Letting Go

I had what I call an "ah-ha" moment today, and no, I'm not talking about the one-hit-wonder band. But now you're going to be singing "Take On Me" for the next several hours, right?

Anyway... back to my ah-ha moment. I have totally ignored my writing for the last several months. And yet, it keeps nagging me to do something. Begging me. Pleading with me. Sometimes I really wish I didn't want to write. Even when there's nothing in my head (which is quite often) I still want to write. And yet, I go on ignoring it.

So my new year's resolution and theme for 2011 is "let it go and go write." If the dishes don't get done, let it go and go write. Write every day, even if you only edit one word. Sit down with the computer. Delete one word and replace it with another. If you don't take a shower tonight, let it go and go write. Get the picture?

But then today I realized something entirely different. I'm holding onto something that really needs to be let go. My real issue is fear. I'm holding onto it for dear life. I'm afraid to finish anything. Because if I finish anything, then someone else will read it. Why would I open myself up to such vulnerability? Can I really allow other people to see what's going on inside this half-cooked brain of mine? Can I handle it? Can I really be okay with strangers spending their hard-earned cash to buy something I wrote? Can I even get to the point of having something to sell?

The answer of course, is YES.

Confidence, as it were, is not my problem. Fear, on the other hand, keeps getting in my way.

Time to let it go.

Holy Cow! It's 2011!

Ahem. Happy New Year.

What am I doing? Have you heard of P90X? I've been doing it for about six weeks now, which is more than I've worked out in the last two-and-a-half years. I'm pretty sure it's going to kill me. Or I'm going to have killer arms. One or the other. Dan and I have been getting up at 5 a.m. to do this. Last night, I was forced to go to Zumba as well, which I haven't done since September. It has been a challenge today to remain upright. The last time I did any kind of two-a-days, I was in marching band and twenty years younger.

What am I reading? I'm about 50 pages shy of finishing The Hourglass Door by Lisa Mangum. There's a sweet-talking Italian guy. Need I say more? Very fun. Very mysterious. And it definitely makes me feel twenty years younger.

What am I writing? A story about a mushroom-sized girl and her gigantic best friend.

Also, I found a pair of pinkish-purplish Converse All-Stars for ten bucks.

2011 is off to a good start.

You?

Murphy Christmas

A Brief Family History:

Historically, we tend to have bad luck when it comes to Christmas vacation. That bad luck typically comes in the form of illness. There was the time that one kid had croup, another kid had pneumonia, and the parents both had the flu. At the same time. We've driven in blizzards, had Christmas trees that refused to remain upright, and even remembered the presents only after the four-hour road trip to Grandma's house. Chances are, if my husband schedules the time off for Christmas, something would go wrong.

This year, we were bound and determined to make it a memorable one. Hubby scheduled the time off months ago. We schemed and plotted and planned to surprise our kids with a trip to Disneyland. We had our hotel. We had our road trip snacks, movies, and games. I secretly packed their clothes. We planned to leave Tuesday afternoon. And then came the Pineapple Express. I'm sure you've heard about it. Southern California is drenched, to put it mildly. Southern Utah is lined with sandbags. Looking at satellite imagery, the storm was directly over the exact route we were going to take. In addition to that, we are buried under SEVERAL feet of snow. There was no way we could safely take our kids on what under the best conditions, would be a 13-hour road trip.

HOWEVER, being the cheerful optimists that we are, we quickly came up with Plan B. We booked a hotel room in downtown Salt Lake City for tonight, where we could swim, eat at a fancy-schmancy restaurant, and take in the beautiful Christmas sights. Yesterday, we even managed to sneak in a trip to Santa's workshop, where we found some pretty awesome Christmas presents. You see, Disneyland WAS THE PRESENT, so we had nothing but a few stocking stuffers. Upon returning from our stealthy shopping spree, we walked into a freezing cold house. The Pineapple Express had struck again, this time by taking out both our furnaces. AT THE SAME TIME. So I called a guy, who said it was happening all over the valley and said he'd never seen anything like it. He was currently working on three houses in Park City. At the same time. He said he would try to get to us sometime during the evening, but if not, he would come first thing in the morning. He's here now. And I'm typing this, at the same time. Fortunately we had a warm place to sleep last night, in the form of my in-laws' vacation home, which is conveniently located 5 minutes away.

Unfortunately, this brings me to the next wrench in the Christmas gears: sickness. Currently, it seems that everything on my inside wants to be on my outside. So the hotel is canceled. The hoity-toity dinner is not an option. City sidewalks and silver bells? I think not.

I tell you this not for sympathy; but for reference. Sometime next summer, when I start dreaming of Christmas Future, and those dang sugar plums start to dance, please, please remind me about this very moment.

Christmas in Bethlehem

Last night our friends Chuck and Rachelle invited us over for dinner and game night. Delicious and fun, for sure. Stuck to their refrigerator was something that looked like a dead sea scroll. It was actually an invitation to their ward Christmas party (ward = congregation). Full of type-o's, it was written in biblical fashion. Prospective attendees were told that they must dress in ancient Bethlehem-type garb or be turned away. Really. I'm not kidding. Apparently, if you don't show up in your desert sandals in Alpine, Utah in winter, then obviously you're a Scrooge who doesn't understand the true meaning of Christmas.

Chuck and Rachelle would absolutely be invited to my Halloween gala, but I fully realize that Chuck would come in his regular clothes. And I'm okay with that. Chuck was as annoyed with having to show up at his Christmas party in his bathrobe as he was at being turned away for NOT wearing his bathrobe.

In typical Chuck fashion, he was trying to think of a "proper" outfit to wear to the party. His first thought was Bethlehem Jedi. Naturally, the rest of the evening was peppered with suggestions:

Bethlehem Avatar
Bethlehem rock star (Gene Simmons to be more precise)
Bethlehem plumber (with a loin cloth worn a little too low)

And the list goes on. Please post your suggestions here and I will pass them along to Chuck, an artist/pharmacist. If your suggestion is picked, I'm sure he'll be happy to paint your face in the style of KISS/Gene Simmons.

Heard Around My House

The following is a random list of things my children have said to me this week:

Not to make you mad or anything, but when you walked across the kitchen just now, I could seriously feel the floor shake.

Hey Mom, can you open this?

Seriously, you need to get me a flight simulator.

Hey Mom, can you open this?

I'm guessing since you just made bread, I can't have school lunch?

Hey Mom, can you help me with this?

Why are you driving DAD'S car? Is that even allowed?

Hey Mom, have you seen my ______________? (Fill in the blank)

Oh come on! Chicken again? You HAVE GOT to be kidding me.

Hey Mom, can you pick up my ziggurat?

Why hasn't anyone invented flying shoes yet?

Hey Mom, can you sign this?

That stuff you're mopping the floor with smells like cherry chocolate ice cream.

Hey Mom, do you have a magic eraser? I ACCIDENTALLY did something.

It was an ACCIDENT!!! (A different "accident").

Hey Mom, how do you turn this math problem into a percent?

Why is your shirt so puffy?



Question: where does a kindergarten teacher go when she needs a mommy break?

*Sigh*

I've been thinking lately. Scary, I know. But sometimes, I am really embarrassed for my gender. There's a woman I know who recently suffered a miscarriage. I don't think you can fully understand the scope of feelings you go through when such a thing happens. There's grief and mourning. Yes, grief and mourning and loss for someone you never even got to say hello to. And yet they were a part of you. Then there's anger. Oh, the anger. Don't forget confusion. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about.

So back to my friend. There was a heartbeat. And then there wasn't. And now she's mourning. And what do I hear out there in universe? "Why on earth would she have another kid?" "She only got pregnant to hang on to her husband."

Upon my third miscarriage, I actually had someone suggest to me that perhaps God was punishing me for some misdeed from my past, and that maybe if I repented, the problem would be solved. (As if that's the way God does things). Thanks for the compassion, right?

WHY do we do this to each other? Why are we mean? Why do we gossip? Let's help each other. Let's build each other up. Let's take each other a pot of soup and say, "I'm sorry you're suffering. How can I help?" Let's keep our hurtful, negative comments to ourselves. Let's spread supportive words of kindness like wildfire. Let's make only one assumption about anyone we ever know or meet: that they are doing their best. Can you imagine the burdens you will lighten if you did that? Including your own?

Signs

Sometimes, and only sometimes, sitting on the couch feels really, really good. Yesterday, every single knuckle in both hands protested use. Every now and then I find a single, silvery hair amongst the nest of black. As I type this, my husband's fancy infrared therapy machine is doing its thing to my right knee. Finally, and perhaps most telling, as much as it pains me to admit, I think the new Buicks rolling off the assembly line are quite beautiful.