Story Lady Blog

Last night I went to bed and thought about two things:

#1) I can’t seem to live up to my expectations.

#2) One day, my kids won’t need me for everything.

Let’s start with #1.  I’m really being too hard on myself, and I need to lighten up -I just don’t quite know how.  I want my house to be clean, my waist line to be a few inches smaller, three meals a day on the table, my stupid wreath to be done, the laundry folded and put away (all the time, of course), my scripture reading done daily, and I’d also like to be really active in family history and temple work.  OH! And can I please write my book?

At the end of the day, when I’ve accomplished about .5% of that list, I lay in bed and beat myself up for everything I’m not.  I know it’s foolish -I’m not a total idiot.  But there it is.  I know the system needs to change.  I just don’t exactly know how to muck myself out of it just now.  I’ll try harder today and take comfort in the fact that I’m doing okay.  Waistline aside, I’m doing okay!  I think I might even just push everything out of the way and write my book for a couple hours.  That always helps me out.  If ever you’re feeling incomplete, do that one thing that makes you feel like you’re a success -worthwhile -and truly, TRULY happy!

Onto #2: I’m feeling bittersweet about this.  Last night, it was more bitter than sweet.  I got to thinking about Heavenly Father.  I’d love nothing more than for him to just TELL me what to do.  All the time.  I’ve even gone so far as to tell him that.

“Heavenly Father, I don’t want to go on faith today. Can you please just tell me what I need to do?  I don’t want to grow today.”

He didn’t.  To his credit, of course.  But yesterday I was on the receiving end of about 1,000 “MOM!”s.  And by 8:30 pm, I lay prostrate on the couch, completely paralyzed.  I couldn’t move.  But that was no excuse for me, my reader.  I had to get up and take my contacts out.  I had to get up and get the kids in their PJs.  I had to get up and put dinner away.

So I did.  Then, after our nighttime routine of scriptures and prayers, and deposited myself back on the couch and I realized something.

NO WONDER Heavenly Father never tells me every little thing I need to do!  It’s downright exhausting!  My children, at this point in their life, need my help every step of the way.  They can’t get a drink or poop without my help. Welllllll, hold on.  They can get a drink.  But if they want a drink from the SINK and not the TOILET, they need my help.  And yes, I prefer to give it.  They can’t eat meals without my help.  Every step of the way, I’m there.  When my husband took me to a Bed and Breakfast in Flagstaff, the owner asked me if we had any children.  We told him that we had two toddlers.  He smiled and said, “At that age, you spend about 5% of your time loving them and the other 95% saving their lives.”

How true.  And don’t get me wrong: I absolutely treasure these days.  I do!  But that doesn’t mean that they are easy.  That doesn’t mean they pass by like nothing.  Sometimes they’re long and hard.  Sometimes I’m completely paralyzed by the end of the day because I’m needed by everyone and everything.  What a blessing that is!  But what a trying one it can be at times.

Today, Heavenly Father, I’ve learned my lesson the hard way.  I promise not to ask anymore for a play-by-play of my life.  I promise to just LIVE it.  And by “LIVE” it I mean I’ll cast off about 50 pounds of guilt today.

There.  That oughta help my waist line considerably.

I went through the pictures on my phone yesterday and I found this one.  I had to share it.  I walked into Grandma’s living room one Sunday and found Trent watching TV with Grandpa:Too bad Grandpa’s not sporting his cowboy boots like Trenton!

I’m still working on that wreath. I actually took a day off yesterday, and I’m hoping my motivation will return today. Today just MIGHT be the day I finish it! The thought makes me a little giddy. To finally have it done would be heavenly.

Because I’m running out of movies to stream on Netflix, I started streaming a cooking show called “Pantry Raid.” There is one BIG downside to being a stay-at-home mom. It’s simply the ability to manage time all on my own. I realize that this isn’t a bad thing for most mothers. But for me? It goes something like this:

I need to do the dishes, then I’ll start on my wreath. OR I could work on my wreath and worry about the dishes later. What movie should I watch? I’m sick of movies… OH! Here’s a cooking show. I’ll stream that. Wow! Look at that! He just made a three-course meal out of that woman’s pantry. It looks amazing! What’s in MY pantry?

Three hours later, I’m left with an unfinished wreath, half-done dishes (with more dishes made dirty -thanks to my impulsive cooking), and a dinner that I’d like to be proud of -but I’m not… because it’s so thrown together it’s rather sad.

Everyday isn’t always like that. Just some days. Yesterday, for example.
HOWEVER, one of the great things about being a stay-at-home mom is that I can cook whenever I want to. I absolutely love cooking, even if I don’t love it everyday. My husband came home a little early yesterday and thank goodness. I told him what was on the menu for dinner. He wasn’t all about it, so I flipped on “Pantry Raid” and didn’t even make it through one episode before I had the courage YEA EVEN THE CONFIDENCE to wreak havoc on my pantry.

And we all ate like Spanish Royalty. Disregard the paper plate…

May I suggest “Pantry Raid” to you? If you’re in need of kitchen inspiration, it’s well worth looking at.
Here’s their recipe for pork chops.

Aaaaaaaand if you’re looking for some sewing inspiration, I HIGHLY suggest you check out this lady:

She makes all of her own clothing. While I’m not that motivated (I wish! And maybe someday!), her style is absolutely adorable! I found my fashion icon, ladies and gents. I found someone who loves to dress like an old lady as much as I do. She pulls it off much better, though. Probably because she makes her own clothes and they all fit like they should.

I LOVE the dress on the left. I want to make my own. Right now. But I need to do the dishes…

As I made cinnamon rolls yesterday (on account of the chilly turn in the weather), my daughter played under my feet.  I wasn’t paying much attention to what she was doing until she started singing, “Follow the Prophet.”

At least, the words she was singing went to the TUNE of “Follow the Prophet.”  Technically speaking, it was totally jibberish.  I looked down at her and saw that she was leading three sock monkeys.

“Honey, are you teaching them the song Follow the Prophet?” I asked.
“NO!” She turned to look at me, shaking her head in frustration, “Just don’t bother me! I’m teaching them MY song!”
Oh, well.
Pardon the intrusion.

Tonight I’ll be teaching HER about cleaning. Little does she know -she’s about to get hit with a chore chart.
I found a fun link that lets to customize your own chore chart. I made Trent’s with a Veggie Tales theme and I made Lacy’s with a Princess theme.
I think it’s only fair my husband gets one. I wouldn’t want to leave anyone out. He likes Sponge Bob, right?

CLICK HERE to customize your own chore chart!

This morning, we were able to assemble with members from the Stake to work on the restoration of Brigham City. I was more than excited to get in on this because I love anything historical. Restoring a pioneer community? Sign me up!

While I was cleaning out excess mud from between the sandstone walls we had made, I had a chance to talk to President Gene Hancock about his interest in the Brigham City Restoration.  He said it started about 20 years ago.  They’d tried to get the project off the ground by funding it through bake sales and the like.  It didn’t get them far, and soon President Hancock got discouraged.  A few years ago, the project resurfaced on account of his acquiring the lease to the land from the city (water right included -huzzah!), and things are really moving forward.  Want to meet him?

He’s a busy man. And though I could have snapped a picture while we were mucking mud out of the walls, I didn’t exactly feel like getting mud all over my cell phone. I also just wanted to finish mucking. I gotta say: it’s a little addicting.

About a year ago, I took my little flock of Beehives to a museum in downtown Winslow, AZ. I snapped a few pictures of the inside and then went home and googled around. Whilst googling, I stumbled onto THIS SITE about the Brigham City Restoration.
If you’ll click on that link, you can read more about the project and see a few more (and better) pictures.  Here’s a small excerpt taken from the website about the history:

“In January, 1876, Brigham Young summoned to Salt Lake City four brethren to lead missionary parties into the Little Colorado River area which had been explored by Mormon scout Jacob Hamblin during the the 1850’s and 1860’s where he frequently visited the Hopi and Navajo Indians as a Church missionary. Brigham Young instructed his four captains to assemble a new generation of pioneers to settle in Arizona Territory (A.T.). This group of missionaries, 300 souls divided into four companies, was perhaps the last of the self-sufficient American pioneers to seek new homes in an unsettled territory of this nation.

These hardy missionaries left Utah for the Sunset Crossing of the Little Colorado River to plant their faith in a new land. Jessie O. Ballinger and his initial company of 35 men, some with their families, together with the other three companies captained by Lot Smith, George Lake, and William Allen, set out in February of 1876 and arrived at their new home sites the following spring. This became the first LDS Church Stake in Arizona and was called the “Little Colorado Stake” which was the 21st Stake of the Church.

Although Brigham City (Ballinger’s Camp) is the principal subject of this restoration, the stories of Obed (Lake’s Camp), Sunset (Smith’s Camp), and Joseph City (Allen’s Camp) are mentioned because the histories of the four settlements are inseparable.

Brigham City, a fortified Mormon settlement on the Little Colorado River near the City of Winslow, Navajo County, Arizona was established iln 1876 as a United Order community and abandoned by the Church in 1881. In June of 1878, the site was placed on the National Register of Historic Places. The site is culturally, historically, and architecturally significant and has great potential for interpretation an public visitation.”

There was a crew of people building:

And a crew of people building:

And a crew of people building:

(my son was trying to take my phone away from me while I was taking pictures. That’s why these pictures aren’t the best. As my son would say, “I’m leally sowwy.”)

There was also a crew of people burning, but I forgot to take a picture of them.  Again, leally sowwy.

This one belongs to me:

So do these ones:

My son spent about 30 minutes crying because I wouldn’t hold him. In my defense, I DID hold him. But after awhile, I just couldn’t anymore. When he wouldn’t stop crying, we finally put him in the beautiful lookout point of the fort and let him cry away.

That part of the fort was built 20 years ago -it was meticulously done. There was perfectly crafted small windows that were replicas of what used to be there 130 years ago.
Here’s a wall that the pioneer built over 130 years ago. It’s still standing! Can you believe that? They made it using sandstone and mud. As in: mud from the ground they walked on.

This is all amazing unto me.

Their lives were so completely different from ours.

It’s surreal to walk where they walked. It’s even more surreal to watch big tractors haul rocks, dirt, and logs around. I bet the pioneers would have killed their fattest calf for a tractor.
Their three fattest calves, actually.

That port-a-john has nothing to do with history. Disregard.
They sent us on our way after lunch:

We feasted on hot dogs and Robert Pugh’s Potatoes. Anyone who understands the beauty of Robert Pugh’s Potatoes also needs to know that on JULY 23rd, we’re going at this again. And even if you’re only in it for the potatoes, it will be well worth it.

Between all the stubborn screaming and the tantrum throwing, I get glimpses of my REAL son.  I imagine the teenage years will be something like this -a shroud of hormones cloaking my REAL child.  I’ll burst through that shroud now and then, I know.  That’s what will keep me holding on.  Of course, I could be wrong.  The teenage years could be a breeze.  Of course, I could be right.  Only time will tell.

For now, I’m going to soak up every gosh darn minute of his “real” self.  Even if it crawls out of bed and onto me around midnight while I make roses out of pages from a dictionary.

 
Moments like that energize me -recharge me. Today will be better because of it. It’s given me the push I needed to step out of my Overwrought Mommy Cloak and let my kids see the real me.
Here’s to a day of eating hot dogs, playing on the floor, and singing the chorus to Banana Phone over and over because we can’t always remember all the lyrics.

Due to a missing camera cord, you’re getting a few unrelated smatterings from my life instead of a cutesty Easter post.
HOWEVER, my picture-taking, gardening, jewelry-making aunt wrote a post I highly suggest you check out.
I’ll put a link to it right after I post a couple stolen pictures from it.

We had our Easter Egg hunt in her backyard, which used to be my great-grandma’s backyard. She was never able to do much of anything with it, but Aunt Cat has transformed that piece of property into a SLICE of Heaven.

That’s my boy in the blue. He goes after candy like a blood hound.

There’s Lacy with her Grandpa. I’ve seen this somewhere before. Where was it? Where was it?

Oh yeah. It was 2009.
Check out the way this plays out. Grandpa starts out in the lead, then Lacy takes it.

By the end of the hunt, Grandpa was carrying her basket and she was barking out orders.

But back to 2011:

And back to 2009:

I love that picture. I love that boy.  Can I have another?  Please?  And will he let me drag him through irrigation water like that one did?

Alright, you’ve earned the link to cat’s blog.

CLICK HERE

And yes, that is my husband worm-hunting.  I didn’t steal that picture… I’ll let you seek it out.

So…

yesterday I found my son sitting on the counter eating out of the sugar bowl with a giant spoon.  Turns out he took well-meaning advice from Mary Poppins too literally (buh dum dum).

I ate a cookie for breakfast and then died after only 15 minutes of yoga.  They call me “Idiot” down at the office.

I’m ridiculously excited about making a list and menu today.  Food planning has become a sort of tiny thrill for me.  Is that sad?  Or is it  capital?  Does it mean I’m losing the luster of life?  Or does it mean I’m getting better at managing a household?  Am I reading too much into my own emotions?  And is over-analyzing always bad?

Do you know where my camera cord, Elmer’s glue, and stamina went?

Did I mention that there was frosting on the cookie I ate for breakfast?  There was.  Fail.

I feel really strange smiling and laughing and going on with life while storms are ripping through the South.  I somehow wish the world would stop for those who’s hearts are aching.

I watched a witty chicky movie last night.  And I must say: there’s nothing better than witty dialogue.  The movie wasn’t all that great overall, but the dialogue was so satisfying that I went to bed completely content with life and slept like a baby.  Sometimes (usually when I turn the radio on) I get down and blue listening to the downfall of wit.  I start to believe that wit is losing it’s place of honor among the children of men.  At times like that, I go home and watch something old -usually The Philadelphia Story -and drink a hot beverage to comfort my sad soul.  HOWEVER, I’ve gone so long watching old movies and not watching modern-ish movies that I was shocked when there was makings out and… stuff… between the couples.  In those old movies, the couples rarely kissed unless they were ENGAGED.  Which brings me to my next point: I’d like to launch a full-fledged return to that idea.  My daughter is much too pretty, and I see no other way to handle life than to make sure she has no kissing or contact with boys until she’s engaged to one.  Okay, fine.  I guess I could try the whole “trusting her” thing.  But maybe … could I make that the fall back plan?  No, no.  Forget I asked.  Forget it.

Has anyone else in town decided that our post master is the best post master in the world, yea perhaps the universe?

Looking for Mother’s Day ideas?  You’re going to want to check this link:

CLICK HERE

My mother’s day gifts are in the works as we speak.  I can’t wait to share them with you… but my mom reads my blog.  But I still can’t wait.

I miss my friends. This week, I’ve had a hankering to sit and talk with ALL of my close out-of-town friends.  Enter: letter writing.  I’ll be mailing some off tomorrow.

I want a housedress.

I love the length.

I also secretly want perfect 40’s hair.

B

As long as I’m hoping for the impossible, I’d also like my kids to stop fighting. If you’ll excuse me: they’re running with scissors.

I’m feeling better today, thanks for asking.
This is run-down of yesterday.

Stream old movie.

Get up, blow nose, pick up Easter grass and foil wrapper, eat Easter candy, collapse onto couch.
Stream old movie.

Spoiler alert: those two don’t end up together. Bloody maddening. They should put warnings on the movie labels about these kinds of things! Warning: couple does not end up together. Watch at your own risk of severe disappointment.

Get up, blow nose, throw away mountain of Kleenex, wash couch cushion where Trent has smashed the insides of his Cadburry Cream egg into the fabric and make a mental note NOT to tell my husband about it on account of his having cleaned the entire couch with upholstery cleaner Sunday morning because Trent dumped a cup of bubble solutions on it (did I lose you there?), look for my husband’s wallet, found husband’s wallet, pick up toys, pull the children out of the bathroom, eat Easter candy, collapse on the couch.

Stream old movie.

Old movies have a way of inspiring my style. In the middle of that movie, I got up, blew my nose, and then went to get ready for the day. At 4 pm. Really, the movie didn’t have me riveted to the couch. I had folded all of our clean laundry while I watched it and I thought I probably should get up and try to look somewhat decent before my husband got home.

I went into my room, pulled out a pair of jeans and then chopped the bottoms of them off. There was a huge hole in the left knee and the bottoms were all but completely mangled. So I made them into cut-off knee length shorts. Then I put my hair in a high pony tail and slapped some make-up on. I also threw a pink cardigan on to sort of detract from the unhemmedness (not a word) of my pants. Then I put some real flowers in my hair. The Easter bunny brought me a bouquet of beautiful spring flowers, and I popped a few in my hair.
Then I thought the least I could do was put some kind of dinner together.
So, naturally, I collapsed on the couch again.

An hour later, after the movie finished I got up and started frying bacon. I had decided BLTs would be easy enough to make for dinner. We had a few leftover boiled Easter eggs, and I knew we had some potatoes so I googled “best ever potato salad recipe” and came up with

THIS

A couple hours later, I put the spread on the table. I was actually pretty proud of myself. After a sick day -and I still didn’t feel well -I had put together a pretty good dinner. There was a bowl full of homemade potato salad, there was a plate spread with cut-up honey dew melon on one side and sliced cucumbers on the other with a small pile of cut-up strawberries in the middle, and then there was a plate full of sandwich squares.
I called everyone into dinner and a few MINUTES later I took this picture:

It felt like a warm hug.
(That was sarcasm.)

Sunday I felt much the same. Don’t get me wrong: I love my life. I love my jobs. I love cooking! I love sewing! I love homemaking! I don’t love cleaning! But you already knew that…

Anyway, I sat across from my mother at my grandmother’s Easter dinner. I was exhausted. The past few nights, I’d only gotten a few hours sleep and mothering had kept me on my toes all day Sunday. Because I know my mother is kind and won’t judge and won’t give me a sermon if my faith in mothering slips a little now and then… I asked her, “Was Sunday ever really a day of rest for you?”
“No,” she chuckled, “Not at all.”
I was glad to know I wasn’t alone.
“Do you want to know the secret?” She continued.
“There’s a secret?” I asked, thoroughly intrigued.
“Excedrin PM,” she winked.

Needlepoint worthy!
Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a miniature mountain range made out of sugar on my breakfast table.
I love my job. s.


(Thanks, Great JuJu for the pictures!)