Got Happiness?

If you looked around my house,  you wouldn’t be impressed. Hand-me-down furniture.  Carpet, that, like my life, is a bit trampled and worn.  Our meals are far from fancy, the pantry often rivals Old Mother Hubbard.  We don’t take nice vacations, don't vacation at all.  My children, while amazing in my eyes, win no prizes for sports or grades. 

Personally, I’m no glamour goddess. I’m overweight and the signs of age are creeping up.  The smooth and tight of youth are but a memory.  

What a sad life, right?

Actually, I’m ridiculously happy.   Oh, I have my moments when worry takes over and stress balls up inside me.  My pillow is familiar with tears that are shed in the night.  But, these things are temporary and the light of a new morning always brings hope.  How is it that I can be happy in the midst of what the world would view as a bleak existence? 

Happy is a choice.

I have a friend who is in constant search of the next thing, sure that happiness is out there for her to purchase.  A better car, a newer home, nicer clothes.  What she has is never enough.  I’ve watched her as she looks longingly at pictures of her husband when they were young newlyweds.  “Wasn’t he gorgeous- back then?”

Gratitude is the key that unlocks the mysterious door to bliss.  Daily, I am thankful for health, both mine and my family’s.  I have a home, humble as it may be. It is ours. (We share it with the bank, they’re so generous that way.)  My children never go to sleep hungry and they each have a warm bed to snuggle down into.  And, while my body may not be like I want it, my husband loves me just as I am.   

I also have my faith. This brings me unlimited joy as I pray, read scripture and attend church meetings.  I know that I am loved by the Savior and a kind Father in Heaven.

If I can’t find happiness now, it will always be that butterfly, forever flitting out of reach.  I must be still, be grateful, be here.   

It is my choice and I choose to be happy.

National Caffeine Awareness Month

I was looking at the pictures on my laptop, 

searching for some whimsical or thoughtful picture

to post for Wordless Wednesday.

What I found was this-

Perhaps it's time for a 12 Step Program.

Mommy of the Year

Do you ever look back at your life and think, "Wow. I'm so awesome." ?  Yeah, me, too.  Sometimes, I amaze myself with what a great mom I am. Really, I should  get an award.
 Case in point-

We were at Sea World a few years ago.  Max was just 20 months old, and being small, he spent a lot of time in the stroller.  All the other kids decided they wanted to ride the big roller coaster, you know, the one that ends with a big splash?  I said I'd stay with Max. Yep, self-sacrificing, that's me.

 So, Max and I waved good-bye and waited.  We saw the car leave and listened to the delighted squeals.  I stood behind the stroller at the end of the ride, waiting for Handy Man and the kids.  "Oh, look Max. Here they come." I pointed so he wouldn't miss a thing.  You could hear the screams as it began its speedy decent.  It reached the bottom, and the water, a HUGE wave sprayed up- right toward us! I turned and ran.

Leaving my child behind.

(No applause necessary.)

Don't Be Jealous

I got my notice today.

Seriously, I'm on the official winners list.

I mean, the winner selection list. 

Same thing,right? 

Pretty excited to start getting my $5000 a week.

I'm trying to decide what to do first.

Also, just for me, 

this fabulous offer-

Three nickels for $3.99! 

Holy smack, what a deal. 

Don't worry.

When I'm all rich and fancy,

I'll still blog. 

I'll tell you all about my fabulous life.

And, post pictures of my amazing nickel collection. 

I promise not to forget you.

Flexing My Muscles

I believe that people are put in our lives for a specific purpose. I do not believe in coincindence. We may not always recognize the hand of a higher power, but it's there.

Recently, I've had quite a few of these angels in my writing life. As I've said before, I didn't write anything for a very long time. But, now that I'm at it again, I'm finding all kinds of help as I try to develop my skill. One of these helps came by way of a fellow blogger Tangledlou. She writes this amazing blog called Periphery, one which I am absolutely and completely jealous of. I read it religiously. A week or so ago, she posted a book review of Stephen King's book On Writing- a Memoir of the Craft.  I'm not a big Stephen King fan (too gory for me) and I didn't even know about this book. Thought maybe it was new. (Ha! Jokes on me. It was published in 2000.)  After reading the review, I decided I must read it and got it from the library.

No surprise, it's amazing.  I mean, if anyone knows about writing, it's a man who's  written 49 novels.  One of the things that hit home to me is the idea that a book or story isn't written by the author, but more discovered or even uncovered.  I first read a quote about this years ago in a novel by Dean Koontz.  I read it again and again. It described exactly how I felt about writing, but didn't know other people felt the same way. (Sorry, couldn't find the quote.)  Mr. King describes it like unearthing fossils, the story being the fossil. As we write, we don't know exactly what we'll find, and we are often surprised by the way the story takes us.  It's one of my favorite things about writing.

In the book, On Writing, Stephen King gives so much great advice.  I'm not sure I'd call it advice. It's more like mentoring.  He talks about having a toolbox for writing and what you need to 'get the job done'.  He also  gives a writing exercise. He gives some background and then you write a story using that.   As I read the background on the characters, (a couple in an abusive relationship), I thought, 'Well, he's giving me everything, what is there to write?' Then, he threw in the twist.  Change the protagonist and antagonist, so that the victim is a man and the abuser, a woman. I gasped. Well, in my head I did. I got very excited and pulled out my laptop.  I wrote for an hour and a half.  It's nothing like I've ever written before.  (I even used a couple of swear words. Sorry, Mom.)  It was challenging and invigorating.  I don't know that it's any good, but it did what Mr. King set out to do. I wrote without knowing where the story would take me, just let it take me.

I thought about sharing the story here, but it's sort of long. Instead, I put it in a page at the top of my blog, titled My Writing Treadmill.  Read if you like. I won't be offended if you don't.  I'm about half way through Mr. King's book and am excited to see what else I can learn.

Morning Tug-of-War

My morning has a routine.  Mostly, I listen.  I listen as the Handy Man gets up and hear the muffled rain in the shower.  Through groggy mist, I hear him move around the house, breakfast, teeth brushing. Then, he kisses me goodbye, all minty fresh.  One of us whispers our wish that he could stay and sleep in with me.  One more kiss and then I hear the rumble of the garage door.

Soon after, the sounds of my high schoolers as they get ready for their social games and school work.  A slam of the door is my only goodbye as they rush to the bus.  Two more up and I hear cereal bowls and the soft sounds of Looney Tunes.  I hold my breath, waiting for the sound I don't want to hear. I wait for the hushed-voice-giggles across the hall. Those noises tell me my two youngest are awake.  I hope and pray each morning that slumber will keep them just a  little bit longer.  Once they're awake, the battle will begin.

Max is a too-cool-for-school teenager trapped in an 8 year-old body.  A year ago he was diagnosed with ADHD. I'd known for much longer that he had it.  (Sometimes, professionals need to listen to the mother.)  We've gone back and forth trying to find a medication that fits.  We're still trying. I welcome his morning with his pill.  This is my attempt at having it kick in with time to have him get dressed.  He says hello to a new day by jumping out of bed and never stopping till he runs out the door.  His younger brother may or may not have the same disorder. I don't know.  For now, he feeds off Max's energy and bad behavior.  They are a pair to fear.

The morning is filled with running, soaring over furniture, and basic refusal to obey any request I give. And noise. Lots of noise.

I try not to yell. Oh, I've yelled. But, I know it gets me no where. I yell, he yells, I yell. A push and pull that gets nothing done.  He leaves for school upset as I try to make up for my lack with one last holler- 'I love you.' Then I collapse in the nearest chair, fighting tears and the stress-filled lump in my chest, as I shakily accept my 'Worst Mother of the Year Award'.

I'd like to thank my Temper for making this possible.

So, I don't yell. It takes every ounce of willpower I have to stay calm.  I speak softly, gently.

"Max, please sit and eat your breakfast."
"Maxwell, get dressed. Please."
"Hey, your shoes are here, can you put them on?"


It helps. Sometimes.

I know there are people who would look down their noses and shake a finger of scorn for medicating my child. Let them. Max is the third in our family with ADHD, so we aren't in new territory.  The disorder is not a figment of our imagination or a way to shirk the responsibility for a misbehaving child. Max went through the first and second grade falling behind at every turn.  His teachers smiled at my concern and patted my hand, all the while telling me he was doing great. Now, he's so far behind in so many areas, it'll take a long time to catch up.

His meds make it possible to get through a day of school while actually listening to his teacher.  He can focus and stay on task. He doesn't disrupt his classmates (though he still annoys his teacher, but that's a post for another day).  He's a smart kid. His medication allows him to use his intelligence and develop much needed skills.

My morning gets peaceful once the school buses have all picked up their charges and my house is quiet.  For a few hours. Then, one by one, they'll come home.  And, after a couple short rounds of the clock, Max's medication will wear off and his control will dissolve.  Pent up energy and anger rule the evening. I'll search again for that will power as I try to get him ready for bed. Another tug-of-war where no one seems to win. Till, finally, sleep overpowers him and the sounds of the day become settling floors and deep breaths.  And a sigh.

Welcome March- and a big fat goodbye to Winter!

It’s March. Have you noticed? I gleefully flipped my calendar over yesterday.  I love a  new month, with all its empty squares that are yet to be filled with appointments and stuff.  I love that for a few days, my time seems to be my own.  It looks lazy.  For a little while.   I especially like this month, because, there, on the 20^th, circled in bright yellow marker, is the day- the first day of Spring!

We’ve had a weak and wimpy winter.  Hardly any snow and our days seldom dipped below freezing.  On those days when it was cold, I had to force feed my children their coats and gloves.  They weren’t convinced.  What is winter?  It hasn’t shown up this year. 

I do like winter. Like all the seasons, it has its virtues.  There’s hot chocolate, which, let’s face it, isn’t enjoyable at any other time.  Steaming cocoa and a sweaty neck just don’t mix.   I’m not a skier, nor do I fancy being wet, so snow has very limited potential.  It’s good for exactly two things.  One, to dress up my mountains in their Sunday best. (They really do look lovely blanketed in sparkling sugar.)  Two, to give me a white Christmas, which it didn’t even do this year. Phooey.  I prefer to watch the snow from inside, under the covers.  Then it’s romantic and pretty. It also helps if I can do this with a friend.   (And I’m not talking about my kids.) 

Thankfully, according to my ‘beaches calendar’ the chilly months are almost behind us.  This is good.  I like the seasons.  I’m a girl who likes change.  One season all the time would bore me. Even if it was ‘beachy’, like my calendar advertsises.   And, Spring is one of my favorites.  (It runs a close second to Fall, the cherished and most beloved season.)  I like mild, no extreme cold or hot, thank you very much. 

Spring is new growth.  Like the crocus.  Adorable little purple flower.  You’d think, being so small, it would be shy. But, no, it pokes its teeny head up from the just warmed soil, determined to be the first to welcome the new season.  Tulips are its taller cousin.  Following on the crocus’s heels, beckoning the sunshine with brightly hued petals. 

Spring is fresh air.  I love opening the windows and letting in a new breath that sweeps out the stale and stagnant,  leaving my home feeling clean and brisk. 

Spring is outdoors.  With the mild winter, our trampoline has been used all year.  But, with the warmer days, my children can play outside without the rosy-cheeked, frozen-fingered and runny-nosed results.

Spring is renewal.  The sunshine and warmth fill my soul with hope for new beginnings.  It’s also time for General  Conference, when our church leaders speak to us.  Spiritual rejuvenation and guidance, what a great combination.  Also, we get to watch at home, as a family, in our jammies. 

Spring is promise.  Promise that after a long, hard (or wimpy) winter, there is warmth and sunshine ahead.   I can shed my sweaters and chuck my shoes to the back of the closet where they belong.  There is hope for new goals and happy, warm days spent with my children. Time to tilt your head back and soak it up.  

What do you love about Spring?