A Man of the Future...

I called my Grandpa on the phone last week. Partly to share some good news with him, and also to let him know that I had mailed him a package. I talked about my Grandparents in yesterday's post. I wanted to include part of my conversation with my Grandpa in that post, but it was getting long, so I saved it for today.
Sometimes I have a hard time finding interesting things to talk to my Grandpa about. He is computer illiterate and stays home most of the time, while I also stay home most of the time, and there is just not a lot in the way of excitement going on around here. Because of this, my phone calls to Grandpa are sometimes pretty short (10 to 15 minutes) because we run out of things to talk about over the phone.
When I called him last week I was going over recent family events and mentioned that my oldest Sister's Daughter had turned 18, and my Sister had thrown a birthday party for her and rented a roller skating rink for it. Little did I know that this would spark a fairly long conversation about roller skating. Grandpa said that there was a skating rink where he lived when he was young, but that they were too poor to be able to afford to skate. He said that he worked at the rink helping people put their skates on (the old style skates that hooked right onto your shoes) and once the crowd had thinned down he was allowed to skate for free. He also mentioned going home to Kansas after WWII and how the highway there was smooth enough to skate along, and that he tried it out. His Father and Brothers were surprised to drive by and see him skating down the side of the highway. I told Grandpa that he was quite a man of the future back then. Then the conversation turned to roller blades (somehow I thought he wouldn't know what they were) and he mentioned that he had seen them many times at a thrift store he frequents, and that he would love to try a pair out sometime. He just wasn't sure about spending $4.00 on a pair, and he was a little worried about breaking his arm or something.
This conversation opened up a whole new side of my Grandpa to me. He had always been Grandpa to me...a strong man who would always be a soldier in my eyes. A fisherman, a hunter, and someone who loved to tease us when we were kids. I had forgotten that he was once also young, a child even, and that he was fun and adventurous. When you envision your grandparents, who do you see? Now if they are still alive and have all their faculties, try talking to them about how life was when they were younger...does your vision of them change? If they have passed on, I recommend talking to your Parents or Aunts and Uncles and getting some stories about your Grandparents' lives. I know that I will never think of my Grandpa the same now that I have a picture in my head of him roller skating down the highway in Kansas as a young adult.

Growing up...Growing Old

I think I enjoyed a lot about being a child. I was allowed to be out around the neighborhood as long as my parents knew approximately where to find me, and I had to be "back before the street lights came on." I enjoyed the freedom of playing in the neighborhood for many years. I don't think I spent a lot of time as a small child thinking about how much better it would be being an adult (other than an occasional wish to eat what I wanted to eat, when I wanted to eat it)...I was pretty content to get to ride my bike, or my roller skates up and down our street, and to have dirt clod fights in the woods across from where we lived. I rarely looked towards the future.
Eventually I grew into my teen years and developed what was probably not an unusual amount of teen angst. I felt like I was old enough to be in charge of myself, but still had all these rules and restrictions. I looked forward to growing up if only to get out on my own and be the ruler of my own life. Of course, once I was eighteen, moving out into the big, bad world suddenly didn't seem quite as friendly, and I figured out that it was expensive being grown up, and having to be responsible for every little expense myself. I opted to stay living at my parents house for a few more years, until I got married at age 23.
After I married, we moved to Utah so that D could continue his education at BYU. I had transferred from the Barnes and Noble in my hometown to work in the Orem B&N, and I worked full time while D did part time janitorial work at BYU, and went to school full time. We lived in a tiny basement apartment and there were about six single guys living upstairs from us, so it was very seldom quiet at our house. This life was my first real taste of being an adult. I was far away from most family and friends, and I think that it was really a good thing. I had no desire to live in Utah, or to be far away from my family, but being there really required D and I to learn to depend on each other and to work together. I continued to look to the future and as time went by, we reached the milestones of parenthood, my husband's college graduation, moving back closer to family, D's first family wage job, moving again and purchasing our first home, as well as job and situational changes. We now have five sons, we are still somewhat young, and I continue to look towards the future.
There is going to come a point when I don't want to look forward anymore. I know its going to come eventually, I just don't know when. I got a glimpse of this sudden aversion to the passage of time when I visited my Grandparents in Colorado Springs this past summer.
It had been five years since I had seen my Grandparents. They are used to the Colorado climate, so they don't like to travel outside of it. The last time they had come to visit the Northwest was for my wedding. It took five years after that for us to have the means to go and visit them in Colorado. In that five years since they had seen me for my marriage we had had three children and I was pregnant with our fourth. Last summer marked another five years since I had been able to see my Grandparents. We didn't have the funds to all go to Colorado, so I rode up with my parents when they went to visit, and I flew home after the weekend. Five more years meant two more children for us. I am not sure they will ever get to meet my Grandparents in person. Five years also brought what felt to me like a drastic change in my Grandparents. Grandma was too thin. She was crankier than I remembered her being in all the years since I had met her (she and Grandpa got married a while after my Grandmother on Mom's side passed away.) She was also very forgetful. We had the same conversation numerous times, because she kept forgetting the things we had discussed. I don't think I was prepared for the changes. When we had visited before, Grandma had cooked, and had made wonderful fruit salads with a large variety of chopped up fruits. I had somehow held on to the memories of that and was looking forward to the fresh fruit at each meal. What I found was a freezer full of TV dinners, and an oven that didn't work. Their diet now consists mostly of microwave TV dinners. While we were there we lived on three to four TV dinners divided between 7 adults. I couldn't believe it.
Grandpa on the other hand, had not changed as much. He still has a full grasp on his mind, and the only changes I noticed were that he seemed much more frail than I remembered and had a misty look in his eyes. He told stories of his youth, and of his time fighting in WWII and the Korean War. He also showed us pictures he had collected over the years and I enjoyed getting to talk to him. I went there knowing that it was quite possibly the last time I was going to see my Grandpa alive. I can't afford to go to Colorado every year, and even though he sometimes says he would like to come back to the NW to see us, he just isn't up to it.
I have lost two Grandmothers and a Grandfather to illness. They were too young to die in my opinion. Now I face losing my Grandpa to the ravages of old age, and I feel like in many ways I have already lost my step-Grandma to the same. I called them the other day to share the good news of my sister giving birth to my new nephew. Grandma had forgotten that my sister was pregnant, and after I talked to her for a few minutes before she gave the phone to Grandpa, she asked me who I was. Its not like she is losing her mind blissfully either. She knows that she forgets things. It was very hard being there over the summer and seeing her frustration at realizing that she had forgotten about something we had talked about. Seeing it has made me realize that I am feeling ready for time to slow down.
I am nowhere near old, and I don't feel like my parents are near to being old, but time has brought us all a lot closer to that threshold. I dread the time when I may suddenly find that one of my parents has lost some part of their mind to old age, or when their bodies just can't keep up with time anymore. Do I have less time with my parents than I have already had up to now? Have we passed the halfway mark of our time together? When I get old, will I have a strong body, but a confused mind? Or a strong mind and a weak body? I think if I had a choice I am definitely leaning towards keeping my mental facilities over keeping a strong body. Any of the options scare me, and it scares me even more that I won't really have a choice when it comes down to it.
My only comfort comes from my belief in the Resurrection. I find comfort in knowing that I will again see the Grandparents that I have already lost. There is comfort in knowing that my Grandpa will be restored to a strong body, and that my Grandma will be restored to her proper mind. Whatever ravages that come to my parents' bodies and/or minds, or to myself and my husband; We will all be restored. I still wish that time would slow down just a little, but even though I dread some of what will come...I will still look towards the future.

Ah, the joy of Strawberries!

The season has once again arrived here in Oregon. Its the next thing I look forward to after Christmas. Is it Spring I look forward to? No, although Spring is one of my favorite seasons. This special season can beat out Spring any day in my book. This is the beginning of STRAWBERRY season.
Yes, its true you can get strawberries most of the time if you are willing to pay exorbitant prices for them. I am not rich, so for me Strawberry season runs from sometime towards the end March or beginning of April through most of summer. This is the time of year when Strawberries begin to be reasonably priced.
I spotted them at Costco a few weeks ago...but they were out of my price range. $10.99 for a 4 lb container. I tried to stay away from the produce section so as to avoid the temptation to get them anyway. The next week I saw that they had gone down to $9.99. Still too rich for my blood. Then last Friday I was at Costco for a few things and I was feeling a bit down. I made a deal with myself that I would get some Strawberries only if they were below $8.00 (which is still somewhat steep, I usually wait until they are under $6.00). There is no way they could be below $8.00 already. This is what I was thinking as I approached the area they were in. I couldn't read the sign until I rounded the corner and stood in front of the Strawberry display. (Cue the angelic singing). AAAaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh! There it was! $7.99! Of course, as much as I love Strawberries, I am also a connoisseur of fine quality. I was not about to pay that much for inferior fruit. Then the smell hit me...the sweet smell of nicely ripened berries. I took my time looking through several boxes to find just the right balance of deep color, without impending mold...and made my purchase.
Were they perfect berries? No...But they were good. Oregon Strawberries are frankly much better in my opinion than California ones. Oregon berries are smaller, darker, and sweeter. However, Oregon Strawberries won't be in season until June...so I will just make do with the big California ones. Our Friday night date (traditionally we watch a movie, play games or do something fun together...this week it will be watercolor painting...on Friday nights after the kids are in bed) included chocolate dipped Strawberries and a DVD rental. Sunday I made a fresh Strawberry pie. I also enjoyed just eating the Strawberries sliced up, and sprinkled with just a bit of sugar (unfortunately the Cali berries need a little sugar to sweeten them up.)
I am looking forward to the next few months of Strawberry bliss. Strawberry shortcake, Strawberry milkshake, Berry smoothies, and anything else I can think of. For those of you who know me, I would have a tough time deciding between Chocolate and Strawberries if I could not have both. I think if I could get the Strawberries at a reasonable price and quality year round, I might be able to shake the chocolate habit. Lucky for me I can have both, and I can even have them together! I think that Strawberry season might be able to pull me through until my next favorite season starts (school supply season.)
I think I am also going to add an egg slicer to my birthday list this year after reading Scribbit's blog about creative kitchen gadget uses. I never thought about using them to slice anything but eggs before.
For those of you wondering at my use of a capital S when I type the word Strawberries...its not because I am an idiot. Its because I love Strawberries that much.

Daylight Savings is EVIL

I know...some of you are thinking that for someone who gets a little bit gloomy in the wintertime and enjoys the extra daylight in the evening hours, I sound a little bitter. I am. The whole thing just throws me out of whack. (What does that mean exactly? Does anyone really want to be in whack?)
All week everyone at our house has been struggling to come to grips with the whole time change. People have been late to school and to work, mornings are even grumpier than usual, and despite the kids getting up, they still don't want to go to bed at the right time in the evening. I am finding that this is true with D and myself also. Midnight is our standard bedtime. (Once upon a time we were known to stay up until 2 or 3 a.m. regularly, so midnight has been a big improvement). Now midnight sneaks up on us, and we stumble onto it unprepared. Thus for most of this week we have been getting to bed closer to 1 a.m. I feel like I need to set an alarm to alert me to my own bedtime or something.
I know we should probably be going to bed at 10 p.m. or so, but after 9 p.m. when the kids hit the hay is our sanity time. Its our time to just veg out and not have to deal with the whining, the arguing and the lack of reasoning that goes along with five little boys. (Before you get envious of us for having this us time, I will let you know that it is often punctuated by appearances by various children...its rare that we can get through a whole DVD, or even an episode of a TV show on DVD without someone bothering us about something. Plus as a general rule D falls asleep sitting next to me on the couch, and I watch whatever we are watching virtually by myself.)
This habit of staying up late makes it hard to get up in the morning sometimes. I have to confess though that I think I have been waiting for my whole life to be a grown up and get to stay up after the kids are in bed. I have distinct childhood memories of being sent to bed as a child, and before even a decent amount of time had passed we would hear the popcorn popper start up, or the clink of spoons and bowls and we knew Mom and Dad were out there having something good to eat without us. Sometimes it was popcorn, sometimes it was ice cream. I mean, they could have waited until we were at least asleep!
Now that I am a Mom, we continue this tradition in our home. However, out of courtesy to the boys, we watch either part of a movie, or a couple of episodes, and then find a good pausing place before dishing the ice cream or whipping up a batch of popcorn. Now if we could just remember to wash the ice cream bowls...(at least one of the boys takes notice if he finds an empty bowl with the remnants of Tillamook ice cream in it the next morning). We will have to work on that.
For now I will continue to curse Daylight Savings time in the mornings, and to bless it in the evenings when I look outside and its still somewhat light at 7p.m. Of course once summer hits and the boys won't go to bed on time because "Its still morning out!" as they say...I will just be cursing it 24 hours a day.

101 things I love about my husband...

He tells me I am beautiful often.
He loves my cooking.
He appreciates me.
His smile.
His honesty.
He works hard to support our family.
He does dishes.
He folds laundry.
He is willing to dish the ice cream.
He likes to hold me.
He cried when our first child was born.
He comes home for lunch every day.
Eternal perspective.
He is willing to let me have the bigger helping of dessert if I want it.
He lets me read even though he gets jealous of my reading sometimes.
He doesn’t complain when I buy books, even though we already have over 1,000.
He likes to dance with me.
He rubs my back even when he doesn’t feel like it.
He stays up late to spend time with me even if he has to get up early the next day.
He lets me sleep in.
He changes stinky diapers.
He cleans up after pukey kids.
He looks away from scantily clad women.
He respects me.
He supports me.
He lets me have some ME time when the kids get to be overwhelming, even if he has had a long day himself.
He is willing to cook when I don’t feel like it.
He appreciates me.
His eyes.
He is musical.
He reads my blog even though he doesn’t enjoy reading much.
He lets me control the remote.
He takes the garbage out.
He believes in me.
He loves our children.
He likes to take walks as a family.
He cleans when company is coming.
He doesn’t complain.
He is intelligent.
He loves spending time with me.
He likes to hold my hand.
He lets me tickle him even though he hates being tickled.
He doesn’t tickle me because I hate being tickled (yes, I am a hypocrite).
He says Howdy.
He is humble.
He is kind.
He is willing to kill for me (spiders anyway).
He is sentimental.
He is artistic.
He is a good hugger.
He puts the seat down when he is done.
He likes the same kind of music as I do.
He doesn’t mind if I buy ice cream that I like even if its one that he doesn’t like.
He gets the boys ready for school in the morning.
He doesn’t rub it in when he wins at a game (because he is not competitive like me.)
Sometimes he just smiles when I get upset at him.
He always forgives me.
He needs me.
He listens to me.
He doesn’t squash my dreams.
I can wake him up in the middle of the night if I have a bad dream, and he doesn’t get upset.
He lets me play on the computer.
He plays the piano.
He loves singing.
He doesn’t cringe when I sing (even though I often cringe at myself).
My happiness is important to him.
He makes homemade noodles when he makes soup.
He always puts a whipped cream heart on my ice cream when he dishes it.
He calls me sweetheart.
He is a good birth coach.
He encourages me.
He can fix problems with our computer when they come up.
He lets me shop for gifts for extended family.
He never degrades me for being overweight, not even a little.
He is not critical.
Even if he thinks of a good zinger when he is angry with me, he keeps it to himself.
He waited until we were engaged to kiss me.
He is a spiritual person.
He lives our religion.
He is a worthy priesthood holder.
He is gentle.
He is a good Father to our kids.
He is never mean.
He is a hard worker.
He is polite.
He doesn’t degrade other people.
He shows kindness every day.
He is good at Math.
He is artistic.
He likes to be near me, even if its just sitting on the couch together.
He willingly gave two years of his life to serve a full time mission in South Korea.
He is patient.
He thinks people are mostly good.
He is unselfish.
He wants to be with me forever.
His positive attitude.
He tries to help our family be more righteous.
He is my best friend.
He thinks about what he is going to say before he says it.
He is compassionate.
He loves me.

Happy Birthday D! I LOVE YOU!

March Write Away Contest from Scribbit

My previous post was written as an entry in Scribbit's March Write Away Contest. I thought that entering would be a good exercise in writing for me since I haven't felt much like writing for a while. Feel free to check out her site and enter the contest yourself! Entries need to be submitted by March 11th.

Oh, to be a child again...

There are days when I think that life was easier when I was a child. As children we spend a lot of time focusing on the day when we will be a grown up! We think that being a grown up equals a lot more freedom. In some ways this is true. I think that adults have a little bit more freedom of choice than most children do. However, I also think that an adult's freedom of choice is tempered by a lot more responsibility.
Thinking back on childhood, there are a lot of things that I miss. I miss riding my bike. I loved having a bike as a kid. I rode all around the neighborhood, and having a bike was a kind of freedom to explore the world. After age 10 or so I didn't have a bike anymore, and my parents couldn't afford to get one for me. I wished for a bike every birthday. It wasn't until I was in my 20's that I finally got a bike again, but by then, some of the thrill of riding had changed for me. Not long after that my bike was stolen, and it took another ten years to get a new one. Now biking has really changed. My rear end is a lot bigger than it was when I was a kid. Riding a bike just isn't as comfortable as it used to be. Now as an adult there are rules I have to follow when riding a bike. I have to stay in the bike lanes and ride on the road rather than zipping up and down the sidewalks like I did when I was a kid.
Another thing I miss is playing on the playground. Maybe all of my grown up woes can be traced back to the changes in my body as I have become a grown up. The swings are not made for grown up rear ends, and neither are the slides. I don't have the energy to run and play that I had as a child, and although I take my kids to the playground, there is a certain amount of restraint that I feel like I have to show as an adult, and playing just isn't the same. I have also found that grown up bodies just aren't able to defy gravity the way a little kid can.
Birthdays used to be a special thing. It seems like once you pass a certain age Birthdays just lose their lustre. They are just another day, but one that you secretly hope will somehow be magical and wonderful. Even heading towards 34 I can't help but get a little spark of excitement when I think about my Birthday coming up. It doesn't usually take me long to remember that Birthdays aren't what they used to be.
I miss my Grandma. She was my favorite person in the world. There were moments when she was stern, but she loved us, and she was a wonderful, strong person that I look up to still. She died the last day of school my 8th grade year. I still think about her almost daily. When I was preparing to get married and I was going through some boxes of my old things I ran across a birthday card from my Grandma. It was a typical Grandma card. It had a bouquet of flowers on the front, and said "Do you know what makes this world a beautiful place?" Inside it said. "People like you." Of course, there are many Grandmothers out there who would send a card like this. But at the bottom, my Grandma wrote "Believe this card." I don't remember how old I was when I got that card, or even getting it the first time, but when I found it in that box as I was preparing to get married and move out of my parents home...I felt like I had gotten a big hug from my Grandma.
Being a grown up has its stresses...but it has its joys as well. Now I have five children of my own. There are days when I wish I could go back to being small enough to play on the swings and ride my bike. But most of the time, I am glad I have the chance to be the one that makes the Birthdays magical for my kids. I am the one who can give them hugs when they get hurt, and can teach them the things they will need to know to make it through life. In a little over a decade, I may even get to be a wonderful Grandma like mine was. Maybe growing up isn't so bad after all.

Sugarholics Anonymous

Sometimes I think that sugar is an evil thing. We have a love hate relationship, sugar and I. I love it, and I hate that I love it. Hello, my name is Heffalump, and I am a sugarholic.
Okay. Admitting you have a problem is supposed to be the first step to recovery. When an alcoholic seeks help for their addiction they are eventually required to stop partaking of alcohol all together. I haven't heard of many plans that say, You can just cut back and only drink on the weekends and you will be okay. Or, just drinking on holidays or special occasions is acceptable. Treating alcohol addiction is not like going on a diet. Its cold turkey.
I am not ready for cold turkey (although a nice roast beef sandwich with swiss cheese and stone ground mustard sounds good right about now).
I know that some of you are probably thinking that addiction is too strong a word for my relationship with sugar. Because I knew you would be thinking this, I looked up the definition of addiction in the dictionary. Here is what I found.
ad·dic·tion /əˈdɪkʃən/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[uh-dik-shuhn] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation
–noun
the state of being enslaved to a habit or practice or to something that is psychologically or physically habit-forming, as narcotics, to such an extent that its cessation causes severe trauma.
OR
The condition of being habitually or compulsively occupied with or or involved in something.
Okay, so the second definition could pretty much peg you as addicted to anything in the world. For instance, I habitually and (when the smell is bad enough) compulsively change stinky diapers on a daily basis. I would not actually say that I was addicted to it though.
Sugar though...in many forms it calls to me. Maybe I am not beyond saving though. I haven't sunk to eating sugar in its pure and overly processed form. Maybe there is still hope.
Maybe if I stop going anywhere or doing anything I can overcome it. Alcoholics would need to avoid going to bars, or liquor stores. I would need to avoid going to Costco or to any grocery store. Heck, even the craft store has those impulse candy items right at the register to tempt people.
I think sugar addiction runs in my family. As long as I can remember my Dad has tried to distance himself from sugar, only to succumb to the siren call of a candy bar, or a bowl of ice cream. Other family members have gone on diets only to make special exceptions for events like Christmas, Birthdays, and Anniversary celebrations. If there were an alcoholic at a special event where booze was served like dessert, would you think it was okay for them to have just one or two drinks since it was a special occasion?
Am I making light of my sugar addiction? Is it just a big joke to me? Well, I am making light of it a little bit. But I am also concerned about it. There are times when I am feeling pretty down, and a nice Lindt truffle sounds better than a hug from my kids. That is just not right.
I have been trying (halfheartedly) to get in shape and lose some size for a couple of months. Most of my family (sibs, spouses, parents) are doing the same. The first week of it, I had cut way back on the sugar and chocolate. I was being strong...I knew that eating one oreo meant eating ten, so I didn't eat any. I spiraled deeper into depression. I didn't lose any weight because I was just sitting there all day, doing nothing. Then I couldn't take it anymore. I went to get oreos, but they weren't on sale. (Take hope that while I am addicted, I am not willing to pay any price for my bad habit...it has to be on sale...I am thrifty first). So I contented myself with a box of ding dongs from Costco...and since candy bars were on sale for 5 for $1 at Fred Meyer, I bought an assortment and proceeded to try to have willpower. I wrote a blog about my love of oreos, feeling sorry for myself that I couldn't have them. One of you, not knowing that my love for oreos was really a horrible addiction to the cream filling and the sugar in it, kindly sent me two boxes. (Don't feel bad, you didn't know, and THANK YOU SO MUCH!) That was the dark day. The day I ate oreos, ding dongs, a candybar and some lovely cookie dough ice cream (which is another addiction on its own because it not only has cookie dough in it, but the icecream itself is cookie dough flavored). I weighed myself. And I was actually a pound or two lighter! For a brief moment my tortured mind hoped that I could enjoy a diet of chocolate and cream filling and still lose weight. Alas...a month later, that is not the case.
My struggle continues. All I have to say to all of you out there, is when you make a wonderful dessert when company is coming, or you offer to share your cookies or candy with a co-worker or a friend...you might be enabling a sugar addict. Because we are everywhere...are you one of us?
I will close with a quote from my good friend Sans Auto, who left a comment on this blog a few months ago that included the words. "Nothing says I love you better than a veggie plate." Think about it. And if you come to my house, and I serve you a rich and wonderful dessert, just remember that sugar makes me feel loved...and I am just passing that love along to you!