Challenge

In January of 2013, a member of the bishopric asked each young woman in our ward to make a goal to read the Book of Mormon that year.  When he came back this January, only three or four girls had finished the book.  He gave them a three month extension.

That was the first I'd heard of it.  I thought, "What a great idea for the girls," and thought no more about it.

Until last week.

I'd been plodding my way through the Book of Mormon, in Spanish, for a couple of months and while reading one night, I decided I should finish before the deadline given to the Young Women. That leaves one month to read an intense book in another language. One month of taking twice as long to read something as it would in English. Think: reading the New Testament in Greek. Then add my level of intelligence and *ouch* that's math.

I spoke to my husband about it, so he could help me figure out how many chapters I'd need to read every day to pull this off (math again).  He looked at me across the darkened living room, "You could just read it in English."

I gaped at him.  "But then I wouldn't be an over-achiever!"

And over-achieving is sacrosanct.

Venting Like a Frugal Furnace

I'm not intentionally advertising for a certain pharmacy, but I had to display my wares. I went to the pharmacy with certain expectations of how much my medications would cost.  I mean, I had just switched two of my medications from the ones I had used for two years, to ones my insurance company told me they would cover.  So, the price should lower a little.  (Side note: When an insurance company says they're going to cover something, shouldn't it mean they pay for it?  That makes sense, right?)

I picked up my three little baggies full of stuff that keeps me alive and the pharmacist said, "That'll be $500 please."

I nearly had a heart attack, but then I'd have to pay for even more medicine, so I held back.

Five hundred dollars!  And that's not even everything I have to take in a month!  No wonder so many diabetics don't manage their illness.  Who can afford to?

Later, I complained to my mother about it, and she mentioned my brother has to have a shot every month that is $1000, and that's not everything he needs to take either.  I felt a little ungrateful after that.

But in thinking about my brother and myself and our pricey dilemma, I got to thinking.  And here's my conclusion: Socialized medicine is awesome.

Guilt Trip

"Mom!" my son yells to me from his bedroom.  It's after bedtime, so I walk down and open the door.  Tears stain his voice and face.  Ditto for my daughter.  They launch their attack. 

"Mom, will you please pull us out of school?  We hate it!  I can't even say the word butt without getting a card pulled!  I don't have any friends!  We only get 45 minutes for lunch and recess!"

I listen very nicely to their rant about how school is ruining their lives.  For a nano-second, I consider homeschooling again.  Then I come back to my senses.  I'm a slack teacher and they learn squat from me.  They're getting a much better education at school. 

I say, "We committed to going to school for a full year.  You made a commitment.  You will see it through."  Then I clinch it by using every mother's ultimate weapon.  "Tell you what.  Why don't you both pray about it.  When you get an answer, come talk to me."

But there's so much more potential on this one.  I need to infuse a little more guilt.  I need to say more things like, "When I'm tired of cleaning up your messes, do I get to quit cleaning?"  Cause I'm not going to lie, that would be great.  Or "Wow!  You get a whole 45 minutes just to eat and play?  Where do I sign up?" Or "I don't have any friends either.  I'm too busy taking care of you guys."  

Yeah.  I'm not done with this one.

Happy New Year?

Anyone else have after-holiday blues?

I mean, I tried, really, really tried just to roll over and go back to sleep this morning, but I had a little voice in my ear asking me for breakfast and if she could paint and if she could watch a movie.

Good way to start off the new year: blow every last one of my resolutions on the second day.

I actually tried to exercise, but netflix said there was a problem with my account and I CANNOT exercise indoors without having something to watch.  So, there went that good intention down the drain.

It's now 11:00 in the morning.  I haven't eaten breakfast or showered or gotten dressed.  I've been avoiding the mirror all together.  I've grounded myself to my bedroom for the foreseeable future because I got after the kids for not cleaning up after themselves.  What kid DOES?  Good intentions 2-5 gone.

For my next failed good intention, I'm going to blow off writing a feel-good blog.

T'was the Morning After Christmas

I truly hope everyone had a Christmas like mine.

I walked into the kitchen and saw my older son in front of the advent calendar making the gingerbread girl and gingerbread boy kiss.  He was even making the kissy sound.  It was quite a change from the usual noises that come out of his mouth; they sound a lot more life-threatening.  When I asked what he was doing, he turned around fast enough to leave his face behind, and blushed.  I knew he was a softy under all his battles and weapons.

At one point in the day, I had forgotten to take a present with us to the Grandparent's house and I had to drive back home to get it.  I was alone for the first time in two days.  Cranking up the Christmas music, I sang along until "Little Drummer Boy" came on.  I turned the radio off in disgust.  Does anyone actually like that song?

In the quiet of the car, I immediately thought of the morning we'd had of unwrapping presents and watching the kids hug each other in thanks for the gifts they bought each other.  I admit it, I cried.  I was just so grateful for the Season, for our bounty.  I mean, even though I joke about our apartment being tiny, I really can't complain.  We have carpet.  And central heating.  And beds.  And food.  And kissing gingerbread people. And family.  And regular income.  And Truth.  And knowledge.  And so, so much more.

Life is very good.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

In honor of my 100th post, I thought I should address a serious matter.  Maybe it's just me, but I think Christmas decorations this year are a little tipsy.

There are the non-conformists, which should be mentioned first at every party.  You know what I'm talking about.  The lights on someone's house are all staid and stationary, except for one grouping that is flashing like it's Mardi Gras.  Or a set of lights that is set on the slowest setting, so it looks like they're taking really long blinks right before falling asleep.  Or blinking like a drunk trying to think.  

But the non-conformist lights are the norm.  This year I've noted a couple other indications that Santa is a little too free with the party punch.

Close to my house there's one sorta like this:

Festive right?  Except for the fact that the two reindeer are totally wasted.  Santa's ready to go, but the deer can't even stand up straight.  They list to the right, like a shipwreck.  Every night.  Dude Santa!  Ease up on the Christmas cheer.

Some friends of ours put up some great animated decorations like this:

Imagine three of these in a row, and the heads are supposed to move up and down at the neck.  Except only the middle one moves.   I couldn't help but think the middle one has been stuck there by the others, smelling the backside of the guy in front of him every night for the entire season.  When I got out of my car, I could almost hear the other two reindeer yukking it up.

To be fair, Santa can't take care of every thing.  Especially not at moments like this:

Two questions:  Why is Santa bathing in someone's front yard?  And two, why does that reindeer look so interested?  

Someone's going on the naughty list.

Happy Holidays!

Holla

We're in the dojong for my son's belt test.  The matted floor has about eight kids kneeling on it for the test in front of their teacher.  The black ceiling is tall enough that we could tip the building on its side and have the same floor space.  Parents of the students have found seats on the side of the mats.

My son is ready for battle in his dobok and yellow belt.  That orange belt is calling his name, and it's all but his.  Just have to pass the test.

I settle myself into one of the remaining faux-leather chairs and admire the general cuteness of my youngest child.

The teacher holds up his hands for quiet and the place deadens.  Then my kid opens his mouth and says in a volume he usually reserves for yelling at his older siblings, "My mom has diabetes."

The teacher smiles.  The parents around me chuckle.  I melt into the bottom of my seat, pasting a smile on my reddened cheeks.

So, my question is this:  When is it okay to start beating your children?