ROOOOOBOTS

Well crap.  I wrote this whole long post about how I have a hard time being myself when I meet people for the first time, and it was thoughtful and deep but also somewhat familiar sounding, and then I suddenly realized that I’d written almost a carbon copy of it back in 2008.

Dammit.

(Yes, I’m in the exact same space, social-confidence-wise (new word, go with it) that I was in three years ago.  Let’s hear it for being highly evolved!) (Or something!)

(Also - dammit is NOT A REAL SWEAR WORD Mom.  It’s comedy.  A comedy word.  It’s only a swear if you add the n.)

(Somewhat related: There is some song on the radio right now, and the chorus goes something like “Damn, Damn, damn, damn, damn tra-la-la” (not a direct quote) but I wasn’t really paying attention to the swears (on account of comedy) until I glanced in the back seat and saw my children’s eyeballs practically spinning out of their sockets.  They were SCANDALIZED. So I turned the station, silently snickering over their sheltered, sheltered brains.) (When they get to middle school they are going to be horrified.  I should probably try to ease the transition a bit by swearing more frequently.) (Pretty sure this is in the mormon mom handbook somewhere.)

(ALSO RELATED:  Last night, Megan: “Mom, what’s a maturation program?”  Oh, the joys of fifth grade.  We've already had The Talk - or rather, a series of them - so none of it will be news to her, but she was mortified over the thought of discussing it in school.  She was alternately giggling and hiding her hands behind her face.  I hope she will survive the trauma.)

(END TANGENTS)

What brought on my bout of totally repetitious thinking was this:  Last week I got together with some people who I know from the internet. It was nice.  It was!  (KALLI!  FIG!  ZINA!  MANY OTHERS!)

It was a nice night, BUT it wasn't the night I envisioned in my head.

WHAT I ENVISIONED:  Me, armed with new confidence regarding appearance (or rather, less encumbered with crippling embarrassment over same) (despite orange hair) suddenly able to overcome social butterflies and awkwardness, and subsequently relaxing and cozily bonding with friends old and new.

WHAT HAPPENED:   Me, somewhat more relaxed and yet still completely unable to be myself, but rather, playing the character I like to pretend to be whenever I meet people from the blogging world – a very sweet, nicety-nice person who – while very nice - does not actually exist in the real world.

(MY GOSH, I am so invested in having people think I’m nice and sweet when they first meet me.) (WHY.)

 (I mean, YES, I’m a nice person, (shut up I AM) (although nice people probably do not tell other nice people to shut up quite so frequently), but these are NOT the adjectives that the people who know me best would use to describe me, so - not exactly an accurate portrayal.)

(Adjectives they might use lean more toward the smart ass arena. I am not really a shrinking violet once you get to know me, true story.)

(And fine, there are worse things than coming across as nice, but nice people aren't necessarily very interesting.  Dedicating yourself to being the most bland, unobjectionable person in the room doesn't exactly endear you to people. )

I don’t think I should feel free to be my most obnoxious, unfiltered self upon first meeting someone, but people are drawn to authenticity, not milquetoast.  (If you are AUTHENTICALLY milquetoast, well then please, carry on.)   What is bad, I think, is when I am so focused on being agreeable that I am unable to share any real part of myself.

I realize that what would help is focusing less on me (IT’S NOT ALL ABOUT YOU SUE), and more on the people I’m speaking to, who actually are humans with feelings and their own neuroses, not, in fact, robots who exist solely to interact with me in ways that align with the script I’ve created in my head, thereby propping up my self confidence and sense of self.  (Someone should totally invent those.)

I REALIZE that focusing on the other person (asking questions!) (being genuinely interested!) (not interrupting!) (I’m a terrible interrupter) is the key to being a warm and engaging first time meet-and-greeter.

But I think people who are good at it must feel pretty comfortable with who they are, so instead of being focused on themselves, and upon how other people are reacting to them, they are able to fully focus on others and are able to project a warmth and interest in other people.  I think it is something you can’t fake.

Or maybe you CAN fake it, and they all deserve Emmy awards, and inside they are thinking, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEEEEASE STOP TALKING.

Can you learn to be gracious and warm?  I wonder…

Yes, once again this is an awful lot of circular and rather pointless navel gazing. (THUS THE NAME OF THE BLOG, HELLO, THIS IS A SURPRISE TO YOU?)

HAPPY TUESDAY.

PS:  I BOUGHT BOOTS.  I DID!  I talked about it in the comments of the last post.  (I also talked about it rather excessively on Facebook.  I even posted pictures of myself wearing said boots.  I’m feeling a little morning after shame about that.)  (Oh, Facebook oversharing regrets.  How you plague me.)

PPS:  I wrote this as part of Heather's Just Write dealio, meaning that you are supposed to free write about whatever you are thinking about without going back and editing.  (I think that last part is fairly obvious.) (Scary.) (More for you than for me.)

Your Clothes May Be, Beau Brummelly

Do you remember when I wrote this post? About wanting to buy boots but feeling confused and frightened?  Erm, FOUR years ago?

If you haven't, go read it. 

(It's o.k., I'll wait.) 

(Context is important.)

SO.

I think I am finally ready to take the plunge and buy my first pair of actual boots.

(WHAT.  I need time to germinate on things, people. I am a germinator.)

(Wait. Can you germinate on things?)

(Maybe OVER things?)

(ABOUT things?)

(Hmmmm.)

Right now my Winter Footwear Collection a la 2011 consists of:

• One pair of running type sneakers that I bought in a fit of extremely misguided couch to 5K enthusiasm
• One pair of ankle boots (which are fine for wearing under jeans, but am I right when I guess that you probably shouldn't wear them with a skirt?) (Because some Sundays I waver, wondering if that would be acceptable.) (But I'm thinking - NOT ACCEPTABLE.) (Right?)
• One pair of actual snow boots (which are fine for shoveling driveways and sledding down our side-yard AS PER ILLUSTRATION but I'm guessing NOT FINE for fashion?) (click to embiggen)
  
  
• One pair of grandma shoes (complete with fuzzy socks, which - I'm sorry, but Stacey and Carlton can kiss my lint covered left toe - I will never part with them) (I spent the penny)
  
  

You're all jealous of my shoes, I CAN FEEL IT.

I was griping on Facebook about the fact that I am now wearing a size 6 (BRAGGY) and yet still cannot stuff my ginormous calves into half of the boots at Payless (NOT BRAGGY) and Carina let me know that I SHOULD NEVER BUY BOOTS AT PAYLESS or I would BE SORRY, SO SO SORRY because they would fall apart as soon as I wore them out in public for the first time, causing people to point and laugh.

She then emailed me a selection of wide-calf boots (that term makes me feel bad about myself) (can't we call them boots for the differently calved or something?) that I could buy online, but I'm nervous about buying anything online, because if I buy them, and they look stupid, then I have to actually SEND THEM BACK, which I will never do (this is why Netflix is still hunting for me), and then I will end up with YET ANOTHER pair of stupid looking shoes.  So I need to buy something live and in person. 

Since that is the case, where do I buy them? (Shoe stores still frighten me, and shoe salespeople - definitely still the most terrifying people on earth.)

Other things I do not know:

• Are we wearing black and brown together these days, or does that ALSO cause people to point and laugh?  So like, if I have a black coat (I DO) can I wear my brown boots with it, or do I need to get black boots?  But then what do I do when I am wearing brown clothing? 
• Buckles or no buckles?  Do we care about buckles?  Is that a thing? 
• If I buy a pair of boots THIS year am I going to look totally dated four years from now when I get up the courage (and funds) to buy a second pair?
• HOW TALL?  I mean, what is the optimum height for these-are-my-only-boots boots?  Mid-calf? Knee-high?  Thigh-high? What will I get the most wear out of? 
• (I'm guessing not thigh high.  That would be sort of - well, not slutty, I'm a little old for slutty, but - sad and inappropriate for sure.)  
• If I get just under knee high boots can I wear them constantly or is it like with sweaters, where if you wear them more than once a week people will start judging you?
• How do I wear them?  See, I thought you tucked your jeans INTO your boots, but then - WHY DO WE HAVE BOOT CUT JEANS?
• When is it appropriate not to wear socks with shoes?  Not boot-related just a general question. 
• I'm so confused.
• DO NOT MOCK ME ON TWITTER CARINA, I WILL HEAR YOU.

SOMEWHAT RELATED, WHAT DO I DO ABOUT THIS?

(I am asking about my electrified hairs, not my wrinkles, shut up.)  It's my gray hairs, dyed blonde (actually a strange shade of orange at the moment, SHUT UP AGAIN) and apparently intent upon making the jump over onto somebody else's head.  I can't tame them.  What do I do?  Is there - is there a magical potion I can use?  A serum?  I have some of that non-frizz serum and it does nothing except make me look like an oil slick. 

I also have - some type of putty that you are supposed to - I don't know - rub all over your hands and then run your hands through your hair and -  I - I don't know.  The instructions are so vague.  You're supposed to put a coin (WHAT COIN) sized amount in your hand, then rub it around a little (HOW MUCH), then "work it" into your hair (HOW), ensuring that you've placed almost undiscernable amounts of pasty type stuff in strategic places (WHAT PLACES).  As you can imagine, THIS IS NOT WORKING FOR ME.

ALSO NOT WORKING:  Spraying hair spray on my hands and trying to smooth them down.  This mostly angers them.

So I have a lot of questions, basically.

HELP ME WOMEN OF EARTH.

PS:  OH - if you are bored today, I updated my sidebar links to other people's posts. (I know, I shouldn't have.)

Deadly Sins

The other day I was reading an article someone linked to, an article about a bunch of big time bloggers and how much money they are making, and about all of the perks and trips they get, and about how hard it is to deal with the weird sort of fame that bloggers sometimes get.

I found myself thinking "This is a problem?" and "I wonder how neglected their children are" (mind you I was reading this at home, WHILE I was neglecting my OWN children in favor of Facebook (they were playing in the other room, but still, HYPOCRISY, thy name is Sue)).  And then I started wondering how they got their Big Break, because obviously it must have been luck and not talent or hard work that sent them plunging over the bloggy tipping point.

Basically I was trying to make myself feel better (about not being blog famous, when HELLO, NEWS FLASH, YOU REGULARLY WALK AWAY FROM YOUR BLOG FOR MONTHS AT A TIME you goon) and was indulging in a bunch of envious and ickily catty thoughts.

(My gosh, aren't you just dying to be my best friend right now?  I mean - I'm such a nice person!  What with the out of control and nonsensical envy of the people who live in my computer!) 

(But it's not just them.  I have plenty of envy to spread around.)

(Yes, its a post about envy.  It's sort of the opposite of a gratitude post. Why be grateful when you can choke on your own envy, that's what I always say!)

(HAPPY THANKSGIVING!)
 
I don't mean the harmless kind of "oooooh, I wish I had those pants" kind of envy.  I don't wish for people's clothing, or houses, or stuff. I don't wish for their talents or skills.  I wish for their good fortune.

• I envy the perceived easiness of their lives and the pleasant solidness of their marriages - even though I know nothing is ever really what it looks like on the surface.
• I envy women who can just - go to Target and buy a bunch of holiday decorations because they feel like it. 
• I envy people who go on cruises (and especially women who get SENT on cruises - you know, for work and/or blogging purposes) 
• I envy women who have throw pillows, because let's face it, if you have the money to buy throw pillows that pretty much means all of your basic needs have been met. 
• I envy stay at home moms, even though I wonder if I would be able to handle being at home full time.
• I envy women who have (what seem to me) only superficial stresses in their lives - like worrying about planning the fall PTA carnival. 
• Mostly I envy the wisdom they had to make smarter choices when they were younger.

I do this EVEN THOUGH I KNOW that not all is as it seems, that you never really know what is going on in someone else's life - what secret burdens they have.

I'm not drowning in it. It isn't constant.  I just think it would be nice if, when I hear about someone's good fortune in an area where I am not personally excelling, if my first response was not a jealous "harumph". That is what I would like. I like to think of myself as a nice person and nice people do not have this as a default emotion, am I right?

When I realize I'm doing it, I try to just - KNOCK IT OFF. But so much of it is unconsciously done.  Sometimes I start off feeling just a little wistful, then suddenly I'm feeling the kind of envy where I'm so resentful about someone else's good fortune that I wish somebody would take them down a peg. The kind of envy where I look at someone's perfect life on their blog and feel the urge to leave a snarky comment. (I don't do that. But sometimes I feel the urge.)

(I took most of those kinds of sunshiney lifestyle blogs out of my reader because they were making me crazy. What is the point of comparing yourself to false perfection? Or even real perfection? Nobody's life is a storybook all the time. It's guess it's bloggy escapism and some people enjoy that kind of thing. I've had to realize that I don't. Not at this point in my life anyway. I have no patience for it, and I'm happier when I don't subject myself to it. I feel less envious when I'm not regularly peeking into the lives of women who seem incredibly fortunate.)

And yes, I know what you are supposed to do to get over feeling envious - be more grateful, concentrate on the good in your life, help those who are less fortunate, etcetera etcetera ETCETERA. I know it.

But it's something I still struggle with. (I like that word, struggle, because it means I'm fighting against it.)  I'm happy for those of you who have already conquered it. Good for you. Please don't tell me all about how you are perfect in this regard or I will be forced, just on principle, to hunt you down and kill you.

(And my gosh, it is so easy to identify it in other people, isn't it? Talk to a few other women who are being catty and jealous for a while and you end up feeling like you need to go home and take a shower because the envy is so obvious and blatant. But I think it's harder when it is just you, inside your head, being a jerk to the other people inside of your head.) 

I probably shouldn't be confessing this. Nobody wants to be friends with someone who is petty and envious.  (Although, looking on the bright side, in real life I would never actually ADMIT that I was petty and/or envious.  In real life I would rather die than admit to feeling anything remotely like that.  In real life, around my friends - not necessarily my sisters, they know more of my true nature - I try not to ever indulge in comments about other people that convey anything other than sunshine and good will, because, HELLO, it is something I'm ASHAMED OF.)

But it's also true. 

(I feel like putting something really dramatic here like, AND IT STOPS RIGHT NOW, but who am I kidding.  It might stop. Sort of.  For a day or two. Maybe. Ish.)

(But you know, work in progress.)

I'm Glad He Didn't Suggest I Buy Fava Beans, That Would've Really Freaked Me Out

Yesterday I had the day off and I made the mistake of wearing a sweater so I was feeling rather cozy and earth-motherish and decided that a really great way to spend my morning would be to make chili.

From scratch.

(Half of you are thinking “oh, how nice - chili” and the other half of you are thinking "oh great is this a COOKING blog now?", and the other half of you (it's the new math) (just go with it) who have read my blog for more than ten minutes are thinking “Oh dear - this won’t end well”.)

(See: Exhibit A.)  (Or, oh geez, Exhibit B.)  (See also: recent Facebook status update:  "When your crockpot recipe for barbecue shredded chicken says that it should cook on low for 5 or 6 hours, do not mentally translate that in your head to "cook all day" and then put everything in the crock pot at 5:30 in the morning before you leave for work. Because by the end of the day, what you will have my friend? Is CHICKEN SLUDGE. And once again your family will be forced to eat the sludge while make encouraging faces, lest you give up the cooking battle entirely and force them to eat peanut butter forever.")

(Followed by my own exasperated follow-up comment: "I just - DO NOT UNDERSTAND why I can't follow directions. I'm a tech writer. I WRITE DIRECTIONS FOR A LIVING. IT SHOULD NOT BE THIS DIFFICULT.")

(AND YET IT IS.)

(Although I believe I come by my cooking quirks naturally, AHEM.)
 
Anyway, Josh and I ran to the store to buy a few things for the chili, namely: ground beef, chili powder, two onions, a green pepper, a clove of garlic, a can of tomato sauce, two cans of kidney beans, two cans of diced tomatoes, etc., etc., etc., and the whole time I'm muttering to myself that I should just go put all of that stuff back and BUY A CAN OF CHILI because WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE IT ALL COMES FROM A CAN.

Also, I'd left my list at home on the counter, so I was buying things based on the list of ingredients in my head and I wasn’t sure what kind of tomatoes to get. Or what kind of beans. Or what kind of spice type items (which explains how I ended up buying nutmeg) (nugmeg in chili - it's all the rage these days).

But I PRESSED ON, you guys.  FOR THE CHILDREN. (The ungrateful, ungrateful children.  When I set the bowl of chili in front of Jake at dinner time he immediately made a face and started to whine about it, and I told him that if he didn't quit it IMMEDIATELY he would be going to bed with no dinner, and the expression on his face indicated that wasn't much of a threat.)

Anyway, when we were done shopping we went to check out and nothing was open but the self-check and I HATE the self-check, I LOATHE it, I wish it dead.

Because:

1. It's way too time consuming
2. It's hard to simultaneously check yourself out and keep your two year old from fulfilling his One Great Desire in Life (to lick the grocery bag carousel), and
3. That stupid bagging thing is just so freaking suspicious. "Put the item in the bagging area." "Please put the item in the bagging area!" "PUT THE ITEM IN THE BAGGING AREA." I leave feeling all stressed out and disrespected and cynical about the world.

Anyway, I started checking myself out, and as I’m doing it Josh is retrieving things from the bagging area and putting them back in his little cart (self-check register: MA’AM, I’M NOT KIDDING, PUT DOWN THE MUSHROOMS AND BACK AWAY FROM THE REGISTER) so it's taking a while and I'm starting to escalate from born-in-Utah swear words to the actual kind. Fortunately the attendant sees me struggling and since she is not busy she comes over to help.

Meanwhile some guy with two non-produce type items in his cart comes up behind me and stands there.

Attendant: Sir, this is the self-check, you can go ahead and use this register over here.
Guy: I’ll wait.
Attendant: You don’t need to wait, you can use the self-check.
Guy: Nah, I’d rather have you do it.
Attendant: DEATH GLARE
Me: torn between thinking he’s a jerk and bonding with him based on our mutual hatred of self-check

The guy starts asking me if I’m making chili, and I tell him, yeah, I hope so, and I explain that I forgot my list and I’m not sure if I got the right stuff or not, but hopefully it would work out, jabber jabber mindless jabber.

The guy tells me that if it would help, he has a great recipe I could take a look at. 

OUT IN HIS CAR.

(Because, sure, that’s where everyone keeps their chili recipes – IN THEIR VEHICLES.)

Do I want to come take a look at it by any chance? Hmmmmmm?

I don't know why my fairly large and healthy fear of serial killers hadn't kicked in yet - maybe because he was wearing a Hogle Zoo sweatshirt and everyone knows that serial killers don't wear sweatshirts (too obvious) (they stick to flannel and/or business attire).

I was thinking that he was – I don’t know – awkwardly trying to be friendly or something so I just shook my head and tried to insert my money into the stupid bill collector thing (which is not something you should attempt when you are frazzled).

The guy kept going though, saying stuff like, “well, o.k., but it’s a really great recipe,” and “are you sure you don’t want to check to see if you have the right tomatoes” and "I won the chili cook-off last year" and “it’s really no trouble - it’s just right out there in my car”. (Probably the same car where he keeps his collection of knives and ice picks and dessicated eyeballs.)

I ended up looking him in the eye and saying, "No thank you!" fairly aggressively and loudly, (at which point he held both hands up in the air like, "hey, I was just trying to be helpful") (but you guys, he totally wanted to kill me and feed me to his rabbits, I could tell), and since I'd called attention to his creepiness, he had no choice but to abandon his plan to secretively get me out to his car, hack me into bits, and make me the newest secret ingredient in his award winning "chili". 

Anyway, we got out of the store, made it safely to the car, and sped home, where I said a little prayer of thanks, got ready to cook, and dammit all if I didn’t have the wrong kind of tomatoes.

Maybe In Lieu Of Opportunities They Will Take Bacon (I Would)

Going back and looking over my blog over the last two years, I’ve noticed that I mostly wrote when I was totally overwhelmed with my life and needed an outlet.   When I couldn’t talk about what was going on in my life with anyone who was actually IN my life, I still felt o.k. about coming here and talking about it. (Well, some of it.)  (I don’t know why I can’t talk about this stuff with people in my actual life, other than my sisters. I think I’m afraid of coming across like a big whiner.) (Obviously, I have no compunctions about coming across to YOU this way.) (You're welcome.)

It was a blessing to have you guys out there -  able to step in with advice or just a good smack of reality and/or perspective when I needed it.  But then - RUDE - I never came back and gave you an update.  I thought maybe now (since I seem to be feeling less funny and more overly sincere and earnest) would be a good time to remedy that. 

So for starters, let’s revisit this one about the whole housing mess. 

And this one about Megan’s friend issues, while we’re at it.  

The house.  Yes, we finally lost our house to foreclosure, after losing our business, our savings, our cars, our self-esteem, and all of our money. (It was a fun couple of years, what can I say.)   It was hard.  It was heartbreaking.  And let’s face it, it was embarrassing.

(my old house) (sniff sniff)

For a while we thought they were going to let us do a short sale, and we had three solid, signed offers.  WHILE the short sale division of the bank was reviewing the offers, another division of the bank foreclosed on us.  Apparently there was some miscommunication at the bank, but their feeling was “what’s done is done.”  Our realtor had to call and give us the news.  We had three weeks to get out.  

We panicked and rented a house in Woods Cross (sweet, sweet land of refineries and gravel pits).  We were looking for something in a decent neighborhood with a short commute and the rental market was tight – especially for something in our time frame.  We walked through the house and signed the lease the same day, because it was the best thing we’d seen all week.  Rent in haste, repent at leisure.

I wasn’t in love with the area.  It was so weird.  It was a nice neighborhood, but located in an industrial area off of Redwood Road and Legacy Parkway.  There were mosquitoes EVERYWHERE.  EVERYWHERE.  MY GOSH YOU GUYS. THE MOSQUITOES.  There were three freeways in close proximity, at least six oil refineries, and as a result the distinct smell of gasoline and exhaust was everywhere. The kids were happy though (apparently clueless that their lungs were rapidly filling with CANCER).  So that was good?  I guess?

A few months later the folks we were renting from ended up losing THEIR shirts and asked (begged, pleaded) if they could break the lease and move back into their home.  It was really, really hard to make a decision (NOT), but we agreed to move right after Christmas.

We found a house to rent up on the Bountiful bench (north of Salt Lake), and we moved in January. Actually, my HUSBAND moved us ( along with my mom, my in-laws, and a lot of really kind church folks) while I was lying in the hospital in a near coma.  So that was fun for him. 

It has been an adjustment to be renters instead of homeowners.   It’s not so much the reality of renting (not having the freedom to rip up nasty carpet or paint things normal colors, etc.).  It’s more that we aren’t sure if we will ever again be able to provide our kids with the stability that comes with home ownership.  The whole - growing up in one spot deal. It will be years before we will be in a position to buy again.   That makes me nervous.  I don’t like the idea of uprooting them over and over again.

The house we are living in is old and not very well made, and I despair over the carpets (WHITE!) (or rather – GRAY!) but it is big enough for our crew, and it is located in a beautiful neighborhood.  It has a huge deck and I love sitting out there ogling the mountains.  (I have almost inappropriate levels of love for the Utah mountains, can you tell?) (No, REALLY, I do) I love the 13 minute drive to work. I love that I can run to my kids’ school on my lunch hour. I love that I can sled down the mountain in my SUV on an icy day.  Wheeeeee! 

 

The neighborhood is pretty sedate, but the people are friendly and we love our neighbors.  My kids have good friends.  That leads me back to Megan.

(that's her) (in case you are new)

You guys, she has just blossomed here.  She has three (THREE!) Very Best Friends – and I am so grateful that they are all sweet, fun, drama-free little girls, who are all still very much little girls, despite reaching the advanced age of ten.  She has a new social and emotional confidence and it has been so healing to see that growth in her.  

I think her confidence can be partly attributed to getting older, is partly because of the friend issue, and partly because we are living in a less stressful environment.  Highland was amazing (if you’ve read for any length of time at all you know how much we loved our neighborhood), but there was a lot of pressure for kids to be outstanding at something.  Megan IS outstanding at many things -  she is academically gifted, she is a pretty good pianist, she is an amazing reader and a great writer (she just won the Reflections contest at her school for literature) – and more importantly she is just such a sweet, kind, GOOD kid.  

But she isn’t a nationally ranked gymnast.  We haven't been able to give her opportunities like that. 

Luckily, there isn’t much pressure for kids to BE nationally ranked gymnasts around here.  Most parents seem satisfied to raise good, well behaved kids who get their homework done.  I think something about this environment has helped to reinforce to Megan that she is, in fact, pretty special and amazing.  It probably helps that she is no longer feels compelled to compare herself to girls who have been given every advantage in the world.  So she is doing great.  She is doing really, really well.

(And here is the part where I go off on a related whiny tangent.)

(Prepare yourselves.) 

OK.  

Even though I KNOW they are amazing kids (So smart! Such great voices!  Such great readers! So clever!) and I KNOW I should just be grateful for what we have (I KNOW IT, DON’T TELL ME) (EVERYONE ELSE IS SHAMING ME WTH THEIR GRATITUDE LISTS) - part of me, in spite of the last paragraph, (and in spite of Kacy’s post) (which I AGREE with) just wishes I could give my kids those same opportunities. 

Like, WHAT IF SHE IS MEANT TO BE A NATIONALLY RANKED GYMNAST AND THE ONLY REASON SHE IS NOT IS BECAUSE OF OUR STUPID FINANCES?  What if that is her DESTINY and I am THWARTING DESTINY??!!  Do you know what I mean? 

It’s not necessarily that I want them to be accomplished, it’s more that I don’t want to deny them opportunities to develop their God-given talents.  To explore their interests.  TO BE ALL THAT THEY CAN BE.

For example: 

• Megan is so musically gifted and if she had a better teacher she would grow so much - but we just can’t afford it. 
• Emma loves to ice skate and I often wish that we could afford the kinds of things some of these (slightly psychotic) ice skating moms can afford.  She also has a beautiful voice, and I can see the day coming when she will plead for voice lessons.
• Jacob is – well honestly, I’m not really sure where his talents lie yet.  (He’s 7.  His main interest right now is nagging at me for another 15 minutes on the Wii, which – NO.)  (But then - I have a friend whose 7 year old is practically a pro-golfer!  And what am I doing with my kid?  READING TO HIM?  WHAT A WASTE OF TIME!  I MEAN, MY GOSH.)

I realize this is a first world problem.

It is just hard not to wish more for them and hard not to feel guilty about what we can provide for them.

Of course, what we can provide will change, eventually.  My husband is back in grad school at night, and I am so proud of him for that.  I have a great job now (I really do, it is FANTASTIC.) (I am obviously feeling a lot better about it now than I did back then.).  And eventually I’d like to go back to school to pursue software engineering.  Hopefully, our situation will be different someday.

For now, I love them the best I can.  I do the best I can for them.  Homework is a big deal here.  Education is a big deal. I teach them piano myself (but it is a scattershot affair).  I did manage to instill a rabid love of reading in all of them, and for that I will go ahead and pat myself on the back.  I try to teach them to be kind, to be honest (LEARN FROM MY MISTAKES, CHILDREN), to be loving.  And we teach them to love the great outdoors, because the great outdoors are FREEEEEE.

(look at them traipsing through the great outdoors) (TRAIPSING, I SAY)

I know that compared to 95% of the world’s children they are incredibly lucky.  They have a mom and dad who love them.  They are safe.  They are warm.  They are fed.  They are cared for.  They get to go to school.  I know this.

I am working to be at peace with all of that, but I guess I am not really quite there yet.  I want so much for them.  I want to give them the world, to give them every opportunity in the world.   

And you know what?  

I WILL.  

RIGHT AFTER I GO ROB A BANK THIS AFTERNOON, because let's face it, this "hoping for better days" crap is highly ineffective.  

THE END.

(Good heavens, was that a long enough post?)

(See, this is why I don't update you.  TOO MANY WORDS.  IN MY BRAIN.)

Hawwwoweeeeeen!!!!

(That's how Josh says it anyway.)

(Please excuse all of the weird spacing stuff going on in this post.  Yes, I realize I have been blogging for a million years, but apparently I am still stumped by picture floatation.)

I will admit that I have some Halloween scrooge tendencies.  I am not a crafty mom, not a mom who hand sews her costumes or carves awesome pumpkins or dresses up or bakes Halloween cupcakes - but I still kind of love Halloween.  The kids love it so much.  And how can you hate something that makes them so ridiculously happy?

My friend next door (who has not moved yet) (BLESS YOU CRAPPY HOUSING MARKET) invited us to go out trick or treating with her family and a few other families, and so we did.  Turns out they don't get many trick-or-treaters in this neck of the woods.  I think our little group made up about 50% of the under 12 population in the area that night.

The homeowners were ecstatic every time they opened the door to our gaggle of children, because -ACTUAL children!  They showered the kids with king size candy bars, full size bags of MNMs, bags of microwave popcorn, Krispy Kreme doughnuts...  

"Take as much as you want" was the common refrain.  (And oh good lord, they did.  We are drowning in candy over here.) 

It was Josh's first Halloween as a sentient being and he thought it was AMAZING.

It took him a while to get what was going on, but once he got it, WELL. 

I TELL YOU WHAT.

He marched up to each door, stuck out his bag and shrieked "CANEEE!" as soon as the door opened.  While the grandmotherly types at most of the doors were busy oohing and ahhhing over the adorable two-year-oldness of it all, he was busy cleaning out their candy bowls. I think his record for the night was five full-size candy bars at one stop. 

Josh and I averaged one house for every four houses the older kids hit up, because we would walk a couple of steps then come to a screeching halt for:   

"MOM.  WOOK!  PUNKIN!" 

(walk four steps)

"MOM!  KITTY.  DAT KITTY!  MOM!  WOOK!  KITTY"

(walk three steps, stop, rummage in bag for candy)

Etcetera, etcetera, ETCETERA.

It was very adorable, but it also took a reaaaaaaally long time to get around the block.

(He's TWO now, can you believe it?  TWO.  I am not quite sure how that happened.)

I mean, two years ago he was THIS:

(I will never get over the awesomeness of this picture.)

And a year ago he was THIS:

And now suddenly, OOF.  Practically ready to leave the nest.

Two year olds are great and all (they really are - it is one of my most favorite ages) but I am not sure that I am entirely satisfied with this trade-off.

After making our way S-L-O-W-L-Y around the block I dropped him off, and the older kids and I went back out for more trick or treating.

SPEAKING OF THE OLDER KIDS...

LOOK AT THEM.  LOOK AT THE OLDNESS!  Can you believe it?

I mean, FIVE MINUTES AGO they were THIS:

(Hold on.  Excuse me while I go have an identity crisis for a few minutes.)  (I think I will also go read this old post and weep over my own foolishness because HEY SUE THEY WERE STILL LITTLE.)

(Shut up, they are not still little NOW. NOW they are OLD. Old and gray and ready to buy condos.)

The kids kept asking me what I was going to be, and I kept telling them that I was going to be the same thing I am every year - a mom, in a coat.  And possibly gloves.  (But no scarf.  I mean, let's not get crazy.)

They didn't like this answer, kept telling me that I should try to be a FUN mom (um, OW), so I finally gave in 15 minutes before we were supposed to leave, threw on a pair of puppy ears and drew dots all over my face, as seen here, in this completely unflattering photo.   I am not really a costume person, so I felt like an idiot. But you can see that they were delighted.  They kept patting me on the back and making proud and supportive comments as though I was a two year old who'd just mastered potty training.

All in all, a pretty awesome night. I let them gorge on candy yesterday, and then when they all looked sufficiently green I told them I was confiscating the rest of the candy.  They were too weak to protest. 

-------

In other news, I hate the new Google Reader.  I can no longer share posts with my friends, and I can no longer read posts my friends have shared. Killing this part of Google Reader was Google's lame attempt to try to get everyone to use Google+, but I won't do it. I can't handle another social network.  You can read more about it here, in Dalene's post.

HOW WILL I FIND NEW BLOGS? 

HOW WILL I KNOW WHO TO BLOGSTALK? 

I put up links in my sidebar to a few blog posts I thought were funny/thoughtful/awesome in the last few weeks, and I'll update it - well, let's be honest - probably whenever I get around to it.  And YOU - you should totally do the same thing, so that I have stuff to read.  (Yes, once again this is all about me.) 

Agghck. 

CURSE YOU GOOGLE READER.

PS: The comments on the last post were amazing.  If you were interested in the topic and haven't read the comments yet, you should.  The women who commented had some great things to say.  I love you guys.

PPS:  This is the view off of our front deck. The picture doesn't begin to do it justice.  I love the mountains in every season, but the Utah mountains in autumn are really something special.