Spinning . . . out of control!

I'm hooked. I finally tried a Spinning class this morning. I've wanted to try Spinning for a couple years now, but I've psyched myself out because of the crazy stories I'd heard (people passing out, throwing up, etc.). My friend Sara has been asking me to come for a few weeks now, and she and another friend Karen and I all went together this morning, and I LOVED IT!! Yes, it was intense, but since you control your own speed and resistance, you can go at your own pace, though there is an instructor there calling out "moves" (which I'm sure is not the right word -- I'm obviously new at this so I don't know the terminology). It was so motivating because you're in this funky studio with dimmed lights and music pumping; I did not, however, get as into it as the die-hard class member at the front of the room who tosses her perfectly styled little bob from side to side to the beat of the music. Karen, Sara and I (sorry -- no photos -- we were all pretty much dripping by the end!) all agreed that the workout goes super fast and leaves you feeling great (Though I have to admit my bum is sore from the seat. As nice of bikes as they are, the seat was not comfortable at all!). So I guess I've now officially jumped on the Pilates and Spinning bandwagons. Not sure what's next . . . maybe yoga?

Missing Bishop Teina

I'm often surprised by what makes me start missing someone or something. The other day it was Eliot's blessing certificate. Grant had set it out after he'd found it in an old binder, and one of the first things I noticed on it was Bishop "Teina's" signature ("Teina" is his first name, but most people called him that since his last name, which I won't even attempt to spell here, was too complicated for most of us non-Pacific Islanders to pronounce!). All it took was seeing Bishop Teina's signature to make me miss our old bishop and our old ward in Provo.

Before you go conjuring up in your head what it is I missed and start imagining a stereotypical Provo, Utah, LDS ward, let me stop you and assure you that this ward was nothing like what you are most likely imagining. It was, to this point in my life, the most unique ward I have ever had the privilege of attending. I could go on and on and list the characteristics that made that ward so unique, but, in all honesty, I don't have that kind of time, and you probably wouldn't believe me if I told you. It was that unique. It was a have-to-see-it-to-believe-it kind of place. I will say this -- so much of what I loved and miss about that ward, and so much of what I believe made that ward so unique had to do with Bishop Teina and his one-of-a-kind leadership style.

Bishop Teina with his wife, Ramona (left), Vernetta, our former
Relief Society president (right) and one of their friends
at a farewell luau for Vernetta's son in July of 2006

I don't really believe in idolizing individuals, but if there was ever someone who deserved to be put up on a pedestal, it's Bishop Teina. As I would tell my dad about the experiences we had while we attended that ward, he would tell me over and over again, "Monica, I hope you're writing this down." And I'm ashamed and even more importantly, so regretful, that I didn't. I'm afraid that most of the details of the experiences we had with Bishop Teina have all but faded, leaving me with a few distinct memories (which I'll share as best as I can remember them). But overall, my experiences and memories have fuzzed into an overall feeling, and that feeling is LOVE. But not just any kind of love. Pure, absolutely unconditional, nonjudgmental, gentle, happy, refreshing love. When I read the phrase in the scriptures that describes God as not being a respecter of persons, I think of Bishop Teina and how he loved people. The beauty and the magic of his love, from my perspective anyway, was that you could feel that you were so special to Bishop Teina, that he loved you individually, and yet you knew that he felt that way about everyone he knew (and probably those he didn't know, too!). And that feeling -- Godlike love -- was and is so reassuring, so pure, so perfect.

As for the experiences that led me to feel that kind of love, here are the few that I remember clearly:

One evening Bishop Teina had asked Grant, who was serving as one of Bishop Teina's counselors at the time (which is another story for another day), to meet with a woman whose mother had just passed away and help her make arrangements for the funeral. Because it was a single sister and Bishop wouldn't be able to meet Grant there until later, Grant asked me to accompany him. I did, and I'm so thankful to this day that I got to witness that sweet experience. Grant and I did the best we could to bring comfort to the sister and her family, and Grant carefully and kindly attended to the details of making funeral plans, but the whole course of the evening changed dramatically when Teina and his sweet wife arrived. In his humble and kind way, Bishop came in, talked kindly and happily with the family, then called his daughter and asked her to bring . . . his ukulele (told you his style was one-of-a-kind). And then, he did the perfect, most appropriate thing he could have done -- he sang with the family. He sang some hymns, but mostly he sang sweet songs like "You are My Sunshine" that brought smiles and comfort and peace to a home that so desperately needed those reassuring emotions. I left that home amazed and with a new understanding of what it means to "comfort those that stand in need of comfort" and "mourn with those that mourn." What I learned from Bishop Teina is that perhaps those Christian invitations mean to make people smile, to make them feel happy again, to sing with them and pray with them and just love them.

A much less dramatic example, yet just as sweet for me, was when Bishop greeted me in the chapel before sacrament meeting one Sunday and told me that he had something for me in his office. I had just assumed that he had some materials or paperwork that pertained to my calling, but my heart was touched again by his sweet kindness when Bishop grabbed a fresh, juicy orange off his desk and handed it to me. I was expecting at the time, and Grant must have mentioned that I was needing to have more Vitamin C in my diet (not sure why?), so bishop had set aside a "special" orange just for me. If I remember correctly (this is why Dad told me to write these things down as they were happening), he had been in California on business and had brought that fresh, California orange back with him.

One of the last memories I have of Bishop Teina was how he would "send people off" as they moved from the ward. It was a common practice for Bishop to pull out his beloved ukulele from behind the pulpit and, after the closing hymn and prayer were done, gather at the front of the chapel those who were leaving, along with some of the singers from the ward, and sing "Aloha Oe." We witnessed this sweet send-off several times, and he did the same for us when we left. Our last Sunday happened to be the day that Eliot was blessed, so the congregation was filled with not only our sweet ward family, but also my immediate and some extended family. It was a tearful but joyous goodbye, one that you don't see too often in wards outside of the Pacific islands. Unusual? Yes. One of the purest demonstrations of love I've ever witnessed? Absolutely.

As I've typed these experiences, a few others have come to mind. I'll write those down, too (I promise, Dad), but for sake of space here and because some are too personal and sacred to share, I'll jot them down in my personal journal. As a final thought, how grateful I am for the Bishop Teinas of my life -- the Christlike people who use the talents and gifts individual to them to bless the lives of others and who unselfishly show genuine love to everyone they meet. I truly aspire to be like him and his sweet wife. Aloha, Bishop Teina (we love you). "We love him, because he first loved us" 1 John 4:19.

Simple Joys

I was recently encouraged to make a list of my simple joys -- the little things in life that make me happy, and, as this person put it, "if you lost it all, the things that would still bring you joy." I'm sure this list will grow over time, but off the cuff, here are some of my simple joys:

• Hugging Grant and having him rest his chin on my head
• Eliot's slobbery kisses (which he now gives me voluntarily, and which he gives to the picture of Jesus on one of his books -- melts my heart!)
  
• The smell of newborn babies
• Sitting at the kitchen counter at my parents' house and talking with my mom
• The McEuen girls' "sister hug"
  
• Playing "Steal the Bacon" with my nieces and nephews
• The smell of the pine trees in Flagstaff, Arizona, and hearing them sway and creak in the wind
• Remembering Grandpa's laugh
• Climbing into a bed with fresh, clean sheets
• The smell of home-baked bread
• Watching "It's a Wonderful Life" at Christmas time with Grant
  
• Eating a just-out-of-the-oven chocolate chip cookie
• Taking Eliot to get his picture taken
• Wave running and barbecues at my in-laws' during the summer
• The look on Grant's face at Disneyland
• Listening to Don Williams while floating down Lake Powell on the houseboat . . . miss those days!
  
• Buying Christmas presents for Eliot
• The sound of laughing with my mom and sisters
• Any homemade dinner by my mom -- even if I use the exact same recipe, it never tastes as good as Mom's
  
• Decorating for Christmas while listening to Christmas music
• My mother-in-law's pie crust (and the pie that goes in it, obviously!)
• Watching Eliot sleep
• A freshly cleaned bathroom
• Sunlight trickling through Oregon pine trees (it doesn't happen too often, but when it does, it's beautiful!)
  
• My nephew Nate's power hugs
• Seeing Eliot with his Nanny and Ampy and Grandma and Grandpa
• Grant's huge, contagious smile
• Fresh-squeezed orange juice and/or Hna. Dupont's fresh-squeezed guava juice
  
• Getting a hand-written card or letter in the mail, especially from my mom (who has the most perfect handwriting I've ever seen!)
• The smell of rain (and I'm in the perfect place for that, now aren't I?!)
• Hearing Eliot laugh
• The memory of holding Eliot for the first time -- the sweetest and most sacred moment of my life
  

Third Time's a Charm . . . Bracelet!

It's time to put away the bling. I'm not a huge jewelry person, but I do have some staples that I wear (or more appropriately, wore) somewhat regularly. Besides my wedding ring, I usually wear a plain silver band on my right hand (given to me by a girl I taught on my mission), a simple silver necklace/pendant, and my Eliot bracelet, shown in this picture:

My Eliot bracelet was one of my favorite gifts I received when Eliot was born. It was given to me by (get ready for this) my sister's sister-in-law, who does amazing bead work. It's truly a "charm" bracelet -- filled with all kinds of sentimental details. Besides spelling out Eliot's name in sterling silver "block" letters, it has pearl beads to signify Eliot's birth month (June) and a charm with the birthstones for Grant's and my birth months. It's super sweet and one of my favorite pieces of jewelry to wear. Or at least is was.

At Christmas time, I accidentally broke the clasp in the process of building a snowman in my in-laws' front yard. I never found the clasp but worried that it would turn up when my father-in-law was snow-blowing the front walk (no sign of it yet ... phew). So, I tucked it away until my cousin Becky, who also makes bracelets, could help me fix it.

I was so pleased the other day to finally get to wear my Eliot bracelet again. No sooner had I gotten used to the feel of the beads dangling around my wrist, though, when Eliot gave my bracelet a solid tug, and the other end of the bracelet snapped apart, beads popping off around us on the carpet (at least we salvaged all the beads!). So, I guess I'll take it home with me this summer and get Beck to help me fix it (again) or maybe I'll have a friend show me how to re-string my bracelet, since, knowing my luck, the bracelet may get broken yet again.

Or maybe, like so many of the young moms out there (who are apparently much wiser than I am!), I'll just put the "bling" away for a while. Maybe I can make teething ring bracelets and pacifier pedants the new craze?!

Opting for Growth

Oregonians love their bumper stickers, so it seems. Or at least I notice them here a lot more than I did in Utah. Maybe that's because the messages are of a different sort than the ones adorning bumpers in Utah. In place of the overabundance of "My child is an honor student at such-and-such high school" or "RULDS2?" stickers, Oregonians prefer liberal, politically charged or environmentally friendly messages, or, to be fair, a great deal of stickers promoting Christianity and faith ("It's all about Jesus" is a personal favorite).

So imagine my surprise when one of my life's great epiphanies resulted from reading and thinking about one of these very bumper stickers. I saw the thought-provoking sticker not too long after we moved here, during the time when I was still battling homesickness and making the huge adjustment to not only the move, but also being a first-time mom and a first-year law school student's wife. I felt overwhelmed. I felt new and awkward in just about every setting because everything and everyone was new to me. I felt anxious. I felt lonely. I wanted my old life back -- the life where I knew everyone and I knew places because I'd lived in that area my entire life. I missed the familiarity, the comfort level, the ease.

So what did the sticker say that evoked enough thought that I felt the need to blog about it? Well, right in front of my eyes, waiting for a light to change, there it was, the message I needed to cure my blues: "Change is inevitable. Growth is optional." And right there, at the intersection of Madrona and 12th Street, I felt it. I felt the need to get over my wishing back the past (because it wasn't going to come back) and to move forward. To let all the inevitable changes, and there were many of them, amount to something positive. To let them strengthen my character, open new experiences and opportunities, and maybe, just maybe, even make me a better person. To allow me, as the wise little sticker suggested, to grow.

So now, several months after the fact, I think I can honestly say that I have grown. I've accepted that my life did change -- in big ways. And those changes were hard. They were uncomfortable, stretching, painful, sometimes even heartbreaking. But with those growing pains came wonderful opportunities -- opportunities to swallow my pride and ask for help, particularly from Heavenly Father. My prayers certainly became more personal and more fervent as I worked through those lonely first months. Opportunities to make new friends. I think because of my situation -- being far from home and being an overwhelmed new mom/law school "widow" -- I've formed stronger bonds with people than I have in a long time. And I find it no coincidence that God has placed people who I consider to be angels in my path -- friends who have shown me the ropes, known just when to call or stop by, who have lifted and encouraged, offered to help, or even just performed the simple (yet sweet and thoughtful) act of dropping off ice cream, brownie mix, and DVDs of a favorite TV show on a bad day.

And the list of opportunities goes on and on. Opportunities to reach outside myself and leave my comfort zone. Opportunities to be humble and realize I can't do it all on my own. Opportunities to rediscover my talents and find ways to put them to good use. Opportunities to remember how it feels to be the new girl and go out of my way to make sure that no one else has to feel sad or lonely or out of place. Opportunities after opportunities after opportunities.

Opportunities to grow, which is, by the way, optional (so I read on a bumper sticker anyway).

Have you read this?!?

So my initial take on Life of Pi (when I was about half-way through it) was "fascinating." And it is. But, after finishing it, it is also a lot of other things, among them deep, intriguing, crazy, and, oh, disturbing. It's an amazing book, with obviously a ton of research and quite a bit of thought. The plot twist at the end completely threw me, which left me feeling more than a little naive. So my final analysis is yes, I would recommend it, but only on certain conditions. I wouldn't recommend it to anyone with a queasy stomach or anyone who's feeling especially emotional (so probably no pregant ladies -- maybe that's why I stopped reading it in '06?!). That said, it's the kind of book you want other people to read because you want to talk about it and sort out your feelings about it. I want Grant to read it this summer so we can talk about it. I have a feeling he's going to pick up on how it ends, though. He's a lot less naive than I am, and plus I've told him there's a major plot twist, so he'll be watching for it. It's also the kind of book that you probably need to read more than once, but for now I can't bring myself to do it. So, next read is either one of two things (haven't decided yet) -- a Church book or a lighthearted Young Adult novel. I need to slow down my pulse and read something a little less intense for this next go-around.

I Did It!

So I have a couple of things that I've accomplished over the last couple weeks that I want to give myself a good ol' pat on the back for!

Funny, huh! The ladies in charge of "Waist Management"
give these stickers to anyone in the group who's lost
five or more pounds!

The first is this -- I'm a "Big Loser." Actually, I'm a "Waist Management" success story! Our ward's Relief Society has an amazing Enrichment Activity Group that meets every Thursday night. They call it "Waist Management," and it's a weight loss support group/nutrition class. I think it's SO interesting and so helpful! The ladies in charge are doing a phenomenal job and have made it really fun. They have an optional (and private!) weigh-in before each half-hour class, and then they have a lesson about a variety of topics. We've talked about whole grains, "bad" fats vs. "good" fats, the Word of Wisdom, how to use free weights properly, etc., etc. And they do a drawing every week for prizes that have to do with that week's topic (i.e. a bottle of olive oil or a jar of honey . . . even a set of free weights . . . yeah, I was jealous of that one!).

I've always been pretty interested in learning about health and nutrition, but this class has been that extra boost I've needed to lose those last few pounds that I've been trying to lose, well, for years, honestly. Not that I feel I've needed to lose a ton of weight or anything, but this has been a goal for my own "personal best" that I've had for a long time, and I can honestly say that the weekly class and the weigh in especially have been so crucial to my success. Having that accountability element has been what's motivated me to get out of bed in the mornings to go hit the gym and to stay away from treats and just live and eat better. I don't think I've ever felt so great, and I mostly just feel good about accomplishing something that I've said I was going to do. I've never been so proud to be a big loser! :)

The second accomplishment may not seem like a big deal, but it's a huge step forward for me. I asked for help. In a moment of stress and frustration, I asked a friend for help. Maybe not a big deal to those of you who are better at this (and a lot less prideful!) than I am, but I really, REALLY struggle with asking anyone for help. I somehow have it in my head that I just need to suck it up and get through whatever I'm struggling with alone. I know, how prideful and dumb, not to mention lonely!

So it seems like some of the advice I recently read in Jane Clayson Johnson's book, I Am a Mother, is finally sinking in. In one of the chapters of her book, she debunks some of the existing myths about motherhood, including the myth that "needing help is a sign of weakness." She says this about that myth: "You don't have to be alone as you make your way through motherhood. It's okay to ask for help. In fact, some of the best friendships are developed between mothers who are willing to empathize when sorrow sets in, to listen when you simply need someone to talk to, or to pitch in when things get tough."

How true this is. And how grateful I am for the friendships I am forming by having to rely on others for help. Living away from family has forced me to ask for that help outside of my family, which, for some dumb reason or another, is so, so difficult for me. But I'm learning. And yesterday I made the huge leap of letting someone know that I was struggling, and then, when she graciously offered to help, I let go of my pride and accepted.

So I'm vowing to be better about this. And I think one of the reasons I think I will be better is this: I love being asked by someone else for help. I am so happy to help anyone who needs an extra hand, especially if and when that need is urgent. It makes me feel good to be able to help, and I feel so flattered when someone thinks of me as someone they can call when they need help most. And if I feel that way, then why would I feel like I'm imposing on someone else when I need their help? If it's such a blessing for me to be able to help someone, why would I deny the same blessing to another by refusing to ask for help?

So there ya go. My two self-granted "atta-girls" for the week. I think I mostly want to document these accomplishments because I'm so grateful for them. They've been things that I've had to pray for help on, that I've had to work hard for, and that ultimately, I received strength that was not my own to be able to accomplish.

A Happy Birthday

Feelin' the love.
Cards galore, sweet "pampering" gifts from the ladies in the R.S.
presidency (including Debbie's a-MAZ-ing home-made toffee),
a "par-tay in a package" from my sis Meliss,
a sweet Willow Tree statue from Grant, a "temple" bracelet
from my friend Mary, Cricut supplies from my VT companion . . .
all so thoughtful and generous! Thanks, everyone!

Lately I've started questioning some of my own beliefs. Normally I'm a huge believer in celebrating. I believe in celebrating holidays, accomplishments, and I especially believe in celebrating birthdays. I've never understood people who downplay their birthday and say they'd rather forget about it. Granted, these people generally don't like to be reminded that they're yet another year older, but I've never thought that had to be the focus of a birthday. To me, the focus of someone's birthday is to celebrate that person -- who they are, the life they live, the things they love -- all of which should be celebrated to some degree by gathering together with loved ones, having a special meal, and if nothing else, getting to indulge in some yummy dessert, right?!

Well, then it happened. I started finding them. Little white hairs at the edge of my hairline. I first found one about a year ago when I was expecting Eliot, though my sweet sister Lauren (aka my hairstylist) was quick to point out that she had seen some before then (so no blaming the baby/pregnancy, I guess). And lately, I've been noticing more and more. They're tiny little ones, probably only noticeable to me (I hope!), but that's beside the point. I know they're there. And it's unnerving. I haven't even hit the big 3-0, and I'm getting "old lady" hair!

So now I'm starting to understand all those people who don't like to be reminded about their birthdays. Whether it's a birthday or white hairs, it's not fun to be reminded that you're getting older, that you're not as young as you used to be, or to have your body show signs of its inevitable aging.

Fortunately, however, my sweet husband pulled me back to earth and re-grounded me in my convictions. SO WHAT, he said, if I do find an occasional (or more-than-occasional) white hair?! We're as young as we feel we are, and we still feel like we have a life ahead of us. And, if we're going to keep up with our kids, who, based on Eliot's demeanor so far, are going to be little bundles of energy, we need to keep a "stay young" mindframe.

So, end of story, I DID celebrate my birthday . . . all weekend long, in fact! And I did all those things I said someone should for their birthday -- I "gathered" with loved ones, albeit a lot of those interactions happened by phone and e-mail this year, I had not one but two YUMMY meals (went out on Friday and then Grant cooked one of my favorite dinners for me Sunday), and oh did I indulge in a decadent dessert -- a homemade knock-off of my favorite Olive Garden dessert, the lemon cream cake, which we served with raspberry sorbet -- HEAVEN!!

Thanks to everyone who made my day so special. Thanks for your kindnesses and loving gestures that reminded me that birthdays really are meant to be celebrated.

Why this blog . . .

Most of you know that we/I (well, Eliot, really) have a blog. It's been wonderful and fun (and will continue, so, to quote a favorite movie, "Nobody panic!"). Eliot's blog has been the perfect way to keep loved ones up to date on what's happening in our life while we're away for law school. It's been exciting to learn about the blogging world and HTML and all of the other available resources that make posting pictures, videos, text, etc. fun and interesting. It's even been overwhelming at times to have so much to want to post and only so much time. So why would I want to start up another one?!?

Well, maybe it's the writer in me. As much as I've loved trying to take on Eliot's "voice" and write from his perspective, it's limiting because it is, after all, the voice of a baby (and a boy, for that matter, and what do I know about boys?!). There have been so many times when I've thought of a topic I wanted to "blog" about, and yet it just didn't seem like it would work on Eliot's blog. So this will allow me to have a venue to post those introspective, oh-so-deep thoughts and allow Eliot's blog to be what it's evolved into -- a sweet, fun place to post all of the sweet, fun things he (and his parents) are up to, and we'll leave the heavy stuff to "Mom's blog."

So why the title? I don't know if I'll keep it forever, but it was kind of an idea that grew and then seemed to gel when I found the quote from President Hinckley's book. Since a blog is a way of representing through words and visuals who someone is, and thereby what they stand for, I thought I'd let this blog be about what "M" stands for (Monica, Mom, Marriage, McEuen, Mormon, and many, many other things).

For so long I've hesitated to get this blog going, wondering if the whole premise was too "preachy" and wondering if that might turn people off. But this week, after the recent passing of President Gordon B. Hinckley, the prophet of the church I belong to, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I've realized how much more I truly DO want to stand for something, just as he always did. I WANT to be associated with and stand for good things -- marriage, motherhood, family, love, honesty, creativity, joy, etc. -- and I'd love it all the more if I could stand for those things in the way that President Hinckley did: unapologetically, but humbly, sincerely, and always with a gentle sense of humor. So in honor of his life and in an effort to follow along that same path of goodness, here I go, attempting to stand for something in whatever small ways I can.

"And Sweetly Sleeps that Little Boy . . ."

Eliot as a newborn (here only a few weeks old)
sleeping peacefully.

There is something sweet and wonderful about watching my son Eliot sleep. And not just because the house is quiet at long last or because I can finally get something done without attending to him every few seconds.

Since Eliot was born, I've loved to just stare at him when he's sleeping. I love to wait a minute or two before turning out the lamp in his bedroom at night, just so I can watch him lie there perfectly still, his head off to one side, his beautiful lashes looking so sweet against his full, rosy cheeks. And when I rock him to sleep, I admit to holding him a few minutes longer, not because he needs some extra rocking to fall completely asleep, but because I, as his mom, need those moments to let his peacefulness and sweetness seep into me.

As a mother, I've gotten to know Eliot's many "personas. " There's alert, happy, playing, giggly Eliot. There's hungry, voracious, down-to-business eating Eliot. There's just woken up, snuggly, cuddly Eliot. And then there's my sweet sleeping Eliot. I love all of my Eliots (at the appropriate moments, of course), but there is something especially wonderful about my sleeping Eliot. When he is peaceful, and our house -- for those few precious moments, at least -- is silent and still, it hushes the noise and the distractions that swirl about me and reminds me that life can be, for a few moments, at least, calm and peaceful and still . . . just like my baby boy.

(On a lighter note, this is Eliot sleeping -- and snoring -- just
after a trip we took to the Riverside Park on a
beautiful fall afternoon. Guaranteed to make you smile!)