I worked until my second child was a few months old but I made sure that I only worked hours that Mister was home so we didn’t need to put the kids in daycare. One day when India was a baby I forgot to restock the formula before I went to work but I figured it wasn’t a big deal; Mister was perfectly capable of going to the store. Capable, yes; did he want to? That was another story. I got home from work that night to find baby India drinking a bottle of chocolate Slim-Fast. Pretty much the same thing as formula, right? But it could have been worse. Happy Mother’s Day!
It’s currently 9 am and I have been up for four hours already. Instead of finishing India’s pioneer skirt way ahead of time like a good girl, I was up hemming it at 5:00 this morning. But I made good time and got the apron done too. I even had time to add pockets. Everything was finished on time and we made it out of the house at the appointed time at 6:45. I really would have liked to sleep in today. I have ward council at 7:30 am tomorrow so no sleeping in for another week. Blech. It’s my own fault, I guess.
Honestly I don’t know why I didn’t make the skirt months ago. Or even a week ago. Why do I always wait until the last second? The same thing happened on Valentine’s Day. I planned the kids valentines and ordered the supplies a whole month in advance. But I waited to make them until the night before. And of course I was so tired that I figured I’d finish them the next morning–forgetting that the kids hand out Valentine’s first thing.
Sometimes doing things early does backfire. I finished a few Valentines and Ada put them in a box on the table (each one had a homemade chocolate chip cookie. Texas is totally cool with homemade food being brought to school. I really like the idea of the kids getting at least one treat that isn’t chock full o’ chemicals.) Of course Margaret, my dog frenemy, pushed a chair out so she could climb up and ate several cookies. So sometimes doing things early is not so great. But I should know better than to keep edible things where the dog can reach them.
Here I am 41 years old and I swear I’m still as bad a procrastinator as I was when I was 21. When will I learn? Are you a procrastinator? Were you ever? I seriously need to learn how to motivate myself not to put things off. I’m driving myself batty!
Here are the valentines. They turned out really cute even though I waited til the last minute to put them together. I am, as ever, a Valentine’s Day overachiever.
Remember how last week I was saying that Valentine’s Day is stupid unless it involves giving me a present? And that my husband is super fantastic? Guess what he gave me for Valentine’s Day? The most romantic and beloved of gifts: a new laptop.
You probable don’t remember how my Macbook Air died a slow, tubercular death last May. Well, I do. Every single day I do. Every single time I have to use the kids’ stupid computer in the playroom, I do. Or when Mister let me use his old laptop that was the computer equivalent of an old man with renal failure and Alzheimers. It didn’t even have a battery that worked. Which is part of the reason why my blogging has suffered rather a lot since then.
But now I have a shiny new MacBook Pro that will soon be covered with decals and a cushy cover because I am a smidge hard on laptops.
I was very surprised and touched that Mister would have bought me a new computer, especially since his favorite thing to lecture me about is how poorly I treat electronics (I do not deny it). He also told me that I could get a new computer if I sold all his old crap in the garage on Craigs List/ebay. Whatever! I want to get a new computer not earn one! Jeez! But then the truth came out: my new laptop is actually Mister’s old laptop. It is, in seller’s parlance, gently used.
Oh.
So Mister got himself a new laptop for Valentine’s Day.
Okay, then.
I could choose to be slightly miffed or I can just rejoice that I am back to the land of the living with a laptop that has Photoshop on it. And lots of fancy fonts.
I choose rejoicing.
But don’t get your hopes too up, I’ve still got that whole Relief Society President thing going on.
Well, looky here, it’s Valentine’s Day. When I was younger Valentine’s Day was so incredibly important. Only a naïve young thing would really base the feelings of the person she likes and/or loves on how he behaves on a certain day. But then, that’s who Valentine’s Day is really for–people who are unsure of their partners. Either that or for men who are so lackadaisical about being thoughtful that they must have one day each calendar year to make up for it.
This day has become so contrived and ridiculous. Everyone is encouraged to buy red roses (yawn!) or worse–balloons (how are balloons romantic? Maybe in the same way that Chuck E. Cheese is?) You must go out to eat at some place “romantic”, knowing that the staff are panting to get you out of there so they can seat yet another couple. And that’s if you found someplace that takes reservations. Heaven help you if you show up at the Olive Garden tonight.
Not to brag or anything but I pretty much won the lottery when it comes to thoughtful men. I get flowers ever few weeks, a date every Friday night and a husband who always does the kindest things for holidays. Even when we’ve been broke he comes up with fantastic, sweet ideas. And he is a great present-picker-outer as well. So I don’t really feel the need for Valentine’s Day. I know my man loves me because of the things he does the other 364 days of the year.
No, I will probably not get flowers today. I am thoroughly ok with that. Don’t get me wrong, though; I love, love, love presents and if I happen to get one today I’ll be thrilled (Mister, if you’re reading this there’s a serger I’ve had my eye on.….).
If you’re freaking out that you husband or boyfriend didn’t spend $80 on a dozen roses, ask yourself why it’s so important that he gives those to you. Maybe you need to relax on the holiday stuff and demand that he pamper you all the rest of the year. (And yes, sometimes you do have to demand it until he gets with the program. Much the way you demand your kids to put away their shoes or do their homework; not to be bratty but to get them to form a habit. See also: how to get your husband to bring you breakfast in bed on the weekends.)
Mister will be firing up the grill tonight (it’s 70°. Lovely.) and making us some superb ribeyes (on my tombstone it will say, “Can’t go wrong with a ribeye”. By far my favorite cut of steak.) and we will have a romantic candlight dinner with all the kiddos. Seriously. They get so jazzed to eat by candlelight. By then the crowds will have thinned out and we’ll go have dessert at my favorite dessert spot in Austin, Chez Zee. Their butterscotch pudding is my favorite dessert on the entire planet. (Don’t think jell-o butterscotch pudding; imagine the most heavenly dish of smooth, creamy, caramelly goodness sprinkled with sea salt. Oh my goodness, I can hardly wait. After that, well, we’ll play it by ear.
Whatever your partner situation, I hope Valentine’s Day makes you happy this year. But remember, it’s not the thing to gauge your entire relationship on.
I posted this over at Segullah today, but thought it was pertinent to everyone. At least everyone who is celebrating a New Year. If you celebrate Chinese New Year instead then maybe you shoud skip this (and ni hou to you, by the way).
As a person who constantly fails at New Year’s Resolutions, I rarely make them anymore. Last year something clicked and not only did I make a couple of resolutions, but I actually kept them. One was to go all year without drinking Mt. Dew. This is a really big deal because I’m pretty much an addict. I can turn down other pop but not The Dew. So I drank an entire 2 liter bottle last New Years Eve and did not have another drop for 365 days.
The other goal I kept was to hang my clothes up every night. I always stay up too late (the house is so beautifully quiet!) and end up stumbling to bed ready to pass out. I drop my clothes on the floor and slide into bed. You would think that the 90 seconds it takes to hang up my clothes wouldn’t be such a big deal. But it has been. It wasn’t until I finally could say, “it’s not like I’m going to want to hang these up tomorrow either. I should just do it now,” that the light bulb turned on. And we all know how piles of clothes beget piles of clothes. Better to nip it in the bud.
This New Year’s Eve found me dreamily imagining the great things I would accomplish this year: meaningful scripture study? Never going to bed with a messy kitchen? Restricting the time I spend online? Not eating sugar all year? It wasn’t until yesterday that I thought of something I’d really like to accomplish: I want to be more creative.
I constantly see cute projects everywhere and think, “I’ll bet I could do that!” But I rarely do. I almost never try. Doing creative projects—whether artsy, craftsy or even writing—makes me feel selfish and indulgent. Creative acts make me feel vital and alive and really work out the stress in my life. However, that naggy, rotten voice in my head pipes up and tells me what a waste of time it all is. I should be sorting laundry and throwing out rotten leftovers. I haven’t earned the right to do something fun—which is how creativity feels to me.
But I’m telling that voice to shut up. I’m making Craft Hour from 9:30-10:30 every morning. There will not be appointments scheduled or sinks scrubbed. This is the time when I can let loose the creativity I keep shut away. For once I’m actually thrilled about a resolution. I already have today’s project laid out on my entry hall floor (new living room curtains!).
Are you telling that negative voice in your head to just shut up this year? Are you setting goals? Do you find the whole thing ridiculous? Is failure your middle name?
Who’s done with their Christmas shopping? Not me! And it’s less than a week away. But thank goodness for the internet. Not only because I can shop at 6 am before the kids are awake but because I can find pretty much anything out there.
I am a bit of an oddball and have raised my children to be rather oddball-ish too. While I generally like the fact that they refuse to wear Hollister t-shirts, sometimes it’s a big pain. My 15-year-old son York, for example, has developed a love for Feiyue sneakers (pronounced FAY-yoo-ay. For the longest time I couldn’t read the writing on York’s shoes and thought it was FYE-view. Duh). They’re are what all the Kung Fu people wear (he’s been taking Kung Fu for years). Feiyue started in Shanghai a long time ago but now they’re run by a French company and are pretty hip elsewhere in the world. Think Chinese-French Chuck Taylors. I don’t get it, but he adores them so whatever.
Thanks to the interwebs I got York two pairs of his dream shoes for Christmas. It tickles me that my PayPal account looks like this.
Nothing’s going to stand in the way of the perfect gift! Except for #5 on York’s list. I think we’re going to have to pass on the accordion.
To celebrate the festivities I’ve made a Lemon Truffle Pie and painted my toenails. Hope your day is fun, not too hot, full of deliciousness and that nothing around you catches on fire!
Ok, I’m not exactly fatherless. I have a father; he’s just been dead for a very long time. And we weren’t exactly close so missing him has really never been an issue. But this is an odd Father’s Day because my husband is also gone (gone as in “not here”. Not gone as in “dead”). He went to the U.S. Open golf tournament in San Francisco with my sister’s husband. So I didn’t have anyone to make breakfast in bed for, or be nice to.
Here’s where things get even stranger: my four oldest children are all gone as well. They left last Sunday to go to Utah to see their grandparents and cousins. This week they’ll be at BYU for various camps and such so I will have spent two whole weeks without my big babies. It’s been super weird. In some ways it’s nice because we go through about four dishes per day now that all the big eaters are gone. But I also have to do those four dishes myself since my slaves children aren’t here. Also, I have to fold the laundry. I can’t even remember the last time I folded clothes. It’s a drag! I feel really bad for those of you who don’t have teenagers to do all this hard work. Teenagers get a bum rap but I think they’re pretty great.
So this last weekend there was just me and the two littles. It was like being on vacation! Strangely the last time I had two children I thought it was the hardest thing in the world. Rather like running three miles. If you asked me to run three miles I would drop dead. But most of my friends are runners and three miles means nothing. It’s all a matter of perspective. Having six children makes two seem breezy and wonderful. I’m sure Michelle Dugger would think the same thing about having only six kids around.
Yesterday was Jasper’s birthday. We felt super bad that everyone was going to be gone, so we lied and convinced him that it was last week before everybody left. Since he’s only turning six and hasn’t learned the finer points of the calendar, he went right along with it and had no idea. Until all the relatives started calling yesterday. And then Ada, the tattliest tattletale of all time, announced that it was actually NOT his birthday when we said it was. It’s times like that when I sort of wish it were OK to punch children.
On that cheerful not, may I wish you a happy Father’s Day. Especially if you are, indeed, a father. Or you are married to a father. Or have a father. Or even just know a father. Have a happy day!
Mother’s Day is a difficult day for a lot of people: there are the people who want to be mothers but can’t; the people who have lost their mothers; people who are estranged from their mothers/daughters; mothers who mourn the death of a child; and mothers who feel like they have totally failed at their job. I swear that half the women at church don’t show up on this day. It’s just too raw. Not even to get the plant/cookie/candy bar that the men hand out after church.
Here is my humble suggestion: remember the blessings that you do have. Because there are blessings in your life. Despite some heartbreaks that seems especially bleak on Mother’s Day, there is still reason to be glad. Even if it’s just because there is a new episode of Sherlock on PBS.
In either General Conference or Oprah (pretty much the same thing) the point was made that you can’t feel both depression and gratitude at the same time. The two are mutually exclusive. So let’s all choose gratitude today. Sit down and actively think of the wonderful things in your life.
Or you can do what I do: treat this as a day to make people cater to my whims. It is the day when I can use my female-ness to get people to do my bidding. I have asked York to scrub my very dirty stovetop, had my family to make me brownies, Pecan Honeypots and buy me my favorite ice cream; and had the playroom cleaned. All with a simple, “it’s Mother’s Day; you have to do as I say.”
When you look at it that way, there’s no reason not to adore this holiday!
April 9, 2012 · 5 comments
in Bad Things, Birthdays (everyone else's), Craziness (hildie's), Embarrassing, Family, Feeling Sorry for Myself, Hair, Holidays, I'm Not So Great, Why Hildie's tired
Over the last week I have had about a quatrillion things going on in my life including volunteering at three schools (which I generally avoid because it pushes me to my limits), all sorts of church meetings, prom dress shopping, drivers license tests requiring two separate trips to the DMV (But I now have a child who is legal to drive! All I have to do is cough up an extra $100 per month for insurance!), book club, track meets, helping Mister make breakfast for the entire ward (homemade waffles with two kinds of homemade syrup), doing all the Easter crap and celebrating Ada’s birthday.
Oh yes, and I spent four hours picking nits out of people’s hair because ALL MY CHILDREN HAVE LICE. (OK, not India. She’s cured). I also did the treatment where everyone’s hair is doused in olive oil and wrapped in plastic wrap. They must sit like this for three hours. And then everyone has to wash their hair two or three times to get all the oil out. And then nits must be picked. Basically, it was the worst Friday night I’ve ever had in my life. I was done with life by the time I went to bed.
Poor Ada had her birthday the next day. Because I could not get my act together after my long and gruelling week, I did not make a special lunch for her. She picked Chick-Fil-A as her meal of choice (We have started ordering the 64 pack of chicken nuggets for our family. It’s a little surreal). I also didn’t make a special dinner. Instead I got chips, salsa and creamy jalapeno dip from Chuy’s Tex Mex. Ada doesn’t even like Chuys. But I do.
I did not even make a cake. I actually took my kids to the cupcake shop and had everyone pick out a cupcake. I can’t get over how loserish I feel about this. Pretty much like the worst/laziest/most selfish mother ever. I simply could not muster up the energy. To my credit, though, I made rainbow cupcakes from scratch for Ada to take to school the day before.
And then there was Easter.
Something about the Resurrection makes people want to eat pork. Everyone here was so insistent about not wanting ham, though. They’re entirely sick of it, it appears. So I made this instead. Nothing says Easter dinner like bacon.
I ran another trillion errands today. My kids had a five day weekend and are finally going back to school tomorrow. I love them but they get on my nerves when they’re covered in blood-sucking bugs. The good news is that the olive oil and high-quality lice comb have worked beautifully so they’re off to school in the morning!
