March Some madness.

I'm only a week late...

From the beginning of January to the end of March we celebrate every birthday in our family, except for one. This is not including extended family members, and we have plenty of those mixed in too. But March? March is the rockinist month.

It's my birth month.

I think I'm an okay looking in person but when a camera gets a hold of my face, it's not pretty. Suddenly my teeth are big, my smile is crooked (and not in an Edward sort of way), my skin turns blotchy, and my hair brassy.

I hate my face in pictures. It's like hearing a tape recording of your voice. The whole time you're wincing and thinking, Eehh, is that really what I sound like?

This would explain why I hardly ever post pictures of myself. So for Birthday Fun at the Farm you will be seeing lots of pictures that I took. But none of me.  Here's the photo journal.

 Yee-haw. We teach 'em early around here.

I wonder if she could get a job with Kazeem's High Flying acrobats.

 This child never gets tired of swinging at the farm. Once, when we were getting ready to come back home, we couldn't find her. She was way down by the barn, swinging.

Boys will be boys. Let's get this going a little faster.  Notice Y.S. in his socks. Like I said, boys will be boys.

The view I used to have out of my front window. Sigh. I miss this.

Does this even need a caption? So much cuteness in this picture.

Crazy troll doll hair. Gotta love, Grandpa.

I lied. Here's one of me blowing out the candles. It's pretty safe since you can't actually see my face.

Speaking of birthdays, Oldest Daughter's is today. We had her dinner last night. The poor thing was sick so Husband had to remove each candle from the cake so she could blow them out individually rather than spread her germs all over for us to consume afterward.

 But really, this is what March is all about.

This guys is being dogged all over Facebook.

Seriously, people. What's not to love? Quit fighting the Jimmer and just let yourself be sucked in. It's all for the best. I did and my life will never be the same.

Everytime he's up on the screen I just want to bust out the Hoosier's DVD. It's so emotional. I'm losing my voice from yelling at the t.v. My husband thinks I've turned into some crazy sports lunatic.

After twelve years, I'm still keeping Husband on his toes. And the best part, is I'm brain washing my kids. O.S. told Husband the other night to just get over it because we were going to be crazy BYU sports fans from this moment on.  That's what it means to be Jimmered. Maybe. I'm really not sure. But that's the definition at our house.

But for real. This is the photo that captures all the joy of March in our house.

That's Nephew the Dork. Who made me laugh so hard last night I almost peed my pants. You had to be there. So glad I was.

Happy March, All!



On a dare.

I'm not a very lucky person. I hardly ever win contests, or drawings. Last year at the LDStorymakers conference I think I watched every single person attending win a prize BUT me.

I know I told y'all that I would blog about my birthday fun on the farm next, but my friend Melanie Jacobson, the one who wrote The List, is having a contest on her blog. All I have to do to up my chances to win the cute green dress she's offering is write a bucket list and blog about it.

I'm pretty easy to please so I'm not sure how long this list will be. Here goes:

1. Be in the Nauvoo pageant with my husband and kids (We're hoping for next summer. It's a two week commitment, but it will be totally worth it IF we get picked.)

2. This one's a no brainer. Get published. And not just get published, but get published with one of the publishers I want to be published with. I have standards.

3. Own at least four acres with my name and Husband's on the deed. So we can have a big fat garden. The farm is too far away, and my .25 acres ain't cuttin' it. (I love that I'm from Va and can say words like ain't and y'all, and get away with it. Mwahahahah. Aren't you jealous?)

4. Finish my BYU degree. If the thought of taking Statistics hadn't already made me shake until my teeth practically rattled right out of my head, I would have already done this. (Yes, Rob, I totally expect a lecture from you now. I still hate math. Blah.)

5. Go on a mission with Husband.

6. Build a dream house, doing most of the work ourselves. Ambitious, right? But I just can't see paying someone else to do all that, charging us twice as much as if we did it ourselves. I'm a tightwad like that. I may or may not have been brainwashed by Husband.

7. Take our kids back to Hawaii where we went on our honeymoon. And this time, we're going to the PCC.

That's it. All my big dreams right there in a list of seven. Of course I have more, but these are the most important.

Seriously, next time, birthday fun at the farm.

But first, I want to see all of y'all's lists. Blogging is fun, but it's more fun when the people who read your blog actually participate. It's like a two way conversation here, peeps. I get tired of talking to myself. I get to hear my own voice all the time. Pipe up! Here's your big chance. It's called the comment box below.

Give me those cheeks.

I think the last time I dreamed (dreamt. Whatever.) it was the one about the lady with the vegetable peeler. Remember, her?

Well, I had another dream the other night. It was just as scary as the lady who was going to peel me to death.

This one is a doozie too, but in a completely different way.

I wonder if I should even share it with you, but it's too funny not to.

Here's my disclaimer before I begin: I am perfectly, delightfully happy with my situation in life. With my husband, my kids, my house, my religion. Period. This dream is in no way a reflection of my secret hopes or wishes. My subconscious is merely betraying me by making up weird, wicked soap operas for me to see when my eyes close. I guess my life isn't exciting enough for my brain.

Disclaimer done.

In my dream I was at a church building. In the gym to be exact. And my ex boyfriend was there. This is the guy I dated for two years before I met Husband. We were pretty serious, but every time I brought up the M word,  his eyes would dart around just like a deer in the headlights (sometimes a simile really does fit), and he would turn ashen. He was a great guy other than the fact that his biggest ambition in life was to live in a pent house in New York City and own a Porsche on the salary of a UPS worker. My dreams were fixated around a temple marriage, a house full of kids and a yard with a garden. Obviously we had a problem. A pent house is on the top floor of a really tall building. And that would require me to lug my kids and all our groceries up the elevator every day. (Little did I know then but O.S. would have a terrible fear of elevators. That would have thrown a big kink in things because there is no way I would carry all those bags up thirty flights of stairs.)

Oh, and we had one other problem. He didn't go to church as much as he should. His testimony was lacking in a big way.

 I just veered way off topic. Oops. Back on track. So my ex-boyfriend was there. With his current girlfriend. She was a little weird, and not at all the type of girl I would have pictured him with. And why is he like forty and not married in my dream? Anyway, he sees me, and tells me that he wants me to marry him.

Uh, that's about fourteen years too late.

In my dream, I kept thinking, "Wow. Where is Husband? Is he dead in this dream? Are we divorced? Did he leave me for Vegetable Peeler lady?" I just didn't know.

And I didn't know if I should trust Ex when he was telling me he wanted to marry me as his girlfriend sat next to us staring off into space. I seemed to lose all control over my reasoning abilities while I'm dreaming.

Thankfully my Stake President showed up. I knew I could trust him. He saw me chatting with some attractive guy who was not Husband and so he walked over to us. He started interviewing Ex when he found out that he wanted to marry me.

Ex told Stake President that he's active in church. Stake President gave him this disbelieving look and said, "No, you're not."  But Ex swore he was, and at this point he had his arm around me. I guess my indecision was sending him some kind of message. This is when I finally started to question Ex in the dream. My Stake Pres. is usually pretty in touch with things, and if he's questioning this guy then maybe I shouldn't marry him. You think?

Stake President looked at Ex's girlfriend and said, "Why don't you marry her? She's right here and she's your girlfriend."

Ex shook his head and said, "I can't be married to her. She drives me nuts."

So Stake President nodded. Apparently he understood Ex's desire to not be married to someone who gets on his nerves. S.P. walked away, leaving me alone with Ex, and his spacey girlfriend.

At this point I start having a conversation with my dream self.

"What are you doing? Why are you letting him put his arm around you? If Husband walks in this is going to be really, really bad?"

Dream Self is thinking back at me. "We used to like it when he put his arm around us. Why wouldn't we like it now? Besides I can't figure out what our relationship status with Husband is. If he's still married to us, then where the heck is he?

Good question.

Anyway. Ex still has his arm around me. Then Primary lets out and all the kids come running into the gym. I tell Ex that he needs to drop his arm from around me because it's really going to freak my kids out if they see that. But he tells me that we're getting married and they need to get used to it. I tell him again that he really needs to drop his arm. But he doesn't.

Guess what? This part is da bomb. The only realistic thing in the whole dream.

Y.S. (that's Youngest Son, if you've forgotten) comes running straight toward us and screams, "Get off my mom!" And then he tackles Ex to the ground. I'm happy the arm has finally been removed, but my stupid dream self scolds Y.S. who then shrugs and runs off to play with his friends.

I tell Ex, "That's my Youngest Son."

He looks at Y.S. and says, "Hey, he looks like me."

And my dream self agrees, as does my real self.


Screech.

Creepy, huh? Because he kind of does. Wavy surferish hair with big brown eyes.

Want to see what he looks like?

Isn't he cute? (No that's not Ex. Ew, you really thought I kept a picture of him as a kid, even though I've been married for 12 years to Husband? I guess you don't know me at all.)

The guy in that picture? He's my hero. He busted me out of the clutches of the evil Ex boyfriend. Couldn't you just eat up those cheeks. I do. Every. Single. Day. And I can promise you if I'd married Ex, Y.S. wouldn't look like this. Because he looks just like his daddy, who looks absolutely nothing like Ex. Don't ask me how all that works. It just does.

For reals though, I did a little thinking in the thirty seconds after I woke up. When I was dating Ex, every time I would picture us getting married in the temple (because for me, there was no other place) I pictured marrying a different, better version of him. Clue. If the guy you're dating isn't the same version of the guy you picture marrying, you're probably with the wrong guy.

'Cause when I met Husband, he didn't have to change a thing. And when I knelt across the altar and looked into his eyes and promised to be his forever, it was to the same version of him I fell in love with. He didn't have to change to walk into that building. He was already everything he needed to be. 

There has to be a lesson in that somewhere.

Thank you, Husband. Thank you for being what you needed to be when you needed to be it. And thank you for giving me kids with awesomely kissable cheeks.

I love you. Forever.

Up next...Birthday fun at the farm.

I told you I would...

Let you know when my friend, Melanie Jacobson's, book was released.

So here's the big announcement:

IT'S OUT!!!

In case you forgot what it looks like--

I still love the cover. Don't you?

Remember what I told you about Melanie? She and I hung in the same circle of friends in college. I don't remember a lot about the crazy antics of our group except we went dancing A LOT. And dated A LOT. And laughed A LOT. But that's what college at BYU is all about, right? We probably studied a little too. Anyway, then we sort of all went our separate ways--got married, graduated, etc. And I didn't talk to Melanie for a decade. Then I found her on one of our mutual friends Facebook walls. (Yes, M.J., I totally stalked you.) I think I saw her profile pic a couple of times and kept wondering if I should friend her. You have to know I only friend people I really want to be friends with or had some kind of history with.

Oh, I'm about to get mushy.

So I friended her. I had no idea at the time that she was a soon to be published author who writes for the LDS market just like I'm trying to. And then she said something in a status update about 'when my book comes out...' and I freaked a little, and then I asked her about it. I'd written a book, but I really didn't have a clue what I was doing trying to get it published (obviously, I still don't :-) ) So I asked her if it was okay if I pelted her with questions. She probably regretted it later because I seriously inundated her. Soaked up every single word she would feed me. I can honestly say that probably 1/3 of what I know, I learned from her.

I let her read my first book and she told me the beginning sucked rotten eggs, but by the end it was pretty wonderful. Ouch. But it was exactly what I wanted/needed to hear. Because for the first time since I'd started this journey, I'd finally met someone who could help me step out of the darkness of ignorance and into the light of empowerment.  Every now and then I wonder where I'd be right now if I hadn't friended her. I'd like to think I still would have figured my stuff out. But who knows?

After she said I needed to revamp my book, she gave me the biggest compliment you can get from a fellow writer. You're dying to know what it is. I can tell.



She said,


"Would you like to read my book?"

Are you serious? I thought. Yes!!!!

And then I read it. Inhaled it, really.

I have a secret. When I read The List, I was totally intimidated. It's that good.

The friendship didn't stop there. I've become one of her beta readers, and she one of mine. She drops whatever is going on if I need her to read, oh say, my entire novel in twenty four hours. Then she calls me on the phone and we talk for two hours about the edit she just did for me.

That really only happened once, but it could happen again.

With every rejection she emails me and tells me to hang in there, my day is coming.

What I'm saying is this. You know me, and I know you (I think). You don't know Melanie. But I do. And if you're going to plop down money for any fun, lighthearted romance, make it this one. You won't regret it.

But I'll stop rambling now.

Here's a link to her website.

And you can buy her book here.

But don't take my word for it. Go here to read the first chapter. You'll see that I'm write. I mean right.

Surf's up!

The Men in My Llife

Y'all may not know this about me, but I tend to be a little headstrong. I know, it's news to you, right? Sometimes I forget about it myself until drama falls upon me and then my claws shoot out like a grizzly bear.

It's been one of those months, let me tell you.

Actually, I can't tell you, so let me give you a little parable.

Life is like an ocean, and I am like a boat. My sail is out and all is right with the world, and I'm thinking to myself, "This is easy. This is good. I can handle anything when I'm feeling like this." And then, as if the sea was just waiting to be tempted, a large wave comes crashing down. I sputter and I spew, but I get that sail back up. It may take me a few hours, or a few days, but I never stay down for long.

And then a storm hits, and wave after wave after wave pounds against me. I'm capsized and filling up with water and just when I think I can't take anymore, another one comes. But I don't give up. I never do. Because I've got too much spit.

But that doesn't mean I handle my storms right. I usually don't.

And since I know nothing about sailing, let me switch to something I'm more familiar with. Dirt. I am a farm girl.

When someone slings mud at me, or one of my kids my initial reaction is to pick up a nice, big sun hardened dirt clod and fling it back as hard and fast as I can. And if it happens to smack them right in the forehead and knock them out, oh well. It's what they deserved.

Thankfully I don't do that. Here's what I do do. (Not that kind of do do. Ew.)

I pick up the phone and call one of the men in my life. It's usually husband. And he says, "Stop! Whatever you do, don't fling that clod! Don't do it! You'll regret it!"

I usually tell him he's wrong. And the sad part is, I'm not sure I would regret it. If the person has pushed me to this limit, honestly they probably deserve a nice goose-egg. But I know that husband has better sense about these things than me. He's calmer, more steady, which is exactly the opposite of me--impetuous and all uptight.

He's like the Savior. (I mean that metaphorically. He definitely isn't perfect.) He is merciful.

But if things are too out of control and I know that I just can't handle being quite as Christlike as Husband, then I call someone else.

Tres.

I did it today.

The thing I love about Tres, is he is what I think Heavenly Father must be like--ever loving, very wise. BUT. He also believes in justice. He sees my side of the story and vents very maturely and appropriately. He understands my frustrations and lets me feel justified. But then he will tell me when I'm too uptight, or Mama Bearish. I can trust his opinion because he is the kind of person that doesn't fly off the handle (you know, like me), but he doesn't back down from calling it like he sees it.

Don't get me wrong--I am not pretending to tell you the nature of God, and this is not the Gospel according to Susan (because I'd come up with better analogies than this if I wanted to have a book of scripture named after me). It's just me scribbling on my Scribbles.

If you understand this post, you might want to email. Because I don't understand me, myself. And I definitely don't understand other people.

So I'll leave you with this:

The waves may crash and thrash and beat me down, but as long as I listen to the men in my life--all four of them--I won't drown. And I may just come out on top.

Amen.

PS--I'm still on a little P-Dub kick. Can you tell?

The End.