chips. (It also included peanuts and cashews which are phase three foods.) At snack time, instead of eating my favorite Wasa crackers topped with natural peanut butter or laughing cow cheese (Wendell just found a laughing cow that has cinnamon!), I had a SOFT piece of white bread, my same natural PB and some honey. It was divine.
Tonight we made Rhodes Cinnamon Rolls. I don't actually like cinnamon rolls so I ate a couple bites of Wendell's that had frosting (I do like frosting) and I was OK.
I feel so much less deprived. I remember when I started on this path (the Digest Diet way to healthy eating) I
When this friend and I went out to lunch, I asked her what she was doing. She'd dropped a lot of weight and looked fantastic and seemed like she felt really healthy. "I'm doing a modified version of Weight Watchers," she told me.
I never did get out of her how she was modifying the program, but when I saw this plan, I felt pretty sure I'd need some modifications as well.
A few years ago, my kids' elementary school principal lost a shocking 100 lbs. I don't know what plan he was doing, but he'd gotten a serious scare at the doctor's and was told that unless he did something, he wouldn't be around to enjoy his grandchildren, yet unborn.
His weight loss was so rapid and so impressive that you felt compelled to study what he ate. I remember the end-of-year PTA luncheon. He loaded up with fruits and veggies, but he also took a single Doritos chip. One. (This reminds me of the Lays commercials that said, "I bet you can't eat just one.") I remember being impressed 1) that he could have a treat--or something bonafide bad for you and 2) that he did it with such moderation.
That, I guess, is the key to this whole thing. It's not that I'll never get another treat again, but can I enjoy just a bite or two and stick with this healthier lifestyle.
I must admit that I feel physically better than I have in a while. I feel more energetic, more limber, I've been able to cut down on my arthritis meds and I've become optimistic that I might actually be able to reduce my anti-depressant dose.
I'm definitely not sugar coating or gushing about this program. It's hard to get off sugar and bleached flour. But it seems worth it.
Saturday, October 06, 2012
The Digest Diet
I'm a little late gettin' to the party and Reader's Digest didn't *actually* ask me to blog about it, but when I saw that they got a bunch of bloggers to try their diet, I decided to at least blog about it.
The essence of the Digest Diet is to get you to eat really healthy food. Like, health-nut, skinny-person, obnoxiously healthy. But I love that you have to buy and make your own food. And you get this huge book that explains all the studies behind why certain foods are better for you than others. Honestly hearing WHY it matters that I eat pumpkin seeds and sea salt and make my own vinaigrette makes a difference in sticking to the plan.
The plan--like a lot of plans--has multiple phases.
Phase 1: Fast Release
You're dropped to a sick 1200 cals per day. I thought I was going to die at times. You get 2 smoothies a day made with things like coconut milk, almond butter, and flax seed meal. Then you get a small meal with a big salad in the evening. My first day, I had a headache I was so hungry. But phase 1 only lasts 4 days, so it is doable.
Phase 2: Fade Away
You get food again!!! YEA!! This phase runs from day 5-14. You still drink one smoothie a day for a meal--alternating between breakfast and lunch, two meals, and two snacks.
Let me preface this by saying that my mom's lost 30 lbs in three months on this diet, so I was expecting a lot. I began with daily weigh-in's, but by the end of day 4, I was so bummed, I decided it's better for me to weigh weekly.
Day 8 I finally weighed in, I was down 6.1 lbs. In a week. Pretty cool.
Now, I'm a treat girl. Sure, I overeat meals--especially dinner, but my biggest problem is treats. I LOVE them! So by the end of week one I was dying for a treat. Dying. So I went out to my freezer and got a peanut butter mini (3 Weight Watcher points) and enjoyed every last lick. My aforementioned weigh-in was the next day.
Part of this program is to get you off sugar and onto better things. Using honey to sweeten things. Seeking bitter veggies for their nutrients. And you do get a handful of red grapes every night after dinner.
I'm starting to fantasize about carbs: rice, pasta, even just a slice of bread. Having read a big chunk of Intuitive Eating, I'm pretty sure that fantasizing about food is not a healthy place to be, mentally. Carb (brown rice, couscous, whole grain pasta, etc) comes in phase 3 which is four days away. But, tonight at least, it feels like a looooooong four days.
The essence of the Digest Diet is to get you to eat really healthy food. Like, health-nut, skinny-person, obnoxiously healthy. But I love that you have to buy and make your own food. And you get this huge book that explains all the studies behind why certain foods are better for you than others. Honestly hearing WHY it matters that I eat pumpkin seeds and sea salt and make my own vinaigrette makes a difference in sticking to the plan.
The plan--like a lot of plans--has multiple phases.
Phase 1: Fast Release
You're dropped to a sick 1200 cals per day. I thought I was going to die at times. You get 2 smoothies a day made with things like coconut milk, almond butter, and flax seed meal. Then you get a small meal with a big salad in the evening. My first day, I had a headache I was so hungry. But phase 1 only lasts 4 days, so it is doable.
Phase 2: Fade Away
You get food again!!! YEA!! This phase runs from day 5-14. You still drink one smoothie a day for a meal--alternating between breakfast and lunch, two meals, and two snacks.
Let me preface this by saying that my mom's lost 30 lbs in three months on this diet, so I was expecting a lot. I began with daily weigh-in's, but by the end of day 4, I was so bummed, I decided it's better for me to weigh weekly.
Day 8 I finally weighed in, I was down 6.1 lbs. In a week. Pretty cool.
Now, I'm a treat girl. Sure, I overeat meals--especially dinner, but my biggest problem is treats. I LOVE them! So by the end of week one I was dying for a treat. Dying. So I went out to my freezer and got a peanut butter mini (3 Weight Watcher points) and enjoyed every last lick. My aforementioned weigh-in was the next day.
Part of this program is to get you off sugar and onto better things. Using honey to sweeten things. Seeking bitter veggies for their nutrients. And you do get a handful of red grapes every night after dinner.
I'm starting to fantasize about carbs: rice, pasta, even just a slice of bread. Having read a big chunk of Intuitive Eating, I'm pretty sure that fantasizing about food is not a healthy place to be, mentally. Carb (brown rice, couscous, whole grain pasta, etc) comes in phase 3 which is four days away. But, tonight at least, it feels like a looooooong four days.
Friday, October 05, 2012
Learning HTML and Other Foreign Languages
Seven years ago, I shut down a little business that cost me $10,000. I was pregnant with my 4th child (a girl) and the picture in my head of what my business should have been doing 2 years later as not close to reality.
My older sister had just had a baby and my jaw was slack at how much work the little thing was. Some how, in just over three years, I'd completely forgotten. I realized--thankfully before her birth--that there was no way under heaven I was going to be able to run my business and have a newborn. Especially after my 4th C-section.
A number of my clients--all small business owners themselves--told me about what they would want in a website, one that could help them market their products better. But I knew nothing about setting up a website. I talked with a friend whose business wasn't quite so small and he gave me a lot of pointers. But it all had costs.
Even in over a year's time, I had been unable to get my own website up and running, depending on a very slow web designer. I was at a crossroads. Either I had to venture into an area I knew nothing about--a super scary idea for a soon-to-be mother of four, or I had to shut down the whole business and eat the ten grand.
I shut the business down, refinanced our house and rolled in the $10,000, and daydreamed about that website. Until one day I saw it. It's called Etsy. It was really weird seeing it there. I read about how they got venture capitalists involved--something that I wouldn't have begun to know how to do. It was huge, profitable and great for small business owners. I hope that some of my former clients sell products there.
But this experience also left me with a desire to understand more of setting up and running a website. So, a few weeks ago, I enrolled in a web design class--learning about HTML and CSS. It's been fascinating! Although, I don't think I will suddenly go into web design, it has been really interesting to learn how to do it.
I'm making some friends in my class, including authors Melinda Willden and Jean Stringam. We have a lot of fun and, perhaps, when the class is done, I'll at least know how to make a button I can stick on my side bar. Unfortunately that might also require a Photoshop class and Adobe Illustrator class...
My older sister had just had a baby and my jaw was slack at how much work the little thing was. Some how, in just over three years, I'd completely forgotten. I realized--thankfully before her birth--that there was no way under heaven I was going to be able to run my business and have a newborn. Especially after my 4th C-section.
A number of my clients--all small business owners themselves--told me about what they would want in a website, one that could help them market their products better. But I knew nothing about setting up a website. I talked with a friend whose business wasn't quite so small and he gave me a lot of pointers. But it all had costs.
Even in over a year's time, I had been unable to get my own website up and running, depending on a very slow web designer. I was at a crossroads. Either I had to venture into an area I knew nothing about--a super scary idea for a soon-to-be mother of four, or I had to shut down the whole business and eat the ten grand.
I shut the business down, refinanced our house and rolled in the $10,000, and daydreamed about that website. Until one day I saw it. It's called Etsy. It was really weird seeing it there. I read about how they got venture capitalists involved--something that I wouldn't have begun to know how to do. It was huge, profitable and great for small business owners. I hope that some of my former clients sell products there.
But this experience also left me with a desire to understand more of setting up and running a website. So, a few weeks ago, I enrolled in a web design class--learning about HTML and CSS. It's been fascinating! Although, I don't think I will suddenly go into web design, it has been really interesting to learn how to do it.
I'm making some friends in my class, including authors Melinda Willden and Jean Stringam. We have a lot of fun and, perhaps, when the class is done, I'll at least know how to make a button I can stick on my side bar. Unfortunately that might also require a Photoshop class and Adobe Illustrator class...
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
The Backstory: Part II
After surveying family about who would be a good eye doctor, I was ready to make a phone call. My sister had raved about her eye doctor, but noted that they usually teamed up with one optometrist and one ophthalmologist--with adult patients. With the kids, she'd told me that they usually just sent in the optometrist. So when I made the phone call, I specified that my daughter had something really weird going on and she absolutely must see the specialist.
I was reassure and double reassured that I would get the ophthalmologist. Imagine my disappointment when an optometrist walked in. I didn't know the doctor I was supposed to see, but I could read the name tag and this wasn't him. I asked about the other doctor, but the man said he would be seeing Emma today.
Even though it was some 9 years ago, thinking of this first traumatic appointment still makes me angry. Ultimately, it taught me to be a better mother. It taught me to decide what would happen in an appointment and what would not. But at the time, I was a 27-year-old mother of three with my oldest daughter in the patient chair for the first time.
The appointment began, as appointments usually do, with a standard eye exam. Even though Emma was only 4, she could read and had long known her alphabet. I encouraged the doctor to test her using letters. He insisted on the picture eye test.
First, Emma's left eye was tested. She could make out most of the pictures and it was essentially hunky-dory. But when he covered her left--through that little machine that you have to look through--and began to test her right eye, things went awry.
"What to you see?" the optometrist with slicked back hair asked.
"I can't see," Emma said.
"Of course you can," Slick Hair snapped. "What is it?"
Ever resourceful, my bright daughter said the name of last picture she had seen. "It's a birthday cake."
It wasn't a birthday cake; it was a hand. But partly satisfied Slick Hair flipped to a new screen.
"What's this one?"
"A birthday cake."
"How about this one?"
"A birthday cake."
"No, Emma," Slick Hair said sternly. "You're getting it wrong. You are just saying the last thing you saw. What do you see?"
"Nothing."
"It's a duck," Slick Hair said with his voice beginning to rise.
"Perhaps," I cut in rather timidly, "she can't see it. Can you make it bigger?"
He did and it didn't help. Emma varied trying to tell him that she couldn't see and wildly guessing at the pictures based on any other information she could get. For every wrong answer, Slick Hair started giving her the right answer.
"No. It's a duck."
"No. It's a horse."
So Emma started copying him. Whatever he said last, she would say.
"No!" he said dripping in frustration and sarcasm. "You're just saying whatever I'm saying!"
There was a moment of silence. This part of the appointment had gone on excruciatingly long. Sitting in the dim room with an angry man behind her, she extended her four-year-old hand in my direction and called suddenly, "I'm scared! I can't see anything."
I rushed to her side and held her hand. My mother bear stepped in.
"I don't know what's going on, but she can't do this. We're done. When do we see Dr. Olsen?"
He flicked the lights on and pushed the machine out from in front of Emma. "You're not seeing Dr. Olsen today. You're just seeing me." He flicked a switch that would summon a young woman to give eye drops and stormed out of the room.
I stood by Emma who was scared and whimpering. I was worried about her eye. But I was livid at the doctor.
Once her eyes were dilated and she'd calmed down, Slick Hair came in again and held up a little tool and, with a light strapped to his head, looked at the back of her eye. He looked in her right eye, then left, then right.
"There's something in...her...eye..." he admitted.
Emma squirmed under the glare of the light, the closeness to the mean man, and exhaustion from the length of the appointment.
"Hold still!" he snapped with his voice rising.
"She's tired," I cut in. "Can we be done?"
"No. There's something wrong," his voice became...panicked. "Stay here. Let me make a phone call."
My mom had come to this appointment with me and was sitting with my one and two and a half-year-old sons. She'd been sitting in the waiting room a long time. I came out to check on them.
"My this is taking awhile," Mom observed in her extra chipper voice when she really wants to be done.
"There's something wrong," I informed her. "He's calling someone. I think he wants us to see someone else right away. Do you have time?"
A look crossed my mom's face. One of worry and forced calm. I could tell that she had mentally just cleared her schedule.
"Absolutely," she answered.
I was reassure and double reassured that I would get the ophthalmologist. Imagine my disappointment when an optometrist walked in. I didn't know the doctor I was supposed to see, but I could read the name tag and this wasn't him. I asked about the other doctor, but the man said he would be seeing Emma today.
Even though it was some 9 years ago, thinking of this first traumatic appointment still makes me angry. Ultimately, it taught me to be a better mother. It taught me to decide what would happen in an appointment and what would not. But at the time, I was a 27-year-old mother of three with my oldest daughter in the patient chair for the first time.
The appointment began, as appointments usually do, with a standard eye exam. Even though Emma was only 4, she could read and had long known her alphabet. I encouraged the doctor to test her using letters. He insisted on the picture eye test.
First, Emma's left eye was tested. She could make out most of the pictures and it was essentially hunky-dory. But when he covered her left--through that little machine that you have to look through--and began to test her right eye, things went awry.
"What to you see?" the optometrist with slicked back hair asked.
"I can't see," Emma said.
"Of course you can," Slick Hair snapped. "What is it?"
Ever resourceful, my bright daughter said the name of last picture she had seen. "It's a birthday cake."
It wasn't a birthday cake; it was a hand. But partly satisfied Slick Hair flipped to a new screen.
"What's this one?"
"A birthday cake."
"How about this one?"
"A birthday cake."
"No, Emma," Slick Hair said sternly. "You're getting it wrong. You are just saying the last thing you saw. What do you see?"
"Nothing."
"It's a duck," Slick Hair said with his voice beginning to rise.
"Perhaps," I cut in rather timidly, "she can't see it. Can you make it bigger?"
He did and it didn't help. Emma varied trying to tell him that she couldn't see and wildly guessing at the pictures based on any other information she could get. For every wrong answer, Slick Hair started giving her the right answer.
"No. It's a duck."
"No. It's a horse."
So Emma started copying him. Whatever he said last, she would say.
"No!" he said dripping in frustration and sarcasm. "You're just saying whatever I'm saying!"
There was a moment of silence. This part of the appointment had gone on excruciatingly long. Sitting in the dim room with an angry man behind her, she extended her four-year-old hand in my direction and called suddenly, "I'm scared! I can't see anything."
I rushed to her side and held her hand. My mother bear stepped in.
"I don't know what's going on, but she can't do this. We're done. When do we see Dr. Olsen?"
He flicked the lights on and pushed the machine out from in front of Emma. "You're not seeing Dr. Olsen today. You're just seeing me." He flicked a switch that would summon a young woman to give eye drops and stormed out of the room.
I stood by Emma who was scared and whimpering. I was worried about her eye. But I was livid at the doctor.
Once her eyes were dilated and she'd calmed down, Slick Hair came in again and held up a little tool and, with a light strapped to his head, looked at the back of her eye. He looked in her right eye, then left, then right.
"There's something in...her...eye..." he admitted.
Emma squirmed under the glare of the light, the closeness to the mean man, and exhaustion from the length of the appointment.
"Hold still!" he snapped with his voice rising.
"She's tired," I cut in. "Can we be done?"
"No. There's something wrong," his voice became...panicked. "Stay here. Let me make a phone call."
My mom had come to this appointment with me and was sitting with my one and two and a half-year-old sons. She'd been sitting in the waiting room a long time. I came out to check on them.
"My this is taking awhile," Mom observed in her extra chipper voice when she really wants to be done.
"There's something wrong," I informed her. "He's calling someone. I think he wants us to see someone else right away. Do you have time?"
A look crossed my mom's face. One of worry and forced calm. I could tell that she had mentally just cleared her schedule.
"Absolutely," she answered.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
The Backstory: Part I
I've been working on polishing up my blog, a bit. And I'm in the process of making a page all about my children's eye condition.
Suddenly, it dawned on my that I've never shared about the backstory. Because, really, this story began in 2003 when we were learning that Emma had a problem with her right eye.
On Emma's 4th birthday we gave her breakfast in bed. She asked for a donut and baby carrots. It was totally cute. But, as we looked at the pictures later, (this was back in the day where we had to develop them) I realized that she kept closing her right eye. Looking up, grinning, cute as can be, but only looking at us from her left eye.
I set up an annual well-check with our pediatrician. Even though Kindergarten was more than a year away, they did a kind of Kindergarten check up complete with a vision check. When we checked Emma's left eye--everything was fine. But on her right... She'd only give us answers while peeking with her left eye.
The nurse blew it off as normal preschool behavior, but I knew Emma and this was very atypical. When the doctor, a dear friend, came in to check her I asked what he thought of her vision test. He flipped through a few pages, turned a couple of papers over and said, "I have no record of a vision testing."
I told him of her weird response. And he had me march her out into the hall, sporting nothing but her underwear, to do the vision exam himself. The left eye was again, OK. But the right... I eventually had to hold the eye stick--you know, the one that looks like a lollipop--over her left eye.
"It's OK, Emma. Just tell us what you see," I comforted her.
The doctor pointed to the largest picture--the picture equivalent of the giant E. "What is this?" he said gently. We hadn't gotten an answer for a single picture that made any sense. Asking about the big picture was a base line.
She strained, doing her best to look. She shrugged a bit and said, "An 'X.'" The picture was a boat. A big, giant boat with a sail. For a moment, the doctor and nurses thought that she didn't understand. "These aren't letters. They're pictures," someone said. It didn't matter. It looked like an X to Emma.
"Perhaps," the doctor said, in his pediatric doctor tone, "you should set an appointment to see an eye doctor."
Suddenly, it dawned on my that I've never shared about the backstory. Because, really, this story began in 2003 when we were learning that Emma had a problem with her right eye.
On Emma's 4th birthday we gave her breakfast in bed. She asked for a donut and baby carrots. It was totally cute. But, as we looked at the pictures later, (this was back in the day where we had to develop them) I realized that she kept closing her right eye. Looking up, grinning, cute as can be, but only looking at us from her left eye.
I set up an annual well-check with our pediatrician. Even though Kindergarten was more than a year away, they did a kind of Kindergarten check up complete with a vision check. When we checked Emma's left eye--everything was fine. But on her right... She'd only give us answers while peeking with her left eye.
The nurse blew it off as normal preschool behavior, but I knew Emma and this was very atypical. When the doctor, a dear friend, came in to check her I asked what he thought of her vision test. He flipped through a few pages, turned a couple of papers over and said, "I have no record of a vision testing."
I told him of her weird response. And he had me march her out into the hall, sporting nothing but her underwear, to do the vision exam himself. The left eye was again, OK. But the right... I eventually had to hold the eye stick--you know, the one that looks like a lollipop--over her left eye.
"It's OK, Emma. Just tell us what you see," I comforted her.
The doctor pointed to the largest picture--the picture equivalent of the giant E. "What is this?" he said gently. We hadn't gotten an answer for a single picture that made any sense. Asking about the big picture was a base line.
She strained, doing her best to look. She shrugged a bit and said, "An 'X.'" The picture was a boat. A big, giant boat with a sail. For a moment, the doctor and nurses thought that she didn't understand. "These aren't letters. They're pictures," someone said. It didn't matter. It looked like an X to Emma.
"Perhaps," the doctor said, in his pediatric doctor tone, "you should set an appointment to see an eye doctor."
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Polishing (a bit)
I've decided to *try* to make my blog look a bit more professional. So, I added this page.
I think it gives a good amount of info, even if it does look an awful lot like this.
But, that's OK. I mean this is MY blog after all.
And, unbeknownst to you, Spiderman and I are friends.
I know--super professional.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Signs
There are times when things go wrong in our lives. Often as not, we try to hold it in not letting anyone know what happened or why. But there are always signs.
This blog post by a friend directed me to this one about signs. The author argues that 1) it would be a lot easier to help and love each other if we all wore a sign around our neck stating what's going on in our lives and 2) that we do--in a way--wear signs like that.
"I think we should just try to imagine it………that when a friend is quiet…or not showing up to stuff she usually shows up to….or acting a little “off”….or a family member is wearing pajamas to the grocery store for weeks on end……or not answering the phone…..or the lawn is not mowed…..whatever it is……….
This blog post by a friend directed me to this one about signs. The author argues that 1) it would be a lot easier to help and love each other if we all wore a sign around our neck stating what's going on in our lives and 2) that we do--in a way--wear signs like that.
 |
| photo credit: bravegirlsclub.com |
IT IS A SIGN. It is not a sign that can be read in words and letters, but it is a sign that someone needs to be treated gently…that they need help….most of all, that they need love, understanding…and that they DEFINITELY DO NOT need to be judged."
Ever since reading that blog post, I've tried to look more carefully for signs and just jump in and help. Don't ask, just show up.
Yet it leaves my jaw a little slack, when I'm reading signs and helping, and then others make comments that are full of judgement to the very people I'm trying to help. The signs seem so obvious. What to do seems so clear.
So I leave with the same plea as Melody.
"Let’s be gentle with each other.Let’s read each other’s signs."
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Looking for a Mentor
In 1999 I quit working full-time to become a stay-at-home mom. And I don't regret one minute of it. But as Beck heads into preschool, I'm looking toward the next phase of my life. One that includes a graduate degree and a part-time job. I'm determined to keep the kids as my number one priority, but there are 6 hours in the day where, soon, they'll all be in school. I'd like to use that time to fulfill my dreams.
I know a couple of women who have part-time jobs, of the variety that I'd like. But all of them did graduate school much, much younger than I. And I'm navigating uncharted waters, even while "sailing by ash breeze."*
There are things about this new venture I'm considering that make me nervous. I've fancied myself as pretty smart. I'm worried that I'm going to find out that I'm not as smart as I thought. I worry that I'll look weird in my classes. That I'll be mistaken for the professor. That no one will want to sit by me or do group projects with me because I'm so much older. And thereby lame.
But I also want--fiercely--for my life to not become a cautionary tale.
There is a woman, whom I love and admire, who allowed her dreams to be postponed over and over. Some of the reasons were valid. Some, she made up because it would mean putting herself first--something she didn't know how to do.
In the end, she made a single wild stab at her dream and was, unsurprisingly, unable to pin it down. She was given feed back about how to proceed--instructions on how to reach her dream. But it would require work. And time. Rather than take the step, do the work, and give it another shot, she folded the dream and put it away. She sighs, when she talks of it, with a resignation that's bone deep. She refuses to see her own relative youth--that she still has time to fulfill her dream. She claims, when I press, that she never reeeeaallly wanted to achieve that dream anyway. That it's no big deal. Even, that she can fulfill her dreams without that piece of it.
But it is a big deal. She talked too much and too long about the dream for it to suddenly just not matter. This is where we are alike. I want this dream, too. I talk about it. People know I care. Am I different enough from my would-be-mentor to do what she did not?
And will I be cheered on, when I press forward? Or will I be talked to with disapproval?
As I eye, somewhat warily, these next two preparatory years, so much hangs in the balance.
*"Sailing by ash breeze" is a phrase from Carry On, Mr. Bowditch. It means paddling with oars made from ash trees, because there is no wind to carry the sails. In essence, it's putting in hard work when the sailing is far from smooth.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Bike
I've been reading a book recently that asks you what you miss doing from your childhood. Then (of course) you are encouraged to begin doing that activity.
Some years ago I had a moment where I remembered how much fun it was to ride my bike. We were never allowed to ride very far, but I rode 'round and 'round the block and enjoyed the mobility as well as the rush of flying down the hill at the end. So I asked for a bike for my birthday.
Iknew hoped it would be my major gift from Wendell, but I had no idea that he would buy me a moderately-expensive-top-of-the-line-ride-around-town bike. A few months later, we bought a trailer thing that you put kids in to go on the back.
I bet a rode that thing at least a dozen times. Since then, it's been sitting in my garage.
I have tons of excuses why it sits.
Some years ago I had a moment where I remembered how much fun it was to ride my bike. We were never allowed to ride very far, but I rode 'round and 'round the block and enjoyed the mobility as well as the rush of flying down the hill at the end. So I asked for a bike for my birthday.
I
I bet a rode that thing at least a dozen times. Since then, it's been sitting in my garage.
I have tons of excuses why it sits.
- Wendell promised to take it for a free tune up that summer.
- Wendell promised to tune it up the next year.
- The store closed and we never got the free tune up.
- The kids broke the bike pump
- I don't know how to use the air compressor to pump up the tires.
- The kids in the trailer always fought until someone pulled someone else's hair.
The reality is that these are just excuses. And I really want to ride up the canyon. I know there's a trail somewhere and everyone talks about. At my current size and biking inability, that's something I need to work toward.
But my excuses are sounding weaker and weaker. It's time I allowed myself to do something fun!
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
The Quotes I Love
It was a series of things, some of which I've talked about, that led me to keep a quote journal. Ever since, I've drifted around wanting to share all these quotes. And wanting a place to store new ones.
Ultimately, this is what I've come up with: a new blog. It's called Best LDS Quotes. (I know, really lame name.) But Blogger has some features that nothing else does and it's so easy to schedule posts and create labels and have a cute label cloud to make it easy to find what you're looking for. It's also super easy to follow by email or one of the zillion of readers out there. So, I landed here.
Still, I'm really excited about being able to store, schedule and add quotes all the time. I'm excited about how easy it will be to search for everything. Even for me.
Because, let me tell you, a big ol' quote journal makes it very, very hard to find the quote you want.
I may even busy myself stealing quotes from my Inspirational Quotes page, in addition to my journal, plus whatever I'm reading at the time. It makes me pretty excited. My goal: to have a quote a day for an entire year.
Follow me and see how I do.
Ultimately, this is what I've come up with: a new blog. It's called Best LDS Quotes. (I know, really lame name.) But Blogger has some features that nothing else does and it's so easy to schedule posts and create labels and have a cute label cloud to make it easy to find what you're looking for. It's also super easy to follow by email or one of the zillion of readers out there. So, I landed here.
Still, I'm really excited about being able to store, schedule and add quotes all the time. I'm excited about how easy it will be to search for everything. Even for me.
Because, let me tell you, a big ol' quote journal makes it very, very hard to find the quote you want.
I may even busy myself stealing quotes from my Inspirational Quotes page, in addition to my journal, plus whatever I'm reading at the time. It makes me pretty excited. My goal: to have a quote a day for an entire year.
Follow me and see how I do.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Paid the Price
There is this fantastic article in the March/April LDS Living magazine about Julie B. Beck. They basically have this awesome sit-down interview with her at the conclusion of her time being the General Relief Society President.
There are 9000 great quotes, but one in particular that I liked. As she talked about working with the Apostles she said, "They not only feel tenderly about the Lord, they're men...who have paid the price to know Him."
I love that phrase: paid the price to know Him.
It is a good reminder that our relationship with our Savior is a relationship. And to really know, understand, and love Him, we have to pay the price to know Him. The price is steep, too. This is not an easy road.
In Alma it says, "I will give away all my sins to know Thee." That is the price. Giving up all our sins. It's a lifetime's project, to be sure. But to know Him, we must be like Him. "Be ye therefore perfect," was His call to us.
So today the question I ask myself is, am I willing to pay the price?
There are 9000 great quotes, but one in particular that I liked. As she talked about working with the Apostles she said, "They not only feel tenderly about the Lord, they're men...who have paid the price to know Him."
I love that phrase: paid the price to know Him.
It is a good reminder that our relationship with our Savior is a relationship. And to really know, understand, and love Him, we have to pay the price to know Him. The price is steep, too. This is not an easy road.
In Alma it says, "I will give away all my sins to know Thee." That is the price. Giving up all our sins. It's a lifetime's project, to be sure. But to know Him, we must be like Him. "Be ye therefore perfect," was His call to us.
So today the question I ask myself is, am I willing to pay the price?
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Truth is Better Than Fiction
My grandma has been doing genealogy like crazy and recently I got to visit with her about some of her relatives. But I don't have the whole story. I'm really close, but I don't know everything. For example, one man, a cousin of grandma's--I think it was a cousin--was shot to death in his own front yard. His wife put something--a dresser maybe--up against the front door and sat with her feet against the dresser while the murderer tried to get in to kill her.
Eventually, the murderer gave up and left. This woman (I don't know her name) sat for an hour with her feet on the dresser, then she left her house at 1:00 AM and walked one mile to the neighbors house to tell them that her husband had just been shot dead.
What are their names? What are their relationship to me? These stories need telling!!! (And not like this. They need, you know, the information.)
On my last blog post, my uncle sweetly contacted me to help me with family updates. My great-grandmother liked her nickname spelled Grammie not Grammy. And that trip I originally posted that my dad went on--yeah, that never happened. A lot of people were on that trip, just Dad wasn't one of them. (Which would have been weird now that I think about it since Grammie was on my mom's side of the family.)
Apparently, it was quite a trip and at one point, Grammie tried to bite my Aunt Jody. Frijoles! How come I've never heard that story before?
So, for my birthday, I asked for--and received (Thanks, honey!)--a digital recorder. Now I can put that journalism degree to work and try and get the WHOLE story about, well, family. Because, you know what? Truth is stranger (and better) than fiction.
Eventually, the murderer gave up and left. This woman (I don't know her name) sat for an hour with her feet on the dresser, then she left her house at 1:00 AM and walked one mile to the neighbors house to tell them that her husband had just been shot dead.
What are their names? What are their relationship to me? These stories need telling!!! (And not like this. They need, you know, the information.)
On my last blog post, my uncle sweetly contacted me to help me with family updates. My great-grandmother liked her nickname spelled Grammie not Grammy. And that trip I originally posted that my dad went on--yeah, that never happened. A lot of people were on that trip, just Dad wasn't one of them. (Which would have been weird now that I think about it since Grammie was on my mom's side of the family.)
Apparently, it was quite a trip and at one point, Grammie tried to bite my Aunt Jody. Frijoles! How come I've never heard that story before?
So, for my birthday, I asked for--and received (Thanks, honey!)--a digital recorder. Now I can put that journalism degree to work and try and get the WHOLE story about, well, family. Because, you know what? Truth is stranger (and better) than fiction.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Sure, Some Things Are Worse
We had fantastic talks on Sunday. Fantastic. Now that I don't want to take anything away from the speakers who did a really good job, but one brother made the assertion that crimes that would have made national news in previous decades, now stay local because there is just so much crime these days.
Really?
In fact, the direct opposite is true. Writer, Lenore Skenazy, from the blog Free Range Kids has done a lot of research on the topic and has found that, "The crime rate is lower now than in the 1970s and '80s when many of us parents were playing outside."
In a post titled, "Are Kids Safer Because We Never Let Them Out Anymore?" Lenore quote this group of statistics.
In a fascinating article from the Atlantic, I learned about how computer algorithms are set to give you more or what you like to read. In this case, the writer clicked on a local child murder and for the next month received daily tales horrifying scenes involving (usually) the death of a child.
This loop creates a perception that there are TONS of horrific crimes and the world is going to pot. It creates what my communications professor (back in 1995) called "Scary World View." And that was just with television! My great-grandmother (whom we affectionately called, Grammie) was a perfect example of this.
Born in 1899, she was terrified to fly. Why? Because airplane crashes make news. They make the news in large part because they are so RARE. But Grammie didn't "get" that. She didn't understand that thousands of flights take off and land everyday without problem. That it's actually the safest mode of travel in the world. Because that wasn't what she heard. What she heard was when they went down.
Really?
In fact, the direct opposite is true. Writer, Lenore Skenazy, from the blog Free Range Kids has done a lot of research on the topic and has found that, "The crime rate is lower now than in the 1970s and '80s when many of us parents were playing outside."
In a post titled, "Are Kids Safer Because We Never Let Them Out Anymore?" Lenore quote this group of statistics.
All U.S. homicides: Down 40% 1992 -2005.
Juvenile homicide: Down 36% 1993 – 2005 (kids under age 14)
Juvenile homicide: Down 60% 1993 – 2005 (age 14 – 17)
Forcible rape: Down 28% 1992 – 2006
Sex Abuse Substantiations of Children, 1990 – 2005: Down 51%
Physical Abuse Substantiations of Children, 1990 – 2005: Down 46%
Juvenile Sex victimization trends, 1993 – 2003: Down 79%
These stats were collected and crunched by the Crimes Against Children Research Center, which gets its numbers from the U.S. Dept. of Justice.
So where does this good brother in my ward get the perception that horrific crime is on the rise? From the internet. Our ubiquitous connectedness means that we see not only horrific crimes that are committed near us (in our state or region), but that we are aware of horrific crimes committed nationwide.
In a fascinating article from the Atlantic, I learned about how computer algorithms are set to give you more or what you like to read. In this case, the writer clicked on a local child murder and for the next month received daily tales horrifying scenes involving (usually) the death of a child.
This loop creates a perception that there are TONS of horrific crimes and the world is going to pot. It creates what my communications professor (back in 1995) called "Scary World View." And that was just with television! My great-grandmother (whom we affectionately called, Grammie) was a perfect example of this.
Born in 1899, she was terrified to fly. Why? Because airplane crashes make news. They make the news in large part because they are so RARE. But Grammie didn't "get" that. She didn't understand that thousands of flights take off and land everyday without problem. That it's actually the safest mode of travel in the world. Because that wasn't what she heard. What she heard was when they went down.
In her 90s, Grammie was driven from Colorado to Utah, so be in a care center near family when she could no longer care for herself. It was a grueling, difficult trip taken on by my uncle, his girlfriend (who he later married), my granddad, his friend Bob, and a large motorhome. The only flight Grammie ever took was the flight home to her final resting place in Loveland, Colorado to be buried beside her husband.
As logical, intelligent adults, it's important that we pop this scary-world-view bubble and realize that the world is actually a pretty safe place that we should get out and enjoy. And, by the way, it wouldn't hurt if we shared the good news.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Where We Are
I don't really know if I should give updates anymore about the kids eye condition. It's not that things don't change--they do. One visit, I might have mostly good news. Another visit might be mostly bad. To a degree, these are negligible changes. The critical thing is: everyone can see. And everyone can see pretty darn well.
If things go really, really bad or really, really good--I'll post. But these minor ups and downs seem more likely to traumatize my loved ones than provide them with actual information.
Still, after that lengthy intro, I will give an update on the kids' eye condition.
******
We met with Dr. Two in March. Nathan's bad eye had stopped getting worse. That's the good news. The bad news is that everyone else's eyes got worse. Emma's good eye had a little more fluid. Nate's good eye was a little worse and both of Annika's eyes were worse. In a very minor way. We're talking changes in micrograms of fluid. Tiny.
It's not good news. But it's not terrible news. Dr. Two called our pediatrician and we doubled everyone's meds. We'll see in June what that does.
I took Anson, Nathan and Annika in for glasses check-ups with Dr. Lloyd. He was so pleased at how well everyone can see. He said that everyone can see at a 20/25 or better. And we got everyone new glasses (Annika for the first time!).
I am still hopeful. We have great doctors. Time is on our side. And the kids, as always, are in God's hands.
If things go really, really bad or really, really good--I'll post. But these minor ups and downs seem more likely to traumatize my loved ones than provide them with actual information.
Still, after that lengthy intro, I will give an update on the kids' eye condition.
******
We met with Dr. Two in March. Nathan's bad eye had stopped getting worse. That's the good news. The bad news is that everyone else's eyes got worse. Emma's good eye had a little more fluid. Nate's good eye was a little worse and both of Annika's eyes were worse. In a very minor way. We're talking changes in micrograms of fluid. Tiny.
It's not good news. But it's not terrible news. Dr. Two called our pediatrician and we doubled everyone's meds. We'll see in June what that does.
I took Anson, Nathan and Annika in for glasses check-ups with Dr. Lloyd. He was so pleased at how well everyone can see. He said that everyone can see at a 20/25 or better. And we got everyone new glasses (Annika for the first time!).
I am still hopeful. We have great doctors. Time is on our side. And the kids, as always, are in God's hands.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
It's About Time
It's official! I'm a Mormon. I know that this doesn't really come as a surprise to anyone reading this blog. I mean, I have had that cute little tag on my right sidebar for a couple of years now. But now, I'm on Mormon.org.
I have no idea what possessed me to put THAT picture as my profile pic. Did I think I would suddenly look like I was wearing make-up? Anyway, while I work to change that, you can at least read my profile. And if you're a Mormon and you're not on Mormon.org, get on it! It's fun and easy and the Missionary Committee gets to read your whole profile before it goes up. So, if no one else ever finds it--at least you know the Missionary Committee liked it enough to put it up.
I have no idea what possessed me to put THAT picture as my profile pic. Did I think I would suddenly look like I was wearing make-up? Anyway, while I work to change that, you can at least read my profile. And if you're a Mormon and you're not on Mormon.org, get on it! It's fun and easy and the Missionary Committee gets to read your whole profile before it goes up. So, if no one else ever finds it--at least you know the Missionary Committee liked it enough to put it up.
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