Catch Ya Later

In an attempt to bring some order to this world of mine that has felt a little out of control since the new year (or before then, maybe?), I'm going to be simplifying for the next month or so. I need to get on top of some things -- projects, exercising, taxes, pre-move cleaning and de-cluttering, etc. In order for those things to happen, something's gotta give. As I've evaluated where I can come up with some extra time, I decided blogging, Facebook, etc., all needs to be put on hold. I love blogging and plan to continue. Blogging has been a great temporary substitute for scrapbooking while funds and time have been short, it has served as a therapeutic means of me getting my feelings out and recording life events so I don't forget them. But, it's far too easy for me to put Eliot down for a nap, plunk down in front of the computer (too often with an unhealthy snack or two in front of me!), and, before I know it, those two precious hours of time, when I could and should be getting kid-free projects done, are gone. So my plan is to spend the weeks between now and Spring Break (end of March), getting back on the wagons I have fallen off -- getting organized, back in shape, and hopefully sane again. I'll report back on all of that later! In the meantime, contact me by phone or e-mail if you need to and know that I'll be back shortly! Don't miss me too much! :)

"As a Child Doth Submit ..."

My family likes to do things in batches. For instance, the summer Eliot was born, my three younger sisters all got married between the dates of May 18 and August 1, and for good measure, we threw in two babies being born -- Eliot and his cousin Michael, who, though due two weeks apart, were born on the same day. I guess if we're going to do something, why not do it big, and do it all at once? Though much less celebratory, over the past few weeks, we've all decided to jump on a medical illness and injury bandwagon. A few weeks ago, my mom slipped on a small flight of stairs and landed badly on her shoulder, which she broke and even shattered in a few places; she is now in the painful process of recovery from the surgery necessary to repair it. In the meantime, one of my sisters also slipped on some stairs and sprained her ankle, another sister broke a toe, Grant sprained his ankle playing basketball, and this week, we ended up in the hospital with Eliot, who was suffering from respiratory distress brought on by a bad reaction to a cold. Yep, do it big, and do it all together. Maybe that can be our new family motto.

The very day that we took Eliot to the hospital, I had been venting all my frustrations in a post entitled "Tired." Mostly to get my feelings out, I was jotting down all of the things that currently have me frustrated, discouraged, and yes, very tired. This "piece of cake" third year of law school that we had heard about has not been so piece of cake for us. And this last semester has started out extra difficult. Between waiting for a litter of dogs above us to move out, our apartment flooding, fighting a disgusting, ongoing battle with ant and mold infestations, the above-mentioned family medical troubles, and a little boy I can't seem to keep well, I have grown a little weary. I almost want to retract my promise to not wish away this last year of law school because, truth be told, we are counting the days. Counting the days until we can leave this dank and moldy apartment, where the motto of the management seems to be "we can paint over it." Counting down the days until we can move that much closer to owning a home where we can actually fix problems instead of, well, in their words, paint over them, and at least not share walls and ceilings with inconsiderate neighbors. Counting the days until we can get Eliot to Utah where his health seems to do better with the drier (though admittedly not as clean) air. Counting the days until we can be by family and able to assist when someone is ill and injured instead of helplessly waiting for word a thousand miles away.

It was in that lovely, optimistic spirit, that I took my son to the doctor's office, and within an hour, found myself checking in to the hospital. In the many opportunities to wait, and wait, and wait some more as the doctor examined Eliot and as we got checked in, I found myself mentally evaluating how well I was going to handle that experience, especially since I had literally been typing out that afternoon how tired and overwhelmed I have been feeling. I thought that Eliot in the hospital might be my breaking point, that I would end up having a major meltdown, that I would consider drastic outcomes like packing up our stuff, shipping out to Utah, and telling Grant I'd be back in May for his graduation. And yet, like so many moms do in those "going gets tough" moments, I held it together. I surprised myself by my with-itness. I was calm. I was patient. I didn't cry or get upset. I didn't feel sorry for myself. I was almost cheerful at times. I was blessed with strength beyond my own and the ability to forge through a scary and unknown situation. It was one of those times when I got to see how strong and resilient I really am under my whining and complaining outer shell.

I think a lot of that faith, which I was quite reassured to find really is resting deep inside of me, was summoned up by none other than the calming example of my child. If you know Eliot very well, you might not think the words "calming example" describe him too well. He's a sweet child, and pretty well-mannered, but he's not exactly calm. He's got a ton of energy and is on-the-go most of the time. I guess what I mean by "calming example" in this instance was that he wasn't too upset or worried about our little "hospital adventure." In fact, he seemed to think it was pretty fun. I was a bit surprised because as of just a couple doctor visits back, he would tense up the moment he realized where we were, and once clothing articles started being removed and particularly when any form of examination would begin, he would lose it. And yet this time, from start to finish, he was calm and cooperative. He even thanked the nurses after receiving his breathing treatments and yicky medicine, and when anyone would leave after coming to check on him, he would call, "Thanks for coming!"

I can't explain Eliot's composure except that I think it was a blessing from a merciful Heavenly Father. Maybe He, knowing what was typed up in my unpublished blog post, decided to give me a break. I think what would have been most difficult for me at that point would have been to have an upset and frightened child and to have to find the courage to comfort him when I felt frightened and worried, too. Mercifully, I found my own fears being stilled as my son eagerly soaked in the novelty of getting to watch Toy Story about five times in a row and eat french fries in bed. No, it wasn't an easy experience. Our night was awful and we got little to no sleep, which, combined with multiple doses of steroids to open up Eliot's airways, resulted in a walking basket case of a child by the time we left. Yet we managed. We came out fairly unscathed. Thanks to kind and caring nurses, good physicians' assessment and care, and most of all, the bravery of a sweet little two-year-old, we made it.

As I lay in the hospital bed that night, Eliot in his cage-like crib next to me, obediently trying to fall asleep in a new place full of unfamiliar lights and noises, I found my heart filling with so much gratitude for him. I was so proud of him, so impressed by him, so grateful for his strong spirit which was helping me to be brave, too. I found myself running through an unspoken testimony in my head of how much I have learned from my child, of how thankful I am for the priesthood through which Eliot had just received a blessing that assured a quick recovery, of gratitude for the inspiration I had received (and luckily followed) to plow through a lot of red tape and hassle to get additional insurance for Eliot, a testimony that my Heavenly Father is aware of our family and all of the struggles that we are facing. A testimony that He knows I am tired, and that even though I may continue to be so for a while longer, He will help me. I felt the assurance that most of that help would come through the strengthening power of His Son, the Savior Jesus Christ, whose atonement is the greatest source of enabling power. I also felt a powerful witness that additional strengthening power has been sent to me through another of Heavenly Father's sons, my sweet and strong Eliot. I know that He has been sent to me and to our family to be a calm and happy leader. And I am grateful already for his influence and can't wait to see him fulfill that role as he grows older.

As I have reflected on what this experience has taught me, this verse from The Book of Mormon came into my mind: "For the natural man is an enemy to God, and has been from the fall of Adam, and will be, forever and ever, unless he yields to the enticings of the Holy Spirit, and putteth off the natural man and becometh a saint through the atonement of Christ the Lord, and becometh as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him, even as a child doth submit ..." (Mosiah 3:19). Clearly I have a long way to go in ridding the "natural man" in me and becoming a saint, and yet, clearly, the way is set before me. My model is right before my eyes -- I am to become "as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon" me. I am to become like a child. I am to become like my child.

If my Eliot, an innocent and tender-spirited two-year-old, can be tough and smile and make others happy and cheerful even when he's scared and in a new place and struggling to breathe and doesn't feel well, then maybe I can be tough and face my moldy apartment, my fears about the future, the inconveniences and frustrations of apartment living, and whatever else "the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon" me and my family right now. I, like Eliot, can be brave. I, like Eliot, can make difficult times easier for myself and those around me by having a patient and upbeat attitude. I, like Eliot, can be grateful for the good and simple things -- the "cowboy" movies and the french fries -- that make the journey easier. I, like Eliot, can submit cheerfully. I, like Eliot, can thank those who are helping me and show appreciation for what's intended to make me stronger, even if it's tough medicine to swallow. I now have a new image in my mind when I think of the invitation to become "as a child." I think I'll forever see my Eliot, smiling in a hospital bed, gleefully popping french fries and telling his nurse "I do great!" as she finishes his treatment. Yes, Eliot, you did do great. I want to become more like you.

B-day 2010

After plans getting jostled around a bit because of the temple being closed for maintenance, trouble finding a babysitter, etc., Grant and I ended up spending a relaxing night out at one of our favorite little restaurants in Salem, Word of Mouth. It has a to-die for menu of fresh, mouth-watering food. I went with an old favorite and Grant had the best fish and chips he's ever had. We both can't stop thinking about how delicious his steak and mushroom soup was, though.

Me with the beautiful bunch of hydrangeas from Grant on the day before my birthday (since my birthday was on a Monday, which is a busy day for all of us, we mostly celebrated on Sunday) .

For dinner on Sunday we made homemade "Cafe Rio" (a favorite fresh-Mex grill in Utah) pork barbacoa salads and enchiladas. The only bad part? It was fast Sunday and the crockpot of heavenly smelling pork was self-imposed cruelty!

Here's Grant with his barbacoa, enchilada style.

Eliot was plenty happy with his quesadilla and black beans.

And I could not have been more pleased with my enormous salad, complete with creamy tomatillo dressing. It was a LOT of work to recreate a meal you can pick up in minutes back home, but we were pretty darn proud of ourselves. We were stuffed and so happy by the end of it all!

Me on my actual birthday, with one of my Barefoot Contessa coconut cupcakes. Oh. My. Goodness. Were they good! With a side of Marionberry Pie ice cream, my birthday was complete, and we are now all a few pounds heavier ... a sign of a great weekend!

Wondering about the "4"? We didn't have any candles besides this one in our house, and we figured 3+1 (from 31) = 4, so it worked. Grant could not bear the thought of me not having a candle to blow out, so we improvised. We just couldn't figure out how to get the "4" to face the right direction, obviously. I would have flipped the picture, but then the "Happy Birthday" sign would be backwards ... oh well!

Feliz Cumpleanos (That's How They Say It in Spain)

My first birthday. Love the angle of this picture, not just stylistically, but because it captures what I remember about birthdays at my house growing up. Cake at the kitchen table with streamers strung from the chandelier to the four corners of the dining area, balloons in each corner and from the center of the chandelier.

Not sure which birthday -- I'm guessing third or fourth. I love that I'm pondering my cake. The cake in this picture is one of the heavenly banana-nut cakes that my Nana would always buy for us. Grant and I both agreed that there are some definite resemblances between Eliot and me when I was little.

I hope it's not narcissistic, but I love birthdays, including my own. I love the chance to celebrate someone and their life and their likes. I love fixing a special meal, finding just the right gift, coming up with just the right cake and ice cream combination, all to help that person feel special for the day. And I'll admit it, I like to feel special for a day (or weekend, or week, depending on how it falls and how we're able to celebrate). It's fun to get to go out to a favorite restaurant in your honor or have a lovingly prepared favorite meal, and who doesn't like indulging in their favorite dessert and getting to make a wish?

I think I love birthdays because I grew up in a home where birthdays were a magical thing, thanks to the generations of women before me who apparently loved birthdays and thought they were a big deal, just like I do. My Mom and her mom were probably the ones who instilled in me the importance of celebrating birthdays. During my early years, I remember my mom asking me what I wanted for dinner and making me spaghetti or her amazing from-scratch teriyaki chicken. She would always have just the right gifts wrapped to perfection with hand-selected cards signed with her perfect penmanship, and with all my sisters' and dad's signatures, too. When my grandparents were still alive, we would usually celebrate with them within the week of our birthday with a Sunday afternoon trip to Bountiful, where we enjoyed yet another homemade masterpiece of a meal, complete with a beautiful banana-nut birthday cake from Dick's bakery in Centerville, topped with a porcelain birthday doll and just enough frosting roses for each of us girls to have one of our own. What special memories those were -- I wish I had realized how thoughtful and carefully planned all of it was. I think I would be more grateful. But in my little girl heart, I think that was what I loved most -- to feel so loved and special and treasured. Which is what I want to pass on in my own home and family. To continue in those traditions that instill a sense of worth and value. I want to celebrate each person's place in my family and let them know how grateful I am for their life, that they are a part of my life.

Some of my happiest birthday memories include my 8th birthday, when I got to have a "friend" party, something we didn't do too often at my house. I also got to go to dinner at the Hotel Utah (now "The Roof" at the Joseph Smith Memorial Building), all dressed up in my white baptism dress. I got a pink rose, a corsage, eight crisp dollar bills, and extra special treatment as I had dinner one-on-one with my mom and dad. I felt like a little princess as I rode the elevator to the restaurant and other hotel patrons admired me in my beautiful dress. My mom's good friend in the ward even brought me a wonderful bouquet of pink, white, and red balloons. That same birthday is filled with wonderful memories a couple months later when my Papa and Nana were able to come home from Hawaii, where they were the temple president and matron at the time, and participate in my baptism. I was baptized in the font underneath the Tabernacle on Temple Square, which, to my knowledge, is no longer there. My dad baptized me and my Papa confirmed me.

As I got older, Mom and Dad changed traditions a bit and started taking us girls out for our birthdays for an individual date night. I would almost always choose Olive Garden and would often frustrate my dad when I would order plain spaghetti. My tastes have become a little more refined since then, but I always loved that special attention. I felt especially loved and grateful on my 16th birthday when my dad came home with a banana-nut cake from Dick's, all the way from Centerville (over an hour away from our house), since my grandfather had passed away the year before and my Nana's health was declining, so the celebrations I had known in my younger years gradually stopped. I loved getting that special cake and what the extra effort meant.

Since my days at home as a child and teenager, I've all kinds of birthdays -- birthdays in a college dorm, birthdays on my mission (my 23rd celebrated just days before I flew home from Spain), birthdays as a newlywed, birthdays with my in-laws and learning their traditions (the army men and melted-legged ballerina that seemed to appear on almost every cake for years, and the "singing" cake knife, for instance), and now quiet birthdays with my two boys while we're away from family. Mine is the only birthday we've had to/been able to celebrate in Oregon since Grant's and Eliot's are in the summer and we've been with family for theirs. We've gotten to find new favorite restaurants here in Salem, try new recipes for scrumptious cakes and cupcakes, have Oregon specialties like Marionberry ice cream or enormous slices of cake from "The Konditerrei" -- things that will help me to remember these special birthdays during this time of my life.

This year there were more special things to celebrate my birthday -- a gorgeous bunch of hydrangeas from Grant, a homemade "Cafe Rio" meal that left us stuffed and happy, beautiful cards from friends and family, thoughtful gifts and treats, Facebook wishes, a scrumptious, quiet dinner out at one of our new-found favorite restaurants. Thanks to everyone who helped to make my day special and contributed to many wonderful new birthday memories!

In the Mood for Love

In honor of February and Valentine's Day and all the love stuff that goes with it, I've put up a new "Love Songs" playlist. If you're not a fan of V-day, shut off the tunes, but if you're all twitterpated and feeling extra romantic this month, crank it up! It's a totally random one -- some songs that are special for me and Grant, some that he would mock if he saw them on my playlist, some that even I can't believe I put on. I'll let you figure out what's what! I will say that my favorite track is probably "The Very Thought of You" by Billie Holiday. It makes me so happy and captures how "just the thought" of Grant makes me happy and maybe even a little forgetful (I know, me, forgetful? You're shocked!). Take a listen and share a favorite romantic track if I haven't included your special song.

Inspired

I was inspired by this quote today as I was out and about on the Internet:

"The ordinary acts we practice every day at home are of more importance to the soul than their simplicity may suggest."

-- Thomas Moore

I was also inspired by the darling blog I found it on: http://www.aprettycoollife.com/. The author is a crackup and super talented -- oh to have the time and money to decorate like she does. I like her style and sense of humor, and I may have to check in from time to time ... add that to the list of blogs I should check more often but don't.

I Know Exactly What I Want ...

... for my birthday cake this year. These scrumptious-looking Coconut Cupcakes from The Barefoot Contessa cookbook. My cousin Katie raved about them on her blog (which is worth checking out -- your mind will reel at how creative she is and all of her adventures living in a tiny Brooklyn apartment with three little ones), and I just remembered them the other day. I love coconut and think these little goodies, over-sized, from-scratch coconut cupcakes with homemade cream cheese frosting, might be the perfect treat for my birthday. Some people are horrified that I make my own birthday cake, but I don't mind one bit and actually enjoy it, especially when I can take the time to make something special and super delicious. I'll let you know how they turn out. Coconut and cream cheese ... how could they be anything but fantastic?