I'm back. And I'm bigger and better... Or just bigger than ever...

As of late it has become exceedingly apparent that I have been eating way too many spoonfuls of peanut butter (see previous post).  As a matter of fact, peanut butter and other such comes-from-a-can-and-very-quickly-puts-a-smile-on-my-face foods are about all I remember of the last year.  Just as 1+1=2, peanut butter (etc.etc.) + no exercise = larger body and smaller wardrobe.  In turn, this leads to a very tired and sloppily dressed megs.  

I can point my finger wherever I like to place blame, and so I will.  

First and foremost, I am hungry.  You can find me at any hour of the day planning what my next meal (or snack) will be while simultaneously nibbling on a few cups of chocolate chips.  (Hey, they're small. Don't give me that.)  Will the universe just make me full already?  

Secondly, I am emotional.  The reasons for this hideous problem I could name by the thousands, but today I am going to highlight my crazy hormones as the main culprit.  If you'd like to know more please feel free to call me while I sob into the phone for an hour or two.  Or maybe we'll just go shopping...  Anywho, the point is that I literally eat my emotions and they've built a homestead on my thighs.  And my chin.

Thirdly, I have three babies.  Well, they're not all babies currently, but they once were and they've taken a toll on my poor body.  And can I just say that I have an eternal hatred towards women who look like models from the back and are 8 1/2 months pregnant in the front.  My body however is under the impression that babies are to be carried in your bum, and so it would naturally follow that my bottom would sag just as any mother's post-partum belly would.

Fourthly--and really this reason could fit into excuses numbers 1,2, and 3--I miscarried a baby earlier this year.  Hungry, hormones, babies.  Nuff said.

Fifthly, I walk funny and my bones and joints are all in wonky places.  This has been confirmed by my physical therapist husband Charming--and for good measure, a chiropractor.  Almost all exercise attempted results in much pain.  Like me screaming that my knees are going to explode kind of pain.  Whatever.

And sixthly,  MY BODY HATES ME.  This is a proven matter of fact.  Perhaps I haven't given it enough reasons to love me, or perhaps it's still mad about those ballet lessons in 2nd grade.  Whatever the reason, it wants to torture me.  The end.

Well, not necessarily the end.  I mean, chubby megs is fine and all to be for the moment, but after a moment or two you could say it gets annoying having to wear a skirt because none of your pants fit you.  And having four gorgeous not-that-much-younger sisters constantly reminding me of what beauty and athleticism look like.  Sigh.

Hence The Plan.  

The Plan is not that finely tuned as of yet, but I'm here today to say that I'm working on it.  I am going to be dieting myself into a better body image, as well as adding exercise (it tends to help).

In the past I have done Weight Watchers and was very successful.  However, WW is getting a little old to me and I am sick of counting Points.  For a week or so I am going to be seeing how strong my willpower is (and I think I'm frustrated enough that it might be pretty strong).  WW might make a triumphant return if I can't seem to get a handle on things on my own.  Counting calories may also be an option. 

I plan on eating three super-sensible meals a day with free fruit whenever I like.  Usually I don't like fruit--I would prefer a large scoop of Nutella thankyouverymuch, but obviously this can't happen anymore. 

I will be drinking lots of water and starting small with walks around the neighborhood.  That will gradually build until I can get back into step aerobics and riding my stationary bike. I'll aim for exercising 30 minutes, 5 times a week, to start.

Also, I have a bottle of "natural" diet pills that I will be taking starting in a week after I see how I've done on my own.  This first week will be a control to see if the pills are really doing anything.  And please don't tell me not to take the pills.  You can tell me to be careful, but I think these pills are pretty organic and will not be hurting me.  If they hurt anything it will be my pocketbook.  

I've decided to use my blog as another way to check in and keep me motivated.  Every Monday I'll be weighing myself in and reporting my weight loss.  No, you don't get to know my original poundage because that is a rude question and how embarrassing!  Let's just say it's somewhere between ouch and ludicrous.  This week I haven't lost anything--the scale has just confirmed my worst fears.  Meh.  Continuing on.  Once a month I will post a current picture of myself, so we can see the progress.  (Picture coming soon.)

And when I say we, I mean anyone who is interested.  I understand that just because you are my cousin or my friend from highschool you still may not be interested in the mundane details of my hopeful attempt to get in shape #183.  Feel free to run away and check back in a year to laugh at me. 

Not.  I am gonna be so hott.  Ahem.  

As for those of you who feel supportive or just curious even--welcome.  I could use all the help I can get.  

That is all.  You are excused.

A fuzzy morning

Today is one of those days when I must do everything or I must do nothing. How do you find the balance of what is worthwhile and needful compared to simply going through the expected motions of your life? Don't panic--the children have been fed. (That falls under the needful category. I've found if you don't feed them everyday they get noticeably upset.) They have also been clothed and brushed and what-have-you. Is it worth it for me to marinate some chicken for dinner when I haven't even showered yet? Is it even a good idea to shower when I haven't done my expected workout? Why should I workout when it takes up a huge chunk of my morning and really I'm just so tired? It makes sense that I would be tired after reading a whole book in one sitting until 2:00am last night. But I needed to read that book, the same way I need chocolate when I'm stressed. (Oh, and I ate a bunch of chocolate chips too, which consequently gave me a headache. Huge Costco bag of chocolate chips? Best idea ever. Or worst.) So what is needful? What is the most important thing? This question always points to the best of all answers--you know, the ones you always repeat in sunday school: Pray, then read the scriptures. Huh, guess I'd better go get my priorities straight. I know there are women out there who are just like me, who have days of doubt and confusion of purpose. Sometimes it helps to know that you're not the only one struggling with everyday life--the only one who misses the seemingly obvious answers. It won't last forever. Just take one step at a time. Okay, now I'm going to go following the prompting. Then perhaps I'll start with getting dressed...

Buttercup ventures into reading... and launches her school-teaching career

Buttercup has really been advancing in her school work the last few months and weeks. She's been sounding out words with a frustrated attitude since this summer, but as of late her reading skills have really taken off. She started with some take-home-reading books from school that read simple repetitions and this last week she picked up one of her easy reader books that are much more complicated and read the whole thing--sounding out the more difficult words patiently and surprising me by knowing most of the words by sight. I suppose I ought to send her teacher an apple or something because apparently she's been doing her job well...

Buttercup has taken out her new found gifts on Lou Lou, who does preschool at home with me most mornings when Buttercup is at school. Although Lou Lou can barely recognize only a handful of letters, let alone remember their sounds, Buttercup thought it necessary to school her in the finer arts of punctuation. Setting up school downstairs in their expansive room, Buttercup wrote out a few sentences as an example for Lou Lou's learning, including a period, question mark, and exclamation point--and then proudly taped it on the sliding glass doors by the kitchen. It went as follows (notice the punctuation):

I like you.
Can you read?
I love you!

I hope Lou Lou now knows the difference between a calm "I like you." and a feeling "I love you!". Buttercup sure does. She's been practicing her reading "with expression". At first she was shy and a bit offended when I suggested she ammend her monotone reading voice to one using "expression" like mama does when she reads. She was horrified after a few examples to show her what I meant, but a day or two later she began doing it on her own--proudly displaying her expression like it was a new outfit. (And trust me, those are proudly displayed.)

Anywho, we are incredibly proud of Buttercup's achievements. Even after all these years, Charming and I seem shocked when our children learn something new--"Look! Something we made together can read on it's own! It works!".

It stretches beyond that--lately we realized that Buttercup will be turning six in a week or two, which is incredibly shocking because we were sure five was tops after her last birthday. But now that I think about it, next year Buttercup will turn seven.... and do you realize that after that SHE'LL BE EIGHT?!?!?!!! (Yes, I myself have learned how to use question marks and exclamation points.)

I tell you it is getting quite overwhelming how quickly time passes and children grow and learn and progress. But I suppose life would turn stale if change wasn't constantly occuring, even with our sweet little ones. Isn't that what the plan of salvation is all about anyway? Learning and growing and progression. Sigh.



You probably noticed I'm back. Duh. I felt like telling a story and here is the end result. You're welcome! We'll see if this sticks... this could be fun you know?

That is all.

Presenting my excuse

And I think it's a pretty good excuse at that. Here is the reason for my lack of posts and lame facebook statuses: Introducing....

FARM BOY

The latest addition to my little brood; the reason for my tired eyes and fluffy body. He is a sweet, happy baby and yet quite a handful. I am not the type of mother to whom big changes come easily. I get so very preoccupied with my most important tasks (keeping my baby alive, children fed etc.), that it is difficult for me to do anything extra. However, I do hope that my blogging will resume as usual soon. I am constantly composing posts in my head, but my hands are too busy to type them out.

Until then, adieu... or something like that.

Chuckle...

Lou Lou fell into the toilet this morning.

I was being the lazy pregnant mommy and laying in bed for too long, and made her take herself potty. Apparently she was in such a hurry that she forgot to put her little potty seat on the huge toilet seat (which in the past she has explained to me is for "big bottoms"... ahem). So she fell right in and I heard a splash and then a death scream. The poor child was traumatized and soaking wet, but I had to laugh. A lot.

And then I officially got out of bed for the morning. Lately it takes crazy things like this to get me to groan/heave my swollen body over the edge. Or just my children pleading for food.

I live a life that most women only dream of having. Yay!

"Why do mammas not go to work and school?"

A very good question just asked by little Lou Lou. I answered, "Because if mammas went to work and school, who would feed you your lunch, and wipe your nose, and do the dishes, and give you hugs, and read you stories?" That answer seemed acceptable enough, and I was rewarded with a kiss.

I haven't blogged in months because I haven't wanted to turn this blog into one big whining vent about being pregnant and all the hormonal ups and downs. However, as I sit here now I realize that I have come full circle--content and filled to the core with gratitude for all that I have. Okay and sometimes I just laugh outright because life is so full of wonderful, exciting, hilarious moments that are mine. This doesn't mean that I'm not sick of being pregnant, hating all the weight I've gained, freaking out about packing up my whole house in the next month, and having occasional panic attacks about caring for a soon-to-come newborn. But my life is balanced, and I don't feel insane. (Except perhaps during those killer BH contractions that last for hours and then the doctor the next day tells you you'll still be preggers for weeks!) (See, this is why I haven't blogged for awhile.)

Anywho, there's lots I could fill the masses in on here, but I'd rather just simplify it all and say, THIS--my little life I've got here--is why this mama doesn't go to work and school! I've got too much at home that I would be missing out on;)

Plus, I've already got a degree that I spent plenty of time working on, and a fantastic husband who goes to work and school for me....

That is all. For now.

To Sum Up

Just a moment ago Buttercup was looking at me curiously. Then she stated, "Mama, when your hair is in a ponytale you look ugly. But when it is fixed and down it is pretty. You should fix your hair."

And that pretty much sums up the last several months. Now your curiousity is satisfied, and I will go back to trying to forget that I am pregnant. For the time being.

That is all.

Dismissed.

Buttercup has been a little ticked off at me today, and just a moment ago she screamed (with much enthusiasm, mind you), "You're not my mama anymore!"

Sigh.

Without taking my eyes off what I was doing I replied, "Good luck with that..."

She then screamed in a super PMSy way and ran up the stairs.

Some things are just beyond handling or caring about when you're flat out nauseous. I'll deal with Buttercup in about 2 1/2 months.

That is all.

Here you go.

As of late I have been constantly writing blog posts in my head, with the idea that sooner or later (sooner rather than later) I would actually put these thoughts on the screen. Funny enough, once I accomplish my "head blog", I feel fulfilled enough from my train of thought to forget about actually posting. Today I want to actually get my thoughts down so they can become officially known to the internet and my posterity (if they ever bother with it).

The last six months of my life have been changing ones for me. I started out with many expectations of what my immediate future would hold, and then I pretty much demanded the universe to grant my requests. An attitude like that rarely gets you far, and this is where the Lord stepped in to teach me a long awaited lesson. The thought of "being taught a lesson" is usually not very appealing, but I have found to the contrary that the lessons, the knowledge, the understanding, and the enlightenment are incredible gifts I hope I will never be without.

Have the things I expected finally been granted me? No--but in return I have been given far more than I asked. I feel as though I'm swimming in blessings and happiness that I never knew before how to touch. My burden is lighter, my heart is bigger, my capacity to love is stronger. I am learning to listen and learn and enjoy life as it is presented to me. I have motivation to do and be things I never thought I would find the will for.

Yes, I still yearn and hope and pray for the experiences and the blessings I am without, but in the meantime my life is full and complete. I am playing with my children, reading stories, going on walks, cooking meals, organizing and decorating, teaching, having deep conversations, pondering and praying, gardening, making goals, learning, listening to beautiful music, smelling (the actual) flowers, and laughing because it feels good. In short, I am happy.

That is all. For now.

Please bless I don't ever have to deal with anything worse than this, because this I can handle pretty well.

Yesterday was quite the adventure for me. It was all mixed up with a lot of crazy, hilarious, and I'm-gonna-cry-if-one-more-thing-happens-to-me type stuff.

It all began in the wee hours when my body remembered how much it hates me. I spent the rest of the night moaning in the fetal position and cursing woman's curse (is that right? can you curse a curse?). The inevitable leg-aches followed accompanied by increased moaning and cursing. Normally at this point I would go for some serious Advil, but an upcoming surgery (yes, I said surgery--gives me chills, but probably not that big a deal) has prohibited me from taking all kinds of relieving medications.

Anywho, Charming eventually had to leave for some thing or other where he learns how to be a physical therapist bla-bla-bla, and the man forgot to say goodbye to me, which deprived me of my moment to remind him to drive safely. Because (as all you married women know) husbands are known to forget to drive safe unless their wives beg them to every morning. You know--to help them to think of their family while they're taking those sharp turns on icy corners and such. So in the mean time there I was huddled in bed in pain and telling myself not to have a panic attack while I imagined all kinds of horrific roadside scenes, all involving Charming (who also forgot to take the cell phone, so I could see him stranded and trying to walk for help in the middle of the North Dakota wasteland and falling into a snow drift in exhaustion and then slowly freezing to death--all because I didn't remind him to be safe).

Inevitably the small children woke up, and finding me still in bed (no, I was not lazy, just in pain), they saw their freedom for what it was and the house became a free-for-all. Lou Lou climbed all over me and I hardly even noticed, I was too busy hugging the heating pad. Finally the girls started saying things like "Mama, I'm hungry." or "Thirsty Mama!" No mother in the world can resist this kind of supplication for long, so I was soon up and nourishing the children. As I put Lou Lou into her seat, I noticed that she had scribbled with a pen all over her cute, although non-chubby thighs. I pointed it out to her and she nodded enthusiastically, while Buttercup noted out loud that Lou Lou's body was no longer a temple because she had scribbled on it. (I love those little moments that prove FHE is sinking in.) I sighed and trudged off to do the dishes, when I looked down, and noticed that Lou Lou had not only defiled her own temple, she had pretty much done a spray-paint job on mine. She had colored all up and down my arm and I hadn't even noticed.

I was still trying not to panic about the whole Charming-on-the-side-of-the-road-thing, when the phone rang and it was Charming himself saying to keep an eye on the news since the Missouri River was flooding and people all over the city were sandbagging and evacuating. Although relieved to find that Charming had survived his jaunt down the road, this turn of events was not good for my psyche. I figured we were fine, but kept checking the tv periodically. I thought if we had to evacuate in a hurry, what would I do? What would I save? What should I do at this very moment? The answer was simple: do the dishes. There was no way I was going to leave my house dirty--I just couldn't handle the thought.

As the morning progressed I began receiving worried phone calls from friends asking if I was all right. Finally someone called to say that reports were that we were to leave the area and go to higher ground. That was enough for me. Pretty much this was the sound I heard in my head for the next several minutes:

BWAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

I was a cross of an insane, panicky woman thinking of the how-to-survive book I read last month and Mrs. Beaver from The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, wondering if I ought to bring the jam, or in my case--the bread, because heck, I made it, and I didn't want it to rot! Outwardly I was fine--just running up and down the stairs, moving things I really didn't want to get wet and throwing stuff in suitcases. While doing all this I was on the phone trying to get a hold of Charming, who was in a hospital basement somewhere blissfully helping some poor soul with their physical therapy needs. The man didn't have a cell phone so I just called the hospital and made them page him while I continued running around.

The girls in the mean time were excited to leave and go play somewhere else. Soon enough Charming made it home (much more calm than me--of course), and we high-tailed it to a friend's house safely located "on higher ground". We stayed there for a peaceful afternoon watching barbie movies and relaxing until we received word that all was probably well. So we went on home again, still on the alert that we should "be ready to evacuate at a moment's notice". So yeah, pretty much we were fine but I was still a tad tense.

Life must have been back to normal because I was already worrying about what to make for dinner. But then I decided on chocolate chip cookies; so yeah, it wasn't normal yet. This decision created much celebration in the children department and for once Buttercup ate all her dinner. I asked her if she wanted some spaghetti for a treat as a reward, and she became very upset. Children are so ungrateful these days...

The evening wound down with the girlies going to bed and Charming and I cuddling on the couch watching American Idol and just enjoying being together. We went to bed at 10:30--super early for us. As I slipped in between the sheets and snuggled into my pillow, my sigh of content turned into a sneer.

Lou Lou had also scribbled on my pillow. My beautiful ivory 500-thread-count pillow case.

Oh well, Charming laughed and we both went to sleep. Not so bad of a day. I survived it and I got cookies.

Let's all pray for Buttercup's Soul.

So this morning at breakfast, Buttercup looked deep in thought. I gave her a smile to encourage her to speak. She sighed, looked at me with furrowed brows, and said:

"Mama, can you tell me all about... the devil?"

(Insert creepy panic music here).

Yes, my precious little princess was spending her solitude pondering the workings of Satan. I shuddered and glanced around the room nervously, then asked her what she meant. She continued, "Why does he want to make little girls and boys be naughty?"

Something akin to a Sunday School lesson followed, ending with the two of us singing "I Lived in Heaven". I was relieved to note that Buttercup seemed to be leaning toward Jesus's team.

I'll keep you posted.

Stop the madness.

Just close your eyes and listen to the distinct sound......

of a young piglet squealing and grunting relentlessly.

This is the sound I have been dealing with the last three or four days. Lou Lou has officially abandoned all reason, and also apparently her vocabulary, for piglet-like squeals to communicate all her emotions, desires, and needs.

To be honest, it's just making me crave bacon.

That is all.

Red Alert: This is a heavy-duty parenting post. Do not read any further if you cannot handle the joy.

So I'm super excited for reasons that all parents, and even non-parents, can completely understand! Drumroll please.....

BUTTERCUP CAN NOW OFFICIALLY WIPE HER OWN BOTTOM!

What can I say? I just got tired of doing it. I looked at her yesterday and thought, "You know what? The kid's almost 4 years old. Let her clean up her own dirty work."

At first the little princess was chagrined. She's used to sitting on her throne and doing her duty without reaping the consequences. Well I let her know that from now on, she can take care of her own kingdom! She whined a little more and sat on her throne a bit longer, but finally realized her "kingdom" needed to be wiped before she could continue with her princessing.

All is well. All is well.

Now all I have to do is convince Lou Lou that sitting on the potty is way better than squatting in a corner...


EDIT: Just to make it clear, Buttercup has been potty trained since she was 2 1/2 years old. She just hasn't liked to wipe her bum when necessary...

Oh. My. (Insert panicky-freakout word of choice here).

So I believe I have mentioned of late that I live at the North Pole--or somewhere very close by. Today church was cancelled due to terrible weather conditions and the hazards of traveling. The high for today on my at home thermometer was negative 9 degrees Fahrenheit. Yich. It was usually colder. The high for tomorrow is about 11 below with a wind chill of negative 40--I don't think I'm going visiting teaching like I had previously planned. Anywho, the point is it has been an awful, yucky, nastified day (weather wise).

I wanted to break up the frigid hours with our regular "quiet time" we have every afternoon after lunch. Lou Lou was tucked in her bed and Charming sleeping on the couch downstairs while Buttercup played quietly near by. I myself laid down in my own room to try and get some serious shut-eye. Lou Lou had other plans and so after awhile I sent her downstairs to "play quietly" with her sister. I would never have done this if Charming hadn't been there sleeping in the same room.

After some time went by (long enough for me to feel rested), I heard some commotion downstairs and then a big whap followed by a heartrending wail. I laid in bed thinking, "What in the world is going on to cause such chaos in my absence?" Charming soon came tromping up the stairs and related the following horror:

Buttercup and Lou Lou had somehow pulled a chair up to the counter in the kitchen, gotten into the cupboards and stolen an open bag of chocolate chips (my drug of choice), grabbed an apple and and orange on the way down, and then for good measure swiped a butter knife--all of which they tenderly placed in a basket. Buttercup then put on her shoes (no coat), and took her coatless, shoeless sister down onto the landing by the front door, where she then opened the (almost always dead-bolted) front door. It was as she was struggling with the semi-frozen shut screen door that Charming found her there, where Buttercup frantically explained that she and Lou Lou were going outside to "visit a friend" (hence the picnic basket).

AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! What if they had made it outside? What if Charming and I had both continued to sleep through it all? I know for a fact that Buttercup cannot open the door from the outside. My babies could have literally frozen to death within a few minutes just outside my front door. It gives me chills even beginning to contemplate what that would have meant.

Poor Buttercup was tear-streaked and very "woe is me" when I got to her. I think Charming's reaction frightened her a little. But I wanted to make sure this never happened again, and so I explained to her that she could have died. I don't know if that was the right thing to do or not--the poor child is only three and a half years old. When I said the word die she had another breakdown and seemed quite shocked and scared, but at least now she knows the danger and I'm pretty sure (I hope) she won't attempt to trek through the North Pole again.

The drama was followed by a pile of loves and kisses and I believe all is well once more.

Ranting and breastfeeding and coming full circle.

I was reading a blog the other day about breastfeeding. The blogger simply stated that she absolutely did not like breastfeeding, but was still committed to it as long as it was working out with her and her child. I started to read through the comments section and believe me when I say that if I would have read every comment it would have taken me and hour and a half. Good gracious people can get opinionated fast! These comments were no-so-much geared towards "well bless you for nursing your children, even though it's not fun"--but more along the lines of "WHAT?!? You don't ENJOY sacrificing your body for the good of your child? WHAT KIND OF MOTHER ARE YOU!" and "SHAME ON THE LAST PERSON WHO POSTED because I disagree with not only everything they said but also everything they think and feel and do and I think they're ugly even though this is the internet and I can't see their picture." The idea of the original post soon was completely lost in the murky waters of breastfeeding vs. formula wars. You'd think that the author of the blog had simply said "Breastfeeding! GO!" and sent the commenters loose.

I have seen more and more of this on facebook and sometimes I wonder what life would be like if I just simply cancelled my account. Lately the craziness has stemmed from posts (and sometimes just status updates) that you'd think had shouted "Prop 8! GO!" And then everybody jumps down everyone else's throats. The same arguments are spouted again and again, and there's always 2 or 3 people that dominate the conversation that have to put down every last word someone opposing them has said. I can't stand the fight, especially when I've heard all the arguments a thousand times. I admit I sometimes give in and state my opinion or my stance--but that's about as far as I like to go. I hate confrontation, and I really do believe that everyone should be treated with respect. What IS it about the internet that turns usually polite people into rude, in-your-face monsters? It must be the seeming anonymity, and the feeling that there is enough distance between you and a virtual person who perhaps doesn't seem real.

Anywho, those are my thoughts for today. And now I would like to publicly state that I have breastfed both of my children. It was painful at first, but I was glad I did it in the end--despite the floppiness that has replaced the perkiness I used to enjoy. Sometimes nursing was fun, and I loved the bonding. Sometimes it was a nightmare because it was 2:30 am and I really needed to go to the potty but I was NURSING so obviously I couldn't. (But that part was also fun because I caught up on a ton of my reading in the wee hours.) And then sometimes it was just aggravating because Buttercup would run away and then come back for more. When that happens you know it's time to stop nursing (at least for me). And so I did. And I didn't feel guilty about giving my child a bottle of formula for a couple of months. But I did feel proud of myself for giving my children the extra nutrition that will be so beneficial to them throughout their lives.

What I'd really like to discuss is nursing in public--but not at length. Okay maybe I'll wait for my next post. And PLEASE, tell me your opinions. I'm sure all five of my readers are very polite and well-articulated folks. I will turn on the comments without fear.

Just because I'm a mother doesn't mean I can't rock out to Justin Timberlake.

Tonight in an attempt to entertain the children (and distract them from trying to eat Charming's late evening dinner themselves), I told the girlies we'd have a "dancing party". I flipped through my cd album, thinking to find some generic kiddie music (you know, the kind with Barney type drums, trumpets, and whistles in the background while some nasal voice sings about all the colors of the rainbow etc.), when my eyes paused on a cd I have long ago stopped listening to. Almost immediately my heart rate accelerated as memories flashed through my mind of the distant past and I contemplated the possibilities of the immediate future. I dropped the cd in and pushed play.

And I totally rocked out to N'sync.

I'm not talking about doing the twist or skipping through Ring Around the Rosie with my children. I'm talking about some serious booty-shaking, body-waving, come hither moves that have been sleeping dormant for years. Well tonight my "moves" sat right up out of bed, stretched and yawned, and headed out the door to get a PhD in..... nevermind.

I have never been ashamed to admit that I was an avid N'sync fan back in the day. My zeal for the group and all things teeny-bopper stretched as far as I was physically and legally aloud to go considering my financial situation, teenage status, and moral upbringing. (Just the sheer hottness of Taylor Hanson (from, you know--Hanson), prompted me to break up with a boyfriend because he just didn't "do it for me" the same way Taylor did....) It's hard to believe, but I probably listened to the same eight cd's during a five year period, and nothing else. I wanted nothing more and I was blissfully happy.

I believe deep down in every girl's soul there is a part of her that wants to break free and dance to The Backstreet Boys, or N'sync, or New Kids on the Block, or Donny Osmond--or whatever. Every generation has their celebrity boy toys. Nowadays girls freak out when Zac Efron busts out a note (who wouldn't with that constant, intense stare?), and my mom will break out "the swim", or worse--"the pony" when she hears the Osmonds. For years she has embarrassed me with her unabashed dance moves in her attempt to remember her youth and feel a little crazy and free again. My sisters and I would always cry with dismay to "Oh my gosh stop Mom, what are you DOING?!?!".

It was like a slap in the face tonight when I experienced the exact same thing. I thought I was young enough to still pass as cool when I danced--but to my children I am their mother, despite the fact that I am only twenty-five, and apparently they would like me to retain that title with dignity. Buttercup didn't like it. She said, "No Mama, don't do THAT!" (I think even Alex was a bit chagrined--I noticed how he tried to slyly close all the blinds so that the neighbors wouldn't see...) It was in that moment that I remembered my own mother dancing her heart out, kicking her feet around the room at odd angles to "The Pony", and I felt a stronger kinship with her that ever before. Yes, I still shudder a little when I picture her dancing away in the kitchen (sorry, Mom), but I know now where she's coming from, that she was young once--and still is in a lot of ways.

So bring on the music!!! HRH and Jaction, I know you'd be up for a good dance fest. Call all the girls and we'll move out all the furniture (like we did in college) and invite everyone in the building to stomp it out to Michael Jackson. If that can't be arranged, I'd settle for just my four sisters, in the kitchen and bottling tomatoes as we rock out to High School Musical or whatever. Just make sure it's a hott guy singing. (Or in Michael Jackson's case, a former hott guy.)

Ode to Mornings

The last few days I've decided to try getting up early again (early as in 7 am). I used to have an entire routine down, then I just became lazy and would sleep until the girlies woke me up. My morning routine can be long and drawn out; often I have woken in the morning with dread at the start of another day. It just seems like too much--too much of the same thing that takes way too long to accomplish. (I know this is a terrible frame of mind, and it comes and goes--depending on what time of the month it is, if you get my drift....)

So anywho, I decided it was time to buck up and be a woman and rise with the sun, or at least at the time the sun would normally rise in the fall/winter. Of course this ended up being a fantastic decision, because once you actually drag yourself out of bed you find that mornings are lovely, pleasant, quiet, with birds tweeting, and all that sort of thing. I discovered that in the hour I had to myself before the children woke up, I could get so much more done on my routine list (some of it much more meaningfully--like prayer and scripture study). The awful morning obstacles I had to overcome became hardly a thought, such as my daily workout, showering, folding a load of laundry, and making my bed, etc. I know, you're all out there going, "Geesh Megs, what's the big deal?" These things aren't difficult right? Of course not, not when you don't have any children. But when you have two needy, hungry, fussy children following you around, getting the little things done is like running a marathon. Nix the children and all is bliss.

When the girlies woke up the bliss continued. Everyone was cheery and I had a lot less on my mind. I noticed how sweet and precious my children were. I've got to keep this whole morning thing up--it's turning into quite a success.

All you stay-at-home-moms out there, what do you do that makes your day run smoothly? Or are you just a lot less OCD than I am about having a check list?

I'm Gonna Cross-Stitch It and Put It On My Wall

Knowing that General Conference has been approaching these last few weeks, I've been trying to come up with a question I need answered or a topic to look for--I guess mostly because that is always what we are told to do, and then we read stories all about people's special experiences in the Ensign. I admit that I approached the idea a bit lazily, mainly because my issues and questions are just about always the same. The answers are also obvious, and easy to address in Sunday School--though not so easy in practice. Plus, I really didn't think anyone was going to give a sermon over the pulpit about the difficulties of finger puppets and cheerios in Sacrament Meeting, let alone how motherhood can cause boredom and guilt.

So I never put my finger on a particular topic or question for conference. I knew I needed something but I didn't really want to think about what it was. I have "problems" that need help or encouragement--unfortunately when the help and answers came I was dealing with both those little problems and they were on my lap trying to steal my pen to draw on the couch and poking each other and whining at me. Despite the chaos, I believe I picked up the gist of the message. Although my notes weren't extensive (again, Lou Lou wanted my pen), I remember the feeling well, now three hours later. I felt that someone understood my life. Someone saw what I do everyday, and not only that, they knew how I felt about it. When has Elder Ballard ever been to my house?

I knew at that moment that even though I didn't ask my particular question (at least in particular for Conference) I have been searching a long time for encouragement in the motherhood arena. After Elder Ballard's talk this afternoon I feel reassured that the Lord knows me, my situation, and the thoughts and intents of my heart. "Ah!" you say "that talk could be applied to any young mother, and probably all young mothers that heard it felt the same way you did." It probably can and they probably do. I'm glad for those mothers. But mostly I'm glad for me. I have received understanding and been given direction from the Lord in a specific way on the topic I deal with everyday--motherhood. Motherhood is wonderful and meaningful, but it is also difficult and at times exhausting. But it is doable. And I can do it. Successfully. Without doing permanent damage to my children or myself:)

Thank you Elder M. Russell Ballard. When the Ensign comes out, I will cross-stitch your talk and put it on my wall.