Tag Archives: being positive

The Not-So-Frumpy Campaign

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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?

When Will I Stop Worrying that My Son Will Die?

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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?

Happy Thoughts

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Today, I found a list on a sticky note inside my pocket hymnal. Because of the items on the list, I believe I wrote it when I was traveling in the Middle East with my BYU semester abroad eight years ago. It’s amazing that the note is still sticky after all these years.

Happy Thoughts

  • laughing
  • the Ah Ha moment
  • blowing in the wind at the front of the boat [on the Sea of Galilee]
  • sunshine
  • blue skies
  • talking with friends
  • hope
  • clear, starry night
  • humming along with songs
  • a dance beat
  • finishing something
  • holding a sleeping baby
  • testimony

I wish I remembered what “the Ah Ha moment” is. It sounds so nice.

What is on your Happy Thoughts list? Was your list different eight years ago?

Procrastination

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  • “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)?

Reflections on “A Spoon Full of Sugar” and “Just 30 Minutes”

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For every job that must be done
There is an element of fun
You find the fun and snap!
The job’s a game.

I’ve been listening to Disney music lately. One thing I bought in the States is a five-disc Disney song Classics collection. I’ve enjoyed the retreat to childhood as I revisit favorite songs and introduce my infant son to “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” and “When You Wish upon a Star” and dozens of others.

Another thing we brought back from the States is a Swiffer and a hundred dry Swiffer rags. This was a gift from my mother-in-law, who believed me when I said that a Swiffer was all I wanted (I couldn’t find them here!). Despite Swiffer’s claim otherwise, you really can’t throw away the broom and the mop — the dry Swiffer doesn’t catch three-dimensional things and the wet Swiffer doesn’t do a great job at kitchen messes — but overall, the Swiffer is a great floor-cleaning tool: it catches the dust and hairs and dirt that just don’t get caught without it. I feel efficient when I’m Swiffering (yes, I believe that is a verb now), and I don’t have to try to catch the mess in a dustpan as I use it.

As I was Swiffering our huge hardwood floor the other morning, I started humming “A Spoon Full of Sugar.” I realized that something as simple as a tool I liked made the task less annoying. Cleaning the floor wasn’t as much of a bother because I felt like I was being efficient. The Swiffer was my “spoonful of sugar” that helped the medicine of cleaning “go down.”

Later, I was telling my husband about a silly website I visited.

“I know I have better things to do,” I said.”But it was fun. Besides, it was just a half-hour, if that.”

He looked at me. “Just a half-hour? How many half-hours do you get every day?”

He wasn’t accusatory at all — I imagine he really doesn’t care what I do. It’s my time. But I realized that this question was coming from a man who had a limited number of “free” half-hours every day. Many of his half-hours are filled with work responsibilities.

How many half-hours do I get every day? And what do I do with all of them?

Yesterday I began a testing process. Here was the test: what can I do in a half an hour? Here’s a list of the chores I can do in half an hour:

  • Shower, dress, and do my hair and makeup (unless I iron my clothes)
  • Clean three bathrooms (at 10 minutes each)
  • Starch and iron 1½ shirts (at 20 minutes each — I’m really slow. My husband usually irons his own shirts, but I really should iron for him, given how many more “free” half-hours I get each day. Maybe I’ll get faster as I do this more often.)
  • Swiffer and sweep, thoroughly, the hardwood floors (lots downstairs, some upstairs)
  • Vacuum the carpeting (three rooms and two large rugs)
  • Dust the bookcases, shelves, and ceiling corners of the house using a Swiffer duster
  • Wash the dishes in the sink (by hand) and wipe down the counters and the microwave
  • Make a quick dinner

Some things take half that time:

  • Feed my son
  • Eat breakfast
  • Eat lunch
  • Fold and put away a load of laundry and start the next load
  • Unload the dishwasher and load it again
  • Wipe the kitchen counters and table and set the table for dinner
  • Tidy the living room (by actually putting things away, not just hiding them)
  • Swiffer, quickly, the hardwood floors

Some things take twice as long:

  • Make a longer dinner (you can’t rush risotto)
  • Get groceries at the supermarket and unload them and put them away

Obviously, some things can’t be done when my son is demanding my attention. (When he wants attention, then I can do some of the fun half-hours: cuddle him close to me, read Winnie-the-Pooh to him, sing a few primary songs, get on the floor and play with his toys.) And how do I vacuum when he’s napping without waking him? But when I put these things in half-hour increments, I don’t feel wrong asking him to entertain himself here and there through the day. Letting him play by himself for 30 minutes while I shower and get ready every morning can’t kill him. Also, he was happy to watch me wash dishes and wipe down kitchen counters because I was talking with him and singing to him as I did it.

As I tested how much of each chore I could get done in a half hour, I felt an urgency to hurry and get it done. It was almost like a game.

The end results were the biggest bonuses. I felt so much better about myself when my hair was done and my makeup was on. I felt a sense of glee when I found that folding and putting away an entire load of laundry took half as long as I thought it would. I felt a sense of satisfaction when I looked at the living room, free of unnecessary clutter, and knew that everything was put away where it was “supposed” to be. I felt very good as I set a well-balanced meal in front of my husband at the end of his long work day.

Those 30 minutes I spent visiting a “who does your son look like?” webpage seemed like “just a half-hour.” It went fast. I think I’ll try to think of chores as “just a half-hour” and maybe that will make them go faster.

Even with the challenge of “how long does it take?”, I don’t think these chores are fun, and it isn’t really a “game” to do them. But I think the satisfaction of having a clean, put-together home is a great reward.

Healing

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The surgeon cut me open four times. Three cuts were half an inch. The last was one inch. He removed one of my organs (my gallbladder) through one of them.

For one week, I left the waterproof bandages on. I had bled, and the bandages were weary. My muscles were sore, like someone had punched me in the gut. I rested. But then I stood up. I swept the floor. I picked up my baby, and I went to the grocery store. I lived.

After one week, a nurse removed the bandages and the stitches.

Now, four bright red lines mark the spots. The skin has come together. There is no more blood oozing, there is no more pain. My body has healed itself.

As I look at my week-old wounds, I think one word: Miracle. My body is a miracle.

Your body, whatever its natural gifts, is a magnificent creation of God. It is a tabernacle of flesh–a temple for your spirit. A study of your body attests to its divine design.

Believe in God; believe that he is, and that he created all things, both in heaven and in earth; believe that he has all wisdom, and all power, both in heaven and in earth; believe that man doth not comprehend all the things which the Lord can comprehend.

Mosiah 4:9

Watching my body heal has strengthened my testimony of God’s majesty.

The Need to be an Optimist

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I have recently observed that I am very pessimistic. I worry about my son dying of SIDS (chance: 50 of 100,000). I worry about the car falling off the edge of the mountain as we drive around sharp corners. I worry about a rock piercing the car tire and leaving us stranded in the middle of nowhere. (Can a rock even do that?)

And yet, as Boyd K. Packer said (Ensign, November 1977),

Somewhere there is a message in the protest of a man who said: “You can’t tell me worry doesn’t help. The things I worry about never happen.”

By extension, then, the things I do not worry about do happen.

This is our garage ceiling the day before we left town for our Christmas vacation:

IMG_6265LR[1]

Apparently, three days of spring rain flowed through a leak in our roof. The buildup of water subsequently leaked through the ceiling and collapsed through the dry wall in a big gush of water.

There has been another Disaster recently, this one involving a litre of vegetable oil in the trunk of the car. I don’t want to talk about it.

Whatever is going to happen will happen, whether or not I agonize about it first. I really ought to let go. Life will be more pleasant. And then I wont be afraid to live and take chances. (My “chances” will be within reason, of course. I am still me, after all; I am conservative in the risks I take.) I need to be realistic in the things I think about and concern myself with what is important.

Therefore, my first New Years goal is to not worry. I promise I won’t post pessimistic things on this webpage. And I’m going to let go of my worries. It’s time I embrace optimism or, at the very least, realism.

Cleaning as Nurturing

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I’ve been thinking a lot about the talk by Sister Beck in conference about motherhood. Here’s the part I’ve been dwelling on the last few days:

Another word for nurturing is homemaking. Homemaking includes cooking, washing clothes and dishes, and keeping an orderly home. Home is where women have the most power and influence; therefore, Latter-day Saint women should be the best homemakers in the world. … Nurturing mothers are knowledgeable, but all the education women attain will avail them nothing if they do not have the skill to make a home that creates a climate for spiritual growth. Growth happens best in a “house of order,” and women should pattern their homes after the Lord’s house (see D&C 109). Nurturing requires organization, patience, love, and work.

To nurture, I need to cook, wash clothes and dishes, and keep an orderly home.

Firstly, cooking. As I mentioned yesterday, I’ve recently discovered I love to cook! Cooking no longer feels like a chore, but a delight. I can see how cooking a meal for my family is nurturing them.

Next, washing clothes and dishes. I don’t mind doing laundry and dishes. Once the clothes are clean, then the hampers are empty, and that feels satisfying. I get to do twice as much laundry now with an infant. I really don’t mind doing it. True, I dyed a few of Pauls’ white onesies pink the first week of his life, but since then, there have been no “disasters” and we’ve been clothed well.

As for dishes, one of my first jobs at BYU was a dishwasher in the CougarEat kitchens. It was relaxing. My husband does dishes each night after dinner now anyway because Paul is usually hungry at just the right moment…but really, I don’t mind dishes at all.

Finally, keeping an orderly home. I take this to mean cleaning and not just keeping things organized. I can put things away and avoid piles of “stuff” and wipe down kitchen counters. I can follow a grocery budget and keep my pantry stocked and in order. But my problem right now is cleaning. I find sweeping, mopping, cleaning toilets, scrubbing down showers, vacuuming, and dusting absolutely tedious. Mom suggested I like cooking because it’s a symbol of my love. For some reason, I just can’t think of cleaning in the same way. It just feels tedious.

My dislike of cleaning is not a new problem. As a kid, when Mom gave me my chores on Saturday mornings, I’d sing “It’s a Hard-Knock Life” and grumble about how unfair it was to have to clean. As an adult, my philosophy has always been: if I can see the dust, it’s too late. But after Paul was born, I went a month without touching a broom. As I mentioned before, that was much too long.

The problem is that we have a two-story, three-bedroom, two-and-a-half bath town home with hardwood floors the size of Kentucky. And as I got around to mopping the other day, I saw little ants and a spider’s cobweb.

As Sister Beck said, I need the “skill to make a home that creates a climate for spiritual growth.” Dust and ants hinder that spiritual growth. How can I delight in cleaning as nurturing rather than as a chore? How can I develop the same sense of satisfaction with cleaning that I recently have found with cooking?

Survey Says…

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I got a call the other day from a student at Melbourne University. She called me as a follow up to a survey I agreed to participate in when I was in the hospital. They ask me questions while in the hospital, at 4-6 weeks, and at 6 months. Then they compare the answers to determine changing perceptions.

One question was as follows: How would you rate the level of pain you experienced during your labor and delivery, 1 being the worst possible pain and 5 being no pain at all?

I thought a moment and answered 2.

I have reflected since then. Did I say 1 when I was in the hospital?

I am glad I wrote about the childbirth experience right after it happened, because I guess already I’m forgetting how bad it was. The great cuddly moments with my son are mellowing out the memory of labor. How I love being a mother!

My husband and I watched Bill Cosby’s take on natural childbirth the other day. Here it is, in two parts (each is 5-6 minutes long).

Bill Cosby Natural Childbirth Part 1
[youtube:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xFMVeZyhagI]

Bill Cosby Natural Childbirth Part 2
[youtube:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_w-AG_yF1Uw]

My comments: I really don’t think yelling at my husband would have helped at all! However, I may have yelled at him had he started into a cheer: “Push him out! Shove him out! Waaaaaaaay out!”

“I Can” Versus “I Can’t”

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I’ve never had incredible self confidence. I second guess my abilities to do just about everything. So taking on the new role of mother is very daunting. Heavenly Father trusts me with one of his precious spirit children. Me!

I’m sure I’m not the only new mother a bit overwhelmed.

As I mentioned previously on this webpage, I loved being pregnant! But while I can’t say I loved the giving birth part of the adventure, I did love the incredible spiritual experiences I had during the entire process (in retrospect only; I didn’t love it at all at the time). I’ll share some of it because I feel it has so much to do with how I’ll approach motherhood and everything in my life now.

I’ve been told that the labor for first babies is usually a very long time. I figured once I got to the hospital, I’d get an epidural to deal with the pain. How else do women get through it these days? There’s pain medicine, so take it, I say.

When I first entered the delivery room last Sunday, I asked how long I should expect to be in labor. The midwife suggested that normal progress would be 4 hours for every 2 cm dilation. Since I was only 4 cm at that point, that would leave me with 12 more hours of labor! I just about died. I couldn’t stand the thought of such a long time. Because it seemed there was so much time left, I decided to wait until I seriously couldn’t bear it anymore before asking for the epidural. It would be a long time stuck on my back.

It was only another hour and a half before I asked for it. I couldn’t stand the pain. With each contraction, I told my husband, “I can’t do this!” He calmly reassured me that I could. (He was very good to me the entire time!)

Well, by the time I asked for the epidural, the nurse told me that it was too late–I was fully dilated. I couldn’t have an epidural at that point. It was nearly time to push.

In some respects, it was exciting to know that Paul was so near to be born. It’s very good to have a shorter labor! But I just knew I couldn’t have a baby without numbing all the pain!

“How long?” I asked.

“Within two hours.”

Two more hours! I couldn’t do it. I would die. I firmly decided that if the baby hadn’t been born by 3 p.m, I would succumb to death. But I’d make a valiant effort before I did. I owed that to my husband and this baby that wanted to be born.

The contractions were horrible. But then the most amazing thing happened: in between I was able to breathe and get ready for the next one. During each contraction I would feel so horrible and I’d tell everyone in the room I couldn’t do it. But then I’d get a moment to catch my breath. And I’d realize that the baby was coming.

Whenever I said “I can’t do it!”, my husband would say “You’re doing great” and the midwives would say “You are doing it!”

Well, Paul sure took his time. It was more than 2 hours. 3 p.m. came and he still hadn’t been pushed out. But he was nearly there. I decided not to die. And then, with one long push, there was Paul. He was born. The midwife put him on my belly, and there he was.

I can’t describe my first emotional impression of seeing my son. Here’s the physical description: He was blue and squirmy and tiny. (And yet, he was so huge for having just come from inside of me!) It was an incredible thing to finally hold him.

That night, my husband left the hospital and I was left with our newborn son. He was fussy and wouldn’t go to sleep. I was exhausted and the adrenaline was wearing off. I’d been up most of the night before with contractions and so that hadn’t been very restful sleep. As a new mom, I think I must have felt I would be betraying my new son if I put him to sleep all alone in his bassinet if he wasn’t yet asleep. (I was cured of that pretty quickly!)

As I paced the floor, I thought to myself “Come on! Go to sleep, Paul! I can’t stay awake much longer!” It was a silly thought, but like I said, it had been a long day.

And then it happened: I realized I could never truly say “can’t” again.

I had just been through childbirth without pain medication of any kind. I certainly hadn’t thought I’d be able to do that. And yet, I had done it. Certainly, walking the room with my baby was nothing compared to that! I can handle whatever comes!

I know I will forget and I will doubt myself again. And if I’m labor, I will probably say “I can’t do this!” It’s how life is. We forget. But I have had an experience that solidifies the fact that I can do so much more than I think I can do.

When I am up late, exhausted, with my horribly ill infant, toddler, child, or teenager, I can handle it. When my son hurts himself and is screaming and bleeding, I can handle it. When I am ill myself and my house is full of kids needing care, I can handle it. I may not feel like I can, but I didn’t feel like I could deliver a baby without medicine either. We don’t know what we are able to do until we are called upon to do it.

I thought of this again as I listened to President Eyring’s talk in priesthood session this week. (While I wasn’t invited, of course, the audio is available online so I listened to it when my husband did.) President Eyring said:

What is impossible for you is possible with God’s help in His service. … All of us, whatever our callings may be, face tasks that are beyond our own powers. I do and you do.

I certainly feel that my new call of Mother is beyond my own power. But I know that God sustained me during the birth of my son. And, with His sustaining power in my life, I no longer can say “I can’t” to any “call” or challenge along the way in this journey called Motherhood.

I won’t tell anyone to go through childbirth without drugs. I certainly wanted them! Like I said, we have been blessed with pain medicine, why not use it? In general, however, I think we need to stop telling ourselves “I can’t” if we truly don’t know our ability. Our Heavenly Father knows us better than we know ourselves. We shouldn’t let our perception of how bad things will be (or are) cloud our ability to actually do them. Anything truly is possible with God’s help. We can!