Category Archives: Challenges

The Not-So-Frumpy Campaign

In the past six weeks since I stopped breastfeeding, I’ve gained all the weight I was supposed to have gained while pregnant, my complexion is suddenly shot, and I’m realizing that I look like a frumpy woman, in more ways than I can number.

I know, no sympathy, since I didn’t really gain anything while pregnant, etc. But it’s like the post-pregnancy depression didn’t come until I stopped breastfeeding, at a point when everyone expects me to know how to be a mother because, face it, my son is almost a year old.

I’m just realizing, as I said the other day, that I need to do a better job of making myself look like a real human being. I went on a nine-day vacation to New Zealand (which was wonderful), but every time I looked in the mirror, I grimaced. I’m in need of a Not-So-Frumpy Campaign right now.

That said, I keep thinking of things that I could do to feel like a cute newlywed again:

  • Get a manicure or pedicure
  • Get my hair done
  • Buy new pjs that aren’t fraying or stained with maple syrup
  • Buy new clothes (lots of them!)
  • Have a spa treatment (I’ve never done this, but it sure sounds nice, doesn’t it?)
  • Get a massage
  • Buy a new book (because that always helps…)

Except everything costs money. Since I move across the globe this coming Saturday (!!!), I’m not going to have any spending money for a long while yet.

This is where you come in! Please tell me what I can do to feel cute again without spending a penny!

A few clarifications:

  • I cannot for the life of me put nail polish on my own fingers. It doesn’t work. I feel very gross when I have clumpy nail polish.
  • I can only wear earrings for a few hours before my ears ache. I think my ears are allergic. Instead, I have holes in my ears.
  • I dry my hair on mornings that I have time, and that helps me not feel frumpy. But my hair dryer, which is also a straightener, has an Australian plug, so even that will cost money to replace once I get to the USA. (I burned out my USA one the first week down-under.) I know I could use a regular hair dryer, but those make my hair frizzy.
  • I wear basic makeup. I won’t wear more than that.

Please note: I’m not asking for you to buy me things. I don’t want anyone else to buy me anything; I know what I like, etc. I just want your ideas for free cute-inspiring things.

Is everything that helps women feel cute costly?

Modesty

I just read Elder Hales’ talk in the August Ensign about modesty.

As I started reading, I thought, “Oh, this won’t apply to me, because I always dress modestly.” I don’t even wear knee-length skirts anymore (if I did, I wouldn’t be able to chase my crawling baby very easily!). Surely, I don’t need to read about modest apparel!

Then this paragraph stood out:

Tight pants, tight shirts, excessively baggy clothing, wrinkled apparel, and unkempt hair are not appropriate. … We should always be neat and clean, avoiding sloppiness or inappropriate casualness.

This hit me like a brick: how many times in the past ten months since my son has been born have I not ironed my shirt, not done my hair, not cared how sloppy I looked?

I used to iron my shirt when I went to work every day. I never iron my shirt anymore. I suppose I can use that fact that no one but an infant sees me as an excuse to be sloppy and unkempt. And there are always Those Days when we’re sick or my son didn’t sleep, etc. I suppose mothers can always find an excuse. But I was really intrigued by Elder Hales’ words:

Modesty is at the center of being pure and chase, both in thought and deed. … it reflects who we are and what we want to be, both here in mortality and in the eternities that will follow.

It seems to me, he’s saying modesty is not so much about making sure your skirt is long enough and your shirt isn’t showing off your navel. Modesty is a way of thinking: modesty is respect for your body.

How we fell on the inside shows on the outside. …

When we know who we are – children of God – and understand that our outward appearance affects our inward spirituality and ultimately our behavior, we show respect for God, for ourselves, and for those around us by being modest in dress and behavior.

I’m going to go comb my hair again. Apparently, that’s a part of putting on the whole armor of God.

Random Thoughts

Departure Pending

My husband’s boss has agreed to let him finish the project this month, as well as take two weeks’ vacation. We’re going to New Zealand in two weeks and returning to the USA at the end of the month. Hallelujah! It’s not that we don’t like it here; we’re just ready for the next stage. We’ve kind of been pulled back and forth since May. (I never thought I’d miss all of summer! We’re going from winter back in to autumn.)

Old Stuff

My husband has a shirt with a rip by the wrist. He wears it almost every week. I told him he needs to throw it out. Really, what will people think about me as his wife?! That I can’t keep my husband from being shabby? Then he pointed out that I keep my brown shoes.

My brown shoes were bought before my mission (in 2003). They were very nice for a few years, and I took pains to polish them regularly. However, polishing the shoes no longer does any good, as the leather has worn through. The company no longer makes that style, so I can’t replace them. They are very comfortable, so I still wear them nearly every day. I guess I never wondered what people think. They are just comfortable shoes to me.

Hmmm. Now I have a dilemma: My shoes or no more old shirt?

Medicinal Matters

My husband got ill for the third time in the 13 months we’ve been here. Of course, then both Paul and I got sick as well. My husband rarely gets ill in the USA. Why are there so many bugs here?

I’ve determined why: they don’t have proper medicine easily accessible. If you go to the supermarket, they have three small shelves. One the first row, every bottle says “All Natural Ingredients.” On the second and third rows, there is no such notice on the bottles. No matter, as soon as turn it over to look at the ingredients, you realize all three have Echinacea, Zinc, and Vitamin C. Nice things to take if you’re sick, but hardly a Cold and Flu remedy as the bottle proclaims. You’re still going to be coughing on your co-worker all week.

To get real medicine (the kind that actually suppresses your coughs, stops your nose from running, or makes your coughs productive; the kind with lots of chemicals in it), you have to go to the chemist (pharmacist), which might have them behind a special counter. You have to ask for them. And then it’s a very small bottle. If you want to have more, you must visit the doctor and get a prescription.

As for the doctors, General Practitioners are pretty useless. They should be call LPs, Limited Practitioners. Among other things, I was told I just had muscle cramps and it turned out to be gall stones. Yeah. GPs are worthless. (They are essentially free for Australian citizens under Medicare, so maybe socialized medicine is not such a good thing, huh?)

So why are there so many bugs in Australia, and why do we keep getting sick? When people get sick, they take natural ingredients, which do nothing to stop the sneezing and coughing. Bugs are spread, and more people get sick. That’s my philosophy.

If you like the natural route for medicine, you’d love Australia! That’s what it is. Personally, I like medicines that work when I’m ill.

Sniff.

What I’m Looking Forward To

I wrote the other week about a few things I’ll miss about living in Australia. Now that we are here longer than we thought we’d be, I’m starting to look forward to the conveniences of the USA. Just like I didn’t intend my “things I’ll miss” posts to sound like complaining, I certainly don’t mean this to either. I love my home here, and I know I’ll love my home there, where ever “there” is.

Parking Spaces: I think there must be a different law in the USA about how many available parking spaces there are for supermarkets and malls. I am always searching for parking, even at 10 a.m., even at 4:30 p.m., even at 7:30 p.m. Monday-Saturday, I’m searching. It was so bad at Christmas that we left the mall without ever finding anything after driving for 30 minutes, giving up our schedule family portrait time. It’s bad every day.

Drive Thru: I’d love to be able to stop at an ATM without getting out of my car. I’d love to be able to pay for gas at the pump without going in to the station. I’d love to give my car a carwash without having to go into the station to pay for it. There are so many conveniences that just aren’t in Australia. Is it wrong for me to not want the grocery store checker to check my card signature? It’s much faster if I don’t have to keep my wallet out. …

Consumer Goods: I needed some more make-up ( foundation): $18 for a small tub. Is it that much in the USA? I stopped to browse at the bookstore: $26.99 for Margaret Atwood’s The Blind Assassin. A few weeks ago, I bought jars of baby food: $1.99 for 170 grams (about 5½ oz). Because everything is expensive, there aren’t as many options for consumer goods. I’m looking forward to affordable prices again.

Books: See note above about Consumer Goods.

A New Car: I get to buy myself a car, my car, to last for 5+ years. I’m very excited to go for test drives! (My husband probably won’t get a car until he gets a new job, which we hope is soon, but might not be for a few months yet; we’ve been a one car family for more than a year now and I never thought we could do it.)

Service: Tips are not expected at restaurants. It was nice at first, but I’m really looking forward to some actual service from waitresses or waiters: it’s like they make an effort to ignore us and only come if we look annoyed. It would also be nice to be able to order pizza and have it delivered. I haven’t actually ordered pizza since college, but it’s the fact that I can’t that bothers me!

There are a number of other reasons I’m eager to move back to the USA (namely, family!) but this’ll be all for now.

We may get a departure date soon!

Why I’m Still Here

I’m still in Australia.

Why, you may ask? Good question. Here’s a rambling answer:

USA Client wanted Husband to do Said Project. Australia Client said if USA Client asked politely for Roll-Off (i.e., finding another person to do Husband’s job and sending Husband and family home), then Roll-Off would be in three weeks. Husband agreed to perform Long-Distance Telephone Consulting for Said Project during Roll-Off period. USA Client promptly neglected to ask Australia Client for Roll-Off. After one month of Husband performing Long-Distance Telephone Consulting for Said Project in early Australian hours of morning, Australia Client said to Husband, “No Roll-Off until USA Client asks for you,” and USA Client still didn’t ask Australia Client for stated Roll-Off. Why? Because Long-Distance Telephone Consulting is cheaper than Flying Husband to Virginia each week. So, Husband stopped awaking for 4 a.m. Long-Distance Telephone Consulting for Said Project. Now USA Client for Said Project says “Help, or we’ll find someone else,” Husband says, “Arrange Roll-Off from Australia Client or find someone else,” and Australia Client says “I won’t allow Roll-Off if USA Client doesn’t need you.” So Husband and family are waiting for someone’s mind to be made up. As soon as Said Mind is made up, Roll-Off will happen in about three weeks. Husband and family will then return to USA.

Clear as mud, huh?

Discipline to Never Quit

I was the only girl dressed as a knight.

You can blame it on the fact that I had two older brothers. They’d also participated in the sixth grade medieval banquet: my mother had already made a knight’s costume. Of course that’s what I wore.

The costume was made of felt: two bright orange and two bright red squares. On the orange squares were red lions. On my head I wore a red felt helmet. I had an aluminum foil-covered cardboard sword and shield. Never mind that if someone actually attacked me the felt wouldn’t protect me at all.

I didn’t care that I was a knight until I saw that I was the only girl dressed as one: every other girl in sixth grade showed up to the medieval banquet as a princess.

The medieval banquet was the end of our lengthy unit on chivalry and medieval times, the culmination of six weeks of learning. Fifteen years later, I can only recall two things about the medieval unit:

1. The banquet at which I was the only girl with a cardboard sword

2. The motto I created for my carefully designed family coat of arms

I don’t recall to what purpose we designed a coat of arms. I suppose illustrating a coat of arms has something to do with medieval times. I remember that mine had four small illustrations and a motto. I don’t remember what I drew; all I remember is the motto.

Never Quit.

I had asked my mother to help me with my coat of arms. She was the one that encouraged me to write “Never Quit” at the top of it as the motto.

“Isn’t that what we do in our family?” she asked me. “We hang in there?”

I nodded and wrote it down. Now, in retrospect, I realize that “never quit” is a perfect motto for me. Having insane discipline to persevere has been my life curse and blessing.

Some of the Curses

  • When I got a term paper assignment on the first day of a term, I began research. This means I spent four months agonizing about it, instead of two weeks or two days like everyone else.
  • When I had two weeks to read every page of Moby-Dick, I did it, not even skipping the whale blubber passages. I didn’t lie on the test, either, when I checked the box that said “Yes, I read the entire book.”
  • When I had a chance to go to the Philippines for a weekend with my husband for free, I declined because I had told my church group I’d be there to help the children prepare their musical presentation. I couldn’t let them down.

Some of the Blessings

  • When I was on the summer swim team, I swam a very slow butterfly. In the 50 meter race at one Saturday meet, I was definitely the last one to finish in my heat. But I did it correctly. When the five other girls in the heat were disqualified for incorrect strokes, I ended up with the first place ribbon.
  • When I don’t like my cooking, I try again. Sometimes it tastes better, sometimes not. But I can tell that I’m improving. My husband says I’m the best cook he knows (although he may be biased).
  • When I faced horrible depression in college, I got up each morning and went on with my day, smiling as best I could. I took one step in front of the other to get where I needed to be. Ultimately, I made it through. One day I found I got up without having to tell myself to get up.
  • When I thought I would die from pain and discomfort during labor, I didn’t give up and instead I gave birth to my son.

I’m becoming less rigid when it comes to discipline in some things. For example, I have no problem putting off cleaning the house! Also, after one class of graduate school, I quit, wholly and completely. I wasn’t going to like it, so I decided I wouldn’t continue it for $2,000 a class. I’ve determined the same thing attitude with books: if I don’t like it, I won’t finish it. It is so refreshing to quit something insignificant every now and then.

Ultimately, though, I’m glad I’m disciplined; I’m glad I hold myself to the standard “never quit” (albeit with some caveats). Even the curses listed above have blessings attached to them: I didn’t procrastinate some things, I could answer honestly and not sacrifice my integrity, I could be trusted to follow through on what I said I’d do.

While it was my sixth grade teachers that encouraged me to declare a motto, it was my mother that instilled it in me.

I look at my mother now, persevering to the end of one of her life goals: a PhD, earned one class at a time, one year at a time, first while being a full-time mom and then while being a full-time teacher. I am so proud of my mother, PhD. She practices what she taught me: Never quit.

That is why “never quit” has stayed with me all these years: my mother. I remember a felt knight’s costume, carefully made by my mother.

To my mother.

(True but loose response to Write Anything Bright Stuff #482: Discipline.)

What I Will Miss, Part 2

What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet

I have always loved my given name. It is so beautiful, so complete. I dislike the fact that I never went by it.

I don’t like my nickname.

I tried to go by my given name when I was a teenager. I told the temporary staffing office my given name and I succeeded for three weeks as a receptionist before I forgot and answered the phone with my nickname. In despair, I gave up. I decided I could never remember to refer to myself by my name — the nickname was so ingrained in me.

When we moved to Australia last year, I told my husband, again, that I’ve always wanted to go by my given name. He told me, again, that I should go by it then. Why not? With him as my support system, I have. For the past year, I have been “Rebecca” to everyone I meet. And I love it.

  • Rebecca is an adult.
  • Rebecca is a wife.
  • Rebecca is a mother.
  • Rebecca is an active, participating member of a ward.
  • Rebecca cooks dinner for her family.
  • Rebecca feels competent with her everyday responsibilities.

Whenever someone calls me “Becky,” I think of pigtails. I imagine my buck teeth. I feel insecure again.

  • Becky is a little girl.
  • Becky reads The Babysitters Club.
  • Becky is afraid of the stove and cries at the thought of cooking.
  • Becky sits by herself, secretly wondering why no one is her friend.

Now, whenever I do something dumb, I hear myself say in my head, “That was dumb, Becky.” Every other time, I refer to myself, in my thoughts, as Rebecca. I love being Rebecca. I finally feel like me.

At some point in the coming month (still no departure date), I’ll leave all the people who know me as Rebecca. I’m returning to a place where everyone calls me Becky. I am very sad to leave my identity here in Australia. I’ll never feel like myself again, completely.

I know, I can continue clarifying my name for everyone I re-meet for the rest of my life. But some people have already made it clear to me that they don’t intend to even try to remember that I’m Rebecca now.

Sigh. I love my name. Why can’t anyone else remember what it actually is?

Note: If someone you know signs their name in a particular way or calls themselves by a particular name, why wouldn’t you refer to them that way? I just don’t get it.

ETA: To all reading this post, please understand that I don’t mean to offend anyone! My purpose in writing this post was to show that there is something I’ll miss when I return to the USA from Australia, going by Rebecca, and that when I return to the USA, I will be fighting to be Rebecca instead of Rebecca-by-default. I sorry if that offends you; offense was not intended.

When Will I Stop Worrying that My Son Will Die?

A few months ago, when Paul started to sleep through the night, I’d wake up in the morning terrified that I’d find him dead in his crib from SIDS.

At his eight-month checkup, I was told to stop feeding him pureed food: mix chunky/mashed foods so he learns how to chew. Now I feed him his meal, terrified that he’s going to choke on his food and die, right before my eyes.

He’s becoming mobile now, and I’m realizing that the next step will be terror that in the two minutes I turn around, he’ll put his finger in an outlet and die from electrocution (even with outlet covers…). Or fall down the stairs and die. Or grab at something that I didn’t mean to leave out and choke on it and die. Or cut himself on something sharp I thought I’d put away and bleed to death. Or…

I could go on. All these terrors keep recurring in my mind.

Someone responded back in December that these fears aren’t from the spirit and I shouldn’t worry. But really, they are all very possible. And if he dies because of something I did or didn’t do, I could not live with myself.

When will I stop worrying that my son will die? Or will I always worry?

Procrastination

  • “Let’s go to lunch next week instead of this week.” I say to my friend. “Or we could go the week after that if it’s better.”
  • Why don’t we invite our visiting teaching sisters for lunch next month? This month is so busy.”
  • “Oh, I’ll read that book later,” I tell myself. “I can always renew it.”
  • “I’ll do a major pantry clean out next month,” I tell myself.
  • “We’ll go to the temple next Saturday.”
  • “I’ll take my Sunday School class members treats next week.”
  • “We can always see New Zealand on the next family vacation. Let’s just take a short trip this time.”
  • “No, we’ll go see Tasmania next month. Let’s stay home this weekend.”

And then we get a call: We want you to come to a new assignment in three weeks. In New Jersey. Nothing for certain yet, but will you plan for it?

Obviously, three weeks is impossible for an international move. But all of a sudden, the next weeks are limited; the next months are gone.

Last June, we entered Australia on a three-year visa. The project’s paperwork said through “September 2008,” but we hoped for two full years. I figured I’d have a walking and talking little boy. I figured we’d have visited all of Victoria and parts of Tasmania and New Zealand and maybe Sydney and the Gold Coast and maybe Ayers Rock. I figured our savings account would have grown (although those two dreams don’t really follow, a girl can dream!). I figured the housing market wasn’t going to tank and that the dollar would be worth a little more when we transferred our money back. I figured I had more time before I had to move my home across the globe again. I figured I could enjoy being cozy in our new home.

Of course, I am excited to be near family again, within a four-hour flight of both sets of my baby’s grandparents and all of my baby’s aunts and uncles. I’m excited to be able to get more variety in terms of consumer goods. I’m excited that things will cost less (relatively). I’m excited to choose a new car for myself. I’m excited to re-enter summer. I’m excited I might be able to go to my friend’s wedding in August. I’m excited that my family might actually call me when my phone number isn’t international. I’m excited that I don’t have to wonder how long we’ll be here (things have been a question mark for a few months).

But now I realize I have to start all over again: the third home and the third ward and the third search for friends in two years of marriage.

I’m realizing now that I shouldn’t have procrastinated being a friend. I shouldn’t have procrastinated making home cozy for my family. The end can, and does, come at any time.

What are you procrastinating? What “end” do you dread (and/or hope for at the same time)?

Lesson 12: Repentance is a Blessing (A Study of Twelve-year-old Behavior)

I realize the 12-year-olds in my class are not committing murder or smoking or doing anything really bad. They are good kids. I may not have prepared my lesson as best as I could, but they really took me off guard yesterday. Here’s a rundown of my class yesterday (it’s kind of long):

(I’ll call the class Mary, Sarah, Elizabeth, and John, just for privacy’s sake.)

We started by reading Alma 38:8. Mary had forgotten her scriptures. Our meeting house library only has spare scriptures in Chinese.

  • Me: Alma had to recognize he’s sinned: he felt the pain of guilt. The first part of repentance is recognizing you did something wrong. Why do you think we need to recognize that?
  • Sarah: So you can repent. Duh! Ew! Stop–that is so gross.
  • [Mary has taken a pushpin from the bulletin board and is popping the blister on her toe with it. I decide to ignore her. Why? I don’t know.]
  • Me: Ok, let’s read Doctrine and Covenants 58:38. John, can you read that?
  • Sarah: Ew! Now I need to wash my foot! [She storms out of the room.]
  • Elizabeth: What happened? [That’s what I’m thinking too.]
  • Mary: I bumped her foot with mine! [I don’t blame Sarah at this point: Mary has been popping blisters on her toe. I would want to wash my foot too.]
  • Me: OK, so what those verses said: What do we need to do to repent?
  • Elizabeth: Confess and Forsake.
  • Me: Good!Can you write that on the board? [Elizabeth volunteered before class to be scribe.]
  • Mary: You dummy! Confess has two S‘s.
  • Me: Let’s not call names. It doesn’t matter how it’s spelled. What does forsake mean?
  • Mary: It means, well, like “For your sake.”
  • Me: Not quite. It means “to give up.” Why do you think we need to give up our sins?
  • John: So we don’t do it again. To show we’re sorry and won’t do it again.
  • Me, glad someone is focused: Right. To show we won’t do it again: we really mean it! Another thing we have to do is keep the commandments. (Can you write that on the board, too?)
  • [Elizabeth has by now drawn an elaborate design beside the list of steps of repentance. She’s also written CTR! CHOOSE TO REPENT!]
  • Elizabeth: Oh, what am I suppose to write?
  • [Great, has she heard any of this?]
  • John: Keep the commandments!
  • Sarah, storming back into the room: That was the grossest thing in the world!
  • Me: Anyway, as I was saying. We need to not do it again. So if we’re sorry we hit our sister and we’re repenting for doing that, we need to not do it again.
  • Sarah: Well, except, some things we will do again. Like, I know I’ll hit my brother again.
  • Me: Well, if we are sincere in wanting to repent, we need to stop doing it.
  • Elizabeth: But I have to hit my sisters!
  • Me: Remember how we talked about the premortal life where Satan wanted to let us return to Heavenly Father but he wouldn’t give us a choice? Instead, we came to earth under Heavenly Father’s plan with Christ as our Savior, so what did Heavenly Father give us?
  • Elizabeth: Our agency!
  • Me: Exactly! So you can choose not to hit your brother.
  • Elizabeth: No, I can’t.
  • Sarah: I have to hit my brothers.
  • Mary: There is no choice in the matter.
  • John: I don’t hit my brother.
  • Mary: You only have one brother.
  • Sarah: Yeah, I have six siblings. I have to defend myself.
  • [Sarah has five siblings. I correct her and she says, no, her dad counts as a sibling. Great.]
  • Elizabeth: I have to fight.
  • Sarah: Ew! Stop it! That’s gross. [Mary has renewed the pushpin technique. Now she’s pricking her fingers.]
  • Me: Mary, will you stop poking yourself with a pushpin?!
  • [Mary puts the pushpin back into the board and sits and sulks.]
  • Me, to Elizabeth: Well, if your brother is mean to you, what choices do you have?
  • Elizabeth: To defend myself.
  • Me: And what other choice?
  • Elizabeth: To defend myself.
  • Me: And…
  • Elizabeth: To fight.
  • Me: You can choose not to fight.
  • Elizabeth: No, they’ll all say “What’s wrong with you?”
  • Sarah: Right. I have to defend myself.
  • Me: Ok, so anyway, Heavenly Father’s plan is that we repent and that we actually feel sorry when we repent.

We also talked about making restitution (apologizing, making up for what was wrong) after we do something and we read some more scriptures, but I couldn’t get them to stop claiming they must fight with their siblings. They don’t believe me when I say they have a choice. I couldn’t get Mary to participate after I called her off of her disgusting pop-the-blister kick.

Now, I know I fought with my sister. But I know I chose to fight with her. I know when I still argue with people that I’m choosing to argue. It’s my fault just as much as anyone else’s. It takes two to fight. I also think family discipline has something to do with it. I know Sarah’s family — they are a bit violent to each other in church; I can’t imagine how they would be at home. Case in point: John, who claims he doesn’t fight with his older brother, is a perfect, focused class-participant (most Sundays).

I really don’t remember what was like being twelve. I asked my husband what I can do. His answer? Don’t teach twelve-year-olds.
Here are my questions for you:

  1. Are all twelve-year-olds determined to fight with their siblings?
  2. How do I emphasize repentance when they think they have no choice in the matter (other than using a better example)?
  3. Also, when a class member is being distracting and popping blisters or being gross, how do I ask her to stop without making her annoyed and sullen the rest of the class?

Lesson 12 of 45