If You Had A C-Section, You Don't REALLY Love Your Baby : What I Learned From the Documentary The Business of Being Born

Hey, now I remembered what I wanted to write.

Hi.

I have had 3 C-sections. My mom had two; her mom popped out 10 the old fashioned way. I love the birth process, I love babies, I love documentaries ... put this all together, stir in some Rickie Lake and lots of boobs and moaning and poof, something I would watch.

The main premise was that home births are safe and natural, that women's bodies are MADE to give birth, we are strong enough to endure the pain and the glorious joy and pride you feel when that baby is put in your arms is euphoric (one woman said orgasmic, I say euphoric).

There were several interesting statistics you can look up, I don't feel like it. For example, the US has the highest infant birth mortality rate of any other industrialized country. I think it said we have the highest number of C-sections performed in the world and the lowest home births. All that correlates to show that maybe hospitals aren't the safest way to go. For like 98% of us girls.

However, there are a few of us, like my mom and I and the director of the documentary, who have complications. With my first, I was a week past my due date, no dilation, cervix like a rock. I went in to be induced and have my membranes stripped, a few hours later, my water broke, we drove to the hospital ... and nothing. 7 hours later they start Pitocin (a synthetic form of oxytocin, which the brain releases to get things rolling in your uterus). OH MY HEAVEN, THERE WAS PAIN. I was all, I think I will try to have a drug-free natural birth. I wanted to experience the pain and be the Earth Mother bringing forth life, fulfilling my purpose. But good gravy, when I started vomited due to the extreme pain, well, that was enough. I wasn't all, Epidural please, but I did ask for pain meds and they did not hustle.

It turned out my first child was breech. C-section ahoy. It was a little scary, but really not bad at all. In fact, I recovered very well. It was not anywhere near as bad as I thought it would be, and no episiotomy, so that was nice.

Now, I fully agree with the philosophy of the film - I do think our culture has made doctors into the hero of the birth and taken the power away from women. They say, "Oh, the baby might be in danger" and you do whatever they say - cut me wide open, doc, just make my baby be okay.

Deep down, I think doctors and nurses are getting a little lazy about the whole thing. Thinking the point is a healthy baby and the journey a women takes through pregnancy and giving birth is less important. The screaming, the moaning ... it's just stupid waste of time and annoying. Get your effing epidural and push the thing out already. I disagree. I think the whole mix of agony and bliss is a very valuable learning opportunity.

But, when you get right down to it, it is about getting a healthy baby.

Greg says he thinks he is done having kids. I'm hoping for one or two more ... I really do like my kids, I like being a mom. The movie said, and my doctor said after Sagan came out, that each successive c-section has an increased chance of complications. Complications like hemorrhaging and rupturing and dying and leaving my poor husband with no mother for the amazing kids we have made and abandoning my kids. The thought of leaving my children motherless kills me.

The one thing that bugged me is the movie made it seem like women who do have C-section are less. Some hairy faced man said when an animal has a c-section, like in the zoo, the mother has no interest in taking care of the baby. They made it seem like if you don't partake of the pain induced hormone cocktail, you don't properly bond, and there fore don't love your baby like that sweaty mess of a woman who groaned her way through excruciating ripping, pushing, ecstasy.

Pshaw, I say to that. While I do think the birthing process is important, it is over in a day. And after that day, no matter how things went down, it is just the beginning of this wild and crazy insanely hard road called motherhood.

So.

Stupid man, thinks I don't love my kids. I freaking show him ... stupid stupid guy ... arg...

Feel free to share you favorite birthing experience and how much you love you kids in my illustrious comment box.

Also, I was considering including my very own C-section at the hospital video, but my husband said "NO!" so ... but it was WAY WAY WAY cool to see my guts get all cut open and a child brought forth out of the carnage. Way Cool.

If You Do Laundry, Wash Dishes, Make Homemade Bread, and Have a Pot Roast Cooking You Get To Post Another Blog Post While Your Husband Kills Zombies

My title was to long. In it's entirety it should say:

If You Do Laundry, Wash Dishes, Make Homemade Bread, and Have a Pot Roast Cooking You Get To Post Another Blog Post While Your Husband Kills Zombies IN FRONT OF THE KIDS!



Drat, now I forgot what I was going to write about.

Not the phallic looking snow monument Canon and I made today. Humorous, but that's not it.


Not the fact that my husband seems to be regressing into a pre-adult state, a second adolescence full of half-assed helping me clean, belligerent back talking to my nagging, whiny, unshowering, and exposing the children to zombie violence. Deserving of a rant, but there was something else.

It's not quite time for the end of the year look back on all the crap I went through. Couple more days.

Curses .. I worked so hard on the title I forgot my post.

Toilets and Crack

Something mysterious happened here yesterday between 9:01 am and 12:17 pm. I'm not sure how it happened, I have my theories, all irrelevant to the fact that my beloved toilet, whom I refer to as Eilene when I clean her, tank cracked. It cracked all down the right side (my right, the toilet's left, I think) and as water gushed out to the floor, the valvey pump thing kept pumping more water in, futilely trying to reach that happy full water level status as it continuously gushed out the side crack. For quite a while.

When I got home from church, I ran upstairs to change. There was about 3/4 of an inch if water covering the bathroom floor and seeping into the bedroom carpet.

I yelled to my husband.

"GREG HELP, THERE IS AN EMERGENCY UP HERE! THE TOILET IS FLOODING OR SOMETHING. I'M SERIOUS HERE! GRRRREEEGGGGGG!!!!!"

"Turn off the valve."

"There's a valve?"

"Right there, see?"

"Which way? Uh .. lefty loosey, righty tighty? So ... left? Which way is left?"

"Not left, off, turn it off."

"What? YOU DO IT!"

So he did. Grab all the towels and soak them in E.coli. Lovely. Just. Oh and it gets better, Home teachers coming right after church, house a ginormous mess, Canon poopy.

Good Gravy, what would I have done as a single woman in this? Called 911 probably.

"911, what's your emergency?" then repeat the above conversation, but no one is there to do it for me.

SO, my friends, there is a little turny knob thing that comes from the wall and attaches to the toilet. If you need to stop the flow of water to the toilet turn that thing COUNTER CLOCK WISE. I think. If that doesn't work, try the other way. Or call a guy. Even if they don't know how to fix it, they will take responsibility and act like they can take care of everything.

We called a few places to see about a replacement tank ... money money money ... but then the floor is really warped ... and we've been wanted to redo the bathroom ... we went to our insurance agent and put in a claim. She said, with toilet accidents, they like to replace everything the water touched ... $500 deductible, but ... if we can get new floors in the bathroom, maybe even the bedroom and a toilet for $500 ... that would make these 3 years of paying insurance and the 11 previous years of paying our car insurance and only making 2 claims (windshield and moon roof) almost worth while. I still think they come out ahead ... and they'll probably raise our rates, huh. Well, that's what they are there for.

Wait, so DID you want to see my Christmas pictures? Because I could show you...

An Egg Sloth Family Christmas

Someone, who shall remain nameless, but whose name rhymes with Egg Sloth, helped Crichton set his Batman alarm clock to 6am the night of Christmas Eve.

Santa left a glorious bounty to all the believers (which means I got nothing from the fat old something-something).

As tradition goes, the finder of the Christmas Pickle gets to play Santa. Crichton found it, but after handing out 5 presents, got tired of it, so Greg helped. The rest of us sit and watch our piles grow. Then we take turns, youngest to oldest, watching each other open presents. That's a tradition from Greg's family - so you get to see what people got and hear them say "THANK-YOU Grandma, I've wanted this my whole life!" I, however, was raised by wolves - we would all dig in simultaneously, grab presents with our names, rip them open, and scavenge for another. This new way seems more civilized. Also, it makes you want to buy less stuff for everyone so you can go back to bed faster.

OK, lets get this over with.

Santa brought Sagan a now much loved booster seat thing and she received a pink pig, Build-A-Beared by her brothers. Squeeze it and it says "I love you Sagan, I love you Sagan," in her brothers' recorded voices. She thinks it is delicious (she is so not Jewish). Also much cute pink clothes.


Canon was quite excited by to get ROCKET and the Little Einsteins. For some reason, Santa thought he would like a bunch of play dough and toys for play dough. Santa has since decided that almost 3 is not quite old enough for so much play dough and wishes everyday for hard wood floors.




Crichton's presents almost tripled Santa's budget for him, but only because Santa decided Crichton was the only child likely to remember this Christmas and so fervently believes in Santa that Santa was afraid to disappoint Crichton.


Besides the Indiana Jones stuff, video games, remote control car, videos ...
Crichton also got very sick ... like throw up a tummy full of Sprite sick. On my carpet. Good Gravy how I ... I mean Santa wishes I had non-carpeted floors.

He got better.

Other Christmas day fun included watching all the Back To The Futures (Great Scott those are still good movies) some weird thing call "The 5,000 Keys of Mr. T" or something, some Twilight Zone, March of the Penguins, and muchness of bathrobes and PJ's all day.

And, glory be, Greg will be home with us clear until January 5th. God help us all.

My Sweet Little Post Master

"Neither rain nor hail nor sleet nor snow nor heat of day nor dark of night shall keep this carrier from the swift completion of his appointed rounds."

But a lot of snow and the way the city plow the streets is a huge pain in the butt.

When I started this blog post idea, I was all upset that the the post office had left me a note telling me to take care of the snow in front of my mail box or I wasn't getting any ... mail that is. I had glanced at the letter:


But mostly just looked at the pictures:



"Whatever, post office," thought I, "you can't not deliver my mail! It's my constitutional RIGHT! What about your whole Code of Mailman Honor?"

"Neither rain nor hail nor sleet nor snow nor heat of day nor dark of night shall keep this carrier from the swift completion of his appointed rounds." (Herodotus, 500 B.C.)

You are supposed to be like this guy.

But then I learned this (I'm experimenting with attributing quotes as opposed to my usual blatant plagiarism):

As might be suspected, the attribution is "Herodotus, 500 B.C." Now I'm probably not the only non-American who grew up thinking this to be the motto of my own ... postal service, but I have long wondered about the attribution of this to Herodotus. Godley's translation (of 8.98) at Perseus has it thus:

It is said that as many days as there are in the whole journey, so many are the men and horses that stand along the road, each horse and man at the interval of a day's journey. These are stopped neither by snow nor rain nor heat nor darkness from accomplishing their appointed course with all speed.

A little ferreting, however, provides a reasonable answer. In the January 1997 issue of Harvard Magazine, we read that a certain William Kendall -- who was charged with the task in 1876 of finding an appropriate inscription for the frieze of the soon-to-be New York Post Office -- was dissatisfied with the 'official' translations of the passage from Herodotus. He approached some unnamed former professor from Harvard who came close, but in the end, Kendall came up with his own, which is what we have today.

(With apologies to Paul Harvey) now you know the rest of the story. Perhaps it wasn't as much a mystery to our American friends as it was to me ... if nothing else, at least there's a correct citation of the section of Herodotus which inspired the motto. (http://www.atrium-media.com/rogueclassicism/2003/09/07.html)

So, the whole dark of night thing, it's not the Post Office's Code of Honor, it's some old Greek mailman guy's dramatic altruistic idea ... like Hippocrates and his doctors can't Kevorkian you. Wow, have you ever noticed how noble the ancient Greeks were? Really, go do the right thing, all Dr. Laura they were. Rumor has it there was a bit of Catholic priest type stuff going on there, too, though ... so where was I??

Plus did you READ that letter? I have never read anything SO polite and helpful and cordial in my life! They must have spent hours and countless revisions making it SO perfectly exquisitely unoffensive. I mean, holy cow, if the IRS asked me to pay my taxes like this USPS postmaster asked me to remove the snow ... actually, I didn't remove the snow yet, but i will ... or rather, I'll tell my husband to. Because that's boy work.

Ok, that's all ... I like chocolate. And Excedrin. Did I tell you Greg is making us throw out all the candy after tomorrow? Can't let truffles and cherry cordials go to waste, can I .... aaahahahahahhhahahhahhaahhahhhaahahhaahhahaah.

Bye.

Oh, and if it is snowy where you live, help your kind and noble postal carrier and clear out the mail box! Ok? As a favor for me.

Angelina Jolie is His Ewan McGregor and a Merry Christmas Was Had By All

You know how it is, your husband rented five videos, 2 happen to feature Angelina Jolie, in one form or another. The kids are in bed, crashing from the all-sugar all the time diet, you're watching the non-animated, crappy Angelina Jolie movie (Wanted, to be specific), her bum is flashed ... you look over and see him LOOKING.

Then it hits you: perhaps Angelina is his Ewan McGregor. That one movie star for whom you say your morals may be bendable. Ewan is hot; his cute accent, his voice, that bump on forehead, how he makes every movie he's in a decent watchable movie (like that Michael Bay movie, The Island, in which Ewan did NOT wear a bathing suit, leaving me somewhat disappointed), even Star Wars, his scenes, I can bear to watch.

So maybe I need to dye my hair a lovely darker brown, grow it long, learn to shot a gun and climb a rope and do the smokey thing with eye make-up. Anything's better than thinking your husband wishes you were blond (unless you are blond). Senseless, I am.

*****

Yeah Christmas! I got the perfect gift for Canon - Pat Pat Rocket! It has all four little Einsteins and they fit in rocket and rocket is awesome. A+ toy! Cri got the Indiana Jones Lego set - you put it together once, it is amazing, then it slowly is dismanteled into thousands of pieces which can be infinately reassembled for endless fun (and choaking hazards). I failed Greg ... sorry babe, have fun killing Zombies. BUT, for the first time ever, we did not do credit cards. It was a cash only Christmas. It's our fault the economy is in the gutter.

Greg got me art ... beautiful impresionism bridge night picture that I can't find the name or artist of no matter how hard I Google.

Time to recover from Hurricane Christmas and eat all the candy ... Greg says Monday we return to our faithful P90X routines and all leftover candy will be thrown out (which means I will have to hide a stash of truffels somewhere). Good news, I got a gift card, bought new pants .. I am one size away from single digits. One. Go Brandy, Ab Ripper - I hate it, but I love it.

A Post Wherein Brandy is Hopped Up On Coke and Reindeer Food and May Swear

It's bloody 12:50,Tuesday, my husband is just getting in the shower (I got mine at like 9:00). The house is a mess, the dishes are a mountain, the laundry is a mountain range over 3 different rooms. I have eaten nothing good, mostly rice cereal coated with peanut butter and chocolate and power sugar. The keys on the right side of this key board are also coated with peanut butter, chocolate, and powder sugar.

Crichton wrote a letter to Santa and put it in the mail box with no stamp, just "Santa Claus, North Pole." A few days later he wrote back. Like really wrote back. Like someone took the letter, read it, and responded specifically to my kid's request (a bell from Santa's sleigh or Indiana Jones Lego set). Crichton has continued with is Santa correspondence, writing the letters and responding to them himself. He wrote to tell Santa he was being good. This is what "Santa" write back:
What is with my wacky kid?



And Sagan got a beautiful dress for Christmas, which she got to wear on Sunday.



Ok, I'm sorry, but I can not type and string thoughts together at this point. I'm gonna run some of this energy off, there is laundry to fold.

Dammsit, i think it is the Christmas music .. i can't take it ..

My Imaginary Friend

I have an imaginary friend (well, actually I hate her more than anything in the world because she does it all and looks great, too). Here's what she's like:

1. Keeps a clean house. I'm not talking things picked up and vacuumed - I'm taking the back of the fridge, under the stove, couch cushions, closets, behind the toilets, garbage cans inside and out, pantry, under the kids bed, behind the TV, dishes - always done, laundry room, cat box, the crevices in the windows, floors, made beds, spotless mirrors, stove top catch trays, garage, and van. Every drawer, every shelf, every niche. A clean house.

2. Teaches her kids. Spend most of their waking hours on the floor. Sit down and read books everyday. And plays educational games. Art time, science time, geography time, all structured, all fun, TV time is always together, but only 1 hour a day.

3. Cooks delicious healthful meals. No box of mac and cheese, no can of ravioli, no hot dogs. No McDonald's or delicious KFC. Lots of fruits and veggies, lots of lean protein, whole wheat, whole grain, wholesome. No chips or cakes or cookies bought from the store. No greasy sauces. Weekly planned meals. Cooked with love.

4. Stands up and serves her family their meals, like in days of old. While wearing heels, a pearl necklace, a cute apron, and a set of silicon oven mitts. She fills their plates, cuts their meat, jumps up for 2nds, even if she hasn't yet sat down herself.

5. Efficient laundry. No mountains of dirty, mouldering, heaps. She washes, drys, folds and puts away. No hefting the piles from the floor to the bed to the couch ... no piles. AND she irons not just Sunday clothes, but everything, even the baby's onsies. The hangers all face the same way. she doesn't have clothes that are too small or in need of repair. And she uses the pioneer motto - Fix it up, wear it out, make do, or do without. Sox are matched, underwear folded.

6. Looks sexy. Lovely hair, perfect touch of make-up, nylons without runs, bras that do the job, perfectly clear complexion, home-pedicured feet, non-chewed nails, not spelling of spit-up or poo. Perfectly shaved everywhere. Every. Where.

7. Model home decor. Model. No big blank walls; Vinyl Word art, framed children's art, gorgeous family portraits, big live green plants.

Anyway .. enough procrastinating cleaning out the fridge and un/reloading the dishwasher ... Maybe if I try a little harder, I can be more like her.

The Best Laid Plans

I tried so hard today, to get thing ready, to be on time and in control for church. My mom and husband are in the ward choir and had an early practice. They were gone by 8:15, but the kids were fed and dressed and even I was ready to go, we just had to kill 30 minutes.

At 8:45, I had the car warmed up and everyone in coats and shoes.

At 8:47 I put Sagan's car seat in the back seat and looked up to see Canon running toward the corner.

At 8:55 I was two blocks away from my house, running through snow covered sidewalks in high heels, up hill, after my almost 3 year old, spewing luke warm profanities and threatening bodily harm.

At 8:56 I was wiping snow off my butt.

At 8:57 I was spanking my runaway as I carried him 2 blocks back to the car. Snow. Heels.

When I got back in the car it was 9:04.

Late for church.

It's All Right Here

Inspired by a poem - a few days ago, Crichton was helping me get us all ready to go somewhere. I asked him to hand me his little brother's shoe. He looked around and said he couldn't find it. I looked up at him and said, "You've got it in your hand." He looked at his hand and smiled, laughing at himself, and gave it to me.

I think we do have everything we need already in our hands. We think we have to go and find and get whatever to complete us or make us happy, but maybe we are wrong about that. Maybe you could save a lot of time and energy by looking in your two little hands.

I'm going to try to pretend that I really do believe everything is going to be fine. You should, too.

How To Turn Your Christmas Tree Into A Fire Hazard

Greg is big on having a live Christmas tree, but not so big on remembering the knowledge concerning how to keep your tree alive.

My excuse - we NEVER had a live tree in my family. We used the same scraggly pathetic artificial tree every year of my childhood.

The first time my husband and I got a live tree, it was from a woman with two different colored eyes. She seemed to have mystical knowledge for how to "do" Christmas trees. Here's what she told us to do to keep our tree beautiful for as long as possible:

1. Let the tree warm up and dry off in the garage.

2. Cut of a couple of inches off the bottom of the tree, like you would with fresh flowers, so it can soak up water.

3. Pour 2 litters of 7-Up and dissolve 2 Aspirin in the tree stump holder. The 7-up has acid to help break up the scab-like sap at the cut sight plus the sugary glucose and water keep the sap flowing and the Aspirin will thin the sap so it flows longer.

4. Never let the tree water go dry.

5. Keep the tree away from hot air vents.

Here's what we did this year:

1. Bought a tree from a lot seemingly run by "Lost Boys." They were polite, wore scarves, wished us a Merry Christmas, helped tie the tree on the van, gave my kids candy canes ... but there were no grown-ups on the premises, as far as I could tell - a couple of kids, 12ish, took care of us from start to finish.

2. Forgot to cut the end off for 2 or 3 days, when we realized the tree wasn't drinking and seemed a little wilty.

3. Didn't have 7-up, poured Mrs. Butterworth's Thick And Deadly Butter Flavored Syrup into the tree water (like a blood transfusion, y'know) ... then knocked the tree water over when we tried to lift the now-decorated-but-wilting tree up to cut off the bottom. Onto my carpet. Like a gallon of syrup water.

4. Found it odd that the tree still didn't seem to be drinking.

5. Noticed pine needles falling out all over the floor.

6. Gave up and pray nightly that the tree doesn't catch fire and burn our house down.

It's just crusty now, and with 6 days to go ...

Here's the anniversary ornament, we got to switch it to "10 years Together" this year.

Here's the family in ornament form.

This year we put an angel on top. NO! Those are not flaming nipples (possible band name?) ... she's holding candles. Sheesh. Stop looking at the angel's boobies already.

The Word is: SLOW

They are angels.

What?! They are.

All made from the same batch of dough.

With the same cookie cutter.

Sugar cookies are the kids' favorite and I cannot, for the life of me, make decent sugar cookies. Not like those fluffy yummy perfect things they have at the grocery store. These are the leftovers, the rejects, for Crichton's Class Cookie Exchange (so much nicer than a present exchange - they put all the cookies on the table and each kid gets to pick a few cookies). My kid ate half of one of ours and told me he would tell his teacher he didn't want one.

"Crichton, that kind of hurts my feelings."

"It's not your fault mom, I made them, too."

But yesterday, I decided I just need to do less and do it more deliberately. Do less in the evening, but concentrate on what we do. Like the bedtime routine - we went to the dentist yesterday, me and the boys; at least they were cavity free. All the hygenist has to do is ask how many times a day I'm brushing, how often I floss ... I tell her the truth; she says nothing. But I resolve to take the time for dental hygiene. And with my ducky dental floss dispenser, why not?!

So, it was after 7, Karate lesson over, need to make cookies and take baths. Practice good dental hygeine.

The cookies are what they are. I didn't take the sprinkle shaker away when Cri started getting generous and creative. Maybe I should have, I don't know. Baths and showers were had (Cri was very excited to use his very own, mommy-hand-made bathrobe as a bathrobe). We took the time to brush, floss, rinse, and spit. I made sure all of us have a toothbrush in the kids bathroom. Scrubbing off sugar bugs will be a nightly thing. It will. I swear it.

Yes. So my theme for the rest of the year is "Slow." I will not rush or hurry. I will probably be late, but I just want ot take these last two weeks of 2008 and savor them, soak in them. I suggest you do, too.

P.S. Thank you for the Christmas cards - maybe, someday, in the future, I will be one of those who send Christmas greetings to the womderful people who have taken time and energy to make me feel loved. I appreciate you. I'll start making a list of people I owe Christmas cards too. All of you reading this certainly deserve one.

What Religion Should I Be?

Just for fun, you may want to see if you're going to the right church each week. Beliefnet can help.

Here's where I stood:

1.	Jehovah's Witness (100%)
2.	Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (Mormons) (97%)
3.	Mainline to Conservative Christian/Protestant (89%)
4.	Mainline to Liberal Christian Protestants (89%)
5.	Baha'i Faith (86%)
6.	Orthodox Judaism (84%)
7.	Hinduism (79%)
8.	Eastern Orthodox (78%)
9.	Roman Catholic (78%)
10.	Seventh Day Adventist (77%)
11.	Orthodox Quaker (77%)
12.	Jainism (71%)
13.	Sikhism (67%)
14.	Islam (65%)
15.	Liberal Quakers (63%)
16.	Mahayana Buddhism (60%)
17.	Christian Science (Church of Christ, Scientist) (60%)
18.	Unitarian Universalism (58%)
19.	Theravada Buddhism (54%)
20.	Reform Judaism (48%)
21.	Neo-Pagan (46%)
22.	New Age (36%)
23.	New Thought (32%)
24.	Secular Humanism (25%)
25.	Taoism (24%)
26.	Scientology (24%)
27.	Nontheist (19%)

Evidently, I am little more JW than LDS ... who knew. But JW's don't celebrate holidays and birthdays .. that's a deal breaker for me.

Things I Did Not Spank Him For

No Spanking - Just time-out and a talking to:

1. His took a HUGE dump on the carpet. Huge, I mean, wow that boy is not starving.

2. He threw his cup of OJ off the table with such force that the plastic cup broke.

3. I asked him to bring his baby sister's little plastic toy "Jack-Jack" over; he dropped it on her face.

4. He took his banana down to the TV room (a no no to begin with) and left it on the couch for mom to sit upon unknowingly. [Hey mom, maybe you wanna look before you sit.]

5. He painted the kitchen floor with softened butter.

*****

Spanking - Big Big Spanking:

Crichton (6) has been walking home from school with friends the last 2 weeks. He likes it. It lets him feel big and he knows it scares me, but I trust him. (To be clear, it freaking terrifies me - I spend an hour watching out the windows and praying he'll get home safely) It was 10 full minutes later than his usual arrival time. The walk from school is a straight shot from our house, I can see him 3 blocks away - I took baby Sagan (the rolly polly princess) outside with me, neither of us had a coat, to look to see if Cri was on his way. Cri was nowhere in sight.

It's about 40 minutes since school got out, I go into panic mode - very precise and focused on a goal working towards a solution. I walk back from the corner to my front door, turn the handle, but (PROFANITY! Enter Hysteria Mode.) my funny little monster Canon, disappointed that mom hadn't let him go to the corner to look for Crichton, too, had LOCKED THE EFFING DOOR! I bang on the door and yell, utilizing the adrenaline from imagining my oldest child decapitated (cuz that's where my brain goes first), manifesting as threats and doorbell pushing and door kicking and counting to three ... I can hear him giggling through the window.

I go to the van, fortunately it is unlocked; I push the automatic garage door opener button, the garage door opens. I hope that the door to the house it un locked - miracle - it is.

And I see Canon, running away from me, holding his bum. He knows he is in Big-Big Trouble.

"CANON!!! YOU CAN NOT LOCK MOMMY OUTSIDE," I drop baby sister in her car seat, grab him and spank him soundly three times. He is crying his heart out, mommy is hitting and yelling - terrifying in her fury.

"Iyyyy nneeeeyyyd a hhhuuuuuugggg!!!!!" he wails pathetically.

I almost give in, but say, "No, we have to go find Crichton, no hugs for you, mister." He cries harder. I carry him to the van and buckle him in, still so sad, begging for a mmoooommmeeee huuuuugggg. I go back into the house, get baby girl strapped down, and hop myself into the van.

I drive quickly to the school. No Crichton on the street; no Crichton at the school. I drive past his best friend's house, thinking maybe his mom had picked them up. No one was home. I didn't know where else to look. I drive home, planning what I'm going to say to the police, trying to remember what he was wearing - pajamas and the green bathrobe I MADE the day before (it had been Polar Express Day in his class).

How could I let my perfect amazing angel child walk home alone from school in his pajamas?

I pull into my cul-de-sac and see the kids he walks home with at their houses, I drive over to ask if Cri had walked with them, but they were in their houses before I could get there. I made a U-turn and *A Christmas Miracle* there was my baby, in his Pjs and boots, in front of our house. I pull in the driveway and give him big hugs.

What had happened, to make him so late, you ask? He and his friends had taken a different route home to walk a girl to her house.

I did not spank him. Cri could see how upset I was and said, "I don't get to walk home anymore, do I?"

I went over the stranger danger rules again and told him he could still walk home, but no dilly dallying, to which he happily agreed.

Then I gave him a hug.

I turned to Canon, reminded him: "You must never never lock mommy out, ok?"

"Okay."

"And what will happen if you lock mommy out?"

"Big biggest biggest spankings!"

"Right. Okay, I love you, you wacky, little monkey." He gets his hug.

"I not wacky whittul monkey, I Canon!"

"I love you Canon."

And Sagan smiles at us from her car seat.

What If It Kills You

It seems that most everyone I know has resigned themselves to their caffeine addiction. Remember how nicotine products used to be all the craze, until people finally realized it kills you? What if caffeine does really bad stuff to us, too? I mean, some studies already show that it does bad stuff to your bones and it's pretty darn addictive, so not good on your old central nervous system. You have to know that the people who make stuff don't want us to find out if their product is bad for us, they just want us to choose to buy buy buy. I'm too lazy to find links for you (sorry), but when they say "buyer beware" it means you take full responsibility for messing up your health. Even if they are big liar/cheater heads.

I chugged 20 oz of wild cherry flavored energy goo and I and full of creativity and ready to organize my life again.

But what is the price? Besides the buck. One day further away from being able to get this "high" without substance assistance. How awesome would it be to have a pure, clean system? To have energy to do all I need to do - which lately includes spend a couple of night hours up with poor whiny Canon, get him to a deep sleep just in time to change Sagan's diaper and give her a 4:30 snack. And then there's the hour or exercise, 6 days a week, hoping to get ripped and shed pounds ...

I just ... ask too much. There must be a way to have it all ...

Children and Religion

I wanted to let you watch this (if you feel so inclined):



I love Dr. Laura. Myself, coming from a mixed religious background, I just wanted to include an "Amen" to what she is saying. My grandmother (and when she was away visiting family, a kind neighbor) faithfully took me to church each week, until she died when I was 12. My parents where kind of wacky. My mom tried to play "good Mormon" mostly to look good, to sing in the choir, and to get church assistance, supplementing the welfare checks. My dad. Hmm. He was alternate. Wiccan, Pagan, Odenist. My teen age religious experienced brutally conflicted with my childhood. When I become aware and wondered about the why's of everything intangible, I had no anchor to cling to, and I drifted.

As an adult, when I really really needed an anchor, I rediscovered the usefulness of my grandmother's religion.

I talk about religion a lot; the vehicle metaphor works well for me and it's nice to carpool. Church is a great way to feel less alone, or be alone when you need that. A great opportunity to discuss philosophy with people who have a similar starting point; without having to hash out basic points, like "Does God exist?" or "Is there an afterlife?" one can look at bigger than mortal life questions and work out things that don't seem to make sense. And, especially in my church, when you need help, it is just one phone call away. One. Need an emergency babysitter to watch the kids so you can be there to witness your soon-to-be-adopted-out-nephew born? Call the Relief Society President and she will either take care of it personally or make a couple calls and get it taken care of. Not everything is perfect with my church, but it really, really functions exactly how I think a church should function.

Life is full of too many choices. It really is (like 5 kinds of Pepsi and all of them wrong). People always feel so noble saying "I'm going to raise my kids to be moral people and let them choose a religion, if they want, when they are adults." or, "I let them choose whether ot not they want to go to church." But the thing is, so called "cramming religion down a kids throat" i.e. taking them to church every week, having your values and morals reinforced in a formal setting, gives people the tools they will need when things fall apart. People hate to feel helpless. What DO you do when a loved one is dying? What do you do about people being raped and slaughtered half a world away? What do you do about a blog-stranger who is dying of a hideous form of cancer? You can't fix everything, but you can pray for peace.

One commenter recently said she thinks we should reinstate prayer in public schools, if just in the form of a moment of silence. I am opposed to that - I volunteer in my kids school and I tell you, for the majority, a moment of silence would be a wasted moment. Those who would use the moment for prayer or meditation, are able to find their moments when needed. My kid's Karate Sensei has them meditate - just sitting quietly and still. For little boys, this is such good practice, but it is not associated with religion. And yet, feeling stillness, I think, is the first step to feeling God.

So, in conclusion to a here and there, not concise post about something I think is very important - it is of immense benefit for a child to see their parents sincerely united in faith and for parents to share that faith with their children. The practices and traditions give deeper meaning to this painful existence and give hope when all seems hopeless. It's not about letting your kids choose for themselves, or keeping them from choosing, they will eventually make a choice and probably change their minds a few times, regardless of what you do, but don't toss them into the cold, cruel world spiritually naked.

Oh, and here is a link to a great blog, remotely related to this topic, that ALWAYS makes me happy.

And here is another link to another really good blog - vaguely topical. What is the purpose of love if life is temporary? Why do I struggle through all the crap (and by crap, I mean perfect constant bliss) with my husband, if, when we die, that's it? Why do I love my kids so fiercely, knowing the complete devastation that would come from seeing them die, if I really believed I would never never hold them again. If this life is it, I'll be glad I don't exist anymore, or else I'd be sorely disappointed.

And another great post, semi-topical. Megan is right, without intention, we are all kind of on the same wavelength. I just keep peaking at my google reader, and so many seem to be on some tangent of the same train of thought. hmmm.

Quitting Quitting

Ha ha. Since it is 12:45, and I am not only awake and blogging, but also procrastinating my Sunbeam lesson preparation, CLEARLY I have fallen off the damn wagon. Stupid KFC. Stupid delicious popcorn chicken. Most of all, stupid half diet, half WILD CHERRY pepsi.

I am weak.

BUT, with the help of CAFFEINE, I rocked the pants off my P90X workout ... ohhh, you should see my biceps. Yeah baby! And my calfs (calves). And there are strange, previously unbeknownst to me muscles developing around my middle ... under a lovely layer of flab. Today was day 13 I think. Tomorrow - Kenpo HIII YYYAAA!

Vagina is not a bad word. Really, it's not. You can just say it, like arm, neck, bum-bum. Also, penis is okay, as Canon used it today, "MOooom, my penis peed chocolate milk." Not really sure what he meant by that ... kids say weird things.

Okay. Now it is time to make some little fishies for the Sunbeams to catch. Uht ... what's that? hmm, nightmare boy, up again for hugs ...

Quitting: My Short Attention Span, Christmas Pickle and Freaking Headache

My husband hasn't gotten back to me on my Change of Heart edit; I wait, you wait, we all wait. Do you have a headache, too, though?

Inspired by a dear friend, I am trying to quit my favorite chemical stimulant - the Pepsi. Remember a while back when they had Pepsi Jazz? Ahhh, Pepsi Jazz; maybe you can still get it. In my backwater county, we get a measly 5 Pepsi options - Pepsi, Diet Pepsi, Cherry Pepsi, Caffeine Free Pepsi, and Diet Caffeine Free Pepsi. You can also get Diet Cherry Pepsi in a 12 pack, but not a 2 liter.

America is clearly a country obsessed with Choice, no? And still, it is not enough for me. But it doesn't matter now.

PEPSI: I QUIT YOU.*

It's been two days. I feel like I have the flu. Maybe it's withdrawals, maybe it's P90X, maybe it's flu. Either way, feeling, less than chipper. If I take drugs to treat the symptoms from not taking drugs, it defeats the purpose, doesn't it?

Oh, and Greg let me do the bills and I totally effed it up. Extraordinary, right!

(boring back story)A few months before Greg and I got married, we began combining our assets. He had a bank account in good standing; I owed the bank $101 on a closed OD account. He had a couple of credit cards, carrying a small balance which he made regular payments on. I had 2 over the limit, behind payment cards. I kept all the statements for them in a shoebox. The bills would come in, I wouldn't open them, just save them. I couldn't pay them, my bank account was overdrawn. I didn't want to deposit my paychecks, the bank would take all my money for the closed the account.

My financial skills should have been a BIG RED FLAG for Greg, but he liked "doing all things unholy" late at night on the tennis courts by Helaman Halls. So, I started depositing my check into his account and he paid my bills for me.

Since then, all my attempts at financial responsibility have ended in tears. Last month, Greg decided I should learn his system, y'know, just in case. It's a very complicated system, with a spreadsheet and online links and updating and, uugg, it's nothing like my easy peasy shoebox method!

So I was trained and tried to pay the bills due at the first of this month. The last few days, Greg has been getting calls from our credit cards, asking about for the now payment. Somehow, I failed. Several late fees resulting in a couple of over limit fees later ... GREG WANTS ME TO TRY AGAIN. Is he crazy? Does he want me to destroy our financial credibility completely?

And just to be entered in a contest, check out this silly site. It's a faux-blog mocking my beloved LDS culture and it makes me smile.

Yesterday there was a Relief Society Christmas dinner. We were told to bring a Christmas tree ornament for an exchange (bring one, take one). I took my much sought after Christmas Pickle Ornament. It was a true sacrifice. I noticed that little dilly back in October when I worked at Kohl's. Every night, I would see it and think I should do a pickle and condiment themed tree. Finally, the last day I worked, I bought that sweet sucker. And I was willing to exchange it for the party; Christmas should be about sacrifices, right? But no one wanted my pickle, so I took it back.

Ok, I can't take it anymore. I'm going to take a couple of Tylenol, make whole rolls and homemade turkey soup, and be lazy for the rest of the day. Ha Ha ha ha ha ... I might be able to take the drugs ... y'know, when being mom is your job, you don't get to call in sick much. And what, is Canon going to take care of me? Though tomorrow is Saturday, so maybe I will have a replacement.



* except, at restaurants where they can give me a diet Pepsi with Grenadine. Mmmm, that's some good caffeine, baby.

In Progress

It's a busy time of year. I won't bore you with the details, but I must spend most of my time with my kids and cleaning and practicing for Christmas performances, preparing meals, exercising and I only get to watch ONE TV show after exercise, before sleep (I am so behind on Desperate Housewives, to say nothing of Dr. Who and Smallville - thank heavens for tivo-like homemade TV recording programs). SO, that leaves less time on computer, less time fulfilling my self-imposed blogging expectations. What can I say ... I'm working on the whole Change of Heart Explanation. Here, here. Have a bite of the first draft of the first three paragraphs ... it sucks. I should stop writing altogether, have my blog expelled from the Internet:

Alright. It will never come out as pretty and concise as I would like. I just don't have the writing skills. I might as well at least try to make it honest.

I think it must have been Greg's persistence that kept me thinking; one of must be missing something. My spouse is wise and thoughtful, even though he has no tact. I am passionate and emotion driven. He reasons out his arguments and (curses and drat) often sees the Right conclusion far before me. I am slow to think things through. We both understand the vital significance of FIRST determining a definition of the terms you are debating. You just waste time, throwing arguments at each other without clear, mutually agreed upon definitions.

The big problem I see with the whole gay marriage issue is that people aren't careful to define terms first, they jump in with preconceived notions and personal anecdotes and gloss over the fact that you have to be perfectly clear and in agreement about the word marriage.

That's all I have so far. The opposing sides are still (ineffectively) arguing the definition. Until the definition of marriage is set down, with both sides agreeing, no further debate, deciding as to whether or not gay marriage can be legalized, will be had.

That is what Greg and I hammered out, late, Thanksgiving eve. Him, solid against, me solid in favor. Both of us more than well aware of both sides arguments and how to refute them. I couldn't fathom how he could be SO pig-headed, so unbending, so blind to Right. How could he be a Christian and be so cruel and selfish?

My bestest argument was that a gay relationship is identical in every way to the way I feel and act with my spouse, why not call the relationship what it is? It is a marriage; the commitment, the love. That is what Marriage is. You love someone more than life, you get married.

"No," says my husband. "Love is a stupid reason to get married. Love is NOT marriage."

Flabbergasted, frustrated, flummoxed ... determined to get him to see this Right.

*****
I'm sorry, my baby woke up, I could save this as a draft and give you everything if I ever complete it, but I want some credit for the work I've done.

Tune in next time, when Brandy might even make some sense.

Comment on your comments

Read this post and the comments.

Ok, my baby just woke up, but tell me if this works, ok? I'd like it to work. More, I guess, tell me why it doesn't.

I hate confusion, my new favorite term, cognitive dissonance. Help me fix my broken brain.

If the Dammmrrrn Computer Weren't So Fuuurrreeeeking Slow....

I kind of suck at follow through. I get geared up, full of steam, then I hesitate and then I lose my steam and then fear rams into my stomach and I puke up confusion and, pawing through the vomit, I look for clues from fate to decide what should be done. And by fate I mean, if the computer won't publish my stupid page by the time I hit stop and refresh ten times it means God does not approve of what I wrote so I let it be a draft and try something else.

Hi there.

How the heck are you today?

It is 3 pm. I start getting antsy about now because I am SUPPOSE to pick up my little boy, a tiny first grader, just six years old. First born fruit of my womb. Beloved and amazing.

Why are you sitting at the computer blogging, Brandy? Shouldn't you be running around, changing last minute diapers and wrangling toddlers and infants into car seats???

Well, thanks for asking, I WOULD be doing that, but my little tiny baby boy doesn't WANT me to pick him up at school anymore. He thinks he is old enough and big enough to walk FOUR huge Utah blocks, across a busy street, with just a few slightly older neighborhood friends for protection against big bad wolves and evil kidnappers and drug dealers.

"What if the other kids have rides or doctors' appointments and you have to walk alone?"

"I can do it."

"Don't talk to strangers and if anyone tries to talk to you, run away screaming, ok?"

"Or I can just do Karate on them."

"No, you can't. Run. Scream."

"I could do a front ball kick, then grab them by the collar and knee kick them in the face, then take them down and punch them in the crotch and jab out their eyeballs."

If you see what looks to be a sweet little 1st grader walking home from school, don't make eye contact, just keep moving. He will mess you up!

I Believe In God

This is my favorite picture of Sagan. When I look at it, when I look in her perfect blue eyes, I see infinity - all the women who have come before me, all the women who will come after, our successes and mistakes, our pain and our moments of glory; all connected. It makes me feel powerful and weak, overjoyed to the point of tears.

I believe in God. I do and not just in a distant higher power, create the universe and watch us squirm, laughing at the stupid mortals kind of God. I believe in a loving, all wise, everywhere, father-figure kind of God, who probably does laugh at us, but in the way I laugh at my boys, when they get all serious about silly things. I believe that God has given me all the tools and rules for success and He wants me (me, individually, and you, too) to be happy and will help me every time I ask him.

And I am a churchy kind of girl. Not just any old, easy, once a week kind of way. Being a Mormon is dang hard work, if your serious about it. There's a lot required of you and a lot of seemingly fun stuff you ought not do if you don't want the odor of hypocrisy lingering all over your blog.

And the same old joke from 200 years ago was on VH1 Xmas Spectacular last night - the Mormon guy had 8 wives, har har har.

God has a plan for us. Our bodies, all of them, are geared for pleasure, as much as possible, as often as possible. We're built for addiction. Makes it challenging to keep everything within reasonable bounds. All the things that keep us alive, keep the species alive, also causes a lot of problems if you don't wait for the right time. Sex, food, drugs, relaxation ... God has placed restrictions on what, how, and where these necessary activities ought to be done. The restrictions keep us healthy.

You find these restrictions pretty commonly throughout most major religions ... I think they are Truth. Some religions are more flexible about it all, some are hyper-strict.

I believe in God and Truth. That is the first plank. Shall I try for another tonight? Is this too little and much too slowly? It is, I know it. But this is a busy time of year and I'm multi-tasking myself crazy. My egg factory has decided to resume production ... makes me crabby. Greg said I should have written it all out first, then fed it to you a spoonful at a time, I'm not like that. Smart. No, I have to jump out of an airplane and read the book on how to make a hang glider as I fall ... but your going down with me.

Terminal velocity.

Christmas Tree Decorating

While I've been not blogging, I have been doing stuff with the family. Saturday we bought our Christmas Tree and Sunday after dinner we had hot cocoa and decorated the heck out of our little tree. We've got an angel on top this year as the star's light bulb burnt out. Greg put lights outside on the house too.

I've been doing the collage thing on Picasa, just for fun. But, it's been an hour to make two little posts, and the house is a mess, it's snowing, groceries need to be bought, always tons of laundry to put away ... all about setting goals, making lists, prioritizing.

Perhaps there will be an epiphany post later ... we'll just have to see.

And maybe I'll eat breakfast, that would be nice too.

Tracy Aviary

Last month we got a family membership to the Tracy Aviary - a bird zoo in SLC. It's a very nice little place to visit. We took all the in-laws there for black Friday also (as opposed to shopping).

*This is a post to keep you checking as I continue to procrastinate other posts. Sorry.

Be patient with me

I am trying to break down my change of heart ... I am just having trouble getting it out succinctly and correctly. The first bit was to show where I stood all my life. Until midnight, November 27th, when my perspective quite suddenly changed.

I hope to have the next bite ready soon, but it's not ready yet. It's not an easy job to find the fault line in a strong and long held belief, to follow it to its core, to crack it open, and get a glimpse of truth (maybe Truth, whose to say).

BUT harder than that, is trying to take others, especially those who don't believe the fault line exists, on that journey with you.

I don't even care if you agree with me, I just want to be able to explain myself well enough that you can still respect me even if you disagree...

Deep breath.

What He Really Wants For Christmas: George Lucas has cast a voodoo spell on my kid.

I found this note lying on the floor of my red rocket minivan:

Let me translate, in case you are unfamiliar with Firstgradese:

Dear Santa,

No $10,000, no Indiana Jones come to my house but I want a laptop, Lego Star Wars The Clone Wars, Lego Indiana Jones.

Love, Crichton

*****

I think he's saying he doesn't want money or a live visit from a fictional hero, but he wants his own computer so he doesn't have to ask mom's permission to use her laptop (which she always forgets to recharge and never knows where the power cord is) to record himself reading his books and then burn them on to CD's. He wants a game that doesn't yet exist and a game we have been renting through Gamefly for over a month now, and it's the only Gamefly game we've gotten. He's beaten all the levels and is just going back to get all the treasure boxes and bonus things. Plus, we've only budgeted $40 for each kid, as we are "cutting back" on the spending money part of Christmas and increasing the spending time with each other and establishing family traditions - I'm not sure I can get his game for $40 and I'm not sure it would be a good investment if I do ...

What the heck, just get the kid the one thing he wants that you actually can get in real life.

Bad Arguments Against Gay Marriage

There are about four terrible arguments that are consistently used by people to justify their bigotry against gay marriage. When they are brought up I cringe and roll my eyes and give them my standard counter.

Why are you against Gay marriage??

Argument 1: God said so.

This has a few different forms like "Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve," "Remember Sodom and Gomorrah," various scripture references, and quotes from church leaders.

Standard Rebuttal 1:

First, not everyone believes in God, nor agrees upon one specific interpretation of scripture. Second, this country has the much needed separation of Church and State - you can't make laws based solely on religious conviction, laws must be fair for all people regardless of religious persuasion, 1st amendment. God also said women wearing men's clothes is an abomination ... we can't just pick and choose which scriptures we want to abide, can we?

Argument 2: Gays already have the right to get married - they just have to marry someone of the opposite sex.

Standard Rebuttal 2:

OMGood Gravy! They are not attracted to people of the opposite sex, they are in love with whomever they are in love with. How can you tell someone they can't marry the person they love (given that all involved partners are consenting adults)?

Argument 3:

They already have all the same rights, legally, with a civil union.

Standard Rebuttal 3:

So it's just a matter of semantics. The relationship functions as a marriage legally, financially, emotionally, physically. The individuals are committed to creating the exact same relationship I treasure above everything. It's identical to a marriage in every way, why not just call it what it is?

Argument 4:

Gay marriage is not marriage.

Standard Rebuttal 4:

Arrrggggg!!!! WHY?!

And thus I would butt heads with friends family and loved ones, usually my husband. Neither one able to budge the other.

*sigh*

*deep breath*

But now ... those four pathetic arguments that I have mocked for about 15 years ... those are the answers. Stop by tomorrow and I'll start breaking it down.

Missing Camera Memory Card - Cute Kids, nonetheless

Here is a picture trapped inside my camera, saved directly to the camera's internal memory. I have no cord to connect it to a computer and get it out. So my favorite picture of all my kids is stuck in there. And I lost my regular memory card. Thus the dearth of pictures on this here blog lately.

*****

Canon, who will be 3 next month, sitting in daddy's chair with no pants or diaper (yeah, we're trying to potty train again). Canon says everything in a low growly monster/transformer voice.

Me: Where does poop go?

Canon: In the potty.

Me: Where does pee pee go?

Canon: In the potty.

Me: Where is the potty?

Canon: Over there. (Points to little potty)

Me: Can you put your poo poo and pee pee in the potty?

Canon: No.

Me: Why not?

Canon: I don't have a bum bum.

Me: Yes you do, right here. (pinching his bum)

Canon: No. This is my bum. (pointing at the actual exit point)

Me: See, you do have a bum. So can you go poo poo in the potty?

Canon: Yes. Hi-five!

Me: Mmm, no thanks, let's go wash hands.

*****
I see Crichton at the top of the stairs, precariously holding baby sister Sagan.

Me: WHAT ARE YOU DOING! BE CAREFUL! (run up and grab baby)

Crichton: She said "ma ma ma ma ma ma ma bay bee" so I thought she wanted her mommy.

Later, I set baby girl on my bed and walk a few steps away.

Sagan: Maa Maa. Thhhlllllbbbb.

Me: Holy crap. Did you say, "Ma ma?!"

Sagan smiles and raises her eyebrows.

*****

And finally - Greg bought the P90X exercise video thing. We started on Monday and last night, workout #3, his tummy hurt too much to do the Ab Ripper, but he "cheered" me on. The exercise part of the program is good; I like it. I have a problem with the diet plan that goes with the exercise program. The front cover shows all these healthy fruits:

But the actual diet tells me to eat 1 fruit a day. And just 4 veggies. 1 Carb. And 7 proteins. And somehow get 2400 calories. (i.e. buy their protein bars at beachbody.com).


I don't like meat that much. Or that much food. I have been trying to eat one protein with every meal, which is between 3 and 5 times more often then usual for me. Because I recognize that I need protein to build muscle mass.


But then I decided I need a more balanced diet. So, I'll do what I can to cut out crap food, but I'm gonna eat whole wheat carbs and way more fruit and veggies than this recommends. I'm breastfeeding ... I probably should not be doing anything like this diet anyway. Baby needs fat for brain development. So, I may not have a beach body in 90 days ... but perhaps buried under a layer of fat, a beach body may be hiding. Then, when another human life is not depending on my healthy eating habits, I can "shred the fat."

BRING IT!

A Change of Mind: She Won't Be Happy Until She Disappoints ALL Her Readers

My Dearest Dozen Readers,

I had an epiphany the night before Thanksgiving, just before midnight. I feel that it would be dishonest of me not to share this with you.

Remember back when Mitt Romney was running for President? Evidently, he had run for Massachusetts Governor as a Pro-Choice guy, but had a change of heart or crisis of conscience or something, and now that he was running for the Republican Presidential nomination, he was all in party line, miraculously becoming Pro-Life. Remember how the pundits called that flip-flopping and how could ANYONE in their right mind vote for a flip-flopper?

*big old deep sigh*

I am a flip flopper.

Over the next few days, I hope you will patiently bear with me as I explain to you how I went from vehement Gay Marriage supporter (despite my religious convictions and connections) to a One Man-One Woman Definition of Marriage supporter.

Perhaps if I give it to you slowly, you will come back for a few more posts before taking me off your blog rolls completely.

All My Love,

Brandy

If You Are Starting To Feel Icky About Your Christmas Bugdet, How About Something New

I don't have time to sit and blog about the true meaning of Christmas and how much I don't like Santa and commercialism and stuff. You know what I mean though, right?

Here's a great blog.

Maybe not this year, but one of these years, we will do the all homemade Christmas, mark my words.

Hope You Didn't Mind Those Years of Neglect Called Your Childhood

I know, you read the title and think, OH MY GOSH BRANDY, GET OVER IT! But my mom lives with me; the fantasy land she calls the past is thrust in my face every day. Intense cognitive dissonance between her memory of the past and mine. Daily.

This morning she asked if I could take her to work today. Today is a nice day, Dec 2nd and 52 degrees; it's a 20 minute walk - I would have walked if I was a 54 year old woman who didn't know how to drive (I tried to teach her; I gave up after she failed the driving test for the 10th time - I am so not kidding). Well, to clarify, she didn't ask for a ride, she asks if I have any plans at 2. Because if I say "no" than how can I not agree to take her to work? I have no plans today except to cook the hell out of my turkey carcass and make the world's most amazing turkey soup for dinner tonight. SO I agree to drive her to work.

At 1:00 she tells me this:

We have to leave early so we can stop at Ream's [a grocery/retail denim and boot store].

She's not asking - she's telling. The result would have been the same, but it's nice to be asked, y'know.

She wants to get a pot pie for her lunch, though we certainly have oodles and oodles of food left over from Thanksgiving. Furthermore, my baby has just fallen asleep and I am in the middle of no less than 3 projects, but whatever. I roll my eyes, sigh, buckle my now screaming baby into her car seat, put pants on my toddler (but I could only find one shoe, so those we did without), and hopped into the car.

The radio is on, buffering me from her, I can hardly handle a full dose of my mom. Dr. Laura is chiding some woman for wanting to help out her bum brother, explaining, like she often does, that parents often put an emphasis on the difficult child and sacrifice the good one. Dr. Laura tells the woman she does not love her brother, she feels obligation for him. Love included awe, admiration, and respect. I think ... hmm, perhaps I don't love my own mother, perhaps I only feel obligation, as her only child. It is far from the first time that I have doubted that I love my mom.

My mom says, "I hope you don't feel that way." No, I realize, she has not read my mind. Her comment is about the radio show, she wants me to tell her I didn't feel like she sacrificed me for my brother.

I say nothing, hoping she'll think I am unable to communicate, as I must concentrate on driving (in reality, I'm not good at doing them both at the same time - ask my dented Hyundai Accent).

"I tried to give you the attention you needed. Chris took so much."

More silence from me as I force myself not to say anything, trying to take Thumper's advice, wishing I could simply lie and say the words she wants to hear. If only the lie were true.

But it's not. At least not from my perspective. So I say nothing.

She's looking right at me, waiting for me to release her from any and all guilt she may carry as a mom; silently ordering me to forgive and forget.

And I am concentrating very hard on maneuvering that minivan through the parking lot.

"I ... don't want to talk about this right now, mom. Perhaps we can discuss it later if you want."

Does she really want to know how painful it was for me to have to ask friends and neighbors for rides to my own band and choir concerts because my family certainly wouldn't be there. Does she want to know how jealous I was when my brother got to go to Moscow for State Special Olympics, how my mom went with him as a chaperon, but how, that same year, I couldn't go to stupid mother-loving Disneyland with the band. Gaw - do you know how I hate myself for being jealous of the attention my disabled brother required?? He's dead, for crying out loud. I'm an adult woman with 3 sweet children. And yet, TODAY, she turns me into a selfish self-centered teenager who hates her mom, but somehow still craves a mother's love - I wish I could give the little girl inside of me a real mommy. But I am my mother's mom. It was so when I was 5 and it remains so today.

Like poop on your shoe, can you ever scrape off all the resentment that feels a lot like hate?

Catch Up

Ha ha - almost a week with no post (plus most of last week's posts were written like Monday). So I'm a bit rusty. And my back hurts.

The worst part of the Thanksgiving holiday was my dirty nasty carpets. As soon as I can save up enough money, the carpets will be banished. Do you think hardwood floors will stay chic until I sell my house - sometime between 2 and 50 years from now, depending on rather not my egg factory ever starts up again?

We had a Matrix of Awesomeness - Greg's to the minute plan for a successful 2:00 Thanksgiving feast, specifying what needed to be done when, how long for prep and cooking times, what cooking devices would be required, all on a handy dandy Open Office Calc spread sheet. We were 1 minute behind. Pretty awesome.

(my in-laws want to read about themselves, so here's an obligatory paragraph for them)

My mother-in-law has changed a lot in the 10 years since I married her eldest child. Back them she was mythologically perfect - homemade everything, everything perfect. This year she highly recommended instant potatoes, Rhodes Rolls, frozen store bought pies ... but we had none of that nonsense! Perhaps after 20 or 30 more Thanksgivings, but for now, Greg and I were all about putting in the effort (except putting in the effort to clean the carpets).

My father-in-law made some comment about not liking BBQ Pork, which was my Saturday lunch plan ... after some offended pretense on my part and some quick-side-stepping on his, let me tell you, everyone ate my BBQ Pork Sandwiches and loved them (recipe - 1 seared boneless pork roast, 1 bottle of KC Masterpiece, 8 hours in the crockpot).

For Black Friday, we avoided shopping entirely - I hate shopping this time of year! We went to the Tracy Aviary then hit the lights at SLC Temple Square. I was not accosted by any protesters whatsoever - thank you Mormon Militia!

Last night, Greg and I started P90X (X for extreme, P for pain, I'm guessing, 90 for 90 days until beach body status is attained). We have the best of intentions to eat nutritious foods and work out for about an hour a night, right after putting the kids down. 1 day down, 89 to go. I'm thinking we should go to Hawaii if we do it for the whole 90 days, regardless of whether or not we have beach bodies or money. If I do have a beach body though, I'll be the one in the blue bikini, no body hair, with the triple C-section scar. Oh yes I will, baby.