Tremolo

I've never had an overabundance of confidence.

Not to say that I don't shine in a few areas where I feel pretty comfortable... but there are certain areas where it's really pushing the envelope for me, and sometimes I crash and burn.  One of those areas is singing in front of people.

I've always thought I had a pretty nice voice. I can sing in tune as well as read music and hold my own part.  As long as I can remember I've been musically inclined. I play the piano, and beginning in middle school I chose to play the clarinet (because besides a few trumpets and a trombone that was the only instrument my family owned) and I even participated in a handbell choir back in high school and beyond.  I was in the school choirs, and the summer before my senior year I decided I wanted to sing even better so I paid my way through about 8 weeks of voice lessons (then I ran out of money).  In fact, I just saw my old voice teacher last Sunday on TV.  She was singing in General Conference as a member of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.

During my first year of college, I had a roommate who would play the piano and sing duets with me in the empty student lounge, as a sort of stress reliever.  It was fun.

On my mission in Poland, we used music to open doors. We often sang out on the street to attract attention while other missionaries handed out flyers and talked to people about our Church.  In fact, the very first person I ever taught and saw baptized was a girl who stopped to listen to us sing.  She said as she listened she had been touched and would meet with us to learn more.

When I came back to the states, I sang in the college choirs, and even took a voice class or two.

When I got married, my in-laws, who are very musical, enlisted me as the new family soprano, and we spent many evenings gathered around the piano singing together.  I especially enjoyed singing duets with my husband's younger sister.  Our voices really compliment each other.

I usually participated in ward choirs wherever I went (which, by the way, was a mandate by my college choir director to all of us, to help out the ward choirs of the world), however, as I started having kids it was harder and harder to do, especially as both my husband and I wanted to participate and there wasn't always someone to watch the little ones.  I did, however, find that with all our moving around, joining the ward choir was a sure-fire way to make friends fast in a new ward.  So I've started to make ward choir more of a priority.  At first, my husband and I tried taking turns being in the choir, but different choirs have different needs, and usually it was men that they needed.  Finally though, this year my husband realized my need, and he has let me go to choir without even asking to trade.  Of course, when I got there and I realized that they needed more men, I mentioned that my husband sang, and voila!  One of the choir members offered for her daughter to come to our house every Sunday and babysit our kids so we can both come to the practices! She's even willing to sit with them when we sing in Church! To her, it may be a small thing, but to us it's huge.  It's not only an opportunity to be together and share our talents, but it makes us feels so wanted and appreciated!

So where was I going with this besides giving you something akin to my musical resume?  Oh yeah.

So a week and a half ago was our Easter Program where we got to sing a few numbers in Church.  Somewhere along the way, during one of our practices, the choir members decided that I should sing a little solo part in one of the medleys. There are plenty of others who could have done it, and although I told them I don't generally sing solos, they still thought it was a good idea for some reason (I don't know why, but something about fresh meat comes to mind).  Anyway, I allowed them to bully me into it encourage me, and besides, it's not like it was a whole song...

The truth is, I've never sung a solo in public before.  I mean, I've sung in a number of small ensembles, and even a few duets and did just fine but that was because I could always just assume that everyone was paying attention to the other singers rather than me. However the thought of being the center of attention is just too much pressure for me.  I suffered through a few tryouts over the years where my nerves got the better of me and instead of singing nicely I ended up doing a great impression of a bleating lamb. I sang solos in front of a few voice classes and except for a little added tremolo that wasn't mine I did okay.  But we were all beginners there and half of them did the bleating lamb impersonation too, which made me feel a little better. There was also that time when I was 18 and they were going to have me sing a solo for a ward Christmas party, but the day before I got sick and lost my voice and didn't have to do it. (I say "have to" because I was super scared, even though I managed to do great while rehearsing in front of a few people). Last year I was asked to sing a solo in Relief Society, and I literally wrote in a duet part so I wouldn't have to sing it alone.  I still had to do a bit on my own, and it didn't go so well for me.  In fact, to be completely honest, I confess that I tried to make it look like I was getting all emotional when really my voice was merely betraying how nervous I was.  Sounds silly, but at the moment it seemed logical.  Sometimes I'm so ridiculous.

Anyway, so back to this latest episode.
Somehow I managed to sing the solo in our choir practice --in front of everyone in the ward who probably sings better than me, and it actually went pretty well.  In fact, everyone loved it and they were so supportive and kind. It was like having my own little cheerleading section.  I had to sing it many times, and still halfway through the song I would have little spasms in my stomach every time I thought about the fact that I had to sing that last line all by myself.  Then they decided that the first line should be a solo as well, so now I had to start the song out.  That particular part was a little easier for me actually, because it was easier notes for me to hit.  My confidence was slowly growing, and then I did something rash.  I told my parents about it and invited them to come to hear it.  Ack!  To tell the truth, I don't think my parents have ever heard me really sing.  I know, kinda weird.... don't ask why.  This time I felt ready though, and hoped to make them proud. (It was also helpful because then we had someone to watch the kids when we had to be to church early for one last practice, as well as someone to sit with them in the pews during the whole meeting.)

We got there for practice and they decided I needed a mic.  I had to agree, I've never been able to be very loud, but there's a reason for that somewhere in my subconscious and the mic made me uneasy.  I went through rehearsals okay --a little nervous when I was told to sing out to the audience, and I may have faltered a bit when I noticed that my parents had arrived a little early, but I managed to keep it together.  The meeting started, and everything went fine until it was time for our big number.  After sitting there for 20 minutes in what was probably not the most relaxed state, we stood and the music began.  I took a deep breath and...  my voice cracked!  I only had eight measures to sing, and my voice cracked several times!  I couldnt' figure out what was wrong with me.  I had breathed deeply, I had thought all the positive thoughts I could muster, was feeling pretty confident, and still my voice betrayed me.
We sang through the song, and I was determined to make up for it at the end, and surprisingly enough the end went perfectly.  I even managed to remember to smile.  Afterwards, I got lots of compliments --not that that is what I was looking for, my main goal was merely to add to the spirit of the meeting-- but I felt I had failed and I had to force myself to accept them gracefully.  In fact, I figured everyone was just trying to make me feel better about myself for that first part (because of course, in my head the first part is the only thing anyone would remember, right?).

And that was that.

I know, it could have been worse.  You were probably hoping for some exciting story where I faint and knock people over domino-style, or, if you're nicer than me, a story where I conquer my fears, make my parents proud, and everyone feels the Spirit so strongly... but really this was just a long story with a very disappointing ending.  I'm sorry.

I hope it's not how my story ends though. I want to keep trying.  I have to redeem myself.  I need to get back on the horse that bucked me off, right?

But my questions is, how do I get over this stage fright?  How do I erase all the failures that haunt me and tell me that I'll crash and burn like before because that's what I always do?

(The imp in my head says that perhaps one way is to stop dwelling on it by writing long boring blog posts.)

Ironically, the words I had to sing were, "The Lord is my light, then why should I fear?"

Soup's On!

It's been getting colder, and we all know what that means... Soup Season is here!

Actually, I have to admit this is warmed up V8.  My kids call it "Soup Juice" and prefer it warm. Go figure.
I'm not going to argue since it has a third of the sodium and way more vegetables, and now I've found that I like it better than regular tomato soup as well.

I haven't always loved soup.  When I go to a restaurant, the last thing I would consider ordering is soup.  Of course, we didn't have a lot of soup growing up.  Chicken noodle soup was about the only thing I knew,  perhaps a few creamy soups like cream of broccoli and clam chowder (what's the difference between a chowder and a soup?) and I suppose you could call New England Boiled Dinner "soup." Other than that it was just a can of Campbell's here and there, but soup in general was one of those things my dad didn't care for so we didn't have it very often --like Mexican food.  Random fact about me... I had never eaten at a Mexican restaurant until I was on my mission in Poland. Polish Mexican food is very different from American Mexican food (as in, I don't think Americans put curry on their taco salad), which I'm sure is very different from real Mexican food (pretty sure they don't use curry there either) but I wouldn't know. As a side note, Polish Chinese food is way different from American Chinese food, which I'm sure is nothing like actual Chinese food, but what puzzles me is that they all employ Chinese chefs, so.... yeah.

Anyway back to soup.

On my mission I learned to love soup. I love Polish soups, (most of them) Cucumber soup being one of my favorites, and there were many more that I didn't even know what was in them but they sure hit the spot in the winter after walking around all day in the freezing cold.  I even had tomato soup made from, like, real fresh tomatoes!!  (I know, blows your mind.) It was fabulous! However, when I got back to the states, I forgot about my love of soup, and went back to eating like I always had (with the exception of eating at more Mexican restaurants --the very Americanized kind like Bajios and Costa Vida and Cafe Rio).  However, last Spring I was in charge of a Relief Society dinner, and what did we serve?  Soups! Several Ladies brought crockpots full of their favorite soups and we got to taste them all.  It revived my love for soups. Not only that, but it even snowed for the occasion and we all know there isn't anything better than hot soup on a cold day!

So where was I going with this.... Oh yeah.  So it's been getting cold here, and the other day I felt like eating soup.  I had also read this book to the kids recently (which is an awesome book, and seriously could solve a lot of the world's problems if we could all live by it --think Zion here) and it sparked a memory in me.

When I was in joy school, (a fancy name for a neighborhood preschool co-op), we read this story and then the lady who was in charge that day actually made Stone Soup right in front of our eyes.  I was flabbergasted that she would actually put a rock in her pot!  I remember eating the soup and (besides worrying about the dirt that most likely came off the rock) thinking it was the best tasting thing in the world (perhaps it was the novelty of it, or perhaps the fact that it wasn't Campbell's had something to do with it as well).  Anyway, the memory has stuck with me ever since, along with the principle the book was teaching, and so I decided to make Stone Soup with my children.
When I first suggested the idea to my kids they were excited, but then my very pragmatic 5 year old informed me, "but rocks are not good for us to eat. It would be bad for our bodies."
True. Very true. So I explained and we scrubbed a nice sized stone that he found outside very well before putting it in a pot (one that doesn't have teflon).

That's no potato.

I roughly went by the ingredients mentioned in the book which included water, salt and pepper, carrots potatoes, cabbage, beef, barley, and milk. I say "roughly" as in I used carrots and potatoes, however I also used vegetable broth with just a little bit of water, celery instead of  cabbage, Polish sausage instead of beef, evaporated milk instead of fresh milk, (I was basically cleaning out the leftovers in my fridge) and no barley (ew), but I added some chopped up spinach. It turned out to be delicious!  I was quite pleased with myself. Who knew soup could be so easy?  It was somewhat reminiscent of Zuppa Toscana (which is something I've heard is served Olive Garden, but like I said, I don't order soups at restaurants I was introduced to it at the R.S. dinner).

The kids said it was yummy (although they had to be coerced to finish their bowls), and my 5 yr old said, "I must have picked a good rock!"

So much for them getting the point of the book.

I tried to explain that it was the townspeople working together and sharing the little they had that created something wonderful that none of them could have created by themselves and that applies to more than just feeding the hungry, of course... but I could see I was going over his head again and finally told him that yes, he picked a very tasty rock.

Perhaps someday he'll understand the concept.

If you want an even greater understanding of the subject (not soup but cooperation and pitching in for the greater good) here's a great talk that I would suggest reading.

Mottled Chameleon

So, I'm having a bit of a blog-identity crisis.

I don't feel that I've kept with the original purpose of this blog, and so when I sit down to write I start feeling all sorts of anxieties and things that try influencing what I post or how it will come out.  Some of it has to do with other blogs I read and how they rub off on me, some of it has to do with what I think other people expect of me, some of it has to do what I expect of myself, and some of it has to do with how I'm feeling in general.

Maybe it's my own identity crisis.

I remember a saying on the wall of a high school English class, right next to the plaque that read "Eschew Obfuscation," but that's beside the point. This other wall hanging read:

I AM

WHAT I THINK

OTHERS THINK

I AM

I don't know who first said this, but it has plagued me for years because I often feel that I fit this description perfectly.  I say plagued, because whenever I fall victim to other people's opinions of me (good or bad), whenever I feel like I am just playing a part to fit in or to keep up appearances, or whenever I listen to the voices inside my head that tell me I have no personality of my own, no original ideas, and that I am just a sad imitation of those whom I admire... this saying comes to mind.

I mean, have you ever had someone ask you if you're feeling sick, or if you've been crying, and suddenly you really do feel sick, or your eyes start welling up even though you're not sad in the least?  It's like being a victim of the force. Please tell me I'm not the only one this happens to.   

To explain this phenomena, aside from the inference that I'm a mindless twit that can be easily swayed by the merest suggestion, when someone asks me if I've been crying --which I rarely do, (okay, rarely did before I had three pregnancies) I suddenly start wracking my brain to think of reasons they would think this and feel sorry for myself, or else I start think of reasons I might have to cry (whether real or imagined) and that inevitably makes get teary-eyed, or sometimes I'm simply touched that someone would go out of their way to ask me something personal, so I start crying. Makes sense right?  

Don't answer that.

So on my mission, soon after arriving in the country and meeting my Mission
President for the first time, he interviewed me to get to know me a bit and assigned me a companion (probably not on the spot, I'm sure he had decided previously and was just seeking confirmation). I don't know what my MTC teachers had told him about me, and I do believe he was working on inspiration for the most part, but in the course of our conversation he labeled me as "bold" and told me that he was putting me with a sister who was meek and timid and could use someone to help her be more bold.

Me?  Bold?!

Now, I may have been outspoken and tactless at times, and perhaps even a little stubborn, but that does not equal bold.  I was anything but bold, especially when it came to sharing the Gospel --which honestly terrified me --especially in a foreign language!
But, bold he thought I was, and so bold I became.  Not always in the best ways mind you --I think I bowled her over and nearly drove her insane.  Poor sweet sister.  She didn't know what to do with me.  I told the elders off, I repeated offensive phrases I had learned to old men who hit on me, and I flatly refused to make phone calls until I could understand what the person was saying on the other end.  Yeah, I was that kind of trainee.
On the other hand, when paired with a companion who the President mentioned was "another red-head" (in the stereotypical sense of the word) and that he thought it might prove interesting (although I didn't consider myself a red-head --maybe auburn or chestnut, but not red), I found that my brand of "boldness" to be useful in not letting her push me around, keeping her out of trouble with the elders (yeah, she was that kind of sister), plus it motivated me to learn the language better so she couldn't do all the talking ...er, I mean, so I could explain what she was really trying to say.   I was paired with her three separate times on my mission, and I truly believe that if I hadn't been my "bold" self, she wouldn't have finished out her mission.
Despite my inner conviction that I wasn't bold, just stubborn, I did however come to recognize how the Mission President's view of me hadn't been so far off after all. Less than half way into my mission, a new companion and I met with a girl we had only taught once before (actually another companion taught her while I took care of a drunk guy in the lobby but that's a whole other story). She had come to see a baptism of another investigator, and afterwards we had our second discussion. Things were going so well, and as I bore my testimony I felt inspired to invite her to be baptized.  She said "yes" and we set a date and she was baptized four weeks later. She was what we call "golden." I didn't think much of it, since it happened so naturally, but later after my mission I learned that an elder who was present at that meeting had written to my parents to say how impressed he was with my boldness.  And it hit me.  Either my mission president had been right all along, or I became that way because that's what was expected of me.  Either way, that's who I was.

Sorry, where was I going with this?  Oh yeah.

I remember writing in my mission journal how much I felt I changed with each companion.  Some were meek, so I was loud, some were pushy, so I was stubborn, some were cool, so I was nerdy, others were nerdy, and well, I was still nerdy. Some were shy so I took charge, some were beautiful and I the ugly duckling, some were troubled and I was calm, some were old and well... okay so I couldn't blame being young on my personality fluctuations, but perhaps my own immaturity was more apparent, I don't know.  I wondered to myself if choosing an eternal companion would be essentially choosing my eternal identity.  There was hardly any consistency to the roles I played, although looking at this list, it may seem that mostly I was just contrary, and perhaps I was but not in the negative sense of the word.  Still, I felt a little lost as to who I really was.  I couldn't so easily label myself one particular thing as others could.  Was I being insincere or dishonest?  Was I not being real or authentic?  I don't believe so.
Then I realized, that that is who I am.  I am the person people need me to be!  I am the friendly one when someone needs a friend, I am the creative one when others are out of ideas, I am the calm one when others are worried, I am the bold one when others are timid.
It's true that I wasn't always my best self, and my fluctuations included times of low self-esteem, but doesn't that happen to everyone?
I'm not always just the opposite of others either (--although I try to avoid the awkwardness or competition associated with being too similar or taking on the same roles).  In high school I fit in with many different people.  I was on the soccer team, and hung out with the sporty types, I was in band and choir and drama, I was a photographer on the yearbook staff, participated in the Russian club and loved AP Chemistry. My best friends were sterling scholars, art royalty, and and student body officers. Overall, my friends were intelligent, kind, hard working and fun.  I hung out with them because I admired them, I appreciated them, I hoped I was like them.  And to some extent I was.  However, at graduation the truth came out.  So many of my friends were surprised to discover that I didn't graduate with honors or high honors.  I even had one well meaning friend comment, "you forgot your cords," and although I was flattered, it kinda stung as I had to explain.  I believe that I was just as intelligent as them, but intelligence doesn't matter much if you're secretly lazy.  It made me resent my diploma in the end. Still, I was grateful for my ability to connect with many different kinds of people, and although I never stood out in any way, no one ever felt threatened by me and I was never the target of any unkindness. It suited me well.

When I got to college, I did well, but I was indecisive about majors.  The voices in my head said it was because I didn't know who I was, or because I wasn't good enough at any one thing to succeed.  It made me feel inferior to people who seemed to have direction and purpose and knew exactly what they wanted to do.  It made me feel like I had no "personality" when I had to explain that I was just a General Education major (...and we all know that girls majoring in General Ed at any Church school are just planning on getting their MRS degree right?).  I felt like if I could at least say I majored in Liberal Arts, it would sound better, but they didn't technically have that major at BYU-I by name.  The real problem was that I had too many interests, and I felt if I chose one, that meant leaving all the others behind.  I went from major to major; Music, English, Psychology, Biology, Education, with minors in P.E., Art, Photography, Child Development, etc.  I even considered transferring to BYU-Provo and majoring in Geneology... but then I met my husband, got married, and soon my credit limit was up (for those of you who don't know, Church schools are too in demand to let you stay around very long, so once you reach a certain number of credits you have to petition to stay, graduate, or move on), so I graduated in "University Studies."  Could that be any more ambiguous?

Over the years though, I've come to realize that however directionless my academic record may seem, however little qualified it makes me for any specific career, I feel that nothing could have prepared me better for my present occupation as a mother and homemaker.

So I guess my point is this.  That who you are is who you are. Whether outside influences affect how you act, and regardless of what people think of you or expect from you, you're still you.  Is a chameleon not a chameleon just because it changes its color?  No.  And it doesn't mean that a mottled one is confused or being dishonest or unauthentic either.  It's just doing it's thing.

Okay so that was a long tangent to get to where I was going.  Hope I didn't obfuscate too much :).

I was talking about the identity of my blog.

So what if my blog is sometimes a travelogue? So what if it sometimes resembles a craft or cooking blog but isn't really?  Who cares if sometimes I am poignant, and other times sarcastic? What does it matter if sometimes I have beautiful pictures I took myself and sometimes pirated images from google?  Will people be bored if I write about myself, my life, my kids?  Will they stop reading if I quote scripture or share my opinions about controversial topics? Do I care if I am shunned from blogging groups because my blog can't fit neatly into any specific category? Is it a problem that I love comments but write it more for myself than anyone else?  Does it mean my blog is lame if I never have any more than 4 followers?

I think not.

It may not be what anyone expects, but this blog is mine, and it is what it is.

I guess I've overcome my blog identity-crisis.

I really should start blogging more, and think less about what others think.

Q & A

So it's that time of year again.

We're moving.

This picture was taken exactly a year ago today.

Nine days from now, we'll be on the road.

This will be move number 13 in our 6 years of marriage, and you'd think we'd be professionals at it, but no, we're a mess.

For those of you who don't know already, I'll answer the questions I can tell you're just dying to ask...

Q. Why do you move so much?

A. Well, since we've been married, my husband has pretty much been a student, and although he's been able to work on campus while going to school, during the Summer there's hardly any jobs that would support a family of five; so we have a "summer job" in WY that we go back to because it's just that good. Okay, actually because they pay well (like 1/2 our yearly income in 3 months), they provide free housing (although cozy at best), and the bosses are awesome and totally love my husband and are extremely flexible.  It's also an amazingly beautiful place.  So why not?

Okay, go ahead and ask it.  I know it's coming...

Q. What do you do there?

A. It's for the government. Top secret.   Okay, just kidding --except for the government part.  As much as I'd like to say that we do something cool like river guide, or rock climb, or chase grizzlies, we actually just spray weeds for the county.  I could say that my husband does pest control, but it's so much more!  We are helping the environment stay pristine and beautiful, eradicating invasive and non-native species of noxious weeds that are threatening to damage the natural balance of the ecosystem, hurting animals and people alike!!  Yeah, pretty much saving the world.   I say we because I worked there for a summer too right after we were married, before kids, and I still help identify the really noxious ones while I'm out and about, for a bounty of sorts. The really noxious and invasive ones are worth money, from $25 to $200 --but only for employees so don't go getting any ideas.  So yeah, that adds to the main rea$on we keep going back, the rest are just perks.

I don't mind the moving so much... okay so it's getting old, and to be honest, I'm a little sad to go because we've made so many friends this time around.  (I guess being served --like when we first moved here and I was in the hospital, and serving other people will do that to a person. What a blessing our Church has been --not to mention family that lives nearby.)

We will actually be back here again in the Fall, and maybe we can find a place to rent near friends or family.

Hopefully.

At least for a couple semesters anyway, until we move again...

Sheesh, I feel like such a transient.

Last question...

Q. How long will you keep this up?

A.  I don't exactly know.  I think we started saying "This is the last year we go to WY," like three years ago, so I'm afraid to answer that one.  Maybe next year, or perhaps once we get into a PhD program we'll settle down, but no promises.

Anyway, feel free to ask any other questions. I'd be happy to answer.  :)

What I would do if I had 5 hours to myself, ...and the house was already clean:

... oh yeah, and I had gotten a full night's sleep. (Is that too much to ask?)

(stipulations include things like, no use of technological devices except maybe  for "how to"s and recipes (--aka no social stuff or blog browsing), this is all stuff I could do without having to leave the house (except for the DI run) --we're just assuming that I already have all the ingredients/materials on hand, and finally that I am not allowed to feel any guilt about neglecting my family.

What I should do:

-Cook freezer meals for the next two weeks.
-File the important documents into a easy to carry folder to be put near our 72 hour kits.
-Assemble 72 hour kits.
-Sort the kid's 'too-small' clothes into boxes for storage (and actually put them in storage, not a heaping pile of boxes in my room).
-Make homemade laundry detergent and homemade baby wipes.
-Organize the closets/garage/drawers and make a DI run.
-Make a quiet-activity bag to keep my kids happy at church/on Sundays/during quiet time.
-Make more lists and plans.

What I would like to do:

-Play the piano, perhaps make another CD for my parents.
-Write in my journal.
-Read a book from beginning to end.
-Soak in a hot bath, give myself a facial, cucumbers and all, and top it off with a pedicure and perhaps a manicure as well.
-Try something new, like painting with watercolors, or making jewelry or something.
-Get crafty, and try a bunch of things I've seen on pinterest.

What I would do if I ever followed through with my good intentions:

-Write thank you notes to people.
-Email each of my siblings separately -not a form letter.
-Print out pictures of my family and frame them to hang on the wall (and to give copies to the grandparents).
-Make birthday cards for all my extended family for the rest of the year (and actually mail them)


Okay, so if I thought about it long enough, I could probably come up with more amazing things, but I can't, so there you have it.

Gosh I'm boring.

By the way, we lost our camera, so no picture today (we won't mention the fact that I could use an old photo from my computer... I'm feeling lazy).    Luckily our tax return will furnish us with a new one, and I am super excited. More about that later.

Music

My taste in music is hard to explain.  It usually depends on what mood I'm in actually.  I've got pretty eclectic tastes, but not when you compare it to my husband's.  I can speak in generalities, such as, I don't like rap (if you can even consider that music), heavy metal makes me feel sick, hard rock isn't really my thing, and I'm not really into the twangy kind of country music that uses that one instrument that's like a  slidey horizontal guitar (I know, so technical).  I guess I'm not as eclectic as I thought.  I like classical music (actually I'm more of a Romantic period type), and I'm afraid to admit that I like a lot of oldies, including 80's music, and even new age (like Enya) --but only when I'm really in the mood for it, and while we're confessing things ...I have a disney heroin / broadway favorites sing-along mix I made for when I feel like belting it out in the car ...on my own ...with the windows up.

I'm sure you wanted to know that, but don't you agree that different music is good for different things?  Like U2 is good for car trips through the desert in the Summer, and Enya is good for ...soaking in the tub on a rainy day (okay, so I just made that up), and Jack Johnson is great for home video montages.  But I digress.

Still, most of my listening habits consist of acoustic stuff, folk, indie rock, blue grass, etc... and I'm pretty non-committal when it comes to naming groups because it's not very often that I like all their music.  I'm also bad at paying attention to and remembering what is what.  There are so many great songs and groups I couldn't possibly mention them all here (the more I think about it, the more I realize this would be a very long post if I did), and still there's plenty that I haven't even discovered yet!

Okay, so basically, if you want to know what kind of music I like, you'd have to let me listen to something and ask me if I like it.  Of course, it might all depend on what mood I'm in.  Picky?  Yes.  However, if you don't ask me, I probably won't notice or care anyway, and that's a good thing.  Very rarely do I ask my husband to turn off something, so if I don't say something, generally speaking, I like it.  Confused yet?  Never mind.

So why am I rambling on about this?  Well it's really all because I wanted to share a new group I just discovered with you. I am always mesmerized by their videos, in fact, I think that's their thing --a new medium called VideoSongs, and I highly recommend them. They make me smile. The only problem with this group is that their songs get stuck in your head really easily.

Favorites are:

Little Things,
Makin' Out,
Another Day,
Mr. Sandman,
Bust Your Kneecaps,
If You Think You Need Some Lovin',





I also realize that I'm not usually a big fan of female vocals, but this girl is an exception.

New Year's Resolution: Getting Things In Line

I saw these clouds all lined up while driving through Idaho and had to take a picture.  Cool huh? 

I generally hate the word Goal. I actually don't believe in goals, because my experience with them has been such that in my mind the word has become synonymous with failure.  Goals are just something to eventually give up on.

Sounds really motivating huh?

I'm sorry, but I guess I'm easily discouraged, and so when I make a goal and things don't go as planned, it might as well have been a distant wish, and once the merest hint of failure creeps in, the goal inevitably and magnificently falls by the wayside.

So generally, the New Year holds no special meaning for me.  I'd rather not set myself up for such disappointment, so I generally don't set goals.  However,  this year I'm trying to look at it in a different way.

I don't know if I mentioned this, but last month I turned 30.  Yes, the big 3-0.  Actually I don't care that I'm getting older, the number is meaningless,  I am only a little saddened by the fact that I've felt 30 since I had my first child.  With that first pregnancy, I gained a lot of weight, and afterwards it didn't come off.  After my son was about 9 months old, and sleeping through the night --even sleeping in until 9 a.m., I was still so tired I found that it was all I could do to get up with him and lie on the floor next to him while he played.  I didn't think that was normal, but attributed it all to the weight, which I blamed completely on myself for having a lack of self control or something, and basically I was miserable and depressed. Isn't that so typical?
Anyway, shortly after that, I went to a doctor for a recurring cold, and was diagnosed with hypothyroidism.  Yada yada long story short, after two more kids and periods of almost feeling good enough to almost try and exercise, (and yes, I am being redundant on purpose) I've decided that the time has come for me to try something new.  Yes, I went to a new doctor, and yes I changed my meds, and perhaps he'll have one or two more things to have me change or take or do differently, but this is more than that.

Now this isn't your typical new year's resolution to lose weight, nor is it even a goal to stay off sugar for a year or something ridiculous like that.  This is a desperate, hit-rock-bottom-can't-go-on-like-this mid-course correction.

It involves not just focusing on my physical health, but getting my mental health and spiritual health in line as well.

You see, I am a pretty good mom (if I do say so myself).
I am an okay wife I think.  I take care of my husband pretty well.
However, I am a horrible self. I do not take care of me.  When I do, I feel selfish.  (The only thing that I do for myself is steal sleep, because when I'm sleeping, I generally don't feel the guilt... I guess. Oh, and blog occasionally, but I do feel guilty about that.)  My husband has so graciously given me a "day off" every other week or so, which consists of a few hours without the kids to get out and do whatever I want to do.  My last "day off" I spent getting the oil changed in our van. Does that tell you something about me?
Half the time I don't even realize that I'm doing it --shoving my wants and needs and interests aside not taking the time for things that would help me be happy, or feel good about myself, or to become better; and even if I do realize it, frankly, I just don't believe I have time for it (I have to admit I have never wanted to walk out of a relief society meeting more than when I went to a workshop about time management).  Of course, what results is me rushing around frantically, trying to get everything done, trying to be everything to everybody, and all-the-while resenting it, feeling picked on, or rather, like a martyr, hoping that someone will appreciate the sacrifice I'm making... and ultimately failing.  Oh yeah, and I try to make myself feel better by sneaking chocolate, among other things.
It's an unhappy existence to say the least, not to mention counterproductive.

I believe that if I could turn this around, I could be an awesome mom, and an amazing wife -- but I'm not going to strive for awesomeness; that's what I've been doing.  I'm not going to aspire to be amazing; I always fail.

This year, I'm going to focus on me.

I may feel like I'm a horrible mom, I may feel like I'm not taking care of my husband, (but I suspect that it will be good for them in some ways, and honestly, they will be taken care of. I'm not heading off on a year long vacation or anything).
But I'm not going to feel guilty about spending time on myself --whether it means saying no to sharing the shower with rambunctious toddlers just to save time, or perhaps splurging on some real running shoes so exercise doesn't have to be any more painful than it already is, and maybe I'll even get my hair cut more than once per year --and actually take the time to do it instead of twisting it up in a soggy mass with a clippy, hoping that it will somehow dry on its own and thinking that it doesn't look too bad.

Okay, it will take some time, but I will find better examples of how to take time for myself.

Not all of the "focus on me" kinds of things will be indulgent of course.  Some will be less comfortable.  For example, I will be making some minor changes in my eating and exercising habits, but ones that fit me, and feel natural.  Yes, I plan to make a habit of counting calories sparkpeople style, but I am also making it a personal goal to eat sugar every day (now that's my kind of measurable and attainable goal, ha!).  Ultimately, its not about being skinny, or looking better; it's about being healthy, and having energy, and enjoying life for once!

As far as the spiritual side of my plan goes, it can't just be a "goal" in the measurable and attainable sense of the word.  That is too finite --meaning with a beginning and an end; however, there is no end to spiritual growth, and spirituality is not measurable.  So like my "To Do"  v.s. "To Be," I am not making a goal, I am making a decision, a commitment; to be more concerned about spiritual things, to be a better disciple, to be more Christlike in my communications, be more faithful, patient, charitable, loving and kind... and if I want to be less vague, rather than list all the things I would have "to do" to achieve this, all I need is to think at any given moment, "Who am I?" the answer being things such as, "A person who... reads their scriptures, or ...does their visiting teaching, or ...is patient, or ...shows gratitude to heavenly father for their talents by practicing and blessing other people's lives with them...  etc." and making sure my actions are lining up with who I want to be, and who God wants me to be.

Over all, I'm going to work on being the best me I can be, and I think all the other things will fall in line.

Wish me luck.

Maiden Voyage

Adrift in a makeshift sailboat.

So now that I've made this blog, I'm not sure where to start.


 I admit, in that last post, I actually kinda intimidated myself with big plans to write something profound or meaningful, and yet, right now I don't feel very profound.  I guess I'm really just out of practice.


Thinking profoundly doesn't happen that often when my life seems like an unending sea of diapers and dishes.  I'm concentrating too much on what needs to happen next, and how I'm going to do it, and then putting out the small fires such as pee on the carpet, or a toddler who's escaped the house, or a stain that needs to be soaked, or  figuring out what I am going to feed my family for dinner (actually, in all honesty I hardly ever remember to soak stains). Yet when things do calm down for a moment, I'm usually trying to get a nap (or wasting that precious naptime by escaping on the blogosphere).  Anyway, you get my point.  I hardly ever get time to myself to think.  Even if I do come up with a particularly insightful thought, it usually gets interrupted and forgotten before I can try it out on someone who might actually understand what I'm saying, so I think I gave up a long time ago.


I recently realized something about myself --and it's really quite sad-- that when I am in social situations it seems that all that comes out of my mouth is, "my baby did this," or "my kid did that." I get so embarrassed of myself by only talking about me that I get more nervous and I begin to really jabber about even more mundane things such as potty training or how I organize my tupperware or something.  Maybe, subconsciously, I'm afraid that the other person will come up with some highly intellectual topic of discussion and that I will have nothing to say, so I hog the conversation instead.  Wow. Has my life really sunk so low?  Please tell me I'm not the only one that does this.

Looking for sharks

 I'm hoping that this blog will give me the motivation to start thinking more so I actually have something worthwhile to say, and a place to write it down before I forget it.  It'll take some practice I think. For now, I'll just have to go wherever the winds of thought take me.

Why Worms?

It took me a long time to come up with a title for this new blog of mine.


I guess couldn't think of something that defined me more as an individual than worms.  Does that tell you something?


So why worms you ask?  Well, the simple answer could be that I am a mother of two, soon to be three, boys.  But actually, they are more squeamish than I am when it comes to worms (they get that from their dad I'm afraid).

 I'm sure this blog will mostly reflect my life in the role of mother, wife, and homemaker, as I record some of the small yet significant day-to-day happenings that I wouldn't otherwise remember, but I want it to be more.  I want it to be a journey of self discovery, as well as a true depiction of who I really am... and if you want to know what that has to do with worms, read on.


To be honest, it was my answer to one of those silly get-to-know-you questions that people ask, "If you were to write a book, what would it be called?"  The full title would have been "What do Worms Smell Like: and other things we take for granted." 


It actually comes from a few different sources.  First of all, as a younger person I was enthralled with the book "My Side of the Mountain" by Jean Craighead George.  I loved the idea of living in the forest in a secret hideout all alone except for the animals you had befriended, living off the land by your own resourcefulness... but that has nothing to do with worms.  It actually has to do with one small portion of the book where the main character is lounging in the grass one evening and hears a sound next to his head that turns out to be an earthworm.  He makes the observation to the effect that it was nice to know that even something as insignificant as an earthworm had a voice in the world.


I may feel insignificant at times, but I'd like to know that perhaps I was heard, perhaps I left a mark on the world.  I want this blog to be a place where I can share my thoughts and ideas, my plans, my projects, and my accomplishments, even if they are not particularly noteworthy.


The second thing that brought me to this was another book I read in high school.  It was Ray Bradbury's "Fahrenheit 451." I didn't especially like the book because of how hopeless and depressed it made me feel as I read about a futuristic world on the brink of apocalypse where the people had lost all sense of humanity.  There was one character in the story though, who was a bright ray of hope.  She shook the world of the main character when she did something as simple as smell a handful of Autumn leaves --which was something people in that world took no notice of.  It was a simple pleasure, and for him, it was a totally foreign idea.


What does it have to do with worms?  Well, it's a stretch, but I think taking notice of the little things (i.e. autumn leaves, worms, etc.), being curious about the world around you is a  way of not taking things for granted.  I don't ever want to miss out on the simple pleasures of life.  I don't want to take the small things for granted; otherwise, I feel I would lose some of my own humanity.  I hope to use this blog to remind myself and others to be more aware of the little things that make up real life and document some of the simple pleasures I enjoy.


The third thing I thought of when I came up with my blog title was an article called "Thinking on Earthworms,"  by David Quammen.  In his essay, he discourses upon a little-known fascination of Charles Darwin --that of earthworms.  Although Darwin was more famous for his book Origin of the Species, he also wrote a book called, "The formation of Vegetable Mould through the Action of Worms."  The book was a result of a lifetime of research done by Darwin on the subject, and one of the facts Quammen used to elucidate his point was that Darwin was a free thinker.  Darwin actually made some interesting discoveries about the importance of earthworms to the ecosystem, concluding, in essence, that the earth would be in big trouble without the good that earthworms do through the decomposition of refuse and aeration of the soil, among other things.  Of course, I'm greatly simplifying things, but going back to the point of David Quammen's essay, it takes people who are free thinkers, to make a difference for good in the world --like the earthworms --as opposed to people who are caught up in what he calls the "noosphere" or "the homogenization of minds" that occurs when we are told what to think about and care about by the media: people who are overly concerned with keeping up with the rest of the world in popular culture and social norms and such.


I want to be a free thinker, an individual, and I want to do some good in the world.  This will be a repository for some of my more profound, although at times random, thoughts and beliefs that may or may not make a difference in the life of someone else.


So that is the reason behind the reference to worms in the name of my blog.  Sorry it took so long to explain.


By the way, the answer is Dirt.