Forget about Blue Monday. It's Tuesday that's blue.

Take a look at this quote from one of my Facebook friends.

"There are days that one would enjoy taking a drive... out to the mountains, perhaps, to take in the splendour and beauty of what nature has to offer. To perhaps find ones way to the highest peak to gaze at the creation of this earth from an unmatched vantage... 

and jump..."

Seriously. The words paint this really beautiful image, and then WHAM! your feet are knocked out from under you.

This is exactly how my Tuesday went. 

Everything started off great. My kids had a two hour delay, which is always enjoyable for me. We get in some extra snuggles and our piano practicing and any homework we know about ahead of time so we can play after school. We were on the ball, and the outlook was good. 

As soon as I got home from dropping them off, I made the mistake of checking my email.  

I think we all know I'm a pretty candid person. I don't believe in hiding my failures, or rather my inability to please others (because really, it's my life and I only have a handful of people I really HAVE to please). I believe God put us here on this earth with other people to learn, and grow, and share our trials and our triumphs. And I do that.

I'm going to do it right now. 


Tuesday wasn't a triumph day. Not at all. I got my third rejection letter. And basically, in my opinion, the end of the line for Putting Up Stars. At least for now.

I cried for a few minutes, utterly frustrated at the turn this has all taken, or rather hasn't taken at all. Then I picked up the phone and called the people I would want to talk this over with--my husband, and my local writer friend--and guess what? Of course, neither of them answered the phone. They were busy with their own everyday stuff, and it made me feel so insignificant in a moment where I needed to feel important and loved. It's not their fault, but it still sucked rotten eggs.


But in a way it was good, because there was only one person left. 

So I got on my knees, and I let Him know that I was having some doubts. Most people don't know this but I never intended to write for the LDS market. I was just going to write for me, and give the national thing a try. But when I started writing my first book (okay, really my second. But the first one was so pathetic I doesn't even make the final tally) I kept feeling over and over that I needed to write this book for the LDS market.  So I changed things around, and turned it into an LDS book. It's completely backwards, I know. But I don't care. It's what I want to do, and the thing I feel like I'm supposed to do. I will never get rich writing, and truly I couldn't care less. If I could get published in the LDS market and know that I've changed the lives of the girls who read my stuff, that would be more than enough for me. 

More than enough.

So, like I said, I was feeling very frustrated, and slightly crushed. But mostly numb. This was the third rejection after all. You only have to get dumped once before you learn how to suppress the hurt.

Do I sound pathetic enough yet? Don't feel sorry for me though because I'm pretty much over it already. Remember my tough skin? 

Just keep reading.

So, I speak my peace and let Him know I'm unhappy and lacking faith in his Omnipresent, Omnipotent, Omniscient abilities, and then I pop up off my knees and jump in my van to go pick my kids up from school.

O.S. pretty much hates fifth grade. It's boring. The teachers are strict, and the work is hard. He's ready to be done, and he lets me know it everyday when he gets in the car. And every day I smile and tell him to recount at least one positive thing that happened. I usually get some answer like, there were chicken nuggets for lunch, or my teacher passed gas, and it made everyone laugh.

But that day? Tuesday? I let him complain. 

All three kids climb in, along with one of O.D.'s friends who we take to violin class with O.D.  And remember that Toddler is in the car too, sitting right behind me.

O.S. climbs into the front passenger seat next to me (the airbag turns off and I allow him to sit up front to minimize the wrestling between him and Y.S.)  and says (and I quote exactly), "I don't know how this day could get any worse."

I look over at him and say, "I have to agree. Today sucks. I don't know how it could get any worse either."

His head snaps around at me and his eyes get wide, and then he asks. And I tell him. But in the back of my mind I feel guilty for commisserating because I do know how it could get worse. Someone could die. And I keep thinking that over and over again. But I can't take my words back because they've floated off into space now, never to be recalled.

Right then Husband finally calls and I tell him. He's flabbergasted at these LDS Publishers, and says a few choice words (you know, like freaking and heck) which of course allows me to feel vindicated and loved, which is all I really needed.

You need to pay attention here.

So I'm on the phone, my eyes tearing up again, when out of nowhere I see a large rock-like object fall off the flat bed truck in front of us, bounce once off the pavement and come flying towards us. I slammed on my brakes and thought, "Great! We're going to have a nice big crack in our windshield. Just another way to top the day."

Can you believe I could think all that in less than a second? The human mind is quick.

I braced myself for the impact, but it didn't just crack our windshield, it busted straight through and into the car. Like a baseball sized bullet, it shot right past me. Glass sprayed us in the face. In our teeth, our hair, down our shirts. Even down my pant legs. I don't even know how that's possible.

Husband hears the crash and panics, "What was that?" I hear him call. So I told him. 

Remember how he used to be a firefighter? He's an expert on windshields because when he would come up on car wrecks a lot of times they'd have to bust the windshield to get the victims out. Did you know that windshields are made of special glass that crinkles insteads of shattering. You have to have a special tool to crack glass. 


Apparently no one told this rock.

He's level headed and tells me that a rock shouldn't have been able to shatter the glass and to pull over and make sure everyone is okay. It hadn't even occurred to me that someone might be hurt because I honestly thought the thing had landed somewhere in the vicinity of my feet.

I pull over, and all six of us are fine. Wide-eyed, but fine.

The truck is long gone, and I look over at O.S. and say, "Don't ever ask how the day could get worse ever again. Because we just found out." I already know I will never say those words again.

Then we drive home.

When we pull in the driveway I ask the kids where the rock is, and the friend says he's pretty sure it wasn't a rock. It was metal. I have no idea how an eight year old deduced this, but he was right. We found it in the very back of the van. A rusty old tow hitch with jagged pointy edges. And I sucked in air. What if that had hit one of them in the head? 

And then I felt like crud. Like I'd taunted God. Or jinxed us somehow, even though I don't believe in that sort of thing. 

There was a lesson in all of that just for me. I knew it then. I know it now. God didn't send that thing crashing through my windshield because he was ticked at my wavering faith. Nope. I don't think He works that way even if that is what I deserved. I think He was trying to remind me of that scripture. The one about His eye being on the sparrow. His eye is on everything and everyone, every second, of every minute, of every hour, of every day. He is in control. The lesson wasn't in that metal tow hitch smashing the windshield. The lesson was that even though there were six people in my van, not one of us was hurt. Not a drop of blood, not a scratch. No one even cried. 

Just think about it for a second.


My cousin left a quote for me on our family website. It sums all of this up perfectly.

"The Lord just commands us to push, we don't actually have to move the mountain. That's His job."

I know He's real. How else could getting rejected and having a metal torpedo shoot into my car leave me feeling more loved than ever before?

___________________________________________________________________________________

To be fair to this publisher, it was the most positive, clear cut rejection letter I've ever gotten. They think I'm a great writer and would REALLY like to see anything else that I have written.

That's gotta be good for something, right?

A few of my favorite things.

I feel bad I was so depressing yesterday, so I decided to cheer things up around here.

I was working out this morning and realized that I've been using the same work out video for almost twelve years. Sure, I've swayed my allegiance at times, but I always come back to this.

I'm not really sure why I love it so much, but I do. There's a twelve minute workout, a sixteen, and a forty five. It's not super intense, but it works. I lost all my baby weight with this. If I wanted to rev things up I would do the forty five minute workout in the morning, and the twenty minute right before bed. I've even converted another friend.

As I was working out I decided to share a couple of other things with you that I really love.

This is one of my favorite things and has been since I discovered them a few years ago.


Who's Your Hero, by David Bowman. This is a series of picture books about the hero's of the Book of Mormon. My kids love these, and I love them. We read them over, and over, and over, and over (you get the point) and we never get tired of them. We are like the picture perfect Mormon family when we crack one of these open. The wiggling, giggling and fidgeting stops. Eyes widen, jaws drop and drool trickles out. Someone points out something funny, we all have a laugh and then we get back to the story.

I love David Bowman. I've never met him, but I've been meaning to write him a thank you note for a while now. I am going to do it today. I noticed on his last book (which is not part of the series) The Great Plan of Happiness, that he changed publishers. I don't know if the old publisher thought his books weren't selling enough, but that would be my guess. And it makes me feel awful. This writer/illustrator has done something truly great here and I would feel terrible if I didn't tell everyone I know about how great these books are. The characters are drawn caricature style. Each page has great detail, and fun things that will make you laugh. Not only that but he really brings the gospel to a level that children can understand. I especially love his new book because there's even a little romance.

I have to stop talking about him now because I could write a whole post about David Bowman.

Another lds author that I love.

Gerald Lund.

Yeah, yeah. I know everybody's read The Work and the Glory. I've read them too, and I like them very much. But you want to know what I love?

The Kingdom and the Crown Series.

If you haven't read these, or you've been putting them off, you need to stop what you're doing, locate the first book--Fishers of Men--and dig in. The great thing about these is that they're not Mormon specific. They are for anyone who believes in Jesus Christ. This man is so brilliant in his knowledge and his ability to weave a story. He takes a fictional group of people, inserts them into the era of Christ's ministry and shows us upfront what Christ's parables meant, and who the Pharisees and Sadducees truly were, and why Peter denied Christ, and so much more. Basically, he takes the things we aren't sure about and shows us how to be sure. There's action, romance, tragedy. And he totally makes it work.

They are kind of expensive, but you'll feel like you have at least a Master's degree worth of education about Christ's ministry by the time you're done, and it won't hurt a bit. You'll love every second of it.


Since I'm listing some of my favorite things, I wanted to remind everyone that Secretariat comes out today.

 

As soon as I close this post, I will be heading to my local Wal-mart to pick up a copy. I can't wait to share it with my daughter who fell asleep in the theater. (Her daddy tried to take her to a nine thirty showing. Didn't work so well.)

Last thing.

My friend Melanie J. has a book coming out with Covenant in March. She writes Chicklit, which means you'll laugh a lot, you'll sigh, you'll fall in love with Matt Gibson (okay maybe not love, if you're already married, but deep smit), you'll want to go shopping, and you'll suddenly get a yearning desire to surf. At least that's what happened to me. It's the kind of book you read when you just want something light, witty and you don't want to cry. There's no crying in her books.

Here's her cover, but her book is not up for pre-order yet. Trust me, I'll remind y'all later.



Doesn't it look fun? I have no idea who did the cover but it does a great job of giving you a feel of the inside of the book.

Now you have something to look forward too. And ah, my text is suddenly the same script Melanie uses at her very witty blog.

Oh well, I'm leaving it.
Everything on this list can be purchased at Amazon.com, except for The List, which I expect will be available there closer to its release date.

And that's it. Enjoy!

Better

I'm getting ready to sling some self-righteous indignation. I know it, and I'm doing it anyway. It's my blog. So just try and stop me.

I'm stepping up today. To the plate and on my soapbox.

Don't expect something inspiring. Just sit back and read.

Because I need to rant a little.

People are inherently selfish creatures. This, of course, is a sweeping generalization, but I think most people would agree.

Here's my big question: why, when people get screwed up by their parents, do they turn around and make the same mistakes and use the whole martyr excuse? I'm not talking about the little personality traits we pick up from our parents, or are embedded in our DNA. I'm talking about, for example, "My dad used to beat me, and now I beat my own kids. It's just who I am. I don't know how to be any different."

I've actually heard people say, "I scream at my kids. My parents did it, and I'm pretty much the same." Even when they know it's wrong. Huh?

Isn't that the point of life? To become better than you are. To rise above your circumstances and be different? To be the best you you can possibly be?

I am the Young Women's president in our ward now. I'm pretty sure I've mentioned that, oh say, ten times at least already. When I was dropped into this calling I got the feeling, though nobody said it outright, that I was going to be dealing with a rough group of girls.

Well, I've been in for a few months now, and I've learned one thing. I don't have a rough group of girls, I have a fantastic group of girls. But some of them come from rough situations. And this is where I struggle. Love those girls? No problem. But ask me to be patient with the adults who raise them? Not quite so easy.

I have a lot of patience with kids. As a matter of fact, when I get upset with my own children, I can always see where I could've handled things better. And I'm always reminding myself, they're just kids. And I'm taking the good from my parent's and leaving the bad in the dust, just as they did.

I expect. I do. I expect adults to be better. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying we shouldn't hold kids accountable. We definitely should.

But how can we expect something from our own kids/youth that we slack on ourselves?

How can we swear and tell them not to? Dress modestly and not do it ourselves? Oh, and don't you dare text in church, but it's okay if I do. It was an emergency! I had to tell Rhonda (two rows back) how boring this speaker is.

Teenagers/kids aren't stupid. They watch. They see. And then they do.

Let's make sure what they're seeing from us is something better. Something for them to step up to. Someone to be like.

We only get one life. I don't know about you, but I don't want to stand at the judgment bar before God and know that my example or actions deterred someone else from receiving eternal life. That's what we need to think about folks. Not today. Not this hour, or this minute. We need to think about forever. Put away our bikinis (not mine! I would be caught dead), our sweater dresses that are too short, but then we justify them because we have on leggings (hey, doesn't that mean you're wearing pants to church?) our jack mormon/baptist/catholic style of living, or slang language, and every other thing that might hold us back.

And just be better.

I'm stepping down now, and you may get back to your regularly scheduled life.

The end.

Everything I ever needed to know, I learned at Disneyworld (or somewhere in the near vicinity).

Disneyworld really is the happiest place on earth, it's also the most educational. I learned so much on my trip last weekend that I must enlighten you with my newfound knowledge.

Let's jump right in.

1. All those marriage counselors who tell you to take time out from the kids and continue to date your spouse are on to something.

--Our twelve hour drive down to Florida was so quiet, not because we left the kids at home (though I'm sure that had something to do with it) but because I was determined to talk about something other than the kids. Toddler was potty training herself while we were gone, and we were getting hourly updates from O.S and O.D. It was so hard not to go on and one about it, but I was determined to talk about something other than pee and poop. I could hardly think of a thing. This vacation was kind of a wake-up call for me. I love my kids so much, but one day they're going to grow up, and Husband will be the only person I have left. He needs to be my top priority. I always thought he was, but I think I was delirious.

What does this mean?

Board games, and date nights, here we come.

2. Just because you're famous doesn't make you special.

--When I realized we were going to be driving through Savannah, Georgia, I just knew we needed to go eat at The Lady and Sons restaurant. Y'all don't know what that is? Well, you need to subscribe to the Food Network. It's Paula Deen's restaurant, of course. So as we followed the little car on the Garmin, I kept picturing how it would go. We'd walk in, smell and hear the fried chicken popping off the oil. As we were filling our plates up with green beans smothered in bacon grease and onions, Paula would walk up and ask us where we were from. She'd of course fall in love with my magnetic personality and chat with us for an hour as we stuffed ourselves full of her home-cooking. It was going to be perfect.

Of course that's not how it went. When we pulled up, there were construction guys standing outside the door, with their bellies hanging out. This is never a good sign. There was a note on the door that said, "Hi, y'all! Sorry, but we're remodeling the restaurant. Be sure to check out my brother's restaurant, 'Uncle Bubba's Oyster House' seven miles from here."

I was slightly disappointed, but let's face it my delusions had only played out in my own mind. I hadn't been stupid enough to share them with my husband. So we plugged Bubba's address into the Garmin and we were off.

Bubba's was alright, but definitely not worth the seven mile trip. I mean, we paid sixteen bucks for a bowl of grits with five microscopic shrimp mixed in. And Bubba needs to hire an interior decorator. He couldn't seem to decide if his restaurant was a diner, a fish house, or a rock and roll bar. And, this is probably my biggest beef, he needs to stop riding on his sister's coattail to fame and find his own wagon. Her face was plastered all over the place. I felt like I spent the night at a motel that said it was the Hilton only when I walked in, it looked more like Motel 6. Complete rip-off.

Next.

3. There is such a thing as survivor's guilt, even if nobody died.

--How else can I explain that I actually cried when I saw how ginormous our Villa was. Yes, I called it a Villa, because hotel room just isn't the correct term. And when I say cry, I don't mean the happy kind. I felt terrible. We'd debated whether to take our kids with us, and decided that we needed some alone time, which we did. But there is absolutely no reason why we needed five beds. None whatsoever. I exaggerate not when I tell you that this place was bigger than our house, and much nicer. I wanted to get in the car and drive back up to get my kids. I felt bad for Husband. I think he thought I was sinking down into a depression. All I could mumble for the first five hours was, we should have brought the kids, we should have brought the kids.

Oh well.

4. All roller coasters should have Aerosmith playing in the background.

--Seriously, I don't think a regular roller coaster will ever do it for me again. It's not that Rockin' roller coaster was the coolest coaster ever. It wasn't. It's too short for starters--like about sixty seconds long. But it was pretty kick butt because how can you not feel like a movie star with Aerosmith blasting through your ears as you swurve, curve, flip, and corkscrew your way through the imaginary rush hour traffic.

5. When someone older, wiser and more experienced tells you not to do something, don't think you're smarter than they are.

--Tres and his wife are avid Disney lovers. I mean avid. They go to the World at least once a year. It is their vacation destination of choice this year and every year. They set us up on a plan before we left and promised that if we stuck to their plan that we would rejoice at the end of the day when we'd hit all three parks--Hollywood Studios, Epcot, and Magic Kindgom all in one day. They were absolutely right. They could probably get rich if they wrote up plans for people who were too lazy minded to do it themselves.

Anyway, they told us where to eat, what to ride, when to get fast passes. Seriously, they knew everything! And they gave us one warning. Do. Not. Ride. Mission. Space. Orange. Mission Space Green is fine, but Orange? Stay away!

Mission Space is a ride at Epcot that simulates what it would be like to fly in the space shuttle to Mars. So we rode the green side. It was pretty fun. So then my thrill seeking Husband (and yes, I feel fully justified labeling him that way. He used to be a professional firefighter, and now he's a large animal vet. I tried to talk him into working on cats and dogs because they're fairly safe. But no, he wanted to risk having his skull smashed in by half crazed horses and cows who don't like his hand up their you-know-whats each and every day for the rest of his working life) talks me into riding Mission Space Orange. I called my brother to tell him we were doing it, and he sounded leery and told me he wouldn't. But Husband knows best, right? WRONG! Seriously, I didn't know it at the time, but to simulate the G-Force feeling of lift off, you are spun around as fast as humanly possible. You are warned before the ride starts not to close your eyes, or look left or right as it could cause disorientation. Look right into the screen and everything will be just fine, I repeated over and over.

Everything was not fine!

I truly thought I might die before we even made if off the launch pad. (They have a couple of people every year who walk off this ride and keel over dead.) I'm not kidding. I was terrified. I couldn't breathe, my ears were filling up but wouldn't pop, and my brain kept telling me to close my eyes to make it all go away. It's like in Percy Jackson when they're trying with all their might not to look at Medusa's eyes, but it's just so hard. That's how I felt. But I was stalwart and made it through. I will admit by the time we landed on Mars, I was contemplating grabbing the barfbag to my left. Yes, they keep them on the ride at all times, and for good reason. I don't think I've felt that nasty since I was in labor with our last baby for eleven hours with no epidural. And people think this is fun?

When we got off Husband was laughing. "That wasn't too bad," he said. I just glared at him. I wanted to pop him one. Never again!

Don't ride it, people!!!!

There. You've been warned by someone more experienced. Take from it what you will, but don't say I didn't tell you so.

6. I'm not photogenic.

--Actually, I already knew this. But every time we got off a ride we had to go check out the kiosk where we could once again relive the look on our faces as we dropped to our near-deaths. Husband looked great every time. All rugged and tough. And I looked hideous. Double chin all squashed to my neck, one eye open, the other closed, my hair crazy and scary. What can I say? I married him for his genes. That's why our kids are so cute. It has nothing to do with me.

Okay, here's the most important thing I learned on my trip to Disneyworld.

7. That decision I made twelve and a half years ago to marry this curly haired boy with the great smile for time and for all eternity was the right decision. (Yes, I know that was a terrible run-on sentence. Get over it.)I've never doubted that, but it's nice to have a reminder. No matter where I am, at Uncle Bubba's Oyster house, sharing the saddest, most overpriced bowl of Shrimp and Grits, or fearing for my life on Mission Space Orange, or moaning and rolling our eyes together at O'hana's as we chew on steak and shrimp and bread pudding with banana foster's sauce, or anywhere else, he is the person I want to be with. He takes care of me, and loves me, and makes me feel safe.

The whole reason we went to Florida was for a Veterinary conference. So Husband sat in these boring meetings while I went shopping, or slept or wrote, or whatever. At one point, they were handing out ice cream during break. He snagged one for me and left it in the freezer so it would be waiting when I got back to the villa. It was just a small gesture, but it made me so happy. Sometimes we forget that our spouse is the person we picked and all the reasons why. I'm telling you all, you need to get away every now and then just so you can remember.

I love him so, and I may never have remembered why if it weren't for our trip.

So I personally want to thank Walt Disney for his vision. Disneyworld truly is Magical.

My love affair.

Truth and I have a love affair. I'm not sure when it started exactly. Probably not during my teenage years. Sure I liked truth then, but I listened to the lies too.

I'm guessing sometime in college.

But it has grown into a full blown explosion in the last few years.

That's why I love the mutual theme this year.

I won't quote it all, just the part that pertains to my topic here. "We believe all things, we hope all things, we have endured many things, and hope to be able to endure all things. If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things."

So there you have it. I'm a truth seeker.

I've written two books both of which, I feel, reveal truth. Now, in the first book the male lead is hopelessly devoted (just like Sandy) to his girl. He would lay his coat over a mud puddle for her, he would save her from a raging inferno even if it meant his own skin melted off and he died, he would wait months for her to return after a mysterious leave of absense never knowning why she'd left him hanging with one heck of a broken heart. (That part actually happens, but not the skin burning off because what kind of story would that be!?)

But that's not realistic! you're thinking at me right now.

We'll come back to that.

In my second book the male lead is awesome too. But he has expectations from his girl. He expects her to love him above all else, to help him toe the line, and most importantly he expects her not to kick him when he's down. And when she does (kick him, that is) he walks away.

Now that's realistic. Yes, I know. That's why I wrote it.

So I have this very, very good friend. She's one of my readers. She LOVED the first book. The one with the guy who's hopelessly devoted.

When I had her read my second book, she was ticked at me.

And I quote," Ethan needs to be more like Josh (the guy from the first book), or Edward."

Do I need to expound? I mean, really? Yes, she was referring to that Edward.

I blame it on the fact that she was pregnant at the time, which we all know can cause slight delusions.

"I can't do that," I told her. "Because I can't lie to all the thousands of LDS girls who are going to read these books. Sure Josh was pretty close to perfect, but that's what Emily needed." See, Emily is my main girl in the first book and she went through some really hard stuff. And there are a few guys out there roaming this earth that are hopelessly devoted. Like maybe five.

But the rest of us ended up with guys that are real like Ethan.

"I have to tell the truth to these girls."

Now, don't worry. There's nothing wrong with Ethan y'all. As a matter of fact if I were a teenage girl and Josh and Ethan were real, I'd pick Ethan. Hands down. I think. No, I would. He's cute, a little cocky, and slightly flawed.  I'm like Anne in that way--I want a guy that could be bad, but wouldn't.

Switching gears here.

Anyone who knows me knows at least two things: 1. I do NOT love fantasy. I wish I did, but it's like doing Calculus. It takes too much work. It's just not the way my brain works. And 2. I DO love movies. Probably more than books. I'm lazy like that, but mostly I think it's because my husband doesn't like for me to idle all my hours away reading because then the house goes to shambles and the kids are swinging off the ceiling fans. Movies are relatively quick and painless and the kids can watch them with me. See the fans are safe. I'm not saying I don't read, I'm just saying I watch a lot more movies than I read books.

So, in the past year I've sat in the theatre three different times and cried. And no it wasn't when Bella chose Edward over Jacob. Because as fun as that was--it's totally fake. As in not real. As in untruthful.

Toy Story 3, Secretariat, and then just yesterday...Narnia: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.

Screech.

I know. I know. That's a fantasy movie.

And I was wiping my dripping cheeks, surrounded by my kids and niece and nephew.  I loved it. Every single second of it. My favorite was the last five minutes. Truth was spewn all over the place and my jaw practically dropped open. Yes, I know all the symbolism of the books, and that C.S. Lewis was a great Christian.

I just couldn't believe Hollywood would sell me truth three times in one year.

My favorite quote is when Lucy and Edmund are leaving Narnia for the last time, and they know they can not return.

They ask Aslan if they will see him again. He tells them that he exists in their world and they ask why they didn't know him there (or something to that affect.)

"Because there I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name. This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there."

Really, you'd have to be half blind not to see that truth in that.

You have to see it, people!!!!

People in our church are always complaining that there's not enough good stuff out there, that it's so hard to find anything clean for our youth to enjoy. But it's there. We have to seek for it just like Paul admonished.

Because the crazy cool thing is truth is truth no matter where you find it. And when you find it, it makes your chest swell, and your eyes water, and this awesome joy fills you up.

On a side note: I'm leaving in thirty five minutes to go to Florida. Husband has a conference and I'm tagging along kid-free. And we're going to Disneyworld tomorrow. And eating at O'hana's. And going to the beach.

You have my permission to be jealous.

Pass through my lips

Once when I was in college I went on some medication which sent me into a terrible mental tailspin. I've heard other people praise this drug, but I personally think it's of the devil. Okay, not really. But be careful before you put your kids on Accutane. You may want a prescription for Prozac to go with it. It messes with the chemicals in your brain, which apparently is a very effective way of getting rid of acne. And also a great way to shoot you down into the deepest darkest depression you've ever had.

My point is, I had to go see a counselor. My mom was super worried about it all, and could only watch from afar. As in two thousand miles afar. So, being the good mom that she is, she hopped on a plane and came to make sure that when I told her I was okay, I wasn't lying. And I thought I was doing okay. It had been a week or so since the almost nervous breakdown, and I was feeling more normal. But when she stepped off that plane, she pulled me into her arms and I broke down in sobs. I was so glad she came.

She went with me to my next counselor appointment. I was curled up next to her, holding onto her arm, as the counselor counseled from across the desk. She left the room to go do something and while she was gone, the counselor said, "You know you act like a kid when she's around?"

I nodded and said, "Yeah, I think I'm about sixteen again." And then I giggled. I was 22 at the time.

He smiled. "I just wanted to make sure you were aware of that."

I nodded.

And that's my point. Why is it so hard to act your age when your parents are around? It seems like a plague. Is it because they treat you like a child, or because subconsciously you revert to some point in childhood because of the way they just spoke to you? And oddly it's comforting and infuriating depending on when it happens.

I've had so many moments like this in the past week. I have many traits from my parents, both good and bad. (This isn't a slam on my parents, who are wonderful people. It's simply truth. I see traits in both of them that they inherited from their own parents.)  I've been trying to overcome the bad.

My kids were bickering like crazy earlier on in the week and it was so frustrating to be around them. And I kept thinking, where do they learn this stuff? And then came the moment of truth.

Husband said something irritating Sunday afternoon. He does that often, just to get my goat, and most of the time I can handle it. But that day, I snapped. Mentally and vocally. "Ding, ding, ding," I cried out. Which is code for 'get your rear end in the corner 'cause we're wrestling this out!' Which he did. Of course he pinned me in two seconds, because for some maddening reason God thought it was important to make men unequal, as in men are strong and women not so much. Some people probably think this is romantic. 'My big strong man will save me.' Not me. Just once I'd like to pin HIM. Maybe in the next life.

Then Husband, who was being the more mature spouse that day, said, "I don't want to fight with you."

I shook my finger at him and said, "You're the one who started it." Here it comes. Can you feel it? I looked down to see Toddler shaking her finger at Daddy as she yelled something in toddler speak.

Could it have been any clearer?

I think not.

My kids bicker because I let the bickering happen. I've taught them how. And they are so proficient.

So all week I worked and worked to get things right in the house again. And then today it all fell apart. My mom was trying to make a suggestion that sent me into a mini-tantrum. I thought she could have handled herself differently which is funny because I could handled myself differently too.

I was sixteen all over again.

I'm sorry, Mom. I love you and we'll work this out.

Thank goodness tomorrow is Sunday, and this is a New Year. I only had one resolution up this point, but I just added a few more to my list. So as I lift that sacrament cup to my lips I will not do it in vain. Tomorrow it's going to count for something.

I will not waste this week or this year.

Lessons learned

It's been a while, huh? When I take a vacation, I take a vacation. The only thing I keep up on is the laundry and only because I have no other choice. We all need clean underwear.

Now that I've gone hoarse playing Rock Band with the youth on New Year's Eve, and again New Year's day with my brother's family, I can only type. Which makes it a good time to blog.

The trip to Wyoming was right out of a Norman Rockwell picture. Let me paint it for you--there we all are in a huge log house, snowed in, mountains on every side, Christmas music playing on the Bose, the Salt River flowing lazily and ice cold a hundred yards away, every one with a cup of hot chocolate in their hands as their snow clothes/boots dry by the fire.

Could not have been better. Seriously.

And when Christmas morning dawned bright, snowy, and freezing cold, there wasn't a single complaint about the gifts received. Not by my children or anyone else's. I call that success.

I learned some things this Christmas:

--First of all, never rent a car from the company that rhymes with Fludget. At least not at the SLC airport. Their lack of customer service skills might be enough to ruin your entire vacation before it even gets going.

--Next, all this hype about the full body scanners is overrated. We never even walked through one.

Now on to the important stuff:

--My kids aren't half bad snowboarders. They'd never been before, and by the end of the day O.S. was begging for a board for his birthday.

--No matter how many times you take him, O.S. is terrified of snowmobiling.(But he makes a cute wise man.)

--After following Husband around, I'm terrified of snowmobiling. It's a miracle no one died.

--Husband makes a great donkey.

--Y.S. may not remember his cousins from last time, but they're best friends anyway.
(Another cutie.)

--Toddler can charm anyone. It's a gift. After two seconds she had the household wrapped around that pinky.


--O.D. likes her solitude. So many times when the house was full of playmates, she was found in the bedroom coloring by herself. I love that about her.

--The M&M game, and the Chocolate game are gut busting. I've never laughed so hard as when my sister in law broke out in her old lady German accent, dawning a scarf, hat, and gloves, trying to cut through a candy bar with a fork.  You totally had to be there, and I'm sorry for you that you weren't.

--Toddler doesn't care if it's 8 degrees outside. If she got a new Gymboree swimsuit with a flippy skirt and a frog on the front, she IS going to wear it. Every day, all day.
Even when it's time to be the angel for the Nativity. (If you look close you can see the swimsuit through the angel costume.)

--I can drink exorbitant amounts of hot chocolate and not gain a single ounce. Thank you Mom and Dad for the lovely metabolism. (That insta-hot feature on my in-law's faucet is evil.)

--Wyoming is one of the prettiest states. At least Star Valley, Wyoming is.

--In-N-Out Burger is still the best burger in the world. I'm salivating just thinking about it.

--I'm not sad a drop that we didn't move to Evanston, Wy. My word, I've never seen a harder looking group of people than I did when we stopped at the Wal-Mart there. I lie not when I tell you I could not find one person there who didn't look rough. (If you're from Evanston, I'm truly, truly sorry, but I must speak the truth.) It was verging on scary. And no, I didn't take any pictures. It wouldn't be nice.

 -The lights on temple square never fail to bring tears to my eyes. I love that place.

--My cousin E. makes my heart oh so happy. Some things never, ever change.

--There's nothing like coming home and sleeping in your own bed. Nothing.

--I'm very good at taking the pictures, and not so good at being in the pictures.


I hope you all had a Christmas as lovely as mine.

And Happy New Year.