Happy Place

Today was a really strange day.  I had to go to my "happy place" four times, and I'm still feeling all out of sorts about it how the day played out.

1.  During physical therapy the therapist took a metal device and scraped my foot all over the place.  Up until today I wasn't totally clear about all my injuries (and I'm actually still a little confused).  It turns out I've got a few fractures in most of my metatarsils and surrounding joints, as well as a few torn liaments, including a really strange "lateral" tear on the side of my foot.  I thought I had six fractures, but I've actually got fractures in six areas.  The therapist said there are actually too many to count.  So when he rubbed around with that metal torture device, it scraped all on sorts of sore areas.  I was too busy in my happy place to ask what in the world he was doing but I'll be sure to do that next time.  By the way, I had a bone scan yesterday and I've got the beginnings of osteopenia, which puts me at risk of osteoporosis, which is no big surprise considering the number of low-impact injuries I sustained.  What's really lame is that I'm young still, so it's not good news really, but it's not horrible news either.  I really think this all relates to my infertility.  So insufficient hormones are the gift that keep on giving.  Who knows really because I also have low vitamin D, and can't stand most dairy products.  Plus being a Caucasian women with a family history of osteoporosis.  I've learned more about osteoporosis in the past two days than I ever cared to know, that's for sure.

2.  Then my physical therapist tried to put one of my joints back into place by whipping my leg in a forceful way.  It sort of felt good but it actually really hurt.  Then right after, he strapped a block of ice with velcro all around my foot.  It hurt so bad, I seriously wondered if it was worse than natural childbirth.  (Just kidding Myndi and Tahsha!)  Luckily my foot went numb after five minutes.  The one good thing that happened was getting to dip my foot in hot paraffin wax.  It was heaven in the midst of an otherwise really sucky visit.  I asked him if he'd like to give me a pedicure while he was at it, since I REALLY need one but don't trust anyone else to do it with the tenderness of my foot and all.  But that was before the torture device and ice episodes, so now I don't trust him either.  Not to worry, he wasn't amused by my pedicure request anyway.

3.  Then I decided to go to the gym for the first time in almost 11 weeks.  I can only ride a bike, do a rowing machine, or lift upper body weights, so I settled on a few weights and a 30 minute bike ride.  I can not believe how out of shape I've gotten.  I was exhausted after about 10 minutes of the bike ride, but I managed to finish.  Wowsers that sucked.  And here's what's really lame.  I got on a scale for the first time since the injury and was surprised to see I haven't gained a single pound.  Clearly I've lost muscle and gained fat, but honestly, if I was working out that hard before... and now I'm not... and my body really hasn't changed that much... why in tarnation am I torturing myself at the gym?  I mean, yeah-I feel better when I work out.  But seriously I'm thinking it's just not worth the effort!  If I had cottage cheese and a muffin top before, and I have one now, conventional wisdom would tell me it's just not worth the trouble.  Except now with this osteopenia problem, weights are a requirement to keep my bones as strong as possible.  What do you think?  I was doing weights religiously before the injury and it didn't seem to help. 

4.  A couple days ago we finally got around to ordering some books my sister recommended to teach Buddy about the birds and the bees.  They arrived today and G and I about died of embarrassment reading through them.  The first one is supposedly for children ages 4 and older.  But oh.my.gosh.  I think I will be removing the page with the mom and dad in bed, with a detailed description of how babies are made.  Myndi-are you sure this is OK?????!!!!!!!  We are freaking out here because Buddy is super curious and has already learned a few things from friends so we need to be clear with him.  But oh mercy, he just seems so incredibly young.  And I just feel so incredibly foolish opening up such a big can of worms.  Not to mention the awkwardness!!!!  Could someone please talk me off a cliff here?!

One This Day

I was talking to my sister the other day about her new life as a mother of two.  Her oldest is quite a handful, and I say that in the most loving way.  You see, my oldest was quite a handful too, so I sympathize.  Except her situation is harder.  After all, I didn't move my "handful" across the country, or have a baby when he was two-and a half years old.  Bless my sister's heart.  No really, she needs blessings. 

Anyway, I was looking at old pictures for a project I am working on.  I was curious to see what Buddy looked like at the age Sambo is right now -- on the verge of turning three.  Sambo is soooooooooo much easier (and smaller) than Buddy was at this age, it's just unreal. So I scrolled through my pictures looking for Buddy on October 22, 2006. 

And this is what I found.  Doesn't he just look like a little punk?  Cutest little punkface I've ever seen, though.  And it was fortunate he was cute because I doubt he would have survived the stage he was in at the time of this picture, if it weren't for that precious face. 

Things do get better, Myndi.

Six Bad and One Good Part of the Day

Bad:

1. G is putting in another long day at the office.  Don't worry, it's not getting old or anything.  And to think it's only Monday.
2. Me, Sambo, and Buddy are all feeling a little under the weather.  None of us are on death's doorstep or anything, just sick enough to feel... not good.
3. Tonight at practice a kid told Buddy he is the worst soccer player on the team.  Buddy believed him, and since he really isn't very good, we had to have yet another talk about talents.  We talk about this almost every day lately.  The real interesting thing is, he actually played pretty well at practice today.  Go figure.  
4. Buddy now knows that I don't really have magic eyes.  He's been suspicious for a few months, but he confronted me point blank tonight.  Luckily, he's had excellent behavior lately so I haven't needed my magic eyes anyway.
5. I forgot Buddy had school today.  Like, for reals.  Forgot.  G  left really early, and I heard Buddy get up.  I was in and out of sleep for the next 30 minutes, all the while thinking how glad I was that he didn't have school today.  Finally around 7:45 I heard Sambo get up and go play with Buddy.  At that point I thought to myself how annoying it was that I couldn't sleep later, since I didn't have any reason to get up.  At 8:02 Buddy came into my room and asked if he had school, since if he did, he was now late.  I told him he didn't.  He then asked what day it was, since yesterday was Sunday.  And that's when the panic hit.  Crap!  We hurried fast and he ended up being 17 minutes late for school.  There is nothing more humbling than taking him to the office to get his tardy slip wearing my pajams, no bra, attrocious hair, while carrying Sambo who was also in his pj's and was  not wearing a coat or shoes.  Nice.  What's so weird about all of this is that last night I made the consious choice to NOT set me alarm, seeing as we "didn't have school today."  (In my defense, he's had 4.5 of the last 10 weekdays off school for one thing or another.)  The really awesome part?  It's only October, so this will most likely happen again at some point this year.  
6. We got some more bad adoption news tonight.  If I didn't have perfection sleeping upstairs, I'd be tempted to lose my faith in the process.  But it works, and I know that.  And I thank God every day for my boys' birthmoms -- that they had the courage to choose adoption.  

Good:

1. Buddy likes to practice for when it's his turn to be the "Sensational Student" at school.  He gets nervous about being on the spot like that, but he's really excited for it to be his turn to show his class a few items that represent him.  Apparently after school today he packed a bag full of new items because when it came time to read his scriptures before bed, he had to rummage through a sack to find his Book of Mormon.  I asked why it was in the sack and he said, "When I'm the Sensational Student I'm going to show them my Book of Mormon to tell them that I believe in Jesus.  I don't care if some kids don't -- because I do." If you knew how self consious he is about most things, you'd realize how significant that is. 

Weekend in Review

The kids are now in bed.  And we're winding down from an excellent weekend.

Highlights:

• When G suggested we pool our resources and fly my sister and her family (including their baby due to arrive any day!) here for Christmas.
• All the help G gave me this weekend.  Hanging Halloween decorations, which pleased Buddy beyond belief.  Mowing and fertilizing the lawn.  Taking me to the grocery store.  Cleaning the house 5 times.  Vacuuming.  Helping with dinner.  Wrangling children.
• When G took me to Craft Warehouse, Dollar Tree, and Joann Fabric because he needed to get out of the house.  The only places I was willing to go were those husband/kid un-friendly places.
• Picking out our pumpkins.
• Going to Burgerville.  I learned they have sanitizer.  And they have a recylcing bin.  I LOVE recycling AND sanitizer!!!!!  I didn't think it was possible to love Burgerville any more, but I do now. 
• When Sambo told us on the way to Burgerville that he needed to go poop.  That was the first time he's ever flat-out told us.
• Staying up late and sleeping in a little. 
• Taking a nap on Saturday.
• Relief Society today.  And typically I'm not a huge fan of Relief Society, so that's saying something.
• When Sambo surprised us by answering this question during FHE tonight:  "When do you feel the spirit, Sambo?"  He thought for a second and said, "Listen to Jesus." 
• Getting this little project finished.  I bought a very low-quality white particle board cabinet off Criagslist.  We gave it a little elbow grease, spray painted it, and updated the hardware.  Looks pretty good doesn't it?  It's now the home for all of our boys' craft supplies.  I love it!  I saw something similar a couple weeks but couldn't stomach the $200 price tag.  Cabinet plus supplies cost around $40.

Lowlights:

• When Sambo told us on the way to Burgerville that he needed to go poop.  I hate public restrooms.
• When Sambo learned to use the word "hate" and now says it in every other sentence.  According to the last 15 minutes, he apparently strongly hates going to bed.
• When G found out on Friday afternoon that he's got a case that is indeed going to trial in a few weeks.  Which is why I enjoyed having him around so much this weekend. 

Charity

I've been trying for a few days to think of something noteworthy to blog about but alas, I have had nothing.  It's not really writer's block that's the problem, but a true case of "nothing is going on!"  I've literally been doing nothing these past few weeks.  I've looked at blogs, watched some TV, spray painted a small cabinet, colored with Sambo, read to the boys, and generally just sat around thinking about my life.  Sounds like a dream come true, right?  Not quite.  There have been a few projects I could be doing from the couch, but haven't.  There are books I could be reading, but haven't.  There are TV shows to get caught up on, but that hasn't happened either. 

You see, sitting around hoping my foot will heal has been incredibly awkward.  Although I regularly wish for a "day off," this is not quite what I imagined. 

Anyway, as I've given all this some serious thought, I've learned a few things.  And you want to know something odd?  I swear I've never been so full of pure joy.  I started taking Vitamin D, so maybe that's helping.  I re-prioritized my life, so maybe that's helping too.

Here's what I think is really happening -- and I have a feeling my comments will surprise you.  As mentioned, I am extremely uncomfortable not doing anything productive.  Plus, I'm extremely uncomfortable with people giving me service.  I'd rather run around nude than have to rely on others to do my business.  (Which is saying something because I'd NEVER willingly run around nude in public.) 

Those things combined, and now you've got several of my insecurities and anxieties in overdrive. 

OK.  So anxious to the max generally does not equal pure joy.  However, as I've sat here, more and more people have come to help.  It's been mind-blowing to see the sorts of friends that have helped with meals, rides, playdates, treats, concern, visits.  And then the number of hours my mom and G's parents have given to clean the house, yard, garage, and new shed.  Way too many hours to count.  You'd be shocked if you knew how much they've done around this house.  And I've been shocked to see how generously people serve.

Yesterday our ward did a "compassionate service day".  Our ward has numerous needs -- some of which are very serious, so everyone was asked to carefully consider how they could help someone in need that day.  I tried hard to think of something I could do at home.  Although the possibilities are endless, I felt an overwhelming feeling that I shouldn't do anything besides play with Sambo.  One friend even asked if I'd help her with her service project.  After giving it a week of thought/feeling extremely guilty, I turned her down, telling her I needed to continue focusing on myself.  Then I stewed about being so selfish for days.  Turning someone down is so not my old norm, but oh, I'm learning, and I am learning to to loooove it. 

Yesterday arrived.  I finally got around to watching the wonderful talk by President Monson about judging.  I thought deeply about that and determined to apply it to my life.  Then I showered, put my PJ's back on, and got out the playdough.  The "service day" was far from my mind.  Soon a knock came.  It was my mom, coming to help, un-announced.  I'm sure she didn't call first because she knew I'd tell her not to come.  After all, G's parents had left the day before and had cleaned the entire house top to bottom before they left.  So my mom got to work outside. 

Within minutes, another knock.  This time a lady in the ward, Jo.  We served in YW together a few years ago, but really haven't talked much since.  Such an unlikely visitor!  She's twice my age, so we have different circles of friends, but I've always really loved her.  She arrived with presents and lots of treats and told me she had seen me at church on crutches, and was interested in coming to help with housework.  I informed her that my house was clean and my mom and shown up 2 minutes before... so believe it or not, I didn't have any work for her!  (I was relieved because I would have been mortified to have her clean my house!)  Instead she made playdough creatures for Sambo and we talked.  To say it was wonderful would be a huge understatement.  She told stories that I needed to hear.  She cared and listened and then I remembered why I've always loved her. 

And then I went outside to see my mom had cleaned up the entire backyard! 

It wasn't until that night that it occurred to me that Jo had come because it was "compassionate service day."  It boggles my mind to think that of all the needs in the ward, she chose me.  We've got a child with cancer, families split by divorce, elderly, single moms, a death this week, lots of unemployment, depression, overworked moms and dads, too many new babies to count, sick pregnant women, people recovering from surgery, and then there's me and my gimpy foot.  At least that's the obvious "problem" I have. 

I'm not trying to brag about the wonderful parents, siblings, and friends I have.  Please don't take it that way.  I'm simply trying to convey how magical it is to be on the receiving end of charity.  It is so awkward for me.  Yet the refining that is happening within me has been profound.  Whatever end of charity you are on, embrace it.  I am learning that there is a time and a season for giving and receiving.  If it's your turn to give, then give with all your heart and listen carefully for the impressions that come about who needs your help and your friendship.  And if it's your turn to receive, enjoy it.  Not just because it's nice to be the recipient of clean bathrooms or a wonderful meal, but because it's so nice to feel the effects of the humility, graciousness, and knowledge that God knows you and knows all your problems -- that inevitably comes when being served.

Another Day Another Dollar

Buddy starting the "Fun Run" at school on Friday.  He did 8 laps in 20 minutes.  He claimed he "wasn't even tired" at the end. 

When I was a kid my mom would make us "job lists" every day during the summer and any other time we seemed bored.  We were expected to complete everything on the lists -- no ifs, ands, or buts about it.  The lists were always long and we had to complete the tasks to my mom's standards, which were extremely high.  I always got assigned the crappy jobs, like cleaning the bathroom because I did such a good job.  To this day I still hate cleaning the bathrooms.  And if there was no work to be done (because our house was small and it was always clean), then she invented tasks like picking up lint and debris off the carpet or re-folding the kitchen towels.  We picked berries for money when we were very young.  We babysat.  My brother had a paper route.  And then when we were legal, we all got real jobs.  We probably complained about all of this at the time, but of all the things my parents did right, this was among the top of the list, in my opinion. 

Working hard was a requirement at my house, and I will be forever grateful for that high standard my parents set.  I don't remember how my parents did it.  I don't remember being threatened, bribed, or even rewarded.  It was just expected we pull our weight in our home.  As a result, all three of us kids are hard workers and we all married hard workers.  In fact, now that I really stop and think about it, I'd dare say that I'm probably the laziest of the bunch.  And I'd hardly classify myself as lazy. 

My mom is the biggest workhorse I know.  She's always, and I mean always, up to something.  She accomplishes more in a day than most people in a week.  Case in point:  a couple weeks ago she watched my kids for about 4 hours so I could get ready for my daddy/daughter barn activity.  My week had been busy getting ready for the activity, plus I had been nursing my broken foot.  So my house was a disaster.  When I got home all my floors were vacuumed and mopped, the house was clean, the kids' rooms were clean, the sheets on the beds were clean and back on the beds, lunch had been made and cleaned up, they had done a food craft (a cute caterpillar out of fruity pebbles) and cleaned it up, she had read to the kids, and played a game with the kids.  All that (plus more, I'm sure) in 4 short hours.  And the kids were happy.  I was even more happy.  Thanks again, mom!!!!!  That's just one example.  I could go on and on about all the work my mom does each day, most of which is for other people.

My dad is a hardworker too.  He taught us the value of a dollar, the value of education and that money comes from hard work.  He has always worked hard at his job and despite lots of uncertainty in the banking industry over his career, his job has remained intact.  He is the type of employee everyone should be.  He works hard at his hobbies, has trained for marathons, and works hard around the house.  My parents don't hire anybody to do anything.  They do it themselves. 

My sister has a master's degree and had (has) a very successful career as a therapist until she moved across the country a month ago.  She was very well-loved by her clients because she was so dedicated to her work.  She had to pack up her entire house by herself when she was 7 months pregnant a few weeks ago and I never heard her complain about how hard that must have been.  She's a worker, so I'm sure it was just another day in the life.  She exercises through her pregnancies, despite being sick as a dog.  And anybody that's spent more than 15 seconds with her oldest son knows how much work and stamina he requires.  But interestingly enough, she's got it.  I'd dare say most experienced moms with 10 kids couldn't hold up as well as she does with her one son.  (If you haven't met her son, you should because he's the craziest and coolest 2-year old I've ever met.  (And that's saying something considering my kids are pretty crazy and cool too.))

Her husband is the second-most hard worker I've ever met (right behind my mom).  He worked three jobs during his undergrad in nursing and was a dedicated father, and kept up their huge yard/farm and still graduated near the top of his class.  He is now in graduate school and I'm sure he will be extremely successful there too.  In the 8-9 years I've known him, I've never seen him sit around. Seriously never.  That guy's middle name should be work. 

When I was a newleywed and my brother was in high school I was really surprised to find out how much he was earning at his part-time job as a server at a countryclub.  I ran across his paystub and could hardly wrap my head around how much more money he was earning than me as a college grad.  He had plans for after high school (going to Europe, serving a mission, college, buying a nice camera), so he was working as much as possible at the highest paying job he could find to earn what he needed.  I was so impressed by that.  And now that he's in graduate school, an involved father, a fun friend, and his ward's YM president, I can predict those work skills learned in high school will payoff even more for his future.  Oh, and he came over the other day and made me dinner!  For real.

If I didn't like his wife so much, she'd irritate me because she's just so perfect.  She's the type that runs on the treadmill through her pregnancy and looks amazing 15 minutes after delivering a baby.  She takes care of a newborn, exercises every day, supports her husband in everything he does, and works as a personal trainer.  And she's also that type that could have 8 kids and not even bat an eye at how much work that would entail.  

And then there's G.  He has a demanding job yet never complains.  He is the rare (I'm learning) husband that does things around the house.  And I don't even have to ask him.  He just knows what needs to be done, especially how I like things done, and does it.  He is an excellent housekeeper:  he knows how to do laundry and put it away in the right place, clean bathrooms, do yardwork, clean up the kitchen, put away toys, keep the cars clean, and take care of the kids.  A couple weekends ago I left on a last-minute trip to Utah and he managed the house perfectly in my absence.  He did the meals, took Buddy to soccer twice, got him to school, took Sambo to swimming lessons, took the kids to church, did a top-to-bottom cleaning of both kids' rooms, did about 7 loads of laundry, and worked from home.  When I'd talk to him on the phone he was never "exhausted" or "tired of the kids" like I always am.  When I got home the house was immaculate.  I was so impressed, but not surprised. 

After reading all that, I know you're jealous.  

So with that long preface, now you can see why G and I were so overjoyed after back-to-school night, when Buddy's teacher said he is "so cool" and "such a workhorse."  In our family, there is no higher compliment than to be a good worker (and of course to be cool). 

The thing is, it's true!  Buddy is such a big help to me.  And I don't mean the kind of "help" where the child is involved in a project so it takes 5 times as long.  He is a legitimate help and support to me and I really appreciate and admire that about him. 

I've been instructed to "take it easy" and "no walking" for a few weeks so my foot can heal.  I've relied on both the kids to help even more than they already do -- and boy have they risen to the challenge.  Buddy helps me with everything and amazingly, Sambo is capable of doing quite a bit too.  I put dusters in both boys hands yesterday and got the house dusted for the first time in a looooong time.  They loved it!  I loved it!  I have to make a conscious effort not to ask my little boys to do to much because if I ask, they'll do it.  They both love to work, especially if they feel like they are really helping and if they feel responsible for the task.

And that's why we've called our blog, "Another Day Another Dollar."  I often go to bed and tell G, "Another day, another dollar.  Oh wait... I don't get paid for this."

Yet all joking aside, it's not the dollar that matters, but rather the process of working hard to have a (relatively) clean house, happy kids, and full life.  I appreciate that work was the foundation of the family I was raised in and the the family I am now raising.  And hopefully Buddy's First Grade teacher isn't the last person to call him a "workhorse."   

In Case I Haven't Mentioned Lately

I love these kids.

Them + G = Best Part of My Life.

(P.S.  We got a glowing report from Buddy's teacher at 'back-to-school night' last night.  And I still can't wipe the smile off my face.  I'm so proud and I'm so happy.  I could never have expected something so simple could bring so much joy.)