Reasons perhaps why maybe I shouldn't cook

I have a love hate relationship with the kitchen. I love food. I think I am a decent cook, but I have some of the world's pickiest family members so it is literally impossible for me to make one entree to please everyone in the family. And so I go back and forth, sometimes I try new and inventive combinations hoping to find a hidden treasure (rare, oh so rare) and sometimes I make things that some people like and other people can choke down an aspect thereof. And sometimes I go on strike and feed them plain pasta, rice and cheese and/or popcorn chicken to quell their hunger and hope that the side of fruit will provide at least some measure of vitamins.

I had just emerged from a somewhat lengthy stay on strike because of the migraines and since I've been feeling marginally better and DH's schedule is marginally less awful, I have attempted to cook. Thursday, I made black eyed pea soup with okra and elephant garlic from our CSA share. I believed CE would like it, DH would love it (we have something similar each New Year as made by DH's southern dad) and the boys would find some leftovers on which to survive or they would pick summer sausage bits out of the soup. No child would touch it and DH never came home that night. It was yummy. I'm freezing it for reintroduction later. Friday was our trunk or treat so children were placated with Little Caesar's pizza and sugar. Good times. Last night, I thought I had a winning combination: I made homemade pizza--cheese and pepperoni pizzas for the kidlets and thai chicken pizza for DH and I. Hmph. CE didn't like the sauce. Bam didn't like anything except the crust. Z, CW and M ate, so that's a pretty decent success in my book. Oh and DH and I enjoyed our pizza, or so we thought . . .

DH spent the night in GI distress and I was plagued with bizzaro dreams. First I was awakened when I slammed my knuckle on the headboard (I think), certain that a scorpion had stung me. So I spent the next several hours in delirious pursuit of said scorpion in the dark, awakened by every fan breeze and skin twitch, certain to be stung "again." And in the midst of scorpion hunting, I found myself plagued by my inability to recall the portuguese words to the chorus of The Spirit of God. And to add further insult to my sleep deprived brain, once I recalled those words (mission in Brazil), I found myself further worried that I couldn't remember the Dutch words that I had once known for a whole month in 2002 in preparation for our primary program AND I couldn't remember if I had appropriately thanked the non-member Dutch woman who had kindly taught me how to pronounce the words once I found them (in 2002). And I should probably have commented on Louise Plummer's blog (who is Dutch) how nice that Dutch woman was to teach me how to sing the words when she wasn't even LDS and had no idea what Primary was (now that Louise Plummer has a blog. I don't think anyone had a blog in 2002). She even made me a tape (not Louise Plummer, the nice non-member Dutch woman). Needless to say, morning came too soon.

So, today, I decided to make spaghetti squash and actual pasta because I imagined that my children could possibly not be fooled or amused by squash that looked like pasta and tasted pretty darn good (really, what isn't tasty when cooked with butter and basil?). Surprisingly, DH came out of his squash phobia long enough to try and like the squash. CE tried enough to earn a piece of zucchini bread and the rest kept to their actual pasta. And then, because the meal had been far too uneventful, while trying to clean up the pan in which I had baked the squash, I instead dropped it. It was glass; it was a lasagna pan--one of those extra big ones. It shattered in so many pieces that glass was flung the entire length and breadth of my kitchen, some of the family room and somewhat into the living room and down the hall to the laundry room. At this point, the only good thing I'm seeing about dinner is that while I painstakingly cleaned up the glass shards, DH put the kids very nearly to bed. I even got glass blowback in my shins from impact with the floor! And the glass managed to rip one of the fancy super strong Hefty trash bags (I'm going back to the Kirkland brand Costco bags tomorrow, sale schmale), so the escaping glass sliced my thumb. And now, even though I have swept the entire area multiple times, at least once with a wet paper towel, I know I will find new glass shards in surprising locations and my neurotic worst case scenario mind will dream up ways M will step on, ingest or otherwise be hurt by the pan whose squash contents she wouldn't eat either.

Popcorn chicken's looking better all the time!

Clarinex, migraines and tender mercies

My life is a special breed of crazy these days, but somehow it's working for us. A year and a bit ago when DH was sustained as bishop (can it possibly have been over a year already?), a ward friend whose husband has done this already told me that the blessings would come, that it would be hard to say how, but the blessings would come. Well, of course it would be nice if the blessings were perfectly behaved children (yeah, not happening), but we are blessed with a wonderful family who has adopted mine and sits with us each Sunday. It would be lovely if DH's job were unstressful and gave plentiful raises, but despite CRAZYstress and a paycut, he has job security because they need him so much and there is enough to pay the bills. To me, these are the obvious blessings that I've been seeing all along.

Lately, things have been even cookier because DH's hours have been worse and more stressful, we are now doing the long school commute (which when the work hours are worst, DH can no longer pitch in to mitigate), and I have gone from my usual every other month migraine (before the bishopness the migraines were once in a blue moon and I even went for several years between a few babies without ANY), to monthly and then to biweekly and then to weekly migraines interspersed with some new breed of migraine without all my usual auras (when I was a kid, I called them martian spaceships) and dysphasia (where I can't talk right and absolute nonsense comes out of my mouth instead of what I mean to say, really, a treat for all) to warn me, but instead a speed straight to the searing pain. This has made it tricky to drive, tricky to keep a house clean and running, tricky to want to do anything except curl up on the couch keeping half an eye on children to make sure no one is actually killing anyone. I have been exhausted, discouraged and doubtlessly rather unpleasant to be around and at a loss as to what to do.

My migraines usually have reasonable triggers--stress (can't change it), wonky weather--storms, monsoon season, hurricane season, etc (haven't had anything but sun and wind here), lack of sleep (see stress), and hormones, like from pregnancy (NOTHING to report!). So, I was stumped, thus the discouragement. And then in the midst of muscling under and crawling along, (because really what else could I do?) a thought came quietly to my head. It came so quietly that I didn't pay any attention really for a few days until it noodled around in there for a while. The thought was, "take some allergy meds." This was a funny thought to me, because I haven't been plagued by any traditional allergy symptoms. But, what could it hurt, right? I happened to have some Clarinex samples from a bout with tinnitus earlier in the summer and I remembered that they didn't make me drowsy or give me any of the other less desirable side effects that antihistamines can bring. So I tried it. No headaches. Not one. And then after a week or so, I forgot a day and nothing happened, so I purposely didn't take the second day's pill and I began to get the zingy beginnings of a headache. Hmm. Back to the pills; no more headaches. And then I did it again--forgot a day and then tested it the second day followed by the zingy beginnings of a headache I can't shake. Duh! I'm not so bright. So, I'm back to my pills. I am converted and I called and got an actual prescription for them now.

So why do I tell you these tales of my neurological oddities? Because this incident is merely the latest capstone in the feeling I've been having of immense blessedness. I have been buoyed up. I have been blessed with a divine serendipity wherein the things that need to work do and the things that don't work go peacefully by the wayside and I am okay with it. I have been on time more and less harried in that late/overscheduled way (no things are not perfect, there is still tardiness and frustration, just less). I have been in many ways--none of them mine--more Zen, more at peace. I have been feeling like that eighties mission farewell song--"in the hollow of thy hand." Amidst all my failings and ingratitudes and imperfections, He has given me this and amidst all of the craziness and migraines and stubborn prepubescent daughters, stubborn near 2 yr olds and crazy boys in the middle, I have still managed to feel and recognize this grace. For it is GRACE.

I am a worst case scenario thinker. It's how I manage my anxiety and process possibilities. But it leads me to see failings and imperfections far more than hope and progress. So, for me to see and feel this serendipity is to me a second gift of grace altogether and precious all its own. And it was upon finally seeing it and acknowledging it, that the very next day, in the midst of a migraine, that I received the clarinex inspiration.

Tender mercies, I tell you, they're how I survive.

We have a winner!

Z's very first Pinewood Derby was on Saturday. When the den mother introduced him to the pack on his birthday, she gave him his car kit. He wanted to go home right then and make his car, but we made him wait a while for actual construction.

He bided his time; he sought counsel from Grandpa T. He bided his time some more. Then he, Dad, Grandpa F and the wonderful neighbor across the street with all the wood working tools got to work. This was the final result (after a city wide scour for appropriate stickers)



and this:


I knew that cars had to be weighed. I had no idea that additional adjustments would be needed because cars never seemed to weigh the same at home as at the race. DH knows these things and brought more weight, a drill and assorted items. There was also a "pit area."

After weigh in, we made our way to the race area:



and an action shot:


He WON! Z, my brand new baby cub scout won our entire den (or is it pack when all the age groups are together?) pinewood derby. He set and then broke his own record in 3 of the heats and then just won his third heat. He was so happy! We are so happy for him, but what does he have to look forward to next year?

Not going anywhere

Three weeks ago, I flew up to Utah to run the marathon.

Two weeks ago, we piled the kids in the car and drove up to Utah for a family mission reunion with Chad's mission president who is now an apostle.

It was quick and lovely and mostly a joyous time to remember time spent in the service of the Lord and how it has molded our family and the families of people that we love.

One week ago, Chad and I flew up to Utah for a fireside/mission reunion and to attend the Saturday morning session of general conference. It was another quick trip (just under 24 hours), but a lovely respite that left me on a spiritual high that I have been trying to quantify since.

We are not going anywhere this weekend. But, this morning, CW says to me as we get ready for school, "now, before you leave on your trip tomorrow . . ." I guess three weeks really is long enough to form a habit, at least in the minds of my children! I know some people leave town every weekend. Maybe those people are more exciting than I am. Maybe they have fewer children, less job stress, easier church commitments, more money, I don't know. I only know that I am heartily looking forward to many weeks of the foreseeable future of not going anywhere. I guess this solidifies my homebody status.

Things I didn't plan on . . .

1. I lost my first marathon toenail this week. One down, one to go.

2. I am a full fledged scout mom. This begins what will be a minimum of ten years in which at least one of my 3 sons will be in some sort of scouts. I have so much to learn! My MIL helped Z earn his Bobcat while I was running the marathon, so at Z's first pack meeting ever, he earned a patch and I earned a pin. I think I may end up with a bunch of these pins. Where does one wear Bobcat pins (or their relatives)? Perhaps Stacy and Clinton could give me advice on the appropriate use of such accessories and if it's okay to wear more than one of the same kind at once (since I will conceivably have some triplicates in the coming years).

3. I don't buy sandwich bread anymore. I have been grinding my own wheat and making my own bread for a few months now. So far it's been in the bread machine. I'm working up the nerve to make it completely by hand. I have a good easy recipe (or so I'm told), I'm just trying to figure out the scheduling of it. I think it's healthier than what I could buy in the stores; it's definitely fresher and cheaper and there is a certain pioneer satisfaction in doing something from start to finish.

4. I make my own yogurt about once a week. This was borne out of frustration as the yogurt prices kept rising and my children continued to favor only the most sugar laden varieties and would eat and/or waste them by the dozens each week. I love the fresh homemade stuff. My children are still adjusting to the idea. But I have found a new use for it: as a buttermilk replacement, especially in buttermilk pancakes. For the cost of one gallon of milk and a packet of unflavored gelatin (to thicken) I can have 4 quarts of yogurt and a lot less sugar and other stuff I can't even pronounce!

I don't consider myself to be terribly crunchy. I'm not the mother earth type. I believe in technology and make up and disposable diapers. But the older I get and more importantly, the older my children get, there are things that seem worth learning and doing for myself, whether it be out of a desire to put less gunk in our systems, to spend less money, or just to learn to be more self-sufficient and less dependent upon someone else as a supply chain. Even though the scouting thing comes because of its place in the boys' programs of our church, I think its value is largely because it does exactly the same thing for the boys.

I don't know what toenails had to do with this.