A Wrinkle From Time

My sister Anne and I were often mistaken for twins when we were kids.  Because of this, and the fact that everyone in her apartment complex at BYU knew I was her sister the second they laid eyes on me when I visited from Ricks, we started a tradition of staring into the mirror, cheek to cheek and comparing our faces. Seriously, every time we have been shocked at how alarmingly different we look.  Every feature is so different, we are baffled at how anyone could think we look similar.

We are only 13 months apart.  Anne used to love to laugh through the entire month in which she was actually TWO years older than me.  I was such a baby that month!  Ha!

But now the laugh's on her!  That extra year and a month has rewarded her with the beloved prize time allows us all: wrinkles.  Wrinkles before her baby sister started showing them.  Who's laughing now, huh Anne!?!  Hahahahahahahaha!

Just kidding.

I hope I didn't have to say that.  I would never laugh at the misfortunes of a sibling.  Well, that's not true.  At all.   But whatever.  The point is, in this case I did not and will not laugh at my sister.  The only reason I even noticed her wrinkles at all was because of the fact that she brought it up about three times a day.  We had a number of conversations like these:

Anne:  Look at these wrinkles on my forehead!!!  And the one on the bridge of my nose!!  Can you believe those!?!
Me:  Yes.  Yes I can.
Anne:  But you don't have any wrinkles!
Me:  Yes I do (smiling and pointing under my eyes).  See?
Anne:  Those don't count.
Me:  Well how does it happen that you're the one who gets to determine which wrinkles count and which don't?
*****
Anne:  You use different moisturizers on your face for day and night?
Me:   Uuuuum, yes.
Anne:  (Rolls eyes.)
*****
Anne:  (suspiciously) Why are you rubbing your eyes like that?
Me:  That's how I rub my eyes, Anne.
Anne:  See!!  You're totally trying to avoid wrinkles!!
*****
Anne:  I'm thinking of getting Botox.

Our sister Su is 4 years older than me (that's 3 years older than Anne, if you do the math.).  I'm not sure about her wrinkles.  Does she have any?  I think she does.  I don't really remember.  I try not to memorize people's wrinkles.  And we didn't have many wrinkle-centered conversations in the days I spent with her.

I think wrinkles are fine.  They're neat.  And mostly they're inevitable.  So who cares?  It's just your face.  And they're only skin deep.  Accept them and move along.

I've been realizing that I think I will have wrinkles above my upper lip. Does this delight me?  Not really but we age how we age.  I'm not going to try to smile less frequently to minimize those wrinkles.  (Or, actually, now that I've thought of it, I might.  I'll just claim I stopped being happy and nobody will be the wiser.  It will be my own little wrinkle-avoiding secret. Except never mind because Greg and the kids are way too funny for me to pretend to be sad through their jokes.  Forget that idea, self.)

So to Anne I say:  A lot can happen in 13 months.  By the time I'm the age Anne is now I may be far more wrinkled, even by her own standard, than she is now.  The next time I visit California and we look at our faces side by side in the mirror we may decide to go in for Botox together*.
*Not really.

Sometimes

Sometimes moms forget to buckle their little boys into their strollers. The reason for this might sometimes be that the mom knows in the back of her mind that the child won't try to climb out and is too old to slip out. However, because the mother might normally buckle the child in anyway, it might also be partly due to forgetfulness.

In cases when this happens (or rather doesn't happen--the buckling, I mean), there are few surprises less welcome than, when the child has been peacefully sleeping in said stroller for some time, the stroller suddenly begins to slow, there are dragging sounds and then, unexpectedly, the sandal of the sleeping child appears near the mother's feet, coming out from under the back of the stroller. And however much the mother might hope he isn't, the child might still actually be wearing that sandal.

Yes, sometimes mothers run over their own children with their strollers, and the little ones sometimes get scratched up noses and chins.

But sometimes small children are far more traumatized by the sound of water popping in hot oil on the stove all the way across the kitchen of an evening than they were earlier in the day when their mother ran over them with with the stroller.

I will leave you to think about what an amazing imagination I have to come up with such a hypothetical.

Seriously, despite his VERY rude awakening, he needed only a good hug and some gentle wiping of his face and he was happy as ever. I, however, needed to hug him a little longer, and again every time I looked at his face for the next few hours. And he was hysterical over the sound of the oil popping.

Life is not Fair AT ALL

Being one is hard.

Things that frustrate Spencer almost to tears (over and over):

* When he goes to the effort to bring two pairs of his shoes to me, back and forth, back and forth from the hall, and I only put one pair on him (at a time. He wants four shoes on his two feet, please.)

* When he gives us his sippy cup because he's thirsty and we take it and walk away with it. Sure, we may be walking toward the kitchen and saying things like, "You want a drink? Come on, I'll get you some water." but obviously we're actually just stealing the cup (which he just handed us) and not only NOT going to get him a drink but will probably never give the cup back at all. (hence the flopping on the floor and the accompanying wails of devastation)

* Wooden toys that will NOT stick to the heater (radiator), no matter how many times he puts them against it. Such stubborn, stubborn blocks. If the refrigerator magnets can do it, why can't they?

I hope he makes it through these trials okay, poor thing.
p.s. I'm in the running for most tacky/obnoxious blog background. Think I'll win? What? You're already gone and not coming back after being bombarded with hearts. Oh. Sorry. But Happy Valentines Day!

Cold Turkey

I just scraped out a pumpkin and it's baking in the oven to be pureed (no canned stuff in Poland) and made into delicious fall food so, under the circumstances, just writing that title makes me think of delicious turkey and cranberry sandwiches on dinner rolls the day after Thanksgiving. But that's not the kind of cold turkey I'm talking about.

I'm talking about a muuuuuuuch less pleasant cold turkey, but one that brings significantly longer-lasting satisfaction. Tonight we're letting Spencer cry it out.

Now I know I probably-too-often get on my soapbox about sleep, but it's something I love and need. I know my kids need it, too and I want them to love it. That's why our philosophy and evening/night time routine is what it is. It works for us so we do it.

Spencer has been a good little sleeper. He was waking twice for feedings around 1 and 5 a.m. from the time he was six weeks old. Since he turned maybe two or three months old he only wakes around 5. Until recently.

Lately he wakes up at 10ish, 1ish, 3ish and 5ish. I end up feeding him two or three of those times. He is nine months old. He does not need to eat two or three times during the night. So instead of letting him outgrow his 5 a.m. feeding I'm sort of forced to force him to learn to fall back to sleep when he wakes at night. By force.

Just kidding. I'm just trying to make it sound as evil as possible for those reading who already think it is terrible and torturous. I want this to be a controversial post. I need to be much more controversial on this here blog of mine.

But I guess that's pretty much what it is (cry-it-out is force, not blog is controversial). Still, I've done it enough to know that it's a quick and easy thing that allows us both to get better quality sleep. And also that he won't think I don't love him because of it. I'm pretty sure jumping out of bed to nurse him whenever he called for nine months showed clearly enough that I love him. Letting him cry for two or three nights shouldn't overshadow that.

Still, it's sort of hard on me (us). So I'm asking for sympathetic vibes sent our direction tonight. And if you only have outrage, don't send those vibes, please (just leave them in a comment).

Anyway, I could go on (and on) about sleep and why we train our kids in that area etc. but instead I'll just leave you with an anecdote that illustrates how ingrained it all is in the heads of our children:

Aaron loves The Aristocats and watches it regularly. A lot happens in that movie, sad, happy, funny, crazy etc. Still, the one part of the show that moves Aaron more than any others is not any of these.

After the "Ev'rybody Wants to Be a Cat" scene, Duchess tucks her kittens sweetly into bed. During this part Aaron starts getting noticeably worried. When mama cat walks away the kittens get up out of bed one by one. As soon as Marie, the first one, gets up Aaron starts calling to me, "Oh NO! Mommy! She can't get out of bed! She has to go night-night!" And watches the darling scene that follows with a look of disappointment directed at those kittens.

See? He knows we need sleep. (And he also loves to enforce rules.) And I'm pretty sure he knows I love him, even though I taught him to sleep through the night when he was Spencer's age.

Summer Do-Overs

School ended on Friday. I'm glad.

Last year at this time I was excited to have a great summer with the kids and their friends. Then reality (or pregnancy, rather) took over and I found myself feeling rotten physically and emotionally. It was all I could do to go through the motions of making sure everyone ate and didn't smell too terrible.

This summer here is how I plan to make up for last year.

Instead of trying not to scowl at the kids' friends when they come over I want to be the involved mother I have been in the past. (By which I mean, apart from planning a few activities for them, regular teasing of all children that happen to be in the same room as me.)

Instead of shutting myself up in the house for the entire summer I want to get out and walk and play ball and swim with my kids. (just to give you an idea, I have walked more in the last two weeks, even before school let out, than I did the entire two months of summer last year, or probably even my whole pregnancy)

Instead of watching my house fall down all around me we have a very solid cleaning schedule wherein we all do our chores for 1/2 hour together and I check the kids work and they check mine (with more tidying throughout the day).

Instead of burying my own nose in a book for most of the day and letting the kids' library books become many, many months overdue I will take them to the library once a week, I will read to the little ones daily and the older ones will each read at least one book per week.

I also meant to do weekly themes with art and science projects and fun lessons. Not sure that's going to happen as I'd hoped, but I'll try to do something. . .

As motivation to keep to this schedule, especially the keeping things very tidy part, Greg is offering Ev and Dave each 2 złoty (about 70 cents) every day that they do it. That sounded like a lot to me (we're cheap) but then he added on the end of the list that they may not whine. If they whine once, they get nothing that day. He is confident we won't be spending too much money with this plan during the two months of summer. I hope he's wrong!

Feeling Your Pain

In high school my skin was always . . . less clear than my friends'. It was the main thing I was unhappy with about myself, I think. (not that I was unhappy, but it would have been the first thing I changed if I could). But we were all teenagers, and none of us had perfect skin.

I remember occasionally standing in front of bathroom mirrors at a dance or at school with my friends and one of them complaining about their one zit. I would immediately point to myself and say, "Hello! You should be grateful!"

Starting around that time I began learning something. Just because my skin was worse than theirs doesn't mean that it wasn't a big deal for them to have a zit. They could be as unhappy about their one as I was about my twelve.

Because women compare themselves to each other so much, even those of us who feel we don't (I'm talking to you, self), complaining about or mentioning something like weight, pregnancy, physical appearance, almost anything, can turn into something of a competition, or at least can get people feeling defensive or offended. I hate that.

I'm sure there are some women that make jabs at a "friend" who is 30 pounds heavier than them by saying, "Oh! I'm just so fat! I really have to get rid of these disgusting 10 pounds!" But I doubt it happens a lot. Mostly, I think we worry more about ourselves and aren't thinking so much about those around us.

When a friend of mine who, to me seems quite thin talks about needing to lose weight, I only feel empathy. I know exactly how it feels to really want to lose weight. Just because I want to lose (insert number) pounds and she couldn't lose more than (insert much smaller number) without looking anorexic doesn't matter (I'm exaggerating, of course, but it sometimes feels like this). She has the same feelings I do. And that is okay.

I have felt a little sick after complaining about my child's behavior during church when I realized that the person I was talking to struggled much more with her children. I would not want her to think I was suggesting that even my mild mannered child was bad, so I must think her children were terrible.

I appreciate when this happens and instead of getting offended and holding it against me the person says something along the lines of "Oh, then you must think MY kids are little hellions!" or something like that. Of course I feel awful realizing what I sounded like, but then I can apologize and we can be fine. Hopefully. Everyone sticks their foot in their mouth sometimes, but we should give each other the benefit of the doubt. And even if someone does seem to be unkind on purpose, that's no reason to get offended or hold a grudge (see earlier post on taking offense).

But mostly I think we have to recognize that everyone has trials on their own level. Shoot, I can't remember who posted about someone telling them that they only had two children so she could not empathize with what she (a mother of four) was going through. Really? Back when you had two you never felt stressed or overwhelmed? It doesn't matter whose is worse, we have all felt it to some extent. Let's commiserate with one another!

Okay, this really doesn't sound how I mean it to. I'm not saying everyone should complain and we should all just try to make each other feel better. I'm also not saying that it's perfectly fine for people to complain about something the person they are complaining to struggles with more than them. But I am actually saying both of those things a little bit.

Mostly I just think we need to have all of our sensitivities be on the side of the things we say about ourselves in order to be careful not to hurt others, and not be so sensitive to what other people say about themselves and letting those things hurt us or think ill of the person saying them. We're all in this together. Really. We should respond with a heartfelt and sympathetic, "I know!" and leave off the "better than you do!"

No Offense

"He who takes offense when no offense is intended is a fool, and he who takes offense when offense is intended is a greater fool." - Brigham Young

The older I get the more I see the wisdom of this quote. There is never really a good reason for getting offended. Excuses - yes. Reasons - not so much. Today I have two good reasons not to be offended by things that would normally seem a little rude.

First of all: I'm never inviting my blogging friends over to my house. There is a good reason for this, so you should not be offended:

Last night I dreamed that 5 or 6 of you came over to my house. The house was huge and old. The neighborhood was creepy and for some unknown reason there were about ten random relatives (who don't exist in real life but I knew them in the dream) in the same large reception room as I seated my friends in. This made chatting awkward.

But it doesn't matter how awkward talking would have been anyway because NOBODY was talking at all (except for the relatives who were across the room).

Instead, everyone was silently watching me as I balanced on a stool and straightened a painting on the wall (or I believe I was actually hammering something into the wall with a shoe, how dream-like). By the time I realized I had been doing this for many minutes I looked around to find that my blogging friends had left.

Then an hour or two later I found out that one of you had remained and had been sitting silently among the relatives. I only learned this when she got up to leave.

I think this dream comes from two sources. a) I really wish I could go to the Casual Blogger Conference, or more likely just meet up with some of you guys in an even more casual setting, and b) I am very aware that I am not a very conscientious hostess and it obviously weighs on my mind.

So that's why you shouldn't be offended if I never invite you over. That and also because I live a little too far away.

***********

Normally when someone says they hate you it is at least a little unsettling. I've learned recently to not let it get to me. Here's why:

Recently Aaron started shouting, "I hate!" Whenever he's frustrated. Now hate is not a good thing, but up until recently it was just the expression of frustration, like when David was a little boy and got mad, he would say, "Alcohol!" as if it was a swear word. Same thing with Aaron and the "I hate!"

Recently he started adding nouns at the end. The first time he said, "I hate daddy!" I was a little shocked. Then the next day he said "I hate mommy!" We've been working with him to teach him that this is unkind and makes people sad and to find a different way to express his anger or frustration.

Still, I knew for sure today that I should never take it personally if Aaron ever says he hates me. Before his nap today he said, "I hate Sally!"

Sally is the cute girl car from the movie Cars. When my mom brought toy Mater, Lightning McQueen and Sally for David when she came last week, Aaron immediately fell in love with Sally. He pretty much declared her his own. He takes her everywhere. He definitely doesn't hate Sally.

Sally has been missing for almost 24 hours and he was frustrated that he couldn't have her with him during his nap. That's why he said, "Oh no! I can't find it! I hate Sally!"

And that's why I know "hate" doesn't mean "hate" to Aaron. It means, "oh dear!" (which he also says regularly).

And thus I am coming ever closer to not judging or being offended by people's actions or motives. You just never know why people say or do some things!

An Unfortunate Sequence of Events

The night before the wedding there was a rehearsal dinner at the Napa Rose, a restaurant in a Disneyland hotel (NEAT). Before we ate, Micah and Heather ran through with us what they'd practiced at the rehearsal at the chapel a few nights before.

For the bridesmaid's part, we were to walk down the aisle and line up on the left side of the altar. I was to go first. So much for being able to go without glasses and just follow the person in front of me. We ran through it once or twice, were told about the little yellow triangles on the floor to guide our positioning etc. Then we ate a very delicious dinner.

In talking to Heather a little at the dinner she expressed how nervous she was, and that she was scared something would go wrong or that she'd mess up what she was supposed to say etc. She had the perfect, bridely jitters.

The next morning the wedding was at ten o'clock. We were told that we could practice from nine to nine-thirty. I was glad, as I had never been in this type of wedding, hadn't seen the chapel's layout yet, was wearing those heels (I haven't worn heels since I got married since Greg, um, doesn't like them on me.) and have pregnancy wobbliness on top of my normal spastic tendencies.

We arrived a little after nine and rushed to dress so we could practice. But the bride wasn't there yet. So we didn't actually practice and I just peeked in the chapel once but was mostly wandering the grounds with family.

At five or ten 'til 10 the photographer was taking pictures of my family on the lawn and I was feeling as though it was very late. I ran to the dressing room to ask the other bridesmaids if we should be with them. They said yes.

I ran back to get my sisters and we got our bouquets and all six of us ran around the chapel to the back where we would enter from.

While we were running we started getting in order, me in front. At the back of the church I stood first. There were loud whispers from the wedding planner (I think that was her title) for us to hurry up! Get in order! Etc. I just stood ready and let her take care of the girls behind me.

Sooner than I expected I heard her voice in my ear, "Okay, you can go in now." I was starting to turn my head for confirmation and felt a light nudge on my back. Oh! Better go!

I walked as gracefully as I could down the aisle and turned left at the altar and took my place.

But Anne wasn't behind me. She was supposed to start walking when I was half way down the aisle. She should have been right behind me!!

Whatever. Once I was standing where I thought I was supposed to be (totally forgot to look for yellow triangles) I tried to sneakily remove my glasses and held them with my bouquet. Anne kept not coming. I smiled into the audience and reflected more than I had before on how very empty the front of the chapel was. How very, very empty.

I had no idea what was going on but I tried to smile as if I had been sent there to smile for everyone. To give them a hint of what was to come, or something. I was just hoping that there were more bridesmaids to come. And SOON!

I did not see the wedding planner at all. I kept looking for a sign from her (that I had done something wrong or to sit down or come back or anything). Granted I had my glasses off, but I could see her talking to the harpist (beautiful music!!) but never motioning to me or even looking in my direction. But I saw Anne standing there waiting. (FOR WHAT!!?)

Both my mom and dad kept giving me sympathetic smiles, which I appreciated. I wondered if I should sit down (I was standing right by a pew) until the other girls came but decided against it.

Finally Anne started walking. Hooray! Oh, wait. Then she went back . I noticed movement from the other side of the front of the chapel.

The groom and groomsmen came out of a door in the front and started lining up. So it was them, and me. Cute.

For the record, my level of embarrassment through this whole thing was a zero. I felt pretty confident that something had happened after I started walking so they had to change plans or something. But my level of feeling bad for being the one who sort of ruined the effect was well above a zero. Especially when Heather's words from the night before came back to me of her fears about something going wrong.

Once the groomsmen were nicely lined up the music changed (I think) and Anne started coming. And she looked great. All the girls did as they came in behind her. And I finally felt relief. We arranged ourselves:

See me smiling my relief to all my new-made friends in the audience?

Then Heather and Micah were married. It was a lovely ceremony.

Afterward I tried to find the lady in charge (to apologize/find out what had happened), but I never did. However, from talking to a few different people I learned that some guests had come in behind us while we lined up and were hesitant to go sit down so the lady told them, "Okay, you can go in now." Yeah. Right in my ear. (I swear!)

It wasn't until even later that I found out that the push I got on the small of my back was not from her but from Anne who also heard her and also thought she was talking to me.

Here's what I assumed we were lined up like when I started going in:

Here's what it actually looked like: (notice in the picture above it's Anne at the front of the line and not me. I'm at the front of the chapel). And that's my actual first step of doom. (I was seriously so shocked when I saw this picture, just today. I had NO IDEA we weren't all lined up.)

So there's my story. I already mentioned a couple of posts back that the wedding was wonderful. I never felt like anyone blamed me or really even cared about my big blunder. It was completely lost in the awesomeness of the day. And I got lost in it, too!

Here's another shot of my family, this time with our newest sister!

Foolishness

I love this day.  I'm hoping at least some bloggers will share about pranks of the past or present on their blogs.  That's why I decided to share one of my own.  

Actually, I'm really no good at practical jokes and the only April fools prank I ever remember playing was when a roommate and I dipped cotton balls in chocolate and delivered them to our friends in the neighborhood as homemade chocolates.  Greg still hates me for that.  (He's pretty sensitive about what goes into his mouth. . .)

I haven't done anything today, nor will I, but last year I pulled a prank not on April first.  And it worked out pretty well.  Or pretty terribly, depending on how you look at it.  If you want to read about it you can go here, and its pretty easy to see how bad I felt about it by what I wrote.

Thoughts on Shouting

This is sort of a journal type entry written for my own benefit but you can read it if you feel so inclined.

My kids are relatively well behaved.  They never (I may be jinxing myself here) write on walls or rip pages out of books.  They don't climb the curtains (and this isn't only because we don't have any.  I'm sure they wouldn't if we did) or hit other kids at school.  They're tame.  They're good.  I believe there are three likely reasons for this: 1) they are calm kids by nature 2) I'm a stickler for not letting them do anything I don't want them to from the very first time they try and 3)  We are only given what we can handle and I could not handle hyper kids.  

I love watching those parenting shows.  Little Angels, Tanya Byron's House of Tiny Taraways, Supernanny etc.  It's so surprising to see what some kids get away with.  I love cheering the mother on when she's following the counselors advice.  I love seeing the change that comes over the entire family when the parents learn what behavior of their own they need to change in order to change their children's.  I love that I can always anticipate what advice they will be given because it's very logical to me (and maybe because it's what I studied in school).

But I see those mothers, too.  The desperate single mother who's convinced that her four year old wants nothing more than to rile her up all day every day.  While following a new bedtime routine she takes her son back to his bed 30 times saying calmly, "Good night" as she walks out the door over and over and over.  And then he whines one more time and she goes into his room and throws off his blanket and screams in his face "WHAT DO YOU WANT!?!  JUST GO. TO. SLEEP!!!"  Very, very loudly.  

I'm thinking, am I so supposed to be shocked that a mother would do that?  I feel so much empathy for this poor mother.  And I have screamed in my own kid's faces before.  I mean screamed.  And I've never even had bedtime issues.  And I know all those tricks you use to get good behavior.  And my kids are generally good.

They're not perfect, though.  And I'm even less so.  Lately I have felt awful that I yell at my kids so much.  It is often almost my first reaction when they do something wrong or whine about something silly. 

Last Friday I had an awful migraine.  Or it might have been my blood sugar.  I had a terrible headache, I was nauseated and lightheaded, shaky and I just felt like bawling.  Greg was at a business dinner and David was whining about everything.  And I mean everything.  He would not do what I asked and I was just waaaaay past my limit and I went up to him and I held his shoulders and screamed in his face.  

Of course I felt terrible about this later.  Terrible.  Even though I knew I wasn't being myself, I realize that I just shout at the kids all the time.  Pretty much daily.  Some days are worse than others.  

On the drive to church on Sunday Greg had recorded a lecture from some Perry Symposium (or something) in which the speaker talked about the omission of the "without a cause" from after the "He that is angry with his brother."  The talk was compelling.  I mean, I know that we know that the "without a cause" was an addition to the original text, but it was fascinating to hear about the various versions and how and why it was added etc.  

The talk was very academic.  There was very little talk of the gospel or any sort of sentiment in the telling.  But it was very striking.   After an hour long speech, he ended with evidence that we are not meant to be angry (including a rebuttal to the common "What about Jesus and the money changers in the temple" argument.)  His closing paragraph was a short.  I don't even remember what he said.  I just remember feeling that there was no room in my home or life for shouting.  I knew it about anger in general, but I felt it about shouting in specific. 

As if I didn't know that before!  Duh!  As if I didn't feel bad any time I yelled at the kids.  As if I didn't pray to be a more patient mother all the time.  But this was just one of those moments of change.  

This week I didn't yell at my kids.  Well, I started to maybe 4 times.  I would ask them to do something and they wouldn't do it a few times in a row, then I'd ask them one more time a few minutes later and whining would ensue (this is what makes me mad.  They should be apologizing for not doing it earlier, not whining that I was going finally force them to do it!)  I would start in with the stupid, "I've asked you to do this 4 times. . ." in a raised voice, totally ready to be MAD.  Then I stopped myself and said, "Okay, I'm not going to yell. . ." and magically I didn't feel mad at ALL!  And the kids smiled!  And happily did what I asked (sort of).

So I feel like I just was not angry with my kids this week.  We even had FHE about anger and specifically shouting.  We've all decided that it doesn't belong in our home.  Aaron had just recently started yelling "NOOOOOO" very loudly when he didn't get his way, and I know he learned it from all of us (the kids yelled at each other a lot, too).  I really hope we can completely reverse this.

It's working so far, and I'm feeling really good about it.  It feels so nice to have control over myself.  I feel like I'm finally starting to set a good example for my kids.  Finally. 

Forgetting How to be Friendly

Every time I go to the United States for a visit I feel like I've come home (because I have, but it's more than that).  Even just boarding a plane full of Americans makes me happy.  They are loud.  They are happy.  They are friendly.  I love them.  (Even if they're sometimes a tiny bit obnoxious when you've been living in Europe for a while.)

When we first moved to Poland I was surprised and a little shocked when I passed people on the streets and said, "Hello." or smiled a little and they quickly looked away and sometimes gave me dirty looks.  It made me feel as though I was in a different world, one where nobody knew me, and everyone disliked me already, before they could have any reason to.  

While visiting in America someone stopped me in the middle of the aisle at the grocery store because they just had to tell me that my son  has the cutest glasses they've ever seen in their life and that he is just such a darling boy.  At the shark petting area of the aquarium someone comes up to me and asks if my sister's little boy is my son (she pointed.  She didn't ask, "Is your sister's little boy your son?" that would have been so weird.).  I tell her no, he's my nephew and she says, "Wow.  You guys have the exact same color of hair.  It's a really neat color.  It has just a little bit of red in it."  I love that these perfect strangers understand that I might care about something that they observed and so they share.  As if they know I'm a person too, and think I might be a nice one.  This is how it should be.

In Poland I come to a point where I realize that saying hello to someone you don't know just confuses them terribly.  "Do I know you from somewhere?" they're thinking, frantically searching their brains.  When people are searching their brains it sometimes causes them to knit their brow.  When people knit their brows, it sometimes looks like they're giving dirty looks.  Even if they're not.  I think I'm starting to get these Poles.  A slight upturn of the corners of the mouth is okay, though it's almost never returned.  Smile!  It makes people wonder what you've been up to.  Maybe I'm just making people wonder about me. . .

In the States I observe my sister laughing with other women who are also shopping for children's clothing.  I sort of wonder if their kids go to school together or something.  The next day while at the checkout stand in the grocery store the woman behind us in line says, "Your little girl lost a sock, it looks like."  I glance up and see that Su's little girl's right foot is socked, but the left is bare.  I turn my head slightly back to the woman and say, "Oh, yes.  Thank you."  without looking at her face.  I let Su know and she thanks the woman and starts talking about what might have happened to that sock and how it's terrible to get in the car and realize you're missing something etc. etc.  

I stand there, in between the two of them, while they chatter on as if they enjoy nothing better than talking about Beth's socks.  And I wonder what has happened to me?  Why didn't I at least look the woman in the face while I thanked her?  Have I completely lost my ability to engage a stranger in conversation or even to make eye contact?  Would I soon just start ignoring people that talked to me if I didn't know them.  Maybe I'd start punching them in the face?

Sheesh.  

All of that happened a few years ago.  I'm hoping that I've learned a little since then.  Still, it takes a bit of effort for me.  And I can't do it in Poland, although Greg sometimes starts up conversations and is nearly always conversed with (I think it's because he's handsome.  And smart.  And funny.  Oh, and his Polish might be better than mine.)

So, people, enjoy your fellow Americans.  And if you ever see a woman with once-blond hair with a hint of red in it in the store, don't be offended if she doesn't strike up a conversation.  And if you smile at her and she gives you a dirty look, forgive her.  She's probably just wondering where she knows you from.  

Rocking

Not like rocking a-bye baby or rocking out.  This is the other kind of rocking.  The kind you do. (well, you probably do those other kinds, too, but whatever).

I already know you guys rock, but when I write a post I have this thing called "I never think about what you might think about what I've written or about what kind of comments you might leave."  I think it's a rare illness, but I have it.  One great thing about it, though is that it means I am often pleasantly surprised by how much you guys rock.

Also, it sometimes means that I'm a little embarrassed about what I've written.  On my last post I was just going to write the first part, but the second part came to me while I wrote and I didn't think about it at all, except that the second proposition was as silly as the first.  But is that what you guys got out of it?  No!  At least some of you (a lot of you) thought either, "That Lisa sounds pretty desperate.  I'd better offer to send her a package." or "Oh!  Hey!  I could totally send her some of that candy!" 

So I wanted to say "thank you and you rock".  And I really didn't mean to ask for packages.  

And speaking of rocking, Heather (who rocks extraordinarily)  made a button which is meant to be given to moms.  I'd like to take this opportunity to give it to a mom I know, Charrette.  She is very wise and extremely warm and generous.  She is also a very talented writer and artist.  You can tell that she is very genuine and I know that she is influential to everyone who reads her blog.  

You can tell she loves her kids as most every time she mentions them she is talking about something fun or crazy.  

I think moms really do rock.  I also think it's sometimes hard to remember that.  Motherhood is just hard.  From the sleep deprivation that sucks nearly every last bit of patience from you (me), to managing tantrums, to dealing with the incessant bickering of middle aged children (well, not middle aged, I mean like 6- 12 year-olds) , being a mom is just HARD.  

Right now Charrette is on the next level:  dealing with a teenager.  From what I understand it's not easy being the parent of a teenager, and some cases are harder than others.  I think because the child really isn't a child anymore, and you love them so much, the choices they make can have a huge affect on us.  At this stage the tables are turned.  We don't have such a huge affect on the choices they make, but their choices can affect us greatly.  We watch the decisions they make, knowing that these very choices are the ones that make them who they are, and contribute to who they will become.  Watching this process must be very difficult and I'm sure it can bring with it some of the most heart-rending times of a person's life.

So I just want to give this: 

to Charrette and remind her that she will be blessed for her love, patience and endurance.   And that I really think she rocks.

And if you don't already read her, you should go over there and read her recent post "A Mother's Reach".  And everything else she's ever written.

I'm Being Totally Serious

Sorry, this is going to be a post about a post (lame).  First I have to say that I cringe every time I read the title for my last post.  Then I double cringe when I think about changing it, like it matters. Secondly, I loved all the comments from that post (and am surprised everyone didn't just roll their eyes when they read the title and run in the opposite direction).

The first thing I need to say is that I TOTALLY  believe in teasing kids.  It is one of the dominant features of our parenting style.  I mean, to the point that sometimes even I think we're going a little overboard.  

We constantly tell our kids things that are not true with perfectly straight faces.  It's entirely possible that I have answered their inquiries as to why they shouldn't do something with a response very much like the Polish warnings to their children, that a monster will grab them if they do.  I dish out punishments like "If you do it again you will have to go up and down the stairs carrying a stack of heavy books all night long instead of sleeping."

But I don't think those things are wrong.  

I love saying dumb stuff to my kids, and spend a good deal of time doing it.  It really is a very important part of who I am and our relationship with each other.  When my kids make an innocent mistake I give them a disappointed look and a shake of the head and tell them they are "a bad, bad boy/girl."  Is that funny?  Most likely not, but they totally get it.  They know I'm kidding, and that I mean, "Don't worry, it was just an accident!"

So why do I dislike it when Poles and especially Greg's mother say(s) these very same kind of things?  Because they/she mean(s) for the kids to believe them.  There is no twinkle in her/their eye.  And they/she are/is not sarcastic by nature/naturally. (this paragraph comprises the humor/funny part/section of the post/entry)

People who know me know that I generally say exactly the opposite of what I mean.  It's kind of dumb, but it's how I am.  I've known for a while that I'm sarcastic, but I didn't really know what it meant until we were visiting my sister two years ago and she said to me (about Greg after giggling at nearly everything he says--because he's hilarious)), "He never says what he means, does he?"  I was dumbstruck.  He always says just exactly what he means and is very open.  It took a while for me to get that she means that he's sarcastic.  And that that means that you say what you don't mean as if it's what you do mean.

And that's how we are.  And we're like that with our kids.   And these days our kids are that way, too.

So I suppose you could say I have a double standard.  I can do it, but they can't.  But I'm pretty sure most of you would know what I meant if you heard it (and understood Polish) -- except for David (not my David, a friend who reads my blog) who appreciates and uses the Polish technique.

To go back to that quote in my sidebar that I love, it all comes down to this (sort of and also kind of not) in reference to my sarcastic nature:

There's only one thing that I know how to do well,

And I've often been told that you only can do 

What you know how to do well,

And that's be you!  Be what you're like!  Be like yourself!

So I do!  And maybe what I need to do is just let those who are good at tricking their kids into believing things go ahead and be what they're like, too!  Live and let live, maybe.

And don't forget that I completely understand doing the Santa thing!!  The only thing that I think a very small number of people people should think harder about is the fascination with the idea that teaching kids to believe in Santa will help them to believe in the Savior in the future, in the sense of having faith.  I think that is a very wrong comparison, as we don't want our kids to expect to wake up some day to find that Christ was just neat  idea.  I do agree with many other comparisons of Christ and Santa, though.  So DON'T WORRY!  :0)

Breaking

Well, it appears as though I'll be taking a little break from blogging.  I mean, why would I read interesting posts written by people I admire and respect when I can write articles and articles about something I know absolutely nothing about?  I mean, what woman who has been on a boat three times in her life wouldn't want to write many thousands of words about various watercraft?  Especially if she gets to spend an entire article spelling one key word "yatch" over and over?  

Basically what I've been doing is writing up these articles for I have no idea who about I have no idea what (really.  I mean, I didn't actually know what a pendant was until I started writing that last batch of articles.).  It seems my articles are to include words or phrases that are commonly used in Internet searches (hence the yatch, many searchers have dyslexia, it seems), and then someone sticks a link on it and- BAM- they get loads of business.  That's why I had the joy of writing up an article that was to include in the title and at least twice in the text the phrase "pearl pendant white gold" and another with "pendant gold diamond" with no commas or dashes added.  And one of the articles was about "mothers pendants" or "mother jewelry".  I'm not sure if I hated leaving out the apostrophe or leaving out both the "s" and the apostrophe more.

*sigh*.  I go into every single new article feeling like I'm going to a classroom in high school to take a final exam except I have no idea what subject it even is, much less what exactly to study. Or what my own name is. 

Let's just say there are lots of stories in my articles.  The one about "motor yachts" was a story about a guy sitting at his desk during his break daydreaming about being on the ocean.  I know exactly NO boating or fishing terminology and don't have the time to do much research (although it feels like I spend hours searching and find NOTHING to go by).  The story is fine, but there's no hiding the fact that I know zero about motor yachts, or what one does on one, either.  The articles are supposed to be "interesting, entertaining and/or educational."  I just hope I made them one of the former two, since I certainly didn't make them the latter. 

Is that enough complaining for you?  I hope so, because I'm done.  

We're off to Greg's parent's house for 4-5 days and I'm not sure when I'll have the chance to peek in on you all.  Plus, until we find a writer to replace me, I'll be writing up more articles on fascinating subjects.   Unfortunately they take a freakin' heck of a lot of time.  Excuse my language.  (Oops, I was supposed to be done complaining.)

I'll miss you!  Don't be shy to email me if something amazing happens like *MARY* comes back or you inherited a bajillion dollars that you want to share with me so that I will never, ever have to write unless I so desire.  Or anything else you think I should know.

How To Almost Get Free Groceries

Recently the lovely Kim wrote a post about how she realized that fear is optional.  She gave a short list of things, large and small, that have triggered fear for her, including "Fear of the cashier listing my total and realizing I didn’t have as much cash as I thought I did."

This made me realize how fearless I am about things like that.  So fearless, in fact, that Greg sometimes wishes I would develop at least a tiny bit of doubt or self consciousness.  I'm quite a dork and it really doesn't bother me.  Well, sometimes it does, but mostly I'm fine with it.  When I read that item on Kim's list, I thought, "Well, let's see, I have to pick out food items that have already been bagged because they cost more than I have with me maybe every third shopping trip.  I think my fear of this happening is a great deal lower than it should be.  If I could only make that anxiety increase a bit, maybe I'd stop overfilling my shopping cart.  Maybe it's actually my optimism that causes me to take more than I have the cash on hand for.  Yes.  It's my optimism.  Not my idiocy.

The kids have been wondering lately why they need to learn math.  David has assignments where a few items are pictured with their price and he has a given number of zloty that he is supposed to spend any way he likes.  I need to explain to him that this exercise will come in handy in the future if he should happen to turn out like regular people who go shopping and buy the amount of food they have money for.  Or, if he takes after me and is an optimistic shopper, he can use it the way I do:  Fill the cart.  When all food is bagged and its cost is tallied, take the amount that you have gone over the amount of money you have in your wallet and remove items from the bags that together equal that amount.  Those math exercises really are useful for everybody.

And just one more example of why you should all hope to be seen with me in a grocery store. A few weeks ago I was shopping without kids, a rare treat.  As I was bagging my groceries (in my linen grocery bags-see, I DO care about the environment!) the checker noticed my tortillas and mentioned her surprise that they cost less than 6 zloty.  Poor lady!  I had to go on and on to her about how, "Yes!  Isn't it great!  All the other brands used to be about twice that, and lately I'd found some for about 9 zloty, but this new brand was so much less expensive!  I'm so glad because we use them all the time, etc. etc." (I was buying 5 packages, as you can never be sure in Poland if you'll ever see an item again, like the molasses that I was excited to see and didn't buy for three weeks, then on the fourth when I needed it, and went to get some it was gone, and I've never seen it since.) 

We chatted the whole time I filled my bags and as I  packed in the last few items, she asked what I do with those tortillas.  I explained all about the fajitas* I was making for dinner, in maybe too much detail (but she was interested, I promise!  She's from Mielec and has probably never had any sort of Mexican food) and when I had finished and answered all her questions, I smiled, said good bye and started pushing my cart away.  She called after me, "Um, you didn't pay for your food."  Oh yeah.  Oops.  I was far enough away at that point that I actually had to drag my cart a fair way back to pay her.  

Did I mention that I'm something of a dork?

Infor.pl

money pictured is Polish money,  We won't convert to the Euro for a few more years.

* Love this recipe, although it has very unauthentic ingredients.  I substitute the chili powder with cumin and double the marinade so I can throw a little over the chicken and veggies and saute for one last minute before serving

I Hope You Were Just Saying That

A number of people recently informed me that they'd like to share book recommendations with me.  I sort of hope they don't really want to and only sort of want to, in a I-see-that-you're-on-Goodreads-and-maybe-I-can-add-you sort of a way.

I got on Goodreads about a year ago.  I love the idea.  It's great to share what you're reading with friends, get ideas about what to read, and see what other people have thought about books that you have read or plan to read.  Fabulous.

Unless you don't know your password because you actually just converted your husband's profile for yourself, editing out all his information and replacing it with yours, except for the password, which remains the obscure reference to a his favorite Polish Classical novel  (Pharoah by Bolesław Prus) that you've never read, including names and numbers.  

Because if that happens, then probably you will not remember the password, and will be too lazy to ask your husband for it and therefore unable to update what you're reading/planning to read on the site, either.

This, of course will only be after a few sessions of over-enthusiastic listing of books you've read, including little reviews of how you felt about them.  Reviews like this:

"Dude, I canNOT wait until David is old enough to read this book.  He's gonna LOVE it."(about The Prisoner of Zenda by Anthony Hope) 

"I'm a little embarrassed to say that I read this book, but I'm even MORE embarrassed to say that I really enjoyed it and have read it thrice!" (won't name this book)

or

"This is one of my favorite comedies.  Hilarious." (about Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K. Jerome)

Okay, so those aren't direct quotes, really, but they go something like that (from what I remember, but I'm pretty sure I never used the term "dude", at least).  How excited was I to find, after looking around a bit, that I had access to ALL reviews, which meant that everyone had access to mine.  Oops!  Before that I had really thought it was just my sisters, mom and a few friends that would have access to them.  Imagine my embarrassement as I read through the other reviews for these same books that articulately analyzed the author's writing style, the characters or the complexity of the plot.  "Um, yeah.  That's what I meant to say," I thought.

So, I don't really do Goodreads.  I DO love getting email updates of what my friends are reading and their ratings and (articulate) reviews.  It would totally be worth it to connect with more people just so I could get those emails about their reading ventures, but then, I'd have to know my password.  And I don't.

Hope in Tommorow

Don't worry, this isn't going to be a political post. I got out all my politicalness two posts ago. Or all that I had to share on the blog, at least.

This post is about my hope/faith/desire that the day will soon come that the doorbell will ring and Aaron won't screech in horror and run and hide as far behind/under the table and chairs as he can get. And then continue to scream and cry. Even after he sees that it's only David's friend coming to see if he wants to play ball.

I also feel sure that one day I'll be giving Aaron a bath and won't try to scrub off the mysterious dried on specs of something that are way too high up on both sides of his bum to be anything nasty (more like the sides of his lower back), rubbing and rubbing until I remember. Again.

He was quite a sick little guy over a week ago and required antibiotics. The doctor worried that he wouldn't keep down any taken orally (fortunately he still has never thrown up in all of his 19 months of life, but there were other losing-contents-of-the-stomach-too-quickly issues. Look how discreet I am.) That's why she ordered a nurse to come to our house twice a day for five days to administer an injection of antibiotics. Right there on the sides of us upper bum/lower back.

They said it was a painful shot. I believe them based on the level of screaming and wriggling and crying, and now also based on how long his terror of the doorbell has continued after the shots stopped. I also believe them based on the fact that he rarely cries when he gets immunizations. I'm so glad he's feeling better now and has started being active and super smiley again today. As long as nobody stops by for a visit, anyway.

Confessions

I like McDonald's hamburgers. More specifically their cheeseburgers (hold the disgusting, re-hydrated minced onion and the pickle). I understand that this makes me a lesser human in the eyes of many. That's okay. I also really love the Big Tasty.

I already mentioned/discussed this one a little in the comments on the poppyseed cake post, but I don't like Nutella.It's true. I don't buy it and eat it and search for recipes containing it and dream about it. I think it's kind of yucky. I realize that admitting this confirms for many of you what you already suspected, i.e. that I am, indeed, a few sandwiches short of a picnic.

This one is backwards, because I am following a trend, rather than going against it, it's just that I feel almost embarrassed to admit it. I really like David Beckham. I don't get enamored by celebrities. At all. Still, I think David Beckham is awesomeness personified when it comes to someone incredibly: talented, rich, famous, handsome etc. because he's so humble and down to earth. I mean, he still blushes during interviews when people mention his looks or pay him compliments. This is a mega-super star who's been in the spotlight for years!

I wish I had a Milli Vanilli CD.

And I understand if you don't feel you can read my blog anymore. (If you can't, at least say good bye in the comments for purposes of closure. I will miss you, but at least I won't have gone on deceiving you).

Meanies "Я" Us

We sent an email to our family and friends recently that was just plain hilarious. In this post I would like to justify the sending of this letter, and include some statistics on responses we received to it. (If you didn't get it, you can scroll down past the stars and read it here, if you like. It's really not that interesting but you'll at least see what the hulabaloo is about)

I admit the idea was mine. It started innocently enough, and I had written a few misleading lines, followed by an explanation. Greg said it needed to be dragged on a bit. So I dragged it on a bit, or possibly more. I kind of thought the subject of the email would be a good enough hint to get people in the proper frame of mind before they started reading. Still, I started to think that maybe it wasn't all that funny. After all, it's a pretty serious thing to joke about. And I remember what it's like to hear that people you care about really are going through something like that. But I did a test run, and was told, after that person recovered, that I should send it. Greg also insisted that it was "all about the shock factor", so I did send it, with a slight sense of trepidation.

To give you an idea of what our family and friends thought of it, here are some snippets from the responses we received to this email:

2 uses of the word "crap"
1 use of the word "flippin'"
2 callings of the name "stinker"
1 near fainting
1 reminder that it wasn't April
1 calling of "time out"
6 claims it induced one or more heart attacks (or partial attacks)
1 person shaken up a bit
2 "not funny"s
1 use of the term "idioci!" (that's idiots, in case you couldn't tell)
1 threat of sending us their hospital bill
many, many capitalizations and exclamation marks
And
1 wonderful and lovely person who knows us best who "[has] seen this coming for a long time"

I recently read on a friend's blog (a former mission companion--and current friend of Greg's named Vaughn) a post I enjoyed entitled "Badly Needed Senses of Humor" about how we need to be able to laugh at ourselves and not take offense so easily. It refers to a "lighthearted sense of humor." I'm afeared that this little Pawlik Prank didn't really fall into that category. Oops! I wish his title had been "Needed: Bad Senses of Humor" because I'd be feeling great right about now!

Well, I still think the idea was funny. We'll just be sure, next time, that we make it a little more obvious and shoot for the confusion factor. Or possibly wait until April and stick with the shock factor.

We do apologize to anyone who was affected by this more than we intended for them to be!

And nerd pictures are coming up next week.

******************************************************************************
Subject: change of address

There is some important news that Greg and I feel we need to convey to you all.

We've been sharing together for nearly 11 years. 11 years of complete unity. We both agree that overall, our union has been successful in many ways. It was really going well for a long time. After 11 years, however, it's becoming more and more apparent that things just aren't working out. Our lives are just so busy and overcrowded. Sometimes it's almost like we are together in name only, but in reality, we function completely separately. Lisa's into blogging and keeping up with her family, and Greg is occupied with work and Church responsibilities. Since we're really just each doing our own thing, it really isn't practical for us to try to keep it together anymore. We both agree that the time has come for us to separate. This is a pretty big decision, but we feel that it is the best one for both of us. We know we'll get used to it and hopefully our lives will be in better order than they have been thus far.

As we will now have different addresses, we wanted to update you on the changes so you can make a note of it in your address books. We are writing to you from the address that will be Lisa's, -----------. Greg's has now changed to ---------------, or ------------- ,both will send his messages to the same place. Please make a note of the change in your address books! Of course, Lisa is still willing to forward anything that comes in for Greg to him, if you forget.

Apart from our email addresses though, we STILL are completely united! We still share almost everything else, except our toothbrushes! What? Oh, I hope you didn't think I was talking about our relationship earlier on in this letter. I guess I should have mentioned that I was referring to our situation with our joint email account. But, come on! You know us better than to think that anything could be amiss between us! (I hope I don't give anyone a heart attack with this. If I do, please forgive me!)

Drapers Know Best

Some years ago, our brother in-law recommended Gmail to us. I believe he even sent us an invitation. He had told us all the advantages of joining up including all manner of numbers and statistics (Tom? Numbers? NEVER!!) about things like megarams and gigaseconds. We contemplated and considered, weighing all the pros and cons in various pertinent categories. How did it compare with our current service as far as its organization, userability and storage space. Gmail won out in all of these areas. But there was one ultra-important consideration that would trump all others: would it be easier, short term, to switch to the far superior Gmail or to keep our current account? We stuck with hotmail. (Remember us? Lazy and Lazier?)

A month or two later Greg's boss sent him an invitation to join Gmail. Suddenly nothing made more sense than to join right up. So we did. And we love Gmail. And at some point we remembered that, Oh, yeah. Tom already told us all about this.

A month or so ago, Tom's better half told me about how she used Google Reader to alert her when there had been any recent posting on the blogs she reads. Oh, Google Reader isn't for me, I told her. I'm really into blogging, and therefore must do all my blog searching by hand. I explained to her about the suspense before getting onto someone's blog and wondering-- did they or didn't they? They DID! Or, nope, on to the next blog. Then the next and the next. What a way to spend an hour (give or take--usually give) in the morning. Then another in the afternoon, and one more before bed. No, Google Reader would completely disrupt my way of life.

So this morning I go to check and see if one of my fellow tagees (who I do not know) from the mom tag, Sharon, has done hers with her kid. She hadn't, but she did mention about how she uses Google Reader. Google Reader! What a great idea! I went straight into looking it up and started subscribing to all my favorite blogs. This is wonderful! I can still find out if anyone has posted lately, but now it takes 3 seconds to find out, intstead of 3,000. How much less time I will spend on the computer! Imagine all the books I can read to my kids! Think of the fun we'll have making crafts together! How great will it be to go to the park before it gets too hot! I'll be a better mother. My kids will learn more. We'll be amazing! We'll be a lot like Su and....her.... kids. Oh. That's right. NOW I get why Su is such a great mom. Google Reader!

So, uh, note to self: when the Drapers recommend something a) it will very likely be something run by Google* (this one isn't that important to remember) and b) listen to them! (this is the one we want to stick).

*This just reminded me that she was also trying to get me to blog (using Blogger--Google!) for a year or so before I started, and we all know how much I hate blogging. Another bad recommendation!

*I know some people are afraid Google is planning to take over the world, but seriously. It's either China or Google. Google or China. Hmmm, forced 16 hour days in a sweat shop or the promotion of workplace fun and creativity? And think how organized and efficient the world will be, and how well everyone will keep in touch with each other. C'mon, join Gmail. Use Google Reader. Get on Blogger. Your vote counts! Thwart China!

*This SO was not meant to be a post about Google! I only noticed it was when I wrote that note to self at the very end! So it looks like the company is establishing its gradual world domination by affecting our sub-concious as well. And apparently the Drapers are in on the whole thing!