Lessons from the Lawn

I think mowing the lawn is a wonderful thing. The combination of fresh cut grass, gasoline and sweat is what good hard work smells like. I find that sweeping back and forth across the yard, making real noticeable progress with every pass of the blades, is rather cathartic for me. But I haven't always felt that way.

Three years ago when we found out my husband was deploying with the Army and would be gone for two summers, the initial response of many well-meaning friends was, "We'll mow your lawn for you." It was like a knee jerk reaction to hearing the news. And about half the time that first summer I did get help with my lawn. Our young men's group came by a couple of times. My friends next door or the neighbors behind us would often cross the property line and mow my lawn as they did their own. I enlisted the help of brothers and nephews a time or two. But people had their own lawns--and frankly, their own lives--to worry about and I found the task of mowing the lawn falling on my shoulders much more often than I thought it would.

Now, mind you, I knew how to mow the lawn just fine on my own, but every time I did it I would quietly cry. Not because it was hard but because having to do it after being promised by so many that it would be taken care of, made me feel abandoned, forgotten and extremely lonely. It came to symbolize everything that was so difficult about my situation.

The second summer of the deployment was a completely different story. By that point I had already made it through an entire year--the most difficult year of my life. A year that was fraught with stress and pain. A year that made me figure out who I am without my companion by my side. A year that taught me what I'm really capable of. Mowing the lawn came to symbolize my independence, my ability to take care of things on my own and in some strange way, my own strength to endure hard things.

I'm not about to open a yard care business or anything, but I don't mind mowing the lawn now. Sometimes I quite enjoy it. It's great to see how quickly my yard goes from looking like an unruly jungle to a neat and ordered space. In fact, at times it seems like it's one of the only aspects of my life that I can really control!

Foodaholic

Hello. My name is Sarah and I'm a foodaholic.

Seriously. I think I have a problem. You wouldn't know by looking at me because I'm blessed with the world's best metabolism, but I'm a raging junk food junkie. It's like I'm a real life Lorelai Gilmore. And it goes back many many years. I hate to think about how much money I fed into the high school vending machine (sorry mom!). I recall rewarding myself with Symphony Almond and Toffee chocolate bars almost daily during college. And the M&Ms, french fries and soda I've consumed over my lifetime. . .OH THE HUMANITY!

There has always been a disturbing disconnect between what I know about proper eating and what I actually do. I find food science fascinating and have read numerous books and articles on the subject. But despite all that I know I can't keep snacky urges in check. This afternoon I read an article describing how for some people the dopamine in the brain that is set off by the consumption of fatty foods is similar to the levels found when taking illicit drugs.

Um . ..I think that would be me.

I think what is really becoming obvious, and is therefore totally starting to bug me, is the fact that at times I even act like an addict when it comes to junk food.

On Saturday nights I make sure there is enough soda in the house to get me through Sunday. If there's not, I find an excuse to run to the store or at least check to see if we have limeade in the freezer so that I can get my sweet drink fix.

I hide treats from my family. I tell myself that it's for their own good--you know, the Army requires hubby to be fit and the kids' brains are still developing etc. etc.--but really I just don't want to share.

I love to make cookies and I do it all the time. But I'm a Mormon woman. That's what we do, right? We bake cookies and call it fellowshipping. Most of the time I start out with the intention of giving them away to the neighbors or to my visiting teaching sisters, but more often than not we eat them all before they even make it off the cooling rack.

I always make sure I have at least $1.07 on me at all times so I can stop and get a value menu Jr. Bacon Cheese Burger (or Whopper Jr or McDouble) if the urge comes upon me. And if I were to be totally honest this happens several times a week, although I don't always indulge (I can't if the kids are with me!).

I could go on, but I'll stop because it's embarrassing me.

I had a disturbing addict moment the other day that is still bugging me. I was sitting in McDonald's with my dollar cheese burger and large soda and happened to notice a friend of mine come in with two of her kids. This friend is classy and intelligent and European so to see her in McDonald's, ordering from the dollar menu, totally made me feel better--and I told her so. She probably thought I was nuts. Later as I thought about it I came to the startling realization that I was feeling GUILTY for being there and that seeing her there too somehow justified it in my own mind.

Doesn't that seem just a bit twisted to you?

I'd really like to close this post with some kind of resolve to swear off sugar, eat only leafy greens and banish empty calorie drinks. But I'm not ready to do that, although I'll let you know when I am. Knowing you have a problem is half the battle, right? (Yeah, the easy half, I know.)

I'm going to go make a pizza now, perhaps I'll throw some green peppers on there to make it healthy!

Age of Innocence

This is my sweet daughter. She is in the funnest stage right now. She has always been super chatty(at least at home)but now she really has something to say and conversations with her are rather entertaining. In some ways she seems wise beyond her years, yet at times I am reminded just how young and innocent she is.

Yesterday we were having a conversation about relationships and she said,"I've never heard you and daddy fight and yell at each other." I responded,"You're right. Dad and I don't yell at each other but that doesn't mean we always agree on everything." She said, "Yeah, like Dad likes to eat cold honey butter on warm bread and you like both to be warm."

If that's her best recollection of us disagreeing than we must be doing something right!(or at least hiding things really well!)

She also recently asked me what an X-rated movie was. (Where she ever heard the term I'll never know.) I explained that it's a movie that is full of "a lot of bad stuff." She said, "Oh do the people say bad words and wear immodest clothes?"

Yeah, immodest clothes. That's it.

I've just been thinking about how pure she is--totally unspotted from the world. She's not even accountable yet. I often joke that she acts like a teenager already with her karaoke machine and sassy fashion sense, but she is still very much a little girl who likes to play with dolls and have tea parties. A little girl whose view of life is so hopeful and uncomplicated.

How do I help her hang on to that innocence as she heads into the approaching years? How do I shelter her without being overprotective? The world of her teenage years will be so different than mine was.

Actually, I think I know what I need to do. I just pray that I'm up to the challenge.

Random Complaining

I used to consider myself a fairly optimistic upbeat kind of person but I think the older I get the more critical I have become and the more annoyed I am with silly things. Here are just a few ridiculous complaints I have recently made.

I find it dumb that two of the three judges on America's Got Talent aren't even Americans, and the third judge is David Hasslehoff who is himself devoid of talent. So all three judges are totally unqualified. Which I suppose would explain why a yodeling dominatrix and a dance troupe of transvestites made the quarter finals and the girl who could sing while playing the harp was axed.

I resent all of the coupons and "helpful" information sent to me on an almost daily basis from the baby formula companies. I think what bugs me is that they profess to be pro-breastfeeding--giving nursing tips and hailing the virtues of breast milk--even though everyone knows they don't want mothers to breastfeed at all! They just want to be top of mind should you decide to ween. Baby formula is big business. I find their marketing a bit sinister. So just give me my free diaper bag and leave me alone! :)

And what's with shutting down the grocery store that is just three blocks from my house?! Granted that store was kind of old and more than a little creepy, but it was familiar and convenient and I had come to depend on it. Of course, there are about five other places to shop within ten minutes of my house, but not being able to quickly run grab that one missing item for a recipe or leave to return redbox movies at 8:52 pm is starting to really bug me!

OK, enough griping. I'll be more positive next time I post I promise!

Quote of the Day

I saw the following quote posted on the wall at my dentist office this morning. (Yes I know, "only in Utah") It think it's one of my new favorites:

"Anyone who imagines that bliss is normal is going to waste a lot of time running around shouting that he has been robbed. The fact is that most putts don’t drop, most beef is tough, most children grow up to be just like people, most successful marriages require a high degree of mutual toleration, and most jobs are more often dull than otherwise. Life is just like an old time rail journey ... delays, sidetracks, smoke, dust, cinders, and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas and thrilling bursts of speed. The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride."
— Gordon B. Hinckley

I sure miss him sometimes.

My Hero

I love the 4th of July. I always have. I love singing patriotic songs, even though they make me cry. I love the parade, crazy as it is. I love seeing the sky full of hot air balloons. I love a huge fireworks show, although I think do-it-yourself fireworks are lame.
We weren't able to do much to be super festive this year, the baby is too little and I'm still recovering, but we had a fun afternoon at a picnic with cousins.
Later that evening I stood in my driveway with my husband and watched as two Apache helicopters slowly made their way through the sky. I guess they had flown over some Independence Day event and were heading back. I thought they were kind of cool to see and then my husband quietly said, "I love that sound. It brings a huge sense of relief." For him the sound of an approaching Apache means help is on the way. It means air support is coming to blast the bad guys.
It brought to mind again what he as personally been through in the name of Freedom. He has been shot at, had his truck hit with a rocket propelled grenade--while he was IN it, and even lost a friend in battle.
To be honest, I think the 4th of July is kind of hard for him since coming home. It affects him in ways that I can never understand.
I am grateful for the men and women in uniform who have fought for us.
I am even more grateful for MY man and everything he been through, the sacrifices he has made for our country and the daily sacrifices he continues to make for me and our family.

The baby story

Today, June 29th is the day I have been waiting for and focusing on for the past nine months. Induction day. It was day zero on my countdown to baby.

I never would have guessed that my countdown would actually end five days earlier but I'm EXTREMELY grateful!

I've spent the past few weeks feeling rather miserable. Monday and Tuesday of last week were particularly bad. My body hurt all over--so much I couldn't sleep, I was having tons of random contractions and I pretty much wanted to cry all the time.

I got up at three in the morning on Wednesday to use the bathroom (yet again!) and lo and behold my water broke. At first I wasn't sure what had really happened, I was in the bathroom after all, but it was soon clear that this was not a bladder control issue! I crept back to bed and gently kissed my husband and told him he had to get up. I had no idea how much time we had. My last two kids were induced so I hadn't gone into labor on my own since my first baby over nine years ago. I honestly had no idea what to expect.

We had to get all the kids up and load them in the car. They were a little delirious but very excited. Fortunately I had packed their suitcase the night before just to have it ready. We got to my mom's house a little before four and called her from the driveway to come unlock the door. By then I was having strong and consistent contractions.

I was admitted to the hospital around 4:30 and got the epidural by about 5:15. My doctor showed up thirty minutes later. I was dilated to a six but he could tell things were progressing rather quickly and said he would come check me again in about twenty minutes. Five minutes later I had one really strong contraction that the nurse saw on the monitor from the nurses station. She came back in and said, "that was a big one I bet you're ready." I totally did not believe her! But sure enough that was all it took. The doctor came back and after about three sets of pushes little Henry James made his debut into the world. I guess he was just very anxious to get here!