Thoughts on Being a "Good" Mom

Recently, a friend of mine asked a favor. She had a friend who is pregnant with her first child and starting to get anxious about adjusting to being a mom. She wanted to know if I had any words of advice to offer about the adjustment to being a mom and learning to not be hard on yourself. Well, apparently, being succinct is not my strong point. But, having taken the efforts to put my thoughts on this on paper, I thought I would share them here on my blog:

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Sorry it has taken me a few days to get back to you. I can only share my own experience about adjusting to becoming a mom. I was a straight-A student, was very successful in my job and pretty much took it upon myself to do my best to be "successful" at everything I tried. I had my first child halfway through my masters program. I rushed to finish my graduate piano recital before the baby came and then had only a few classes left to finish to graduate.

Mothering was (and still is) something that I took very seriously. I decided that if I was going to be a stay-at-home mom then I would simply be the very best stay-at-home mom that I could: I would excel at mothering just like I had excelled in so many other areas in my life. Unfortunately, this turned out to be a fantastic recipe for disaster and depression.

To start with, I assumed that being a mother wasn't going to be that difficult to figure out. After all, I was getting a masters degree and had tons of experience taking care of kids (being the oldest girl of 6 children and a popular babysitter as a teenager). I was blown out of the water to find that mothering (despite society's depiction of it as brainless, menial labor) was by far the most physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually challenging work I had ever experienced. Aside from the obvious challenges (like being on call 24/7, rarely getting breaks and getting woken up in the middle of the night) there are deeper challenges like being calm and emotionally stable when you are dealing with a screaming child, finding that what works at some times may not work at others and dealing with the constant struggle to find the balance between being supporting/loving and setting/enforcing firm limits.

But by far the hardest part for me of being a mom is that there is no easy way to evaluate whether you are "excelling" at it. Being a bright person, I just decided to come up with my own measurement of "success." What I created was a composite of my own mother, my mother-in-law and every other woman that I admired: a Frankenstein-Super-Mother, if you will. I just decided that I would embody the best traits of all of them. I would have my mother's ability to connect and talk with her kids along with my mother-in-law's tremendous capacity to serve others combined with my friend's dedication to exercise, so-and-so's talent for cooking healthy meals, what's-her-name's incredibly clean house and someone else's kids that were always well-dressed and well-behaved. I set myself up with the perfect recipe for severe post-partum depression.

Sure enough, when I began staying home with my first child I felt tremendous, overwhelming feelings of inadequacy and loss. I felt inadequacy because of my inability to "perfectly" meet the needs of this beautiful child that I loved. The inadequacy deepened with my inability to keep up our house or a schedule in the way that I felt a good mother "should." You added to this the loss of the clear-cut affirmation, the accolades and tidy definitions of success that I had experienced in school and I was a complete mess. I was working my rear end off-- harder than I ever had before, both day and night-- but it seemed I could hardly manage to feed the baby, change him and grab some unhealthy ready-made thing to eat before he pooped all over his sleeper or it all needed to be done again. My husband came home at the end of the day and I felt like I had nothing to show for my efforts. It felt like things were no better-- or actually much worse-- than when he left. I was in total despair. What had become of me? I was once a self-sufficient, successful, organized and "together" woman and I had turned into a non-functional, sloppy, dependent mess who couldn't even get showered without help.

It took me a combination of time, experience, therapy, medication and lots of conversations with other women to come to a better way of looking at it. I am by no means a perfect mother, but (at least on most days) I can look at my imperfect efforts with satisfaction and see the good things that I am doing. (As just one example, I am writing this in my pajamas at 10:00 am while my two youngest watch Curious George-- and I'm okay with that.) Some things that have been helpful to me:

• Recognize that mothering is difficult and demanding work. It is important work that should demand respect from both you and others. I felt like mothering was some easy, invisible thing that should just "happen" while I got other things done and kept my house perfectly clean. Especially when you have a tiny infant, taking care of your child-- just keeping him/her alive, fed, and diapered-- is pretty much a full-time proposition. Any thing else you do is frosting on the cake.
• Allow your body lots of time to heal after labor and delivery. After you have a baby, a mother should have at least the functionality of someone who has been in a major car accident and hospitalized. Seriously, I look back at my post labor expectations for my first baby and think "What on earth was I thinking?" I expected to pop back to normal within a few days after being in hard (pitocin-induced) labor for over 12 hours, pushing for 2 1/2 hours and having an almost 1-inch episiotomy to deliver a nearly 10-pound baby. I pretty much felt like I had been run over by a truck. My body needed several weeks to physically recover and feel semi-normal again. That said, some people do feel pretty good again more quickly than that. If this is you, don't feel bad about that or feel like that means you need to jump back in to everything again. I would still get lots of rest, spend time with your baby and rebuild your emotional energy.
• Accept and ask for help. Don't try to do it all yourself. People want to help you. Please let them.
• Sleep whenever you can. Lots of people have said this, but it's still true. I figure it takes 2-3 years to catch up on the sleep you lose after having a newborn. Don't feel guilty about sleeping in or napping whenever you get the chance.
• Your child's actions/personality do not automatically indicate your success/failure as a parent. Obviously, the way that you parent will have a huge impact on your child and should be taken seriously. But every action of your child is not an indication of your success or failure as a mother. For instance, if your child is fussy or always wants to be held, they may be hungry or sick... or they may just be fussy and want to be held. If you have a child (like several of mine) who is extremely strong-willed (they will scream about the juice box for two hours straight and they WON'T forget what they are mad about), it doesn't prove your failure as a mother. It shows that they are strong-willed. Your eight-year-old's lack of desire to comb her hair doesn't mean that you are a failure at teaching hygiene. Yes, we need to take our responsibility to parent seriously, but, no, we don't need to take every single action of our child upon ourselves as a source of pride or guilt.
• Don't stress out about schedules or getting milestones "right." "Schedules" work for some people and don't for others. Having my kids on a schedule was about as feasible as teaching a dog to use the toilet, flush and wash its paws. There are some people that schedules work for, but if it's not you, don't stress out about it. Your kids will be fine. Don't stress about milestones either. If your child walks at 15 months instead of 9 months, it doesn't mean they are going to be athletically challenged. It usually doesn't make any difference.
• Involve your husband in parenting. I felt bad asking my husband for help because it was "my job" to take care of the baby and he had to "work" each day. I felt like if I needed help from him that showed my inadequacy-- that I wasn't doing a good enough job. What I did by this was essentially devalue what I was doing -- I didn't consider my work to be as important as what my husband was doing-- and limit his relationship with our child. The truth was that we both had challenging jobs each day and that when he was home, we could (and should) share the responsibility for parenting our child. Expecting your husband to be actively involved as a parent benefits you, the baby and your husband. It helps him to have a stronger connection and relationship with his child. You will be happier and less stressed out and more available for your relationship with your husband. Sharing responsibility can harder to do if you are nursing, but there are ways to divvy things up (i.e. you nurse, he changes diapers). 
• Real parenting is imperfect parenting. Do your best. If you mess up (which you will), don't beat yourself up. Make a mental note and try to do it a little bit better the next time. Don't be afraid to say, "I'm sorry," to your kids. It sets a good example to them of how it's done.
  
• Have reasonable expectations for yourself, then lower them a little (okay, a lot). Life is about trade-offs. Nobody does it all perfectly. (If you aren't like this, congratulations on being superhuman. Don't tell your friends because they'll hate you.) ;) Just do what you can and let the rest go. There are times I have made home-cooked meals, but then my house is a mess and my kids aren't in any activities. If my kids are in outside activities, then we eat out more or buy frozen meals. I keep my house pretty clean these days, but that's because I pay for house-cleaners to come. If I get lots done, my kids watch lots of TV. If my kids aren't watching TV, I don't get very much done....
• Moms have needs too. Make sure to take care of yourself. Do things to make you happy, that help you enjoy your life. It will help you be a better mom if you are happy and well-cared for, but beyond that, you are someone's child, too, and you deserve to be happy and cared for, just as much as your child does. By caring for yourself, you are also setting a good example for your kids. (i.e. It's okay to take care of my needs, to take a break or a time-out to read. It's okay for grownups to take a break to have fun or to spend time with friends. It's okay to spend money on things for mom, too. Life will go on if the world doesn't always revolve around them.)
• Enjoy what you can but don't feel like you have to "love" everything. Enjoy all of the great moments, but don't feel like you have to "love" every last minute of being mom. Nobody likes cleaning up vomit or diarrhea. Most people aren't fans of a two-year-old tantrum in the grocery store. It's okay to not enjoy those moments. They will pass.
• Connect with other moms. You will quickly find out that you are not the only one. Most moms feel exactly like you do and struggle with very similar things. This can be a huge support and help just to know that what you are experiencing is normal.

Sorry, I guess your request for some thoughts turned into a full-fledged five-page essay. By the way, I still struggle with all of these things-- it's still an ongoing process for me. But I am getting better at recognizing what I do well and acknowledging it.

Karen

The One Place Where I'm Always Too Thin

As a mom of four I constantly find myself spread too thin, despite my best efforts to take stuff out of my life. I wish I could take this talent and instead constantly find myself too thin around my thighs or abdomen, but alas, my talent is limited.

It doesn't help that today the kids had the day off of school. I had what I thought were very modest expectations for the day: take the van in to get the remote locks fixed, clear the junk pile off my computer desk and maybe make sandwiches for lunch. I somehow got sucked into several of loads of laundry, dealing with a temper tantrum and transferring CDs to my computer and several other things.

It's a familiar pattern. I start what seems like a simple task. As I make ever-more-desperate attempts to finish I get constantly interrupted by the latest crisis: by Jackson head-butting into me for the fun of it, Addy climbing on my lap, Jared explaining exactly why Camryn is in the wrong in their latest disagreement, Camryn asking if I will let her make breadsticks, the dog chewing a plastic container lid or Addy deciding to bite my arm just for the fun of it (10 seconds ago). Eventually I give up and flee my laundry folding/desk organizing/dish-doing attempts for the temporary consolation of facebook/blogging/eating a snack that doesn't look like it has too many calories.

There are people out there that have children and appear to still be partially sane. What's their secret?

Tranquilizers Please?

One of the unfortunate side effects of only posting twice in a month is that nobody reads your blog anymore. Sigh. That would be more disappointing if I were actively writing posts.

Tonight was one of those nights when I wished it was legal to give your kids tranquilizers. Long day, even longer evening. I was awakened this morning just before six by a certain three-year-old who had wet his bed-- soaking completely through the night-time diaper that he had on to drench everything. After stripping the bed, replacing the sheets, showering him off, re-making the bed, and getting him clean pajamas, I went back to bed. Dave got the older kids off to school and let me sleep in.

I woke up after nine and realized that Addy was supposed to be at playgroup at nine. So I jumped out of bed, threw on some clothes and raced her over to playgroup, getting there a half hour late. When I dropped her off I was really impressed with the mom doing playgroup that day. I had never been to this friend's house for playgroup before and she totally went all-out. She had set up some play tents, had dress-ups out for the girls to play in and even had a few extra kids there. Hmmmm, maybe I should consider stepping it up a bit when it's my turn. It wasn't until I returned to pick Addy up at 11:30 and she had a party bag and foam crown that I connected that it was a birthday party. We had received an invitation to a birthday party (that was planned to coincide with playgroup so all of the playgroup girls could come) and I had totally spaced it. No RSVP, no gift. Yikes. Good thing I got *so much* work done on the computer while Addy was gone (while Jackson sat on my lap sticking his hand in front of the computer screen, pushing buttons or pulling on my arms). The party was a rousing success, as evidenced by the ginormous fit that Addy threw when she had to take off her princess dress to leave.

The afternoon was punctuated by Jackson screeching and ended up with me giving in to pleas from Jared to zone out to Plants vs. Zombies (which the other children watched, entranced, for some time). I succumbed to Camryn's request for me to buy eggs so she could make cookies, which resulted in a trip to Target with four kids to buy said eggs and the forgotten birthday present. Trips to Target with four kids are always exciting, so we tried to keep it short.

The minutes leading up to dinner ended with mass pandemonium as Camryn mixed cookies, I made frozen Ravioli, Jackson incessantly whined for milk (which will lead to him not eating his dinner), Dave madly tried to finish something on the computer for work and Jared argued with Addy (yes, the two year old) about where to put the plates on the table. We had dinner and a short family night/calendering session. Did I ever mention that it is really hard to write neatly on a calender when two different kids are climbing on and off your lap? We frosted cookies and had only two of them bite the dust and end up frosting-side down on the floor. Eventually I retreated to my computer, hoping the kids would eventually fall off to sleep by themselves-- which they didn't. I finally gathered enough courage to face putting them to bed whilst Dave still worked on his presentation for tomorrow.

I have been working on a series of house projects over the past week or so and they are starting to build up in varying degrees of incompleteness. I have ten things that need to be returned, five things to buy, a car that is six weeks late for an oil change and an overdue library video. The Cantico concert is in less than a month and things are piling up for that as well. How do you fit a 7-foot piano, 20 singers, a harp and an oboist on a 25x12 foot stage in an aesthetically pleasing and artistically functional way? Unfortunately, they didn't cover topics like that in my music major classes.  

I have been trying to work recently on counting my blessings, but something about that phrase really rubs me the wrong way. (Am I allowed to say that during November? Will lightning strike me dead?) I'm not saying that I'm not thankful or don't think I need to be thankful. It's just that that particular phrase "Count your blessings" seems to come with a whole subtext for me. Something along the lines of: "Count your blessings. It could always be worse-- and probably will be soon if you don't start showing some gratitude. Don't you realize how easy you have it? Poor you, to have to struggle with central heating, plentiful food, automatic washing machines and four beautiful children that you chose to bring into this world. Tough cookies."

I guess my trouble is not so much with counting my blessings. I am grateful. It's that I feel like in order to truly "count my blessings" I can't-- or don't have the right to-- to acknowledge that I struggle and things are hard, even though I am very blessed. I feel like "counting my blessings" is equated with me saying, "My life is easy and everything is smooth sailing. Any difficulties I have are so minor compared with my blessings that they hardly even count." Which may be true, but isn't what I need to hear-- or have it in me to say-- after an exhausting day caring for four children.

Last week I was thinking a lot about God and how he shows his love for us. I get irritated by children's books and such that say things like, "I know God loves me because I have a nice home and good parents." Does that mean that God loves the children less who are born into poverty or have abusive parents? I don't think God is like that. I have a good friend who is going through a lot of major difficulties in her life right now, yet more than probably anyone else I know right now, she knows that God loves her. It got me to thinking that frequently we equate God's love for us with the level of ease or comfort in our lives when actually those things are completely decoupled. Did God love Job? Then why did he let terrible things happen to him? Did he approve of King Herod more than Jesus (as evidenced by Herod's wealth, power and ease)? No. Negative things are part of being human and mortal. Pain is a way for us to learn and grow (and not one that I particularly like, I might say). But pain is not evidence of my--or God's-- failure.

It is much easier for me to accept difficult things when I don't start thinking, "What did I do wrong to deserve this?" and instead think, "This is temporary. With God's help, I will learn from this and become stronger."

So back to being thankful.... If I can decouple God's love for me with things being easy, then maybe it is okay for me to decouple being thankful from having to feel like things are easy. Maybe it is okay to say, "Today was a really hard day-- and I'm thankful my kids are asleep. I'm thankful for the opportunities I had to grow-- but I'm even more thankful that they have temporarily subsided." :) And maybe it is okay to say, "I am abundantly blessed and tremendously thankful-- and my life is difficult and hard (at least for me) and challenges me to my very core." Being thankful doesn't mean having to ignore the painful and the ugly and pretend they aren't there-- they still are, no matter how grateful you are. For me being thankful is not letting the painful and ugly crowd out the beautiful and sweet. Letting the pain overshadow and drive out the joy is just as untrue as pretending that the pain isn't there in the first place. So maybe I need to add to my goals-- along with peacefuly coexisting with pee-pee-- to learn to peacefully, thankfully coexist with discomfort, but to see it and acknowledge it just the same. 

Enough pontificating. Off to bed.

Out of Practice

Dave used to travel a lot for work, but recently he hasn't had to travel very much, except for an occasional short trip to the Bay Area. Last week Dave had one of these one-night business trips (which by his company's standards, hardly even counts as a trip). I had the kids by myself for Monday and Tuesday. I'm a little bit out of practice on this business trip thing and I had a hard time on Monday, so I decided to make some plans for Tuesday to make things easier on me. The YMCA didn't have any Childwatch spots available, so I decided to take the kids to "Pump it Up" (one of these inflatable bounce house places) after school so I could read a book while they played. Then we would go out to dinner on the way home and I had a babysitter set up for the evening.

I took the kids to Pump it Up and settled in to read my book-- or at least tried to. They were playing really loud music-- so loud that it was hard to concentrate on my book (and, as the mother of 4 children, I'm pretty talented at blocking out noise). Jared felt a need to race Jackson up the slide which incited screeching and screaming in Jackson and protests of unfairness from Jared when I tried to mediate between the two of them. The two of them argued incessantly in between time-outs.

Addy discovered that the drinking fountain was WAY more fun than any of the bounce houses, so she spent her time seeing how wet she could get her clothes. I made Jackson go to the potty as soon as we got there, but about 1 hour into our excursion, as he was walking between bounce houses he stood in one place with the ever-so-slightest knee squat and a slightly pained expression on his face. "Jackson!!" I called, "Stop. Let's get to the potty!" But it was too late. He had pooped in his underwear. I took him to the bathroom where he got put in a pull-up. (I admit it. The underwear got deposited in the Pump it Up bathroom garbage. There's only so much one can handle. My belated apologies to the staff for the smell....)

After I got Jackson sufficiently cleaned up, he sat on time out for the rest of the time we were there-- which, of course, incited more screaming. I finally gave up and decided it was time for dinner. I had bought a groupon for Baja Fresh, so I decided to stop there to get something moderately tasty/healthy for our dinner. We ordered my Baja Bowl and four kids meals and we sat up to eat. The tray our food came on got stuck in the center of the table. Someone bumped it and it sent Camryn's plate flying off the table, Mexican Rice scattering everywhere. I dove to save what I could of her Taquitos and in the shuffle, the tray got bumped again. This time Jackson's plate went flying off the table. At this point, I realized that we didn't have enough time to finish eating and still get home in time to meet the babysitter and for me to make it to my appointment, so we packed all of our food in to-go boxes and got in the car. The babysitter was waiting at our house when we pulled into the garage. She came to help get the kids out of the car. As she opened the passenger sliding door, the door handle broke off.

I think this may be the part of the story where I start wildly tossing kids out of the car, saying "Please take them!" as I drive off, screeching around the corner. Or start scratching my head at exactly what part of "Pump it Up" and "Baja Fresh" combined with four kids sounded fun. Or ponder how exactly to break it to my husband that business trips and I don't get along so well anymore.

About Last Thursday (or It Could Always Be Worse)

In the intervening week-and-a-little-bit since my last post I have been meaning to fill in with a post about the rest of my day. Thanks to a google search and some tinkering I was able to re-attach the vacuum belt and clean up the cracker mess.

After my adventures in vacuum repairing, I piled the kids in the car to run some errands and then took the car into the shop to get it checked. (It had been making a groaning, screeching sort of sound when I braked and sometimes a bit of a thunk-thunk-thunk throbbing noise. Probably not good signs....) Sure enough, our tires needed to be replaced (which I already knew-- what I didn't know is that they were almost worn down to the core) and our brakes needed new rotors. Dave was out of town in California which seriously limited my alternate transportation options. The good news was that they said they could for sure do all of the work that day by the time they closed. The bad news is that I would be stuck with three kids without a car for three hours.

I decided this would make picking up Jared and his friend who was going to come over to play after scout camp a bit difficult. So I got on my phone and canceled the play date and got someone else to get Jared after camp. Now I was only left with three kids and two or three hours to burn. I loaded the younger kids in the stroller and headed for the park which-- thankfully-- was within walking distance of the shop. I found myself grateful for the dismal cloudy day that was not too warm and didn't require sunblock.

We had a lovely time playing until Jackson needed to go potty and I realized there were no bathroom facilities at this park. After quickly scouting my lack of options, I found a way to resolve the issue which may or may not have involved having Jackson pee on a tree. We went back to our lovely afternoon of playing in the park. Jackson and Addy rode in the swings and threw tanbark at each other while Camryn happily played with them. All was well... until Jackson had to go to the potty again. Except this time he had to go poop. I loaded the double stroller with the urgency of a captain loading lifeboats and we charged off at hyper-speed to the nearest store with a restroom. We made it into the Target parking lot when Jackson suddenly jumped out of his stroller seat and announced, "Mom! I need new pants!" So close and yet so far.... Did I mention Addy had a poopy diaper too?

We headed to the family bathroom at Target where I surveyed the damage. Luckily I had a pull-up, diaper and wipes in the basket of the stroller (I had accidentally left the diaper bag in the car). I'll spare  you the details of that delightful 15 minutes spent in the removal of poop from Jackson's posterior (and legs, and shoes-- getting off soiled underwear isn't a tidy proposition). I admit I just threw the underwear in the garbage and didn't even feel guilty. After I got Addy's diaper changed and I had my fill of poop to last me for the next century, we grabbed some snacks and a couple of slurpees and headed off in the stroller again. (I had actually been to Target enough in the past few days that I didn't have anything left to buy. Now THAT is scary.)

We headed off on a walk to the local toy store to burn some more time. I didn't realize we had so many things within walking distance of the car shop. I also realized that while I had driven that street hundreds of times in the past 5 years, I had never once walked down it. We spent a good hour at the toy store and survived with only one destroyed item in the process (maybe it was just Addy's way of getting me to buy her a book). We finished with yet another round of snacks and were heading back to the park when I had another "I need to use the potty"-- this time from Camryn. So we headed back to the toy store, used the potty and began to head out again when I finally got the call that the work on the car was done.

Being car-less wasn't as awful as I had feared. If you took out the pooping-in-the-underwear incident, it was almost downright enjoyable. Nevertheless, it was nice to have my stylin' ride back.

So if you are wondering why I haven't been blogging much this summer, this is my long and circuitous answer.

Since My Last Post

Since I clicked "Publish Post" on my last blog entry, the following has happened:

• Jackson and Addy dumped an entire box of bunny crackers on the living room carpet. 
• I made attempts to have Jackson and Camryn help clean it up
• Jackson threw a tantrum and got sent to his room
• Camryn and I finished cleaning up the crackers
• I got out the vacuum to get the rest of the crumbs
• Jackson yells from upstairs that he needs to go potty.
• The vacuum isn't sucking anything up. The rotor brush isn't moving.
• I take the vacuum apart and try to figure it out
• Jackson yells from upstairs, "I need new pants! I'm all wet!"
• It looks like there is a belt that is supposed to attach the rotor brush to the motor and it isn't connected. How do I fix this? Oh wait, no problem. I learned that in Motherhood 101 (yes, that is sarcasm). At least I have google.

Camp Crazy

This week has been like riding down the river of craziness. Jared and Camryn have had camp this week-- which should make life easier, right? Right? Right????? What it means is 7:15 drop off and 4:15 pickup for one child with 9 am drop off and 12 pm pick up (for only three days) for the other (half of them being while my husband is out of town so I don't have another parent to help).

Yesterday morning set some kind of record (exactly which one I'm still figuring out...). I drove to the church three times before 9:00 am: once to drop Jared off, another time in an unsuccessful bid to get him his lunch (which he forgot) and one last time to drop off Camryn. Both younger kids woke up drenched with wet beds. In the midst of all this, Camryn asked me (at about 8:15) if she could make breadsticks if she cleaned up the mess. It was an easy out to get one child off my back, so I said okay. But both of us forgot that she had her last day of Activity Days camp at 9:00, so her project was stopped mid-stream and the "I'll clean up the mess part" didn't exactly happen how it was supposed to. The kitchen was left looking like this:

Jackson continues his streak of remarkable talent in mess-making. His prodigious talents (just for this week) include spraying a newly-cleaned toilet and floor with pee in 30 second or less, unintentionally partially thawing the outside freezer by leaving the freezer door open, and spilling birdseed on the floor followed by accidentally watering the hardwood through the screen door (while attempting watering the plants on the deck) within 60 seconds of each other.

Dave had a one-day business trip on Monday, meaning he left at 4:00 am and got home at 9 pm. He had a meeting on Tuesday night so he didn't get home until 9:00 pm again. Wednesday morning he was off at 4 am again for a two-day business trip. We have had a diet of Taco Bell interspersed with Papa Murphy's pizza and fruit roll-ups. Despite a conscious attempt to use childwatch at the YMCA, hiring a babysitter, and even overt retail therapy at Target, I feel like I'm flying down river rapids on a log without a paddle. Perpetual peepee accidents, cold cereal and milk dumped on the floor, markers on the wall, bananas smooshed through hair, scattered toys, no matching kids shoes to be found (despite buying 4 new pairs on Tuesday), spilled birdseed, "Mom, can I use a pillowcase for a sewing project?," poop out the diaper and up the back of Addy's shirt, earrings dumped out of my jewelry drawer and scattered all over the floor, Jackson jumping from the slide to the lovesac whilst buck naked on his lower half, "Can I use Alka-seltzer to make an explosion with an old film canister?"... this is my life at present. I find myself turning to my computer keyboard for escape-- like some kind of lifeline to the outside world or grown-up version of a pacifier.

On Tuesday we had a pizza and movie night. The kids settled in to watch "The Princess and the Frog" while I succumbed to the blessed oblivion of zoning out on the internet, planning summer travel or wasting time on Facebook-- it really didn't matter as long as it didn't involve screaming children. Suddenly Jared looked up and pointed out, "Mom, you're not watching the movie!" I shrank in my chair and made some half-hearted attempts to look at the screen. "Um, sure I am. It's about a frog, right?" "No, mom. You're not watching it at all. Close your computer!" After some hemming and hawing and a few attempts to send one last email or smuggle some glances at a travel guide, Jared got visibly upset with me, so I turned off the computer, put my books away and watched the movie. It was actually really nice. Hard to do, but nice.

So for now I'm just trying to survive getting sucked into the vortex of summer.... the endless swirl of activities, messes, children and chaos. And tell myself that I will survive all of this fun. Really.

My Not-A-Post

I haven't written a post in almost a month. I haven't really read any other blogs in that same time period. I apologize to my dear blog readers (assuming I have any left...). I have lots to say but am having a hard time translating that into blog posts. The daily realities of life with four kids are combining with the perpetual debate of how much of my daily grind I want to write for the whole world (meaning my mom and five of my friends :] ) to create a lack of creativity. The solution is to stop analyzing and just write.

I'm sitting on a beautiful Saturday morning, er, afternoon at my computer with a list of useful productive things I could do as Addy plays in the bathtub (strike one against my parenting-- even if I can hear her making happy noises so I know any damage being done is to the bathroom and not her) as a result of her earlier mega-poop. Jackson is back inside after I heard him screeching at other kids in the front yard (mother of the year award for me, yes). Yes, I could finish weeding the yard, folding the 6 baskets of clean laundry in my upstairs hallway, make lunch for my kids, plan our summer trip or make a dish to take to the potluck tonight. I could spend time pondering a momentous decision, entertaining myself or doing something useful. I could even write a real blog post. But instead, I'm sitting here writing not much of anything-- which I suppose is a slight upgrade from wasting time on facebook.

Luckily, Dave just finished working so now I can end this lame post. But now the ice is broken and I can start writing again. Even if it's lame. :)

My First-Ever Turbinectomy!

Tomorrow is my first-ever surgery. I am having a septoplasty and turbinectomy-- which sounds like I'm having a septic tank fixed and a turban removed but actually means that I am having a deviated septum in my nose corrected and an enlarged lower turbinate reduced-- with the end result hopefully being that I will be able to breathe normally for the first time in years. I was supposed to have this surgery 11 years ago but I procrastinated it because I didn't want to take time off work and I was afraid of going under general anesthesia. So hooray for ending the procrastination and finally getting around to doing it. I haven't been able to breathe clearly through my nose for years, so I am excited to get this over with. I think.

It isn't a major surgery (although I've heard that the only minor surgery is one that happens to someone else) but I'm still a bit nervous. The general anesthesia thing still doesn't excite me-- although it is much more exciting than the alternative. I tend to underplay things in my mind so I'm sure tomorrow I will be hating life and feeling crappy, but hopefully in a week or two I will have be feeling more normal AND be able to breathe through my nose for a change. Here's hoping.  

For Laughs

I seem to blog in spurts. Either I write every single day for a week straight or I go for two weeks without posting at all. So here is a bit of random-ness.

Last weekend Dave and I took Jared and Camryn skiing. In the course of the day (during tears/tantrum about not being able to get down the mountain) I promised Camryn a slurpee if she would do three turns without falling. My bribery worked so I got sucked into getting her one of the world's junkiest junk foods on the way home. (Wouldn't it be more efficient to just hook up an IV with sugar in it?) On our way into 7-11 we saw a slurpee poster advertising the new movie, "Thor."

I don't know what it was about the poster or if maybe I was just loopy from skiing too much, but the poster made me laugh out loud. Every time I looked up at it while we were there I started giggling again. I was just struck by the silly ridiculous poses of the people on the poster. The blond guy (presumably Thor?) holding some kind of a meat mallet with a look that says, "I know this pose is ridiculous, but you know my hair looks better than yours."

But the best was the green man. I don't know what character he was supposed to be, but he just had the best look on his face:

His whole face seems to say, "Um, I'm wearing a green space suit and a hat with big horns. Is this why I went to drama school? I'm trying really hard to look serious, but whoa is this embarrassing-- and it's plastered up at every 7-11 in the nation. I hope my ex-girlfriend doesn't see this...."

Anyway, it's hard to know why certain things strike us as funny, but I still start laughing out loud just by looking at this picture. Thank you, green big-horned-hat man. :)

Do You Love Your Neighbor?

Going back to some of my deeper thoughts of the last month, I often struggle to find a healthy level of self-esteem. Maybe it ties into my hang-ups with mommy stereotypes, but I often fall into feeling like I need to be perfect or AMAZING or at least really great at something. I have a terrible habit of being really hard on myself, even if I am honestly trying my best.

I have recently pondered the scriptural admonition to "Love thy neighbor as thyself." I think I have always unconsciously twisted that scripture into "Love thy neighbor MORE THAN thyself," which-- at least at first glance-- sounds like it would be more noble and less selfish than loving yourself and neighbors equally. But loving yourself isn't always as simple as it looks.

Most of the time I think I am a reasonable "neighbor" or friend to the people I come in contact with. Let's picture a friend coming up to me and saying, "I'm having a really hard day today. I feel awful about myself because still haven't lost my baby weight. My house is a mess and I feel like a terrible mother. My kids fight and I am never on time." How would I respond? I would probably tell her, "Don't be so hard on yourself! It's totally not reasonable to expect to look like a supermodel when you have a baby and multiple other kids to take care of. Your kids will remember the time you spent with them, not how your house looked. You're a great mother! Everyone's kids fight sometimes and being late sometimes is not the end of the world!" At least I hope that I would say something like that. I know I would at least say, "You know, you are trying your best and that's all we can do. You don't need to be perfect. Just don't give up!" And I expect that most decent friends would say something along these same lines.

Let's change this up a bit now. Let's say that I am having a hard day and think to myself this same thing: "I'm having a really hard day today. I feel awful about myself because still haven't lost my baby weight. My house is a mess and I feel like a terrible mother. My kids fight and I am never on time." How do I respond to myself? I tell myself (as any *reasonable* person would): "But you ARE a terrible mother. That's why you are having such a hard time. And you are SO FAT. Your kids fight because you are such a terrible mother. Maybe if you weren't so lazy and didn't let them watch so much TV they wouldn't fight so much. And if you just got off your duff and exercised or put down that box of cookies your baby weight would have been gone months ago! And anyone can keep their house clean. It's not rocket science. Sheesh."

Because I wouldn't want to be one of those selfish, self-absorbed, self-loving people, right? And I'm just being honest with myself about my shortcomings, right? That's a *virtue*. So if I'm following the biblical injunction to "love my neighbor as thyself," does that mean that I should tell all of my friends that they are fatties, bad mothers, pathetic for not keeping their house cleaner and at fault for all of their kids' tantrums? Um, yeah.

The funny thing is that I've found that when I'm in that negative place of hating and being hard on myself I don't have much charity or goodwill left to extend to other people. And frankly, I don't think that I'm being very honest with myself in the above example either. Somehow it seems okay to equate being negative with being honest-- at least concerning yourself-- rather than really aiming for a balanced analysis. Does losing your temper occasionally or letting your kids watch TV when you need a break really make you a BAD mother? Really, Karen?

So how do you "love" yourself without becoming selfish or self-absorbed? Maybe the answer comes from that scripture: loving myself as I love my neighbor. Seeing myself as just another person, no more or less important than any others, no more or less perfect than any other bumbling human being trying to make their way through life as best they can. So the next time I have that bad day and start to rag on myself because it's noon and I haven't showered, my kids are watching TV and I'm writing a blog post instead of doing my dishes (I plead the fifth-- although I am dressed and the TV is off-- at least for the moment), I'm going to respond differently: "You're just having a hard day, Karen. You may not look like a supermodel (who does?) but you look really good-- especially for having had four kids. You totally wiped the counters today-- that counts doesn't it? You sanitize your bathrooms at least every other month. (Germs are good for kids' immune systems, right?)  And a kid like Jackson could put any person in the loony bin!" (Hmmmm, I may need some practice at this....)

Let's try this again: "Karen, you are a good mom. You are not a perfect mom and probably never will be, but you are good enough. You love your kids, spend time with them and do your best. You look just fine. Your house is just fine. It isn't perfectly clean but it is clean enough. You are doing what matters -- not perfectly-- but well enough. So give yourself a break. You know, you are trying your best and that's all we can do. You don't need to be perfect. Just don't give up!"

What's Your Mommy Stereotype?

Recently I have had a lot on my mind, not much of which has made it to my blog. My blog has been mostly relegated to "travel catch-up" and hasn't really been a sounding board for my thoughts recently.

For a while now, I have been mentally wrestling with the idea of what it means to be a good person, specifically what it means to be a good mother. It's easy to feel pressure to conform to some of the mommy stereotypes out there, regardless of which school of thought you subscribe to, and believe me, there are lots to choose from:

• Susie Homemaker (An oldie but goodie--"Do YOU make your own bread?")
• Working Mom Who Has and Does it All (Another classic)
• Completely-Organized-and-Together-and-Always-Prompt-With-a-Perfectly-Clean-House Mom ("I'm SO embarrassed that you dropped by and there's a single toy in my entryway!")
• Super-Involved Soccer-Mom/School Room-Mother who Volunteers for Every School Event
• Baby-Wearing Attachment-Parenting Creative Home-Schooling Mommy ("I-wear-my-child-in-a-sling-on-my-hip-until-they-are-three-so-they-will-grow-up-to-be-more-well-adjusted-than-yours")
• Spiritual Mommy (The one whose seven children sit completely reverently with perfectly combed hair and arms quietly folded at church each Sunday-- whose children LOVE their daily family devotional/scripture time.)
• Urban Hip Mommy (Looks effortlessly cool as she pushes her designer stroller, sips her Starbucks skinny steamer and fiddles with her iphone while her kids--dressed to the nines in Baby Gap--play at the Children's Museum.)
• The Hot Momma (A perfect size 4 with flat abs that look like they've never been acquainted with maternity clothes. Wakes up with her make-up done and hair styled. LOVES the gym.)
• Pillar of the Community Mom (Makes dinner for anyone who has a baby, president of the women's organization at church, serves on the school board or PTA, first to sign up on any service project volunteer list)
• Mary Poppins Nanny Mother ("Takes them on outings, gives them treats, sings songs, brings sweets. Never is cross or cruel, never gives them castor oil or gruel...")
• Achievement/Extra-Curricular-Oriented Super-Mommy with AMAZING Children ("Ryder has been so busy preparing again for the engineering competition that he won last year that he hardly has any time left for his cello practice!")
• Enviro-Conscious Diapers-with-Cloth While Preparing Locavore Meals with Organic Produce Delivered from the Local CSA Mom (Okay, maybe that one is unique to Portland)

I am not saying that any or all of these stereotypes are bad. Most- if not all- of them have some worthy elements to them. But most of the "good mother" stereotypes have one thing in common: they are all equally unattainable for a normal woman who has normal children. I frequently fall prey to feeling like I have to fit one of these stereotypes-- perfectly, no less-- in order to be a "good" mother. Heck, if I'm being completely honest, I think I have at least wanted to be every single one of these stereotypes ALL AT ONCE (some are more out of reach for me than others...).

So back to the question at hand... what makes a good mother? Is it how smart or talented your kids are? How much you volunteer? How clean your house is? I often get stuck on these things. How do you know when "good" is "good enough"? I'm still working on the answers to all of this and when I figure it out I will let you all know-- heck, I'll publish a best-selling book and use the proceeds to hire a personal chef, get daily housecleaning, force my way onto "What Not to Wear" for a wardrobe makeover and spend a couple of months traveling to "discover myself".

But for now I've realized one thing that-- at least for me-- is true. I've been trying to "do" a good mother rather than "be" a good mother. As if somehow doing enough things or fitting a certain stereotype will suddenly make me feel like I have arrived. Motherhood is all about uncertainty. You are raising real people: they have their own free will and make their own choices. There's no way to know if you are doing the right thing or if you responded the right way or were too mean or too lenient or just right. There's no validation fairy that jumps in and says, "Great job! You were really firm in that situation and that's going to make all the difference in your child's life even though now he thinks you're the worst mom ever." Furthermore, you can't control your children or predict what life will throw at you or at them. You can only love them, teach them and do your best. And right now "doing my best" is about being: being loving, being kind, being firm, being "mean" (at least sometimes), being available, and just being there. Being a mother.

A New Record

February 2011 may go down in history as the least blog-posted month in the history of my blog. (Yes, I'm sure that the Guinness Book of World Records has a whole category devoted to most and least-posted months on "Life According to K.") I last wrote on February 1st, and now-- a full 22 days later-- I am finally writing my second post of the month. (Phew, don't wear yourself out there.) I have a list of at least eight blog posts that I want to catch up (including writing about the last few days of my Europe trip-- after all, it was only four months ago).

So the big question is, do I start writing again and catch up? Or do I go for the record? (And the glory?) ;)

My Jedi Book-Saber

This January I finally opened the Snuggie that Dave bought me for Christmas-- in 2009. Yes, I'm embarrassed to admit that I waited over a year to take one of my Christmas presents out of the box. (Don't worry, it wasn't my "big" present-- I don't have that many issues with being cold.) I'm wasn't sure why Dave bought me a Snuggie. He said he got it at the last minute because it was a really great deal-- so maybe I'm not the only impulse shopper in the family. :) It probably was actually inspired by our frequent temperature disagreement issues. Dave wore shorts and a T-shirt while hiking through the snowy Alps in high school and has lived through two Siberian winters. I, on the other hand, can feel a light California breeze blow by and insist that I need a jacket so I won't die. So maybe the Snuggie was a smart idea after all.

Regardless of the smartness of the idea, the Snuggie box got put in my office and instantly disappeared in the piles of papers and random junk to be sorted. When it finally surfaced months later it was summer and the urgent need for a blanket with sleeves was somewhat less pressing. But now it is winter again and I finally decided to give it a try. My Snuggie is a nice camel color, so not only does it warm me up and keep my hands free, it gives me the appearance of a cozy-warm Jedi knight.

However, I didn't realize that there was another fantastic surprise waiting for me inside the box. When I opened it, I found that the Snuggie included a free gift: a booklight. And not just any booklight-- a booklight that dramatically unfolds with the press of a button, one that smolders with the eerie blue glow of a lightsaber. Seriously! Coolest. Christmas. Present. Ever!!

A Mishap

Today we had a rough afternoon. The kids had no school today so everyone was home and in each other's hair all day. Jackson woke up way too early this morning, so by about 4 p.m. every single thing that happened to him was a tragedy of inestimable proportions. Jared seemed to take particular delight in finding "innocent" ways to set him off. After many vain attempts to distract Jackson, get milk down him or otherwise limit the screaming, I pulled out the big guns: we made cookies. In almost no time Jackson was happily eating Peanut Butter Oatmeal Chocolate-Chip Cookie dough while Jared scooped cookies onto the baking sheet.

By 5:35 p.m. peace was finally restored in our house and we had put the first tray of cookies in the oven. We we were waiting for it to bake when the phone rang. It was the mother of Jared's friend on his basketball team, the one that I pick up for practice which-- oh crap! There is practice today and it started at 5:30 and I completely spaced it. I yelled at the child who picked up the phone to tell her that we are on our way and started frantically herding children into the car. I drove as fast as I could to his house, internally kicking myself. So far I had been really reliable in our carpool. I take the boys to practice and they bring them home but I- who frequently struggle with being late-- have made a point to always pick up early and get the boys to practice on time. How could I be so stupid and blow it today?

When I reached Jared's teammate's house, he was waiting out front with his mother. She said, "Can we switch who drops off and who picks up? The boys are supposed to be to practice ten minutes early and you never get them there 10 minutes early." I was stunned. I knew they were supposed to be there 10 minutes early for the first practice of the season, but I assumed for the rest of the practices that there were just supposed to be there at the appointed time. Was the building even open earlier than the time practice started? On one of the days it definitely wasn't and often I usually wait in the parking lot until the person who has the key to the building arrives. I started to reply something about how picking the boys up wouldn't work very well for me and she interrupted and said, "You know what, I'm just going to take him myself. This carpool isn't really working out and I need to make sure he gets there on time," and then she got in her car.

Maybe it was just a bad day for me already, but I drove Jared to practice almost in tears. I felt completely humiliated. If she was so upset about them not arriving ten minutes early to practice each time then why had she not called me and told me as much? It's not like I couldn't have left earlier if I had known that was important to her. I guess I just foolishly assumed that getting them to practice on time was "on time." I recognize that she had every right to be angry with me for forgetting about practice today but the fact that she had actually been upset with me all along for not getting the boys to practice ten minutes early just threw me for a loop.

I think part of why it upset me so much is that I frequently fall into deriving my self-esteem from being "competent and capable." So the thought that some person out there would think that I am anything less than competent and capable is humiliating to me. But even more, I have this picture in my head that people who aren't familiar with Mormon mommy-hood must look at me like I'm a crazy woman from a different planet. I picture them looking at me and thinking, "What is her problem? She is, like, 31 and has four kids. Doesn't she know about birth control? She drives a dumpy car filled with children dressed however they chose to dress themselves with their hair still sticking in multiple directions from when they woke up this morning. She is always late, her house is a mess and her life is complete chaos. If you can't do simple, adult things-- like, say, picking someone up and arriving on time where you need to be-- then maybe you shouldn't have had so many kids in the first place. Maybe then your life would be a little more manageable." (I have a really bad habit of inserting hypothetical words into people's mouths and hypothetical thoughts into their heads.)

I guess I still struggle with feeling like I have to justify myself somehow. Like I need to jump up and wave my hands and say, "Wait a minute!! Actually, I'm not a total incompetent. I have a Master's degree and once had a lucrative job in technical writing and business process analysis (back in what seems like a former life). I have the life I do because I love and value family and I chose this-- not because I accidentally got pregnant and kept repeating the accident. I know I look like a nothing, but there's a lot of brain and talent and a person worth knowing hiding behind these 'mom jeans' and vomit-stained shirt."

So what is it about our culture that makes mommy-hood feel like being a nothing? What is it that makes me feel like being a stay-at-home mom is something that I need to apologize for? Or that the only way I can justify being a stay-at-home mom is if I am a perfect, always prompt, perfectly groomed, tidy-house mom? I know this is my own issue and I just need to come to terms with it myself. I need to be able to say, "I know that I am a person that is worth knowing, even if I'm late sometimes or forget things or have baby boogers on my shirt sleeve. My job is a tough job and deserves respect."

So, yes, this is about me and not about the carpool. I'm doing my best. God knows that and hopefully that's enough.

Some Days

• You cook a nice main dish but run out of energy before you can make a vegetable. 
• Jackson screeches, "I want milk. I want milk! I want milk!!!" like a broken record during the first half of dinner, despite your calm assurances that you will get him his milk cup as soon as he starts eating his other food. (No an all-milk diet is not a great option, Jackson.)
• Your keys that have the mail key on them are still missing after two days. Gosh, could it be from one of the umpteen times my purse has been dumped?
• Just as you're cleaning up from dinner Addy starts projectile barfing all over the couch.
• You get Addy bathed, cleaned up and in fresh pajamas only to have her barf again, this time all over the carpet, the floor and her pajamas. (How did she have anything left? The first barf was pretty big by itself...)
• You lose it and yell "NOOOO!!!" out loud at the sight of the second barf.
• Your nine-year-old takes pity on you and asks, "Do you need some help, mom?" (Yes. Some serious mental help.)
• Your nine-year-old helps clean up the barf on the floor and then makes a sign that says: "Caution! Wet floor! Thank you! Not: Barf. Is: Cleaned/Wiped up barf"

My New Best Friend

Yes, I have a new best friend. He isn't much to look at, but he is (thanks to our DVR) always there when I need him. Maybe it falls better under the category of "Tranquilizers that are Legal for a Three-Year-Old." No matter.

Dear George,

For your contribution to my mental health and sanity I will be eternally grateful. Hopefully I haven't killed too many of Jackson's brain cells in the process. (It's educational TV, right?)

Love,

Me

London: Day 3

From my email to Dave on Day 3:

Today we slept in-- I had a hard time getting to sleep last night. This morning I grabbed a yogurt for breakfast (an amazing creamy Greek yogurt parfait with berries and granola, in case you were wondering) and then we went to the British Museum. It was AWESOME. Seriously, like a walk-through version of world history. Greek Sculpture, the Rosetta stone, artifacts from Egypt, mummies, carvings from Assyria, the entire library of King George, rooms full of Asian ceramics, a two-thousand year old dead guy that was preserved in a bog (Ranell's favorite thing), a 2000 year old gold cape, the earliest known artistic likeness of Christ, and more and more and more and more. We could have spent days there.

 

The Rosetta Stone.

The oldest-known artistic rendering of Christ.

Me in front of the British Museum.

Ranell in front of Lindow Man: the 2000-year-old dead guy.

Ranell in the Tottenham Court Road Tube Station.

Riding the tube.

Navigating through the tube station.

Microscopic me in front of St. Paul's Cathedral.

But instead we ran to the tube station, grabbed a wrap and a yogurt with lemon curd (I LOVE British yogurt! And with Lemon Curd!), went to St. Paul's Cathedral and spent the afternoon wandering around Sir Christopher Wren's masterpiece. Then we looked through the crypt (graves of John Donne, Lord Nelson, etc.) and stayed for a choral evensong performance. Then we walked down Old London and went to dinner at "Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese"-- a pub that was "rebuilt" in 1667 after it burned down in the great London fire. It was frequented by Samuel Johnson (writer of the first English dictionary) and Charles Dickens. It is even mentioned in "A Tale of Two Cities". We sat in the restaurant part of the pub in a corner where two wall benches met. I sat underneath a plaque that marked "This was the favorite seat of Charles Dickens" and Ranell sat in a seat that was frequented by Samuel Johnson, beneath a big portrait and plaque. I got Yorkshire Pudding with Roast Beef, Ranell got fish and chips and we got traditional Sticky Toffee Pudding for dessert. Then we kept walking along the strand and went in the Twinings Tea Shop (open since 1796). Inspired by our Ritz outing, I bought two boxes of herbal tea. By then we realized we would not be able to get to our show on time via bus so I waved wildly for a cab and we got to the theater and got seated with about 1 minute to spare. But in my haste, I left my tea in the taxi.... :(

The dome of St. Paul's.

The fantastic interior of St. Paul's cathedral.

In front of "Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese"-- circa 1667 "olde".

Yours Truly in "The seat most frequently occupied by Charles Dickens"!!!

Ranell in "The Favourite Seat of Samuel Johnson," writer of the first English dictionary.

The much-loved and much-worn interior of "Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese."

Ranell wandering around "The City": the old part of London.

The original Twinings tea shop.

We completed our evening with  "The Mousetrap," an Agatha Christie, thriller. It was great. It's been running for about 58 years-- Ranell's mom saw it in London when she was a teenager. Then we walked around Leicester Square (where there was a carnival) and took a picture at Piccadilly Circus- the London equivalent of Times Square. It's called circus because that's the Latin word for circle and there is a giant traffic circle. (Who knew?) We walked past a sign advertising "the greatest love story ever continues...". It was advertising "Love Never Dies", the sequel to "Phantom of the Opera." Now if ever there was a show that didn't need a sequel, that was it. And the greatest love story? Seriously? The greatest stalker story maybe.... What's so romantic about having a psycho stalker that wants to kill your fiance? Anyway, then we took the tube back home and I stopped here at the internet cafe to write to you. :)

Ranell outside of "The Mousetrap."

Me, attempting to look "mouse-trappy" and looking just plain scary. :)

Another microscopic me (look for the brown jacket) under The Mousetrap sign.

It's sad, but London -like any big city- does have a grittier side. I don't know if I've ever inhaled so much cigarette smoke as I did walking between Leicester Square and Piccadilly. And alcohol EVERYWHERE, especially after dark. Did I mention that I truly felt sorry for the mobs of short-skirted girls waiting in the freezing cold to get into nightclubs? Sheesh, you could at least wear a coat with your halter top in 42 degrees. Right in the middle of Piccadilly they have obviously plastic-surg-itized girls in warm-ups embroidered with the logo of whatever "gentlemen's" club they represent handing out fliers. And here in this internet cafe the guy behind me was checking out all of the "London Escort" sites. In a public cafe! Do people have no shame? You'd think people would at least attempt to hide their desperation.... (Or maybe it's just the sheltered Mormon girl in me that would assume that....)

Crowds watching the street performers at Picadilly Circus at night.

From "Lindow Man" to "Limbo Man" all in one day!

Me with an iconic red telly booth.

Mugging in front of the giant signs at Picadilly Circus.

It struck me again as we went through the British museum and saw all the elaborate tombs and again at St. Peter's with it's elaborate memorials and crypt how many people and cultures have been obsessed with immortality: trying to find a way to at least be remembered after you die. But even people who were "world-famous," celebrities or rulers of the world still end up in a tomb, just like everyone else. And maybe a few people who are well-versed in history know who they are and what they did to get an elaborate tomb or a burial at St. Paul's, but more often than not people don't know or care. I guess it just kind of drives home to me again the futility of living for "glory," appearances or what other people think of you. All the money in the world or fame can build you a ginormous tomb or notoriety, but you're still dead and eventually forgotten. And if you weren't happy or didn't do what you set out to do with your life, does it really matter if everyone knew who you were?

The other thing that's been interesting is how bloody and awful so much of England's history is (i.e. the entire Tower of London history). And even the church too, for that matter (i.e. burning Tyndale's bible... right there on the "history of the Anglican church" wall at St. Paul's). And the whole class system thing. For all of America's quirks and Britain's impressive culture, history, and accomplishments, it came with an ugly cost. America has some pretty great features, for all of our lack of beautiful cathedrals everywhere. Although I suppose our history has its fair share of a darker side too.

Well, I had better go and at least try to call you in person. I wish you could be here! It would be awesome to be "bashing around London" with you.

Weight a Bit

Yes, it's that time of year again. Thanksgiving and Christmas are over. Feasts have been eaten, treats devoured. Stores are filling prime shelf space with organization materials, exercise paraphernalia and weight-loss "solutions." It's time for my annual post-holiday "Let's Pull Out the Weight Watchers Points and Agonize About All the Post-Baby Weight That I Haven't Lost Yet"-Fest!

I'm in the process of making a calendar for my mother and mother-in-law for Christmas. (What's that I hear you say? I'm really early this year? Okay, fine. I know that Christmas was a week ago and I'm late. I had a few things going on this December, okay? Sheesh. At least I'm still doing it....) This entails hours and hours of sorting through the year's photos, picking out the best ones, cropping them and trying to squeeze as many good ones as possible into an 8 1/2 x 11 inch space. (Luckily the job is much easier now with online photo and calendar places. I used to print them by hand and take them to Kinko's to get bound....)

Dec. 2004

But I digress... for the past few days I have been sorting through all of the photos for the year and I inevitably come across a couple of me here or there. I have a picture in my mind of how I look and it seems to frequently get stuck somewhere between junior year of college and three years after I had Camryn (both times when I was quite a bit skinnier than I am now). It is always frustrating to look at photos and realize that how I envision myself looking and I how I look in real life aren't the same- to realize that after yet another year of wanting to be skinnier, I spent another year at exactly the same weight. I had hinged all of my secret hopes on the prospect that as soon as I quit nursing Addy in October, the post-baby weight (or nursing weight, or whatever excuse under which you would like to catalog it) would suddenly evaporate, but those hopes somehow haven't instantly materialized.

I'm not writing this post to look for possible weight-loss plans or to fish for sympathy ("But Karen, you really look just fine!"). I know I look just fine right now. But I can't help but thinking that I would just look a teensy bit (okay, fine, a lot) "finer" if I got rid of the 10 lbs from Jackson and the 10 lbs. from Adelyn. (And another 10 lbs. besides that would be great, too.) I lost 40 pounds after I had Camryn. I proved that I could do it at least once. I found out that losing weight is fairly simple --and extremely hard: eat less, exercise more (and maybe throw in "eat more healthy" just to round it out). I know what I need to do. But I don't know if I am really ready to do it right now.

Dec. 2010

The irony of having kids is that the very thing that makes you to gain the weight in the first place is the same thing that makes it so tricky to lose it after. Somehow, there are a just few more demands on your time after you have a baby. Not that that makes it okay, it just it makes it easier to slack. I recognize that everyone has the exact same 24 hours in a day. I have the exact same number of hours as that skinny girl whose figure I envy. And if losing weight was a real (versus imagined) priority, I would somehow carve out the time, mental focus and emotional energy to change my eating and exercise appropriately. And I really believe that at some point I will do that. But right now there are enough other things and issues floating around in my life (of which four kids are the least...) that, if I'm being honest, now is not the time that I am going to make weight-loss my major focus.

And I'm okay with that. Well, mostly. So this New Year's I have a different resolution. Before I lost all the weight after I had Camryn, I really believed that if I could ever, possibly, maybe, be skinny again, THEN I would love my body. The funny thing was, even when I was that skinny (and it really was quite slim, as you can see from the above picture), even though I knew in my mind that I was skinny, I still didn't "love" my body. I still focused on the parts of my body that were less-than-perfect and felt that if I lost a few more pounds (or could "add a bit" here, or "get rid of a bit" there), THEN I would really love my body and feel like I was beautiful. It's just a slippery slope. So this year, my resolution for New Year's is to love my body and feel that it is beautiful RIGHT NOW. This doesn't mean that I have to be in denial of the fact that I could afford to lose a few pounds. But it does mean that I will see my body-- imperfect figure, extra pounds and all-- as a beautiful creation of God.

And if someday I get around to losing the weight that will be great. I will feel better and be more healthy. But it won't obsess about losing it because I believe it will somehow "fix" me and make me okay or complete. I will choose to see the good and beautiful in me instead of focusing on the faults or imperfections. (Hmmmm.... maybe losing the weight would be easier.) :)