Reinventing Myself . . .

Note: I wrote this over 8 years ago. It was a draft that I just published because I want to remember the idea of fictionalizing my life. I don't know if I'll ever actually do what I talk about in this post, but it still intrigues me.



I couldn’t sleep last night. I’m not sure if I woke up because my stomach hurt or because I had a business idea in my dream and needed to think about it in the non-sleep world.

Either way, I was awake at 1:40 A.M. and finally got out of bed at 2:30 A.M. My head didn’t hit the pillow again until 6:30 A.M., but don’t cry for me Ike and Tina. After all, I’m not a sleep-deprived mother of a new baby. (Although sometimes I think a baby sounds nice. Physically impossible, but nice.)

So back to this business idea I had during my dream . . . (anyone is welcome to it)

In my dream I was visiting a girlfriend out-of-state who owned an interior décor store. It was filled with everything I love – antiques, country paraphernalia, old, used and distressed utilitarian items, handiwork from by-gone eras -- beautiful stuff! She had a friend, Anna Jones, who was also visiting from out of town. We were talking about our love of the beautiful items we were surrounded by.

Anna mentioned that she was from Indiana, and that’s when my brain went into overdrive.

“You live in Indiana, and your last name is Jones?” I asked. “You should open a shop and call it ‘Indiana Jones’ with the advertising hook , ‘Always a shopping adventure.’”

In my dream last night it sounded like a great idea. Now it’s the light of day, I realize it’s not stellar. Even in the wee hours of the morning I knew that pursuing that idea wasn’t for me. Instead, I became fascinated with the name of Anna Jones. That’s what really kept me up.

In the end, I created a new writing persona – Anna Jones. Fictionally speaking, she’s me.

If my dreams were to come true, I’d write as Anna Jones for on-line magazines like parents.com and readers would click over to my blog and become loyal followers. Soon I’d have a reading base that would make it possible for me to approach a publisher/newspaper syndicate/agent and start a real writing career.

I’m thinking this new little writing persona might be a good thing on many levels. For starters, it may prevent me from having dreams that I’m pregnant. (Where do those come from when you’re youngest is nine?) I can live as Anna Jones who will be discovering she’s pregnant with Naomi in April.

I will be writing fiction -- finally! And with fiction the rule is, "Write what you know." Check.

I can relive those funny/exasperating/touching moments from my children’s childhood. Jeremiah (Bug) is four, Abigail (Lou) turns two in April, and Naomi (Beans) will be born in early December. As I write about the Jones children, my own kids might enjoy looking back on their younger years too.

Plus, I’ll have an outlet for all those “From the Trenches” columns I wrote when my kids were younger. In fact, I’ll pretty much be altering them to reflect Anna’s life. And I’ll make them better. Hipper. More fun. Real must-read stuff! Who knows, maybe the Chicken Soup publishers will run a few of my new-and-improved pieces in upcoming books.

One thing is for sure – I’ll be staying busy!

My "Finding Joy as a Young Mother" talk

When I first heard that I’d been asked to give a talk on finding joy as a young mother, I immediately went and bought me some Joy. (Displays a large bottle of lemon Joy dish detergent). Don’t you wish that you could really just buy joy off the shelf at the grocery store? But you can’t. Joy can’t be bought, it has to be lived.

Joy is not the same as happiness. Not the same as fun and excitement. I like to think of happiness, fun and excitement as the things that make you smile, but joy being the things that make you weep, or “happy cry” as my mother used to call it.

Bruce R. McConkie, in Mormon Doctrine, wrote this under joy:
“Men are that they might have joy.” (2 Nephi 2:25) That is, the very purpose of man’s creation is to enable him to gain joy; it is the object and end of existence…. Here in mortality men gain joy only by obedience to gospel law, the gospel itself being the “good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.” (Luke 2:10) … Joy is a gift of the spirit. It comes from the Holy Ghost….

Joy has everything to do with believing and following the teachings of Jesus Christ. Jesus makes joy possible. As a mother, we’ll all make mistakes, but through the teachings of Jesus Christ and his sacrifice and atonement for us, we can repent, be forgiven, and rise above our natural tendencies to experience JOY.

What can we do to live so that we can have the influence of the Holy Ghost in our lives? (Possible answers given from the audience: Keep the commandments / Attend church meetings / Family Home Evening / Family & Personal Scripture study / Personal & Family Prayer)

These answers are often called the Sunday School answers, the Seminary answers, some would even call them trite answers. But I want to testify that they’re only trite answers until they become TRIED answers.

Here’s my best tip for making family home evenings a habit – focus on the treat. Little ones don’t have much of an attention span, but they do love treats. Enjoy a nice gospel-centered discussion/lesson while everyone enjoys a treat.

Family scripture study is harder because it’s every day. We started out using the gospel art kit available through Church Distribution, talking about a different picture each night. But with our oldest in kindergarten, we soon felt that we needed to be reading right from the scriptures. So, each night we’d gather in the family room, our oldest was six, and the girls were 3 and 18 months. Most nights we only got through a couple verses before we’d lost their attention. (Children’s maximum attention span is their age in minutes.) We wondered if anything was sinking in. It certainly didn’t seem to be. But then I went to a parent/teacher conference with our son’s kindergarten teacher. She told me about how they’d been reading the book, “The Rainbow Fish.” She asked the class what it meant to have pride. My son raised his hand. “It means you’re stiff necked,” he said. And that’s when I knew that our efforts weren’t wasted, that it was sinking in.

A component of joy is contentment. It’s hard to find joy if you’re not content. There’s a big reason why it’s difficult to be content. 2 Nephi 2:11 says, “For it must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things.” Which means that Satan has plots and plans to keep us from being content and finding joy. Women of our generation have been told that we can have it all, do it all, be it all. We also live in the information age where the world would have us compare ourselves to others, and the images are everywhere: magazines, television, internet.

Hence, my new motto: Dream Simple. (I shared excerpts from this blog entry.)

Even men can struggle with contentment. In Alma 29 Alma writes about his struggle. He starts off by saying, “Oh that I were an angel and could have the wish of my heart. . . .” He then goes on to describe how he would cry repentance and spread the gospel with angelic zeal. But then he comes back to reality in verses 3 and 6:
Verse3: “but behold,… I do sin in my wish; for I ought to be content with the things which the Lord hath allotted me.”
Verse 6:“Why should I desire more than to perform the work to which I have been called?”

Finding contentment and joy is possible when you know and do the Lord’s will in your life. What have you been called to do? Make it a matter of fasting and prayer. A good place to start is with your own patriarchal blessing. To get the big picture, I recommend reading, “I am a Mother” by Jane Clayson Johnson. She makes a strong case for motherhood being the most important job in the world.

I’ve found that even when I’m trying to follow the teachings of Jesus, and doing the Lord’s will, I can still struggle with contentment. Keeping a gratitude journal and a dozen other journals has been one of the best ways for me to find joy. President Spencer W. Kimball, himself a keeper of journals, said:

“Those who keep a book of remembrance are more likely to keep the Lord in remembrance in their daily lives. Journals are a way of counting our blessings and of leaving an inventory of these blessings for our posterity.” (Teachings of Spencer W. Kimball, [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1982], 349.

The great thing about gratitude journals is that you can share them with your children now. They don’t need to wait to read them until you’re dead.
(I shared a few entries from my gratitude journal and the steno notebooks I’ve kept on each child.)

There are a multitude of ways to keep a journal. Do what works for you. Some examples include: blogging, scrapbooking, keeping a journal on your computer, or even just keeping a really detailed checkbook register. There’d be no writing checks or using debit cards if you didn’t receive lots of blessings!

I really like the advice given by Sister Marjorie Hinkley. She said, “As you create a home, don’t get distracted with a lot of things that have no meaning for you or your family. Don’t dwell on your failures, but think about your successes. Have joy in your home. Have joy in your children. Have joy in your husband. Be grateful for the journey.”

Keep the big picture in mind. I’d like to share a quote that helps me do just that. In 1909 H.M. Bareham wrote something that was later quoted by Elder Spencer W. Kimball in April Conference of 1960. This quote has been around a long time because its truths are timeless:

“In 1809 men were following with bated breath the march of Napoleon and waiting with feverish impatience for news of the wars. And all the while in their homes babies were being born. Who could think about babies? Everyone was thinking about battles…. Yet which of the battles of 1809 mattered more than the babies of 1809? We fancy God can manage His world only with great battalions, when all the time He is doing it with beautiful babies…. When a wrong wants righting, or a truth wants preaching, or a continent wants discovering, God sends a baby into the world to do it. While most of the thousands of precious infants born every hour will never be known outside their neighborhoods, there are great souls being born who will rise above their surroundings…. One mother gives us a Shakespeare, another a Michelangelo, and another an Abraham Lincoln…. When clouds of error need dissipating and spiritual darkness needs penetrating and heavens need opening, a little infant is born.”

I am grateful for the infants born in this world whose lives have brought me joy. I’m grateful for Jesus Christ, for Joseph Smith, for the missionaries who first brought the gospel to my ancestors in England and Denmark. Our children may not grow up to be presidents of the United States, but chances are they will be missionaries. And we are missionaries, and there’s not a more important place to share the gospel than in our homes. Doctrine and Covenants 18:15 says, “And if it so be that ye should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!”

Being a mom is hard work, but it is important work, a work whose benefits and joys will extend into the eternities.

The joys of being . . .

This is the view from the top of the mountain just off Marge's Triple at Beaver Mountain. I snapped this Wednesday morning. My daughter's elementary school does a P.E. unit on skiing and has the opportunity to go skiing at drastically reduced rates. In the morning the kids get lessons, and this mom skiied all her favorite runs. The sun was shining, and the weather was perfect!


Here we are with the lodge in the background and great big smiles on our faces. We left the haze of the valley behind and enjoyed warmth and sunshine skiing down the slopes.

Here's a little confession. I'm a very task-oriented person who likes to tick tasks off my daily to-do list. But this one day of skiing with my daughter left a big impression on me. It helped me remember that life is not a list of tasks to be checked off, it's about living and being. I spent most of Wednesday living in the present, being present for my daughter.

You've heard about the dangers of distracted driving. But what about distracted living? I'm afraid that I've been guilty of doing a lot of distracted living lately -- crossing off appointments on my calendar, planning for upcoming events, even blogging about what I've been doing -- but missing present moments.

I keep thinking back to the words of President Thomas S. Monson. He wisely taught:
1. Learn from the past.
2. Prepare for the future.
3. Live in the present.

I feel like I'm living in the present when I take the time to play darts with Beans, when I stop what I'm doing when Lou comes home from school and listen to her while she eats her after-school snack. Even just reading a book on the couch while the rest of the family is scattered around me feels like making the most of small moments. Remembering to ask my husband about his day at work and then listening and responding to what he says is living in the present.

Because I spend most of the day home while everyone else is gone to work or school, I sometimes get overly focused on my own agenda. When they return I have a hard time transitioning back into a multi-person focus. But hey, now that I've acknowledged what the problem is, I can work on improving.

Every little moment spent with a loved one is a moment to savor and cherish!

At-home thoughts from daughter's education planning meeting

This morning I went to an S.E.O.P. (Student Education and Occupation Plan) meeting for Loula Belle. The councelor we met with said, "Your mom is one of the 'lucky few.' Only 1 in 10 women are married to a man who makes enough money to support a family on one income." I was a bit surprised by her statisfic. Only 10% of moms stay at home? But more disturbing was the attitude behind the statement.

First, let me say that the counselor's statistic is a bit low. According to a Census Bureau Report, of the 41.8 million kids under 15 who lived with two parents last year, more than 25 percent had mothers who stayed home. A June 2003 article from the Seattle Post-Intelligencer has a lot to say on the topic of at-home moms. One of the women interviewed in the article (Laurel Dickson) said that the decision for her to stay home was almost impossible at first. "Ends didn't meet -- but we made them," she said. "We did whatever we had to financially to get by."

Contrary to what the school conselor is telling students, staying at home isn't a luxury open only to those who marry wealthy men. If anything, staying home feels more like a sacrifice than a luxury. At least that has been my experience. (See this past post for more one how being at-home wasn't quite what I had planned.)

We had our first child when we were both still in college. We both stayed in school to finish up our bachelor degrees and left Bug in the care of babysitters. I'd pick up baby Bug from the caregivers as soon as classes were out, and Hubby worked swing-shifts at an exercise manufacturing plant to support our little family. Bug was born in October and we both graduated in May. That's when I became a full-time at-home mom.

In the early years Hubby didn't pull down big money. And even now his income is nice, but not huge. We've worked hard to make ends meet, but for me that hasn't been the biggest sacrifice of being an at-home mom.

I'm an achiever. (Recovering over-achiever.) When I was a sophomore in high school I worked after-school at Cantwell Bros. Lumber. I didn't need to work. I wanted to work. And I loved the challenge of doing a great job. By the time I graduated high school I trained all new employees on using the computer sales system for the lumber company. A short while later I became the credit manager. Later I worked in accounts payable, did deposits, was a signer on their bank account and did sleuth work when the till didn't match the day's report. Even when I worked at Macey's Sac and Save (that was the full title then) I worked my way up from bagger to checker to making deposits and eventually working as a front-end manager. Work was a big part of my life. I loved getting promotions and paychecks.

Then I became a mom. President Ezra Taft Benson's councel to mothers played a big part in my decision to stay at home. And because the siren song of the workforce calls so appealingly to me, from time to time I have re-examined my decision to be an at-home mom. Home is still where I belong.

But what about my own girls? Will they find their calling as at-home moms? I want them to get an education, to do their very best academically. The school is prepping them for employment, for an occupation, and I think that is wise. Every woman needs to have skills she can use to get a job that can provide for her family if the need arises. But will their schooling or future occupation make staying home to care for children seem second rate? Will they have to struggle to find contentment and satisfaction the way I have?

These are the questions that parents can ask, but can't know the answers to. Having the ability to choose, having free agency -- that's what this life is all about.

What can faith do for mothers?

A deadbolt at the top of the door.

Leaving a planning meeting for the young women’s organization that I’m now a part of, I saw the well-planned means to prevent young children from escaping outside without the knowledge of their parents. But our hostess doesn’t have children yet, a fact I remembered just before opening my mouth to comment on the clever home design. My words might have pricked a heart already tender and still recovering from two failed attempts to adopt a precious newborn.

Precious. A word I’ve been thinking about a lot in light of my friend’s situation. As my own children head back to school, I’m using her clever deadbolt as a touchstone to help me ponder the sweetness of children, my own included.

I am a sap. I freely admit it. Sometimes I’m tough-nosed and stern, grumpy even. Other days I’m goofy, talkative and playful. But ever since my youngest headed off to a full day of school, I get sentimental and mushy at the start of each new school year. The truth is, I miss my kids when they’re gone to school.

Last night as I was saying my bedtime prayer, I thought of my friend’s deadbolt and asked the Lord to comfort and strengthen her, to grant the mother-desires of her heart. I also prayed that He would help me feel gratitude instead of loneliness this year. As I got up off my knees, I felt hope and peace. I could envision myself going about my daily activities in contentment.

This morning I walked my youngest daughter to school and met her new teacher. As I left the elementary school, eager, smiling children surged all around me. The building buzzed with their energy and excitement. Again I thought of my friend and her longing to mother a child.

Faith can move mountains. What can faith do for mothers? In The Book of Mormon, Ether 12:19 states, “And there were many whose faith was so exceedingly strong … [they] saw with their eyes the things which they had beheld with an eye of faith.”

I cannot know the number of friends and family who are exercising faith along with my friend and her husband. I can, however, add my own faith and prayers. And share the tender mercies of a loving Heavenly Father who gave me eyes of faith to see a young mother with a child in her arms reaching up to deadbolt her door to keep a rambunctious son from escaping.

Lots of Lists!

Summer is rushing by. I really don’t have time to be blogging. I’m consumed by lists. The following are a few that I need to attend to.

This week’s shopping list:
Cover Girl mascara in orange bottle
Chicago cutlery paring knives
Gallon freezer bags
MCP pectin
Canning jar lids
Slip for Beans
Milk
Spread margarine
Flour tortillas
Food for extended family camp-out

Today’s to-do list:
Take Lou to get her braces on
Coach softball practice
Set date for PTA planning meeting for student council moms
Call the student council moms
Register Beans for ice skating lessons
Send out e-mail for family Olympics
Prepare for activity days (it’s tomorrow)
Pick up t-shirt catalogs for student council moms to decide on
Plan piano pieces for the girls summer lessons that haven’t happened yet

What’s not on today’s to-do list but must be done anyway:
Water the dog
Scoop poop
Check on the chickens
Water the front porch and back patio flowers
Tidy the kitchen/dining/great room (repeat 10 times)
Exercise the dog
Shower / put on make-up
Eat breakfast / lunch (kids fend for themselves)
Make supper
Make bed
Nag children to do their chores

Things that need to be done in the next week or two:
Buy mom’s birthday present
Talk with Hubby about getting his mom’s birthday present
Clean all tubs/showers
Sort/organize winter hats and gloves (put them away)
Sign Last Will and Testament (have it notarized)
Weed garden and flower beds
Girls have tennis lessons next week

Future to-dos (I actually wrote these down and put the list in my toothbrush drawer)
Sew bedding/curtains for Lou’s room
Sew bedding/curtains/canopy thing for Bean’s room
Cut up old towels and t-shirts and put in rag drawers
Finish organizing the craft room closet
Make Bug a new bedspread/duvet
Slipcover the girls’ chairs
Make the chalkboard / magnet board for the craft room (supplies already bought and aging)
Copy contents of my wallet and file with other “important documents”
Get digital photos on computer copied onto a CD and have prints printed
Organize plastic drawers/cupboards in the laundry room
Create a “grab & go” list to use along with 72-hour kits

I call myself a homemaker, but I could also refer to myself as a Life Coach, Family Manager, Personal Assistant (to four people, no less), or a Domestic Engineer!

How Not to Raise Wimps

You may not know it, but according to Hara Marano, we’re raising a nation of wimps. She’s the author of A Nation of Wimps: The High Cost of Invasive Parenting. The product review of her book at Amazon.com says:

“Parents are going to ludicrous lengths to take the lumps and bumps out of life for their children, but the net effect of parental hyperconcern and scrutiny is to make kids more fragile. When the real world isn’t the discomfort-free zone kids are accustomed to, they break down in myriad ways. Why is it that those who want only the best for their kids wind up bringing out the worst in them?”

Although I haven’t read this book, it has me thinking about my own parenting practices and philosophies.

I’d like to think that I’m not raising wimps. Why just yesterday when my youngest wondered what she could have for lunch, I went down the list: a corndog, ramen, a PB&J sandwich, leftovers – all things unappetizing to her. “Well then,” I told her, “you decide what sounds good and make it yourself.”

She didn’t like that response. She sighed. She moped. I finally told her that she could either make lunch and get on with life or go mope in her room. She chose to make a box of macaroni and cheese.

Believe it or not, macaroni and cheese has had a huge influence on my parenting philosophy. It all started when we had just two kids. They were probably four and two. Hubby and I were headed out to eat and had hired a babysitter, a fourteen-year-old whose mother was our ward’s Relief Society President. I was running through the babysitting basics (this is where the diapers are, here are the first aid supplies, we can be reached at…) and had just explained what she could make for dinner – macaroni and cheese. She had no clue how to make macaroni and cheese. Or even how to boil water.

That’s when I decided that my main goal as an at-home mom was to teach my children how to live without me. I’ve used the making of macaroni and cheese to remind myself not to do for my kids what they can and should be doing for themselves.

Fortunately, I had a great example, my own mother. One of her favorite phrases was, “My mother didn’t do that for me. I’m not going to do it for you.” She used this when I wanted her to, oh … say, do a bit of my homework for me. When I was in elementary school she used the phrase to convince me that it was time to be styling my own hair. In fact, she had a whole little story to tell about a girl she’d gone to school with whose mother was doing her daughter’s hair clear into high school. The moral in all situations was, you don’t want to be needy and dependent on your mother forever do you?

Lately I’ve slipped a bit. I’ve been doing things for my kids (mostly my youngest) that they could be doing for themselves. It’s hard to hold the line and not pamper and spoil. My two oldest kids have very independent natures, but my youngest is a mild, kind, comfort-seeking soul. She doesn’t get mouthy when I refuse to do something for her. She pouts. Acts sad. Puts on her soulful puppy dog eyes and lingers in my general vicinity. As her mother, I want her to be happy. Giving in has been my solution lately. But no more.

I’m going to start labeling her behavior. Possibly saying something like, “You’re pouting because I wouldn’t do your hair this morning. But that’s not going to change my mind. My mother didn’t do my hair when I was nine, and I’m not going to do yours. On very special occasions I’d love to help you, but today’s just a regular old day.”

Hey, that felt good. I can see that my mother’s phrase is going to come in very handy.

Kids are experts at getting what they want from their parents, and because we love them and want them to be happy, we give, give, give. I’m not saying that all giving is bad, but when we start doing things for our kids that they can do for themselves – give them things that they can obtain/earn for themselves, we’re actually enabling. Yuck. Not only is our behavior unhelpful, but it is also damaging to kids’ psychological development.

Kids get much of their self-esteem from doing things, from being and feeling capable and in control. When I constantly do my daughter’s hair, I’m actually sending the message . . . You’re right, you can’t do your hair well.

Just how confident can doing her own hair make a girl feel? Let me illustrate with an unflattering moment from my childhood. I was in a tiff with another girl in my second grade class. We were engaging in the usual playground banter. She might have said, “Oh yeah, well your pants are too short.” I countered with, “Well at least I can part my own hair straight. Yours looks like a lightning bolt down the back.” (I’ve always had a big mouth.)

The truth is, we don’t magically cut the apron strings when our kids go to college or go on missions. It’s a gradual process that starts the day they learn to crawl. We don’t need to me cavalier with our children’s safety – they are precious and priceless – but we also don’t want to create fearful, fragile kids. Encourage your children to do things on their own, try their own wings. Let them fail now so they can learn how to pick themselves up. Most children don’t need you there while they do their homework past first grade. Let them do it themselves. If they don’t do it, give them consequences that don’t involve you holding their hand.

I’ve been obliquely encouraging passive, helpless behavior in my youngest child, but I’m going to stop. I can ask myself, “What hidden message will my action send? Am I doing something for Beans that she can do herself?” And I’m going to stop feeling 100% responsible for her happiness. I can’t make my children happy any more than I can make them behave. In the end, it’s all up to them.

Today's Morning Prayer

I’m grateful for today. For the wonderful night’s sleep I had. (No night sweats.) And for waking to bird song. I’m grateful for sunshine, for warmth, for freshly mown grass – especially when it’s cut on the diagonal.

I’m grateful for the fun and excitement the girls and I have had shopping for their room décor. (Note: The Hobby Lobby isn’t open on Sunday. Will I receive blessings from shopping there?) I’m grateful for my sewing skills, for my mother, 4-H leaders and home ec. teachers who taught me well. Bless them.

I’m grateful that I’m a mother. Please help me to be content with the tasks of motherhood. Help me to not wish away the joys of the moment seeking after recognition or praise from others. It seems that every time I’m contemplating writing/speaking/teaching I find that someone else is already filling the niche I hoped to fill. Help me recognize that no one else can fill my motherhood niche. Help me to recognize it as one of life’s most precious blessings.

While I’m on the topic of niches, please bless me with appreciation for other’s talents. Help me overcome my tendency toward envy and, if possible, replace it with gratitude. Help me to recognize and savor the divinity in each individual I meet and observe. I thank thee for my fellow humans. I thank thee that we aren’t all alike and that we don’t all have the same interests, talents, opinions and fashion sense. Help me especially to savor and be thankful for the differences between myself and my teenager and preteen.

Please help me to find joy in the little things – the everyday blessings that I may be overlooking. Kissing my kids before they head off to school. How they all give me kisses before heading to bed – even my fourteen- and twelve-year-olds. Having a son who wants me to watch him hit a shot with his new golf club. A daughter with a big enough bladder that she never has to use the bathroom at school but rushes down the stairs the moment she walk in the door to use the toilet. (Tee-hee.) Chatting with her as she eats her after-school snack. Watching my youngest and her best friend riding their bikes to elementary school. Listening to them giggle. Having everyone gathered around the table for dinner most nights of the week.

Bless me to find enjoyment in making dinner. My calculations show that if I cook six meals a week until my youngest turns 20, I have roughly 3,400 more menus to prepare. Give me strength! And patience.

I’m grateful for my dog. Do you have a dog? I’m grateful that thou hast given them to us as companions and friends. Annie is a bit of a goof-ball, but she’s endearing, energetic, and cheerful. Help me to be more like her, to have her enthusiasm for meeting new people and going new places. I don’t aspire to being able to catch a Frisbee in my mouth, but I’m grateful my dog can. Her athletic abilities and acrobatics make me laugh. I’m grateful for laughter.

Well, I need to be wrapping up. I need to shower and start my day. I’m grateful to live when I do – in a time of running water and flush toilets. But above all, I’m grateful for Thee. For Thy plan of happiness. For thy Son who made it all possible. Help me to remember Him in all that I do. Help me to be a good example as one of His followers.

These things I say, in His name, amen.

Living My Dream . . .

I’ve changed my mind. As usual. I was all gung-ho to write and market “Annie Investigates: The Column written by a dog about dogs for kids.” But life is happening, and I don’t want to miss a moment spending it behind the computer under a deadline. (How spoiled am I that I can just make up my mind not to try to earn a living?!)

I’ve realized that I like doing things. Lots of things. Things like de-junking, cleaning and re-arranging the girls’ bedrooms. Then planning mini-makeovers for their rooms by painting a little and sewing a lot. Projects give me a buzz. Especially completed projects. Have I ever told you that I designed and managed the making of a set of picket fence beds? True story. This picture proves it. (I tried to get Better Homes and Gardens to market the plans in their magazine, but never heard back. Their loss. Perhaps you’ll see a future post of picket fence bed plans. Would you like that? They’re fairly inexpensive. I completed them in 2000 for a cost of $75 each – and I paid someone $50 to make the end-posts. My husband, dad and brother helped out for free.)




Notice that this bed has two matching head/foot boards. That’s because Lou decided that she wanted to have a “couch” bed. And she wanted to have the two tall headboards (minus the pickets – which really made me sad) so that she could have an arm rest. Despite making Beans livid that I’d changed her bed without her notice, I think that the girls like the change. And I’m looking forward to painting and sewing up cute “couch cushions.”

I’ll post photos when they’re finished. But don’t hold your breath. I firmly believe that fabric needs aging. I choose fabric, buy it, and then let it sit for an average of 2 years before completing the intended project. But as my girls are also on board for this project, I foresee using young fabric.

I hope you don’t mind – I’m going to engage in a little bit of show and tell. You know how I said that I love projects? I made the bedspread on the picket fence bed (there is a matching set), and I made the bedspread and dust ruffle for my own bed (photo below). The fabric for my bedspread was aged about three years. Hence it turned out smashing!



Speaking of smashing, I dispatched two young roosters this morning. (Okay, it was more ‘wringing’ than ‘smashing.’) It was awful watching them die, but I told myself that my Grandmother Glenna would be proud. You might think I’m crass and violent, but let me explain. We wanted to get four baby hens this spring as future egg-layers. When my neighbor said that her son’s preschool class was hatching chicks and I could have as many as I wanted for free, I jumped at the chance. (A dollar saved is a dollar you can spend later for something better.) Knowing that the hatch would be straight run – roughly equal in males and females – we decided to get six chicks, hoping that we’d get at least three hens.

In the end we have four hens but two roosters. As I’m a penny pincher, I couldn’t stand the thought of feeding two roosters to maturity and then disposing of them. I decided that today was the day. Originally I’d intended to use the French method (Off with their heads), but remembered that wringing their necks would work too. Unsavory and detestable as the job was, I feel tough, gritty, and strongly connected to my pioneer ancestry.

In fact, I’ve decided that if more people lived with a pioneer mentality, we’d have a much healthier society. The environment wouldn’t be today’s hot-button issue. More families could afford to have just one wage-earner. Fewer spoiled-rotten children would populate our schools. All this if most people in America practiced the time-tested pioneer motto:

Use is up.
Wear it out.
Make it do.
Or do without.

Easier said than done, of course.

Tales of Mother's Day

My friend called last night with the latest laugh from her son, Landon. In their ward’s primary the children created Mother’s Day coupons to give to their mothers. When my friend sat down to read the coupons from Landon, her nine-year-old, this is what they said:

This Mother’s Day coupon good for . . . doing the job of your choice. Love, Whitten

This Mother’s Day coupon good for . . . making your bed. Love, Jade and Shiloh

This Mother’s Day coupon good for . . . making dinner. Love, Dakota

What a clever little boy! My friend got a good chuckle and an idea for what to include in her own mother’s belated Mother’s Day card – coupons! Her favorite one is:

This Mother’s Day coupon good for . . . tracing your genealogy back to Adam. Love, Jody

What Mother’s Day coupons would you make for your mother care of your siblings?

Now for some reflections on my own Mother’s Day. It was bliss. My hubby really worked extra hard so that I wouldn’t have to. (Thank you, honey!) And the talks in Sacrament Meeting were inspiring and non-guilt inducing. In fact, our Sunday School President’s whole talk was meant to serve as an antidote to the usual “my mother is perfect” fare which gets recited on Mother’s Day.

As he was speaking I whispered to my husband, “All mothers have perfect moments.” I followed that up with, “Most of mine are while I am sleeping.” Which is true. Especially now that I have a new, soft mattress.

Truth be told, I’ve always wanted to speak on Mother’s Day. Not only would I share the little truth I discovered – All mothers have perfect moments -- but I would also point out that no mother is perfect. Mine included. But my mother is memorable.

I spent a little time yesterday jotting down some of the things I’ve learned from my mom. I call them Life Lessons from Leslie. Here they are:

1. Save your receipts.

2. Cooking is overrated. Find a few dishes the family likes and set up a rotation.

3. Life is uncertain – eat dessert first!

4. You can never have too much of a good thing. (In her case, earrings and blackberry Jell-O.)

5. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. So learn to make your husband’s favorite dessert.

6. Live, love, and laugh! Laughing until the tears roll down creates moments to remember.

7. Love yourself. Mom said, “Whenever you’re running for an office, always vote for yourself!” I also credit her with much of my own self-confidence. Her self-assurance bolstered my own. I knew that because she valued herself, as her daughter I must also have intrinsic value.

Thanks, Mom!

Is the menu a lie?

I spent approximately an hour this morning working on May’s family dinner menu. My two main goals for spring cooking are: 1) to make something the kids won’t whine about and 2) to keep it healthy -- doable on Weight Watchers. I’m also looking to try at least one new recipe a week so that I don’t get bored.

There is an art to making menus. But before I go into the details, let me just say up front that the menu may be a lie. Take this month, for example. Of the thirty days in the month, the menu lied 14 times. (The menu planner cannot be called a liar. When she prepared the menu it was the gospel truth.) Breakfast is the meal most likely to deviate from the menu. Mostly because the kids don’t like oatmeal and won’t make it themselves. Sometimes it’s because I didn’t bake muffins the night before for them to eat in the morning. So although cold cereal is only listed three mornings a week, we probably eat it an average of six days a week. Dinner may be a lie too. Such as last night – the menu said I’d make Nan Petersen’s macaroni casserole, but the troops ate cold cereal instead. (See actual sample scan of our April menu .)



But back to the art of menu making. . . I’ve got a complicated little system. I start by digging out my binder with saved menus from the last two years (if menus are saved, does that mean they go to heaven? Just a thought). Next I get out the huge desktop calendar that I hang on a dry-erase board near the back door. Before assigning dishes to days, I carefully coordinate what’s happening in the month with what will be for dinner. No labor intensive meals on nights I’ve had activity days and student council meeting. You know the drill. If I need defrosted chicken for Thursday’s meal, I write “defrost chicken” on the family calendar on Tuesday. All this takes much thought and effort. In fact, after this morning’s planning and calculating of an hour, I’m still not finished with the month’s menu.

Hmmm. So let me see if I’m getting this. I’ve spent an hour on a menu that will be a lie almost 50% of the time. And cold cereal is the kids’ favorite substitute for when the menu is a lie. Hmmm. Cold cereal is definitely something the kids don’t complain about eating, and it is fairly healthy – at least the stuff I eat. I suppose that I could branch out and try some new cereals to keep from getting bored. Hmmm.

Maybe menu making isn’t an art after all. I’ll just write “cold cereal” in all the slots, and then maybe the menu won’t be a lie!

6-word mini-memoirs

I read a book review printed in my local paper from the Christian Science Monitor for the book, Not Quite What I Was Planning by Larry Smith and Rachel Fershleiser. In the spirit of six-word mini-memoirs, I’ve written my own. You choose which you’d rather read. (And possibly vote in the comments section or leave six-word comments. Six-word anything. Try it!)

My Mini-Memoirs

Love to laugh ‘til I snort.

Magna cum laude stays at home.

The brains behind Ramen for dinner.

Dreamer, schemer, soccer game screamer.

Mormon mother mines meaning, makes messes.

Great expectations lead to reality checks.

Finally learned how to endure gracefully. (My memoirs of my 80s.)

Memories of Microfilm

Tonight while I was down working out on the Nordic Track I thought about how my twelve-year-old daughter had taught me how to better use Google’s search capabilities. That thought led me to a memory of my mother and me up at the USU Merrill Library (which no longer exists). She was teaching me how to do research for my debate class. We looked through the card catalog, through some index of periodicals. She even showed me how to look up and use microfilm and microfiche.

This memory made me feel positively ancient. Up until Lou’s recent lesson on finding images on Google, I’d been the one disseminating technological information to my kids. I’d heard about kids showing parents how to program VCRs and work mp3 players, but that had never been me. Until now. Sigh.

The Importance of Friends

Friendships multiply Joys and divide Griefs. – Thomas Fuller

Three friends and I met at Winger’s in Brigham City for lunch recently. We first became friends in high school and college, and our lives have taken us in multiple directions. It seems a bit odd that Brigham City is now the central meeting place.

Do you know how to tell you’ve got a true friend? She’s someone who suggests lunch at Maddox but is perfectly happy to substitute Wingers when you plead poverty at the end of the month. A true friend is more interested in great conversation than in great food. (I have three true friends!)

Six months have passed since I last saw these friends. Julie shocked Mindi and me when she walked in with short dark hair. (We’ve always known her as a blonde.) The waitress saw that we were still waiting for another friend, but wondered if we wanted to order before she arrived. We all looked at each other. I said, “It is Jennifer.” After exchanging knowing glances, we unanimously told the waitress we’d wait a bit longer.

When Jennifer found us in the corner booth, the four of us probably sounded like a coop of reunited chickens. Baa-gock! Look at your hair. Cluck-cluck, what happened to your eyelid? Bok-bok, where did you get that jacket?

After settling in a bit and making our orders, we got down to the business of catching up. Mindi reported that they’d finally figured out what had been causing her daughter’s health problems – a thyroid disorder. Things were looking up. Jennifer described her latest successful craft project -- making sugar peek-a-boo Easter eggs with her girls. (Jennifer seems always to be having culinary adventures.) Julie, however, had sobering news. Her ten-year-old niece was dying of a brain tumor.

A collective hush fell over our corner of the restaurant. We spoke in subdued voices. We wondered how Julie’s sister is coping. How has her niece handled so large a trial at such a young age? How have her own children reacted to their cousin’s failing health? As Julie talked, our faces expressed our spoken and unspoken shock, concern and love. Our conversation centered on the necessities of life: faith, family, friends.

Our food came, and the prospect of eating something we didn’t have to prepare lifted our spirits some. We began grousing a bit about the realities of being The Mom. Mindi mentioned that in the last year she’s probably gone to bed in the P.M. hours only about ten times. Julie also burned the midnight oil. Of all of us, I went to bed the earliest. Laundry came up. Jen and Mindi do multiple loads a day, but Julie and I are once-a-week washers. Only Julie wins for the most loads – TEN every Monday! Jennifer seems to do the least laundry, possibly because her husband’s work requires him to use a dry cleaner for his shirts. That led us to the joys of ironing.

“Ironing?” Julie said. “Who irons? I only buy permanent press shirts that don’t need ironing. And I especially love it when the boy’s white Sunday shirts come with stain guard. In fact, my six-year-old didn’t even know the name for an iron. In trying to describe it to me one day he said, ‘… you know, the thing that gets really hot and then you smash clothes with it.’”

We all laughed. I laughed until I snorted. A really big snort. The waitress even heard it.

I basked in the moment. I have a friend whose children don’t even know the name for an iron. No wonder we’re friends! Jennifer grew so tired of hearing her kids complain about planned family activities that she cancelled the family bike ride and had them clean the house instead. That’s my kind of mother! Mindi’s first calling in the Relief Society was as her ward’s Relief Society President. What a woman!

All too soon our plates were picked over, and we paid our checks. We lingered and laughed until the realities of kids coming home from school and neighbors tending nap-deprived children broke up our outing.

Jennifer summed up the necessity of our lunchtime get-togethers. “It’s so good to get together with you women. I love to laugh with other adults and feel normal, for so often I walk away from my kids and wonder if I am off my rocker.”

Living at Break-neck Speed

It’s been a long time since I wrote a "real" blog entry. Here are a few of the reasons why:

It was the holidays. Kids home. Gifts to buy and wrap. Decorations to hang. Decorations to take down.

I caught a case of the January blahs. Not depression, just a little funk after having people home with me all day during the holidays. It really is hard for me to have everyone go to school and work. And yet, there is no lack of things to do here at home. Someone once asked me what I did with all my time now that my kids are in school all day. Truth is, I don’t have more time. And the same things need doing. I just don’t have a little friend to do them with. My advice is to savor having your babies at home. I did too much wishing away of that time in my life.

Life moves at break-neck speed. Bug is heavily involved in basketball. The girls take piano, and Beans is taking a pottery class. I’m on the district PTA board and also work with the student council at Lou’s school. (She’s on the council. It’s fun but also requires time and energy.) I have 2 ½ callings at church. I teach Gospel Doctrine every other Sunday, meet with the Activity Day girls twice a month, and play for the choir every week. (The choir accompanying isn’t official.) Laundry never stops piling up. Dinners don’t make themselves. Children need near-constant reminders to get their jobs done. Snow falls and needs shoveling. I have a dog that needs walks and more training. Exercise is a must.

I’m finding that I don’t feel that urge to write and share everything that’s happening to me. Life still happens, but I’m sharing more with my husband and kids. Hubby and I have recently discussed at-home moms, the number of callings women have versus men, financial goals, political leanings, Presidential candidates and the state of the Federal Government. Bug and I have discussed why some people swear, setting realistic goals, the importance of having fun. Personal hygiene and future make-up techniques are topics that Loula Belle is interested in. I’ve been trying to help Beans better express her feelings and we’ve discussed why that’s important. I guess I’m figuring out how to communicate what’s most important to me to those who are most important to me.

I’m writing more in my health and fitness journal. And then I’ve been re-reading what I’ve written as a means to better understand why my weight loss has been stuck for so long. I’ve also spent a lot more time reading and digesting everything that crosses my path on health and fitness. I’ve realized that reaching my weightloss goal isn’t a selfish pursuit. A healthy momma is a happy momma. Plus, I figure that I can better serve the Lord as a fit woman. When Hubby and I hit the years where we can go on a mission together, I don’t want to be held back by health problems. So I’m living in the NOW but planning for a healthy future!

I’m also trying to put Elder Dallin H. Oaks’ conference talk into practice. I’m evaluating what’s good, what’s better, and what’s best. Don’t worry. I’m not going to stop blogging completely. It’s part of how I get my journal writing in. When my blogging slacks, so do my journal entries. I’m trying to find balance.

My girls both got new WebKinz for Christmas. For the uninitiated, children can now buy plush toy animals that come with a web access code where they can virtually play with their pets. This is my girls’ favorite activity lately and has eaten into my own computer time.

I believe naps are important.

The Nuts and Bolts of Nagging

Okay, so I was going to write a long, detailed piece about nagging. But who wants to read something long and detailed about nagging? No one.

Instead, I’ll give it to you straight. I’m making peace with nagging. I’ve taken a poll, and all wives nag. All mothers nag. Some more successfully than others. But no one wants to be a nag. I often catch myself doing something that’s really the duty of another member of our household simply because I’m tired of asking them to do it. But the thing is, if I continue repeating that action pattern, pretty soon EVERYTHING is mine to do.

So here’s the deal. Nagging is a good thing. But the key to successful nagging is all in the presentation – how you go about it. Timing is important. If you ask your child to do a job while they’re in the middle of an engrossing activity, they’re not going to want to do it. (This is a good reason to limit TV watching, video games, and other such distractions.) Keep your voice low when making your request. High-pitched requests are going to sound whiney and will be less effective. If your child (or husband) gives you flack, ask them when it would be a better time to do the job. Then set a timer. When it goes off, remind them of their commitment and be firm. Be cheerful. If you can make your request into a game, go for it!

A little organization goes a long way. A job chart is nothing more than nagging in writing. It communicates what’s expected without you having to say it. You’ll also have less verbal nagging to do if you make jobs a part of your family’s daily routine. At my friend Linda’s house, having their bed made is a prerequisite for getting breakfast. In our home the kids don’t get to play with friends or watch TV until their chores are done. There are times when they get sloppy in their duties or need reminding, but for the most part my kids complete all sorts of tasks every day without any reminders from me. (Having well-trained children is even better than having a well-trained dog.)

Think outside the box, or the chest of drawers, as the case may be. For a while I had a hard time getting Loula Belle to change her underwear every day. Each laundry day I’d tell her, “You only had three pairs of panties in the wash this week. That’s gross.” She didn’t seem to care. Eventually I left a note taped to her dresser that said, “Help! We’re suffocating in here! We’re your underwear, and we like to get out of this cramped drawer. Please wear a different one of us each day. We’d be so much happier. How about it? Help us get out and about!” It made Lou laugh and got my point across in a totally new way.

Gimmicks are good. Young kids like stickers. Older kids often go for cold, hard cash. Only you know what motivates your husband. If it works, do it.

I don’t have any studies to back me up, but I believe that mothers who are successful at nagging are happier than mothers who don’t nag at all. The non-naggers are the ones doing everything themselves, and that makes for lots of resentment.

Don’t become the grumpy cleaning lady. Embrace nagging. If you need to call it something else, borrow a term from my own mother. She calls it “spaced repetition.” I call it good communication.

You're at Belly Acre Farm if . . .

You’re at Belly Acre Farm if . . .

You look in the dog run and instead of rawhide chews, the dog is gnawing on overgrown cucumbers.

You’ve spotted a house with green vines and blue flowers overtaking the front porch pillars.

Mom’s favorite song comes on the radio and she turns it WAY up and dances along.

Safety Man brings his noise dosimeter home and announces that Mom’s music is over 90 decibels.

There’s a practice net set up for your hubby and son to practice hitting golf balls into.

There are two different dents in the soffit of the back porch from errant Birdie Balls – golfesque practice orbs that your son mis-hit.

There’s a deep dent in the metal framing of the front door. It has golf ball dimples, courtesy of your son. (Note: He did receive the lecture entitled, “What if that had hit a window?”)

Two eight-year-old girls are out on the front lawn bouncing on giant soccer-style hippity-hops.

There are no more yellow summer squash in the garden. They’ve been ripped out and added to the compost pile. (At last!)

You see a white Buick pulling out of the driveway to deliver the latest round of raspberries to Hubby’s work – where they’ll be sold to his co-workers.

A dog looking like a Black Lab streaks across the back lawn towards the neighbor’s escaped chickens and you hear a frantic woman growling, “No! Annie come! Come!”

If the kids have their friends over for milk and cookies and Mother proceeds to try to teach them how to burp on demand. (This is after she’s made them promise not to tell their mothers where they learned their new-found skill.)

Fall is in the air and you hear a blood-curdling witch’s cackle. Never fear, it’s just me.

She's living my dream life . . .

A friend sent me an e-mail entitled, "Perspective: The invisible woman." It spoke directly to what I've been feeling lately. Wanting to know who wrote it, I googled the title. Turns out that it's an excerpt from the novel, "The Invisible Woman" by Nicole Johnson.

I checked out Nicole Johnson's website -- http://www.freshbrewedlife.com/ -- where I discovered that she's living my dream life. (She even had an article about how to deal with dreams that die.) Weird.

Just yesterday I jotted down what I'd like to have on my dream website:

Frugal not Frazzled -- a place to share money saving ideas, budgeting advice, and lots and lots of encouragement.

The Modern Prude's Book Reviews -- the thinking woman's guide to good, clean literature.

Family Friendly Fare -- recipes most kids will eat made from ingredients found in most family kitchens.

Before and After -- a place to post any before/after shots. i.e. the shower before you cleaned it and after, the child with gum in their hair before you removed it and after, your toddler before they cut their own hair . . . you get the idea.

Bed-head Hall of Fame -- from the fuzzy nest toddlers wake up with to the cockatoo 'do that my own short style imitates most mornings -- the good, the bad and the ugly hair families wake up with.

Annie Investigates -- a column written by my dog, Annie. Where she researches and answers the important questions of life such as, "In what country is it considered polite to burp after dinner?" "How do cyclists in the Tour de France relieve themselves?" "Why are sunsets more colorful than sunrises?" "Where do batteries go when they die?" (These questions can come from kids or adults. I'll never tell which is which.)

Brain Cramps -- a place to read about real women doing really dumb things. My own brain cramps include letting my 10-year-old daughter cut my hair, running the washing machine with soap and softener, but no clothes (repeated at least once every other month), grilling blackened chicken (will include photo) that is so black it's inedible. Oops!

Ramblings on art, ancestors and recognition

There was a new columnist in my local paper this morning. And he was good. Really good. I actually laughed right out loud. I didn’t want to like his column, but I just couldn’t help myself.

Now, you may wonder why I didn’t want to like his column. Only because I’ve been turned down twice now as a columnist for that newspaper. Apparently they don’t like my style. Or my subject matter. Or just me.

As I was reading today’s new columnist I couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps it’s best if I just give up my dream of ever becoming a paid writer. Because, here’s the thing -- for every genre that I aspire to write, there’s already someone else writing it. And often writing it better than I could.

I spent a little time today in Park City strolling along old Main Street. I stopped in at a handful of art galleries and oogled the art. Beautiful paintings, quirky sculptures, dazzling detail – some of it beyond words of description. I examined a few pieces up close. My mind whirled thinking about the time behind each brushstroke, each color. A part of me even wanted to be an artist, wanted to capture beauty to share with an appreciative audience.

Back at home, I picked raspberries. While wading through green prickly branches for perfectly ripe fruit, my mind wandered. I thought about the art I’d seen and wondered what I’d buy if money weren’t a consideration. Then I began thinking about the people who could afford to purchase art. Actually, I had to use my imagination, as I don’t actually know many people who own or collect fine art.

That little nugget of noodling led me to contemplate people I do know. Family. As the berries in my bucket began accumulating, I acknowledged my roots. Teachers. Farmers. Quilters. Homemakers. I come from what I like to call Pioneer Stock.

I thought about my grandmas, great and great-great, and the berries they must have picked, the garden produce they must have canned. They didn’t have the means to purchase fine art or the time to create it. Instead, they spent their time working to care for their families. The artifacts they left behind run along utilitarian lines: a worn and faded double wedding ring quilt, an old potato masher with a well-used wooden handle, a mason jar lifter with calcium deposits on the metal from years of removing canned produce from hard water.

And now, back to how all this relates to my dreams for recognition. Yipes. That is exactly the word that describes what I seem always to be looking for . . . RECOGNITION.

I guess I used to get it through good grades, through academic achievement. And that’s probably why writing a self-syndicated column from 1997 to 2000 helped to keep my emotional boat afloat. I was getting a little recognition in the form of reader feedback and small but concrete paychecks.

There is something in my personality that craves, maybe even needs recognition. Is that weird?

I’m left wondering if I’ll forever be part of an appreciative audience and never the performer. Are other performers driven to seek the limelight?

Switching gears now, stay with me.

Ways that I currently get recognition:
Being a witch at the Pumpkin Walk and cackling. (Bless the Burt kids. They never tire of hearing me cackle. )

Teaching Sunday school.

Hosting parties.

Hmmmm. I guess that’s about it. But are there other ways I can “perform” and get my recognition fix?

Yeah. I’m volunteering to help the student council at Loula Belle’s middle school. When I’m goofy with the kids and they respond, that feels good. And writing the skits they’ll do for “Character Counts” might fit the bill too. And maybe I could tell my hubby and kids that I have unfulfilled performance yearnings. Maybe they’d consent to being an appreciative audience. Hey, even just being an attentive audience would be fine. (Better than the eye rolls that I currently get.)

And what about the retirement home where my grandma lives? Maybe I could play the piano for them to sing along with. I probably can’t commit to doing it every week, but how about once a month? Or every-other month?

We'll see.

Ever feel like you've prepped your whole life for something else?

I was reading a comment my friend left on another blog where she wrote, "Sometime I feel like I've prepped my whole life for something else." I've had those same feelings. Still have then, in fact.

I grew up as a fairly typical over-achiever. Valedictorian in high school. One of the top three English graduates at USU in 1994. And I bought into the whole notion that a woman could be anything. Do anything. Really have it all. And what have I become? An at-home mom. (I don't like the term "Stay-at-home" Mom. It sounds like a command for a dog.)

For three years I wrote a self-syndicated parenting column. It kept my emotional boat afloat while my kids were tiny. But eventually it began to pull me away from them. Plus I had un-diagnosed depression. Talk about miserable.

Even this past year, with my kids all in school, I've wondered what I should be doing. (Why is it that we as LDS women give ourselves so many "shoulds?") Anyway, I made it a matter of prayer, fasting and study. And I found out that humble as it is, the Lord needs me right here in the home. Not only that, I learned that I need to be content too. (Big sigh. I'm still working on that.)

When some girlfriends and I got together for lunch a few weeks ago, I asked them if their lives are what they expected them to be. All three said, "Yes. Why, what did you expect?"

I guess I expected to be famous. Important. A best-selling author. And I expected parenting to be easier. After all, wasn't I easy to raise? (Don't answer that, Mom.)

My question for my friends was, "How did you know not to have out-of-control expectations for yourselves?" Their answer: we always planned on staying home with our kids.

Now that I've had a bit more time to noodle over their responses, I've noticed that they have one big thing in common -- their mothers stayed at home.

Mine, on the other hand, was a working mom. Something that I think really is a calling for her. She's done an excellent job raising us and teaching many other kids as well. I guess I always planned on following in her footsteps. (She's famous at the Middle School where she teaches, gives motivational talks to women's groups, and turns anything and everything into an excuse to have fun.) I never stopped to think that what's been good for her might not be right for me.

So, here I am at the homefront. As the days and weeks go by I'm getting better at being a content at-home mom. I'm even learning to stop pestering the Lord to see if the time is right to alter my occupation.

In preparing a Sunday school lesson I came across an excerpt from Lucy Mack Smith's History of Joseph Smith. She had recorded the whole experience of Martin Harris losing the first 116 pages of manuscript for the Book of Mormon. She quoted Joseph as saying, "I should have been satisfied with the first answer which I received from the Lord." It really struck home for me. Ever since then I've been trying to be satisfied with what I've been called to do.

Just lately I've developed a new way to look at the lumps and bumps of life. The way I see it husbands, children, in-laws, housework even -- all help to knock off the rough edges of our emerging character. Not an easy process, and one that won't be done in this lifetime, but every little bit that's knocked off gets us closer and closer to being a beautiful, carefully crafted diamond.

So, just think, we're no longer the black little bit of coal that we were when we came into this world. Look at your wedding ring and envision your own bright future!

I figure that the Lord's not done with me yet. I've yet to put my big mouth to some serious work for Him. I just gotta remember to keep my expectations in check. But is that like telling someone not to dream? 'Cause I don't ever want to stop dreaming. Stop creating possibilities that might someday involve me.

What do you think?