I could start this with a massive political harangue, because I've been thinking about it, but I won't. My next book to read is Alexis DeToqueville's Democracy in America, however. I last read it in high school or college and I can't remember exactly what it said, but I know it was good and apropo to the times. If I could get through The Federalist Papers I would probably read that, too, but I'm not sure if reading in three- or four-minute segments allows for any deep understanding. By the time the kids are in bed at night my brain is shot. What I will really read, when given the choice between something staggeringly profound and something fun in the evenings when I have some free time, is something fun 60% of the time.
Okay, 70%
85%, tops.
I shouldn't have mentioned my wonderful double oven in a recent post: I jinxed myself. Child Four was swinging a heavy A&W glass mug in a carefree way in the kitchen and accidentally knocked the glass on the oven door, which broke into thousands of pieces and slid all over the kitchen floor. From where I was sitting it sounded like an avalanche of marbles, and I couldn't figure out what we had that would make that sound. Husband, who was nearby, banished the kids so they wouldn't cut their feet and spent the next half-hour sweeping and vacuuming glass fragments. Good-bye, second oven. I loved you for your ability to cook pies while I also cooked dinner in the top oven at the same time. I loved you for allowing me to get all the meal components on the table, simultaneously hot and on time (which is still somewhere around 8 pm. It takes a lot to make me want to cook in the evenings these days). Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners were so simple with you, dear oven, even when cooking for 15 or 20. At least, beloved oven, you weren't the oven with convection cooking. Still, I will miss you.
Well, it gives Husband something to look for with his Magical Bargain Eyes. I think he bought that oven second-hand for about $50 and it served us well for a long time. After that: an induction cooktop.
Oldest Child is at camp this week. She gets home tomorrow and it will be nice to see her big blue eyes again. She already has a babysitting job for tomorrow night, should she choose to accept it.
That's all I got. Oh, except that Four took Six downstairs without his diaper after we got home from swimming. As Six is only 11 months old, he isn't potty trained. I spent quite a while cleaning up a poopy mess out of the carpet before I wrote this. Aren't you glad I told you? I'm just pointing out some more nasty messes mothers must be inured to in order to fulfill the job. Yeah, I'm tough.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
Vomit Stories and Other Ramblings
Why is it that kids wait until the middle of the night to really start vomiting? Do they save it up?
Saturday night I heard Child Five groaning. As he hadn't yet caught the bug, I figured it would be good to watch him closely, so I told him to get his blanket and pillow and head for the living room. I grabbed the throw-up bowl and got him comfortable on the living room floor and put on a movie. After about 45 minutes he curled up in a ball and said, "My tummy really hurts." The bowl was under his face in .00007 seconds, just in time for the eruption. It's sad that I could feel so satisfied about that while my poor child had liquified chocolate cookie coming out of his nose.
After he finished and I wiped him up, I took the bowl into the kitchen to replace the plastic bag liner. As I walked into the dining room, Oldest Child came bolting up the stairs with her hand over her mouth. I shoved the bowl under her face and she let things go. "Watermelon?" I inquired as she stood gasping. She just nodded.
In the end, I had four of the six children in the living room in various states of discomfort. One movie ended and we started another and I lay on the floor wishing I could just leave them to it and go to bed, as I hadn't had much sleep the night before, either. Finally, Oldest Child, who had her own well-used throw-up bowl, said, "Mom, I can watch over Five. You go to bed." Bless her. It was after 2 am by that point. Five dragged his blanket and pillow down the hall about 20 minutes later and I put him back into bed. He suffered no more ill effects.
Of course nobody went to church on Sunday except me. I had to teach Relief Society at 1, so I left Six home with the girls and Husband right before my class started. I seem to have flown through this without more than a little queasiness, for which I am really grateful.
Some of you have asked me why my blog name is Eva Aurora. I can't remember if I answered this already on my blog, so I may be repeating myself: Eva Aurora is the name of one of my Swedish ancestors. I have always liked the name. I think it has a good meaning, kind of like "new dawning." I use it for privacy. Obviously I don't put any family names on here, either. I don't know it it's necessary or not to take that many precautions, but if you know me and my family I guess you can supply the names in your head. If you don't, well, these names are as good as any.
Child Four finally got to go swimming for the first time since her accident (for a description of the accident, see the post entitled "Terror in the Grass" in June's postings). She was so happy. We went and bought her some tight knit pants to cover her scars while she swims, as they can't be in the sunlight for a year, and she also slathered them with sunblock. Right now they look pretty ugly -- all red and new-looking. We'll give them some time. I had my appendix out when I was twelve and I can barely find the scar now.
I am writing my book again. I had quite a bit written before, but I decided to scrap a lot of it and start over. One of my mistakes was putting a flash-back almost within the first paragraph. Duh. There were a few other things I needed to change, plus more research to do, as the book is historical fiction. I have always loved the Old Testament with it's fantastic stories and amazing people. I remind myself over and over while reading any scriptures that the people in them were real people: complex, dynamic, flawed, human. People haven't changed that much in basic emotions and reactions to events in their lives, I think. Cultures may be different, technologies may be different, but the most basic things that make us human are the same. That's what I like exploring. Plus, there is plenty of room in the Old Testament to try and come up with reasons why the characters did what they did. You'll come across gaps of decades or centuries. Plenty of room to wiggle.
I have to go make dinner. I hope the kids' stomachs are back to normal because I'm cooking Indian tonight.
Saturday night I heard Child Five groaning. As he hadn't yet caught the bug, I figured it would be good to watch him closely, so I told him to get his blanket and pillow and head for the living room. I grabbed the throw-up bowl and got him comfortable on the living room floor and put on a movie. After about 45 minutes he curled up in a ball and said, "My tummy really hurts." The bowl was under his face in .00007 seconds, just in time for the eruption. It's sad that I could feel so satisfied about that while my poor child had liquified chocolate cookie coming out of his nose.
After he finished and I wiped him up, I took the bowl into the kitchen to replace the plastic bag liner. As I walked into the dining room, Oldest Child came bolting up the stairs with her hand over her mouth. I shoved the bowl under her face and she let things go. "Watermelon?" I inquired as she stood gasping. She just nodded.
In the end, I had four of the six children in the living room in various states of discomfort. One movie ended and we started another and I lay on the floor wishing I could just leave them to it and go to bed, as I hadn't had much sleep the night before, either. Finally, Oldest Child, who had her own well-used throw-up bowl, said, "Mom, I can watch over Five. You go to bed." Bless her. It was after 2 am by that point. Five dragged his blanket and pillow down the hall about 20 minutes later and I put him back into bed. He suffered no more ill effects.
Of course nobody went to church on Sunday except me. I had to teach Relief Society at 1, so I left Six home with the girls and Husband right before my class started. I seem to have flown through this without more than a little queasiness, for which I am really grateful.
Some of you have asked me why my blog name is Eva Aurora. I can't remember if I answered this already on my blog, so I may be repeating myself: Eva Aurora is the name of one of my Swedish ancestors. I have always liked the name. I think it has a good meaning, kind of like "new dawning." I use it for privacy. Obviously I don't put any family names on here, either. I don't know it it's necessary or not to take that many precautions, but if you know me and my family I guess you can supply the names in your head. If you don't, well, these names are as good as any.
Child Four finally got to go swimming for the first time since her accident (for a description of the accident, see the post entitled "Terror in the Grass" in June's postings). She was so happy. We went and bought her some tight knit pants to cover her scars while she swims, as they can't be in the sunlight for a year, and she also slathered them with sunblock. Right now they look pretty ugly -- all red and new-looking. We'll give them some time. I had my appendix out when I was twelve and I can barely find the scar now.
I am writing my book again. I had quite a bit written before, but I decided to scrap a lot of it and start over. One of my mistakes was putting a flash-back almost within the first paragraph. Duh. There were a few other things I needed to change, plus more research to do, as the book is historical fiction. I have always loved the Old Testament with it's fantastic stories and amazing people. I remind myself over and over while reading any scriptures that the people in them were real people: complex, dynamic, flawed, human. People haven't changed that much in basic emotions and reactions to events in their lives, I think. Cultures may be different, technologies may be different, but the most basic things that make us human are the same. That's what I like exploring. Plus, there is plenty of room in the Old Testament to try and come up with reasons why the characters did what they did. You'll come across gaps of decades or centuries. Plenty of room to wiggle.
I have to go make dinner. I hope the kids' stomachs are back to normal because I'm cooking Indian tonight.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
If yer gonna spew, spew into this
When I woke up this morning I felt distinctly queasy. Of course the kids didn't sleep in at all. That would have been too nice after three of them kept me hopping all night. Child Five needed something at what seemed like O'Dark Thirty and I stumbled out of bed to get it and felt really queasy. When I went back to my bed to lie down, Husband moaned and said something about never eating Devilled Eggs again.
Later, still lying around feeling nauseated, I told Husband that this was what morning sickness was like. Not that I am pregnant (I'll just nip any rumors in the bud here)! Husband sort of mumbled something indistinct and I didn't get the satisfaction of knowing if he really understands now what I went through six times with six kids. I thought, oh, I'll use this as an excuse to stay in bed and watch movies.
HA!
Turns out several of my other children woke up queasy, and with them not being stoic about it, I heard the moaning and groaning (and occasional vomiting) all day. I figured if I couldn't play hookey I would just put all the queasy in a little box in my head and get on with being mom. Husband obviously had a much worse case than I did (and I don't think it was my Devilled Eggs. If it was food poisoning we'd be wishing we were dead and lying on the floor of the bathroom with a pillow and a blanket for company), so I took the kids to IKEA again to see if they still had this marvelous microwave with a built in extractor to put over the stove, which I had seen in the As-Is room for 40% off, thus solving my microwave-on-the-counter dilemma (the microwave went onto the counter when Husband bought and installed a double oven, which I love, but which took up all space for the microwave). It was gone, of course.
Some of the kids were hungry so I got them the 50 cent hot dogs. Ugh. We all felt like pulling over to the side of the road in about five minutes.
Husband was going to force himself to come with us and even got up and got dressed, but when I was sitting in the car waiting for him, he sent out Child Three with the message that he had decided not to. I was surprised. He hates sitting around. He doesn't count being sick as a valid excuse for watching movies in the middle of the day (whereas I can always make up a reason to watch a movie.), so in between yelling at himself for wasting his time, he read. After I got home from IKEA and Walmart, I convinced him that the best distraction for extreme nausea is watching a movie. He agreed and I got to watch some Stargate-Atlantis in the middle of the day with him. The sick kids moaned and groaned and I sympathized the best I could, and now they are all finally asleep with throw-up bowls by their heads, just in case. If there's one thing I hate doing in the middle of the night, it's cleaning up vomit in the dark while holding your breath and trying not to wake up all the other kids by hurling every last thing you've ever eaten (including carrots). When someone moans, "I'm going to throw up!" I yell, "The BOWL! The BOWL!" Quietly, of course. But with emphasis.
Later, still lying around feeling nauseated, I told Husband that this was what morning sickness was like. Not that I am pregnant (I'll just nip any rumors in the bud here)! Husband sort of mumbled something indistinct and I didn't get the satisfaction of knowing if he really understands now what I went through six times with six kids. I thought, oh, I'll use this as an excuse to stay in bed and watch movies.
HA!
Turns out several of my other children woke up queasy, and with them not being stoic about it, I heard the moaning and groaning (and occasional vomiting) all day. I figured if I couldn't play hookey I would just put all the queasy in a little box in my head and get on with being mom. Husband obviously had a much worse case than I did (and I don't think it was my Devilled Eggs. If it was food poisoning we'd be wishing we were dead and lying on the floor of the bathroom with a pillow and a blanket for company), so I took the kids to IKEA again to see if they still had this marvelous microwave with a built in extractor to put over the stove, which I had seen in the As-Is room for 40% off, thus solving my microwave-on-the-counter dilemma (the microwave went onto the counter when Husband bought and installed a double oven, which I love, but which took up all space for the microwave). It was gone, of course.
Some of the kids were hungry so I got them the 50 cent hot dogs. Ugh. We all felt like pulling over to the side of the road in about five minutes.
Husband was going to force himself to come with us and even got up and got dressed, but when I was sitting in the car waiting for him, he sent out Child Three with the message that he had decided not to. I was surprised. He hates sitting around. He doesn't count being sick as a valid excuse for watching movies in the middle of the day (whereas I can always make up a reason to watch a movie.), so in between yelling at himself for wasting his time, he read. After I got home from IKEA and Walmart, I convinced him that the best distraction for extreme nausea is watching a movie. He agreed and I got to watch some Stargate-Atlantis in the middle of the day with him. The sick kids moaned and groaned and I sympathized the best I could, and now they are all finally asleep with throw-up bowls by their heads, just in case. If there's one thing I hate doing in the middle of the night, it's cleaning up vomit in the dark while holding your breath and trying not to wake up all the other kids by hurling every last thing you've ever eaten (including carrots). When someone moans, "I'm going to throw up!" I yell, "The BOWL! The BOWL!" Quietly, of course. But with emphasis.
Stupid In School
This is comedian Brian Regan. I loved this, but I have to ignore the Sonic the Hedgehog stuff. What's up with that?
Friday, July 25, 2008
International Relations
I met a very nice girl named Hillary from Estonia the other day. She knocked on my door and I invited her in where she unsuccessfully tried to sell me some very expensive study guides for my kids. Despite the fact that I didn't want what she was selling, we had a good chat. She asked me if I knew where Estonia was, and when I told her her jaw dropped. She said, "How did you know that?" (I assume most people don't know where it is if that was her reaction) and I said, lamely, "Uh, I looked on a map once." I wished her luck. She was a very good saleswoman and spoke excellent English (oh, how I wish our kids learned foreign languages in elementary school!) and I told her Americans love accents.
I myself married a lovely British accent in my husband, but he's been here too long. I need to send him back to England for an accent booster. Still, when we go through drive-through restaurants he has to use his exaggerated American accent to make himself understood, especially when asking for water. The one recurring problem I have with Husband's accent is that when he tells me he's been to the pawn shop looking for good bargains, I always hear "porn" shop. My head snaps around and I say, "Where??" before I figure it out. It's good for a weak laugh.
Yesterday being the 24th, Pioneer Day here in Utah, Husband had a day off and we took Oldest and Children Five and Six to IKEA. I love that store. If Six didn't decide about half-way through that he has had enough, I could probably spend a solid day in there making notes and dreaming. We looked at the things I had written on my list for the kitchen re-do, then we came home and started looking at my paint color fans. It was fun for me. I think even he had a good time. He drew a mock-up of our top floor on Google Sketchup and we played with paint colors for a while. He's not so scared about my desire for chocolate brown walls in the dining room now. Yay!
My friend, J, had a scare this morning. Her husband called early and asked if I could watch their kids again because J was gushing blood and they had had to take her quickly to labor and delivery. He just came back, hours later, to pick up the kids and told me that mom and the baby are fine. The placenta seperated, and if she hadn't been in the hospital already they probably would have lost the baby. Although the little one is just over five pounds and six weeks early, she's breathing on her own and sucking hard on a pacifier. What a relief!
In honor of Hillary, who gushed about American cookies (according to her, European cookies are thin and hard), I have put in one of my favorite cookie recipes, doctored up by me. This one is for you, Hillary.
Double Chocolate Orange Cookies
2 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 cup cocoa powder
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 1/4 cups (2 1/2 sticks) butter or margarine
2 cups granulated sugar
2 eggs
2 - 4 tsp orange extract, depending on taste (or almond is good, too. Okay, vanilla is also good, but we use vanilla extract in everything. Live a little)
1 1/3 cups (1 x 10 oz. package) chocolate chips. If you have really good bar chocolate (something the Europeans do much, much better than we do), chop it up into small pieces.
1. Heat oven to 350 deg. Farenheit (180 deg. Celsius, or gas mark4. It sure helps to have international cookbooks)
2. Stir together flour, baking soda and salt. Beat butter and sugar in a large bowl with mixer until fluffy. Add eggs and orange extract; beat well. Gradually add flour mixture, beating well. Stir in chocolate chips.
3. Drop by rounded teaspoons onto ungreased cookie sheet. Bake 8 - 9 minutes (do not over-cook; cookies will be soft. They will puff while baking and flatten while cooling). Cool slightly. Remove from cookie sheet to wire rack.
Cool completely.
I myself married a lovely British accent in my husband, but he's been here too long. I need to send him back to England for an accent booster. Still, when we go through drive-through restaurants he has to use his exaggerated American accent to make himself understood, especially when asking for water. The one recurring problem I have with Husband's accent is that when he tells me he's been to the pawn shop looking for good bargains, I always hear "porn" shop. My head snaps around and I say, "Where??" before I figure it out. It's good for a weak laugh.
Yesterday being the 24th, Pioneer Day here in Utah, Husband had a day off and we took Oldest and Children Five and Six to IKEA. I love that store. If Six didn't decide about half-way through that he has had enough, I could probably spend a solid day in there making notes and dreaming. We looked at the things I had written on my list for the kitchen re-do, then we came home and started looking at my paint color fans. It was fun for me. I think even he had a good time. He drew a mock-up of our top floor on Google Sketchup and we played with paint colors for a while. He's not so scared about my desire for chocolate brown walls in the dining room now. Yay!
My friend, J, had a scare this morning. Her husband called early and asked if I could watch their kids again because J was gushing blood and they had had to take her quickly to labor and delivery. He just came back, hours later, to pick up the kids and told me that mom and the baby are fine. The placenta seperated, and if she hadn't been in the hospital already they probably would have lost the baby. Although the little one is just over five pounds and six weeks early, she's breathing on her own and sucking hard on a pacifier. What a relief!
In honor of Hillary, who gushed about American cookies (according to her, European cookies are thin and hard), I have put in one of my favorite cookie recipes, doctored up by me. This one is for you, Hillary.
Double Chocolate Orange Cookies
2 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 cup cocoa powder
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 1/4 cups (2 1/2 sticks) butter or margarine
2 cups granulated sugar
2 eggs
2 - 4 tsp orange extract, depending on taste (or almond is good, too. Okay, vanilla is also good, but we use vanilla extract in everything. Live a little)
1 1/3 cups (1 x 10 oz. package) chocolate chips. If you have really good bar chocolate (something the Europeans do much, much better than we do), chop it up into small pieces.
1. Heat oven to 350 deg. Farenheit (180 deg. Celsius, or gas mark4. It sure helps to have international cookbooks)
2. Stir together flour, baking soda and salt. Beat butter and sugar in a large bowl with mixer until fluffy. Add eggs and orange extract; beat well. Gradually add flour mixture, beating well. Stir in chocolate chips.
3. Drop by rounded teaspoons onto ungreased cookie sheet. Bake 8 - 9 minutes (do not over-cook; cookies will be soft. They will puff while baking and flatten while cooling). Cool slightly. Remove from cookie sheet to wire rack.
Cool completely.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
My Heart is Breaking
The kids absolutely loved the torrential downpour we experienced today. They ran outside and stood in it until they were soaked and dripping, then came in and peeled out of their clothes, tossing the wet clothes into the bathroom I had just cleaned. It just proves my theory: when you clean one mess, natural law states that seven other messes are being created. Nature abhors a vacuum. That's why the kids keep tracking in the pine needles, just to foil that vacuum. Ha ha. Bad pun day.
I had several extra kids over at the house all day. Their mother, a woman in my ward I'll call "J," ended up in the hospital when she started leaking amniotic fluid. She's not full-term yet, but the baby is already 6 pounds, so there's every chance the baby will be just fine. Baby Girl is getting medicine to hurry along the development of her lungs and will be removed via C-section next week. The house is a mess (the parts I didn't clean, and even parts that I did), but at least I could help out.
I was talking to my neighbor, D, last night and I remembered why I thank Heavenly Father that my life is predictable and routine. D has had a bad month. She is filing separation papers against her emotionally and verbally abusive husband who left and hasn't bothered to pay child support (and she has a number of kids). Her mother had cancer sugery, which went well, fortunately. Her daughter's best friend was hit by a car and died, which has been very hard for the whole family. And, finally, someone called DCFS on her. She homeschools her kids and she has given birth to several of them at home, two red flags that DCFS thinks contribute to bad parenting. If the government can't control what's being put into your kids' minds or bodies, they suspect you of being abusive and/or neglectful (exhibit #1: Parker Jensen). I know D quite well and I know for a fact that she is neither neglectful nor abusive. She is a good, Christian woman who believes in family and God. Her house is neat and tidy, she feeds her kids well. Her kids come over to play and they are educated, polite and outgoing. As a single mom, the last thing she needs is some overzealous busybody with nothing else to do siccing the government on her, a government that tends to take the kids first and ask questions later.
I was up a long time last night sick with fear. D told me of one of her fellow homeschooler friends who had lost her kids to DCFS because the parents failed to correctly file the papers one year out of three for homeschooling. Then DCFS found out that the parents had stopped giving one of their children Ritalin. They took the kids on the grounds of educational and medical neglect. The parents ended up having their parental rights terminated. It made me so upset I cried in anguish for that family. I can't imagine losing my kids like that.
I am not a Republican or Democrat. I guess I lean more toward Libertarian, but I wouldn't call myself a card-carrying member of any political organization. I'm a somewhat cynical Gen-Xer, I suppose. The more I read about what's going on the more I feel sick to my stomach. Our country is heading down a dangerous slope, in my opinion. Look what happened to Argentina in the 70's, 80's and 90's: the politicians and the big companies who could get away with it financially raped the country, leaving many of the people in abject poverty, without access to even the most basic human needs. Sure, everyone accepts corruption as par for the course in Latin American countries, right? In the U.S. they couldn't get away with it, at least not as brazenly and boldly as they did in Argentina. I don't kid myself that the same thing isn't happening here, only just a little more quietly. It's all there.
I don't feel humorous today. I'm worried for my friend, D. She's stressed nearly to the breaking point. I told her if she needed a glowing character reference to send the DCFS agents over to me. The only other thing I can do for her is offer to keep her kids at my house so she can concentrate on the numerous legal papers she's trying to negotiate through. And I can pray. I slept very little last night because I was praying. Pray for D and her family. Pray for all of us, that we can be guided in our choices of political leaders, that those leaders will be concerned with doing what is right before God, and not the god of money.
I had several extra kids over at the house all day. Their mother, a woman in my ward I'll call "J," ended up in the hospital when she started leaking amniotic fluid. She's not full-term yet, but the baby is already 6 pounds, so there's every chance the baby will be just fine. Baby Girl is getting medicine to hurry along the development of her lungs and will be removed via C-section next week. The house is a mess (the parts I didn't clean, and even parts that I did), but at least I could help out.
I was talking to my neighbor, D, last night and I remembered why I thank Heavenly Father that my life is predictable and routine. D has had a bad month. She is filing separation papers against her emotionally and verbally abusive husband who left and hasn't bothered to pay child support (and she has a number of kids). Her mother had cancer sugery, which went well, fortunately. Her daughter's best friend was hit by a car and died, which has been very hard for the whole family. And, finally, someone called DCFS on her. She homeschools her kids and she has given birth to several of them at home, two red flags that DCFS thinks contribute to bad parenting. If the government can't control what's being put into your kids' minds or bodies, they suspect you of being abusive and/or neglectful (exhibit #1: Parker Jensen). I know D quite well and I know for a fact that she is neither neglectful nor abusive. She is a good, Christian woman who believes in family and God. Her house is neat and tidy, she feeds her kids well. Her kids come over to play and they are educated, polite and outgoing. As a single mom, the last thing she needs is some overzealous busybody with nothing else to do siccing the government on her, a government that tends to take the kids first and ask questions later.
I was up a long time last night sick with fear. D told me of one of her fellow homeschooler friends who had lost her kids to DCFS because the parents failed to correctly file the papers one year out of three for homeschooling. Then DCFS found out that the parents had stopped giving one of their children Ritalin. They took the kids on the grounds of educational and medical neglect. The parents ended up having their parental rights terminated. It made me so upset I cried in anguish for that family. I can't imagine losing my kids like that.
I am not a Republican or Democrat. I guess I lean more toward Libertarian, but I wouldn't call myself a card-carrying member of any political organization. I'm a somewhat cynical Gen-Xer, I suppose. The more I read about what's going on the more I feel sick to my stomach. Our country is heading down a dangerous slope, in my opinion. Look what happened to Argentina in the 70's, 80's and 90's: the politicians and the big companies who could get away with it financially raped the country, leaving many of the people in abject poverty, without access to even the most basic human needs. Sure, everyone accepts corruption as par for the course in Latin American countries, right? In the U.S. they couldn't get away with it, at least not as brazenly and boldly as they did in Argentina. I don't kid myself that the same thing isn't happening here, only just a little more quietly. It's all there.
I don't feel humorous today. I'm worried for my friend, D. She's stressed nearly to the breaking point. I told her if she needed a glowing character reference to send the DCFS agents over to me. The only other thing I can do for her is offer to keep her kids at my house so she can concentrate on the numerous legal papers she's trying to negotiate through. And I can pray. I slept very little last night because I was praying. Pray for D and her family. Pray for all of us, that we can be guided in our choices of political leaders, that those leaders will be concerned with doing what is right before God, and not the god of money.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Danger Dreams
I have this recurring dream: I have been called to serve a proselyting mission again. The destination changes, the Missionary Training Center changes, my current situation changes, but the things that stay the same are that I am a) surprised; b) not sure that I can do it again because of the physical labor involved or the fact that I don't know the language; and c) almost completely unprepared in some major way. In the last iteration of the dream, I was going to Bogota, Columbia, and I didn't have any skirts to wear, only torn jeans. I was also stressed that I was leaving in just a few moments and I didn't know a word of Spanish.
My friend, Shanna (I'll use her name since she has made enough comments on here that her name is no longer a mystery. Hi, Shanna!), whom I selfishly forced to analyze my dreams while she was in the throes of a migraine, stated the obvious: I am feeling unprepared about something. Strangely, it was kind of an epiphany for me. I had only put together the fact that I was having the recurring dream a few days before. When I am waking up several times in the night to take care of various children (and the occasional cat who wants to go outside), I remember more of my dreams. I noticed the missionary dream kept popping up.
So what am I unprepared for? I don't know. I am unprepared to answer that question. I won't go into my lengthy self-analysis here (for which you should kneel and give thanks that I save that for my journal. Sure, I put a lot of my psyche on here, intentionally or not, but I do keep the really juicy stuff for myself), but I think it's sort of a general feeling. I can't pin down the exact problem.
I was just reading Psychology Today (motto: psychology in sound bites) and one of the articles talked of a man's theory that dreams are the practice arena for acting on danger. We dream so that we can practice our response to what our brain perceives as real and potential threats. For instance, I did have a dream a few nights ago that I needed to use a gun against someone, but I didn't know how to turn the safety off. I don't actually know how to use a gun in real life. My only experience with shooting guns is a shotgun when I was, maybe, seven or eight. Some neighbors let me shoot at a can but didn't warn me about the kickback. My shoulder hurt for days. All I know about handguns I have seen on TV, so I have no idea if what I have seen is even true. I just know there's a safety that has to be turned off if you want to shoot. And in my dream, that was the problem. I really needed to shoot a guy and I couldn't.
I don't know if my recurring mission dream has anything to do with perceived danger, unless my body is remembering the fact that I biked or walked approximately 20 miles a day and knows I am in no condition to do that in my current state.
Most of my dreams, however, are usually just mundane on one hand and bizarre on the other. Subconscious diarrhea.
In family news, we had a ward party at the neighborhood pool last night. It was potluck, so I saw my chance to off-load a container of strawberry cream salad (with marshmallows) that I knew we weren't going to be able to finish. I dumped a container of cottage cheese into it and away we went.
I didn't even bother getting into my swimming suit as I knew I would spend my time following Child Six around while he investigated various substances, known and unknown, to stuff into his mouth. Husband and the other kids went swimming, but Husband came back after a while carrying Child Five, who looked pale and wan. "He just went white and looked like he was going to faint, " said Husband as he wrapped Five in a towel and rubbed him on the back. "Maybe he was really cold. The water is freezing." The water boiler has broken, one of many things that need funding at the pool, and quite a few of the kids who came were blue-lipped and shivering violently despite the warmth of the day (in the 90's). Five recovered quickly, ate a brownie, and went back to playing. I did find him later, though, sitting in the big pool on the steps. I scolded him soundly for that, as he can not yet swim, and made him promise never to get into the big pool without one of his parents. (Hey, I remember a dream where I kept having to pull Five out of pools of water. Danger dream.). The rest of the party was uneventful and I ended up taking Five and Six home to get them ready for bed. The rest arrived home not long after. It was hard getting them all into bed as I was so tired.
Today I bought some Floradix, an iron supplement in liquid, vegetarian form. It doesn't, you know, stop up the works like regular iron supplement pills based from meat. I hope it works. I am starting to feel really abnormal with how tired I am, like I could sleep for days at any given point. I mean, really tired. I can not stress how tired I am. Tired.
I also bought a basil plant. I love basil. When we got home I made grilled two-cheese sandwiches with fresh basil. Yum.
I am including the recipe for one of my favorite side-dishes that showed up at the potluck last night. It was a big hit with my kids, too. Six was walking around with two fistfuls of it that he had swiped from an unguarded plate.
Shantel's Pasta Salad
2 eggs
1 cup vinegar
1 tsp salt
1 cup mayonnaise
2--4 hard-boiled eggs, chopped
1/2 to 1 onion, chopped
1 cup sugar
1 Tbl. horseradish
1 package cooked vermicelli
1/2 - 1 cups chopped celery
Mix together the eggs, sugar, vinegar, horseradish, and salt in a saucepan. Cook until it boils and thickens. Cool. Mix remaining ingredients into the sauce. Chill.
Mmmmmm.
My friend, Shanna (I'll use her name since she has made enough comments on here that her name is no longer a mystery. Hi, Shanna!), whom I selfishly forced to analyze my dreams while she was in the throes of a migraine, stated the obvious: I am feeling unprepared about something. Strangely, it was kind of an epiphany for me. I had only put together the fact that I was having the recurring dream a few days before. When I am waking up several times in the night to take care of various children (and the occasional cat who wants to go outside), I remember more of my dreams. I noticed the missionary dream kept popping up.
So what am I unprepared for? I don't know. I am unprepared to answer that question. I won't go into my lengthy self-analysis here (for which you should kneel and give thanks that I save that for my journal. Sure, I put a lot of my psyche on here, intentionally or not, but I do keep the really juicy stuff for myself), but I think it's sort of a general feeling. I can't pin down the exact problem.
I was just reading Psychology Today (motto: psychology in sound bites) and one of the articles talked of a man's theory that dreams are the practice arena for acting on danger. We dream so that we can practice our response to what our brain perceives as real and potential threats. For instance, I did have a dream a few nights ago that I needed to use a gun against someone, but I didn't know how to turn the safety off. I don't actually know how to use a gun in real life. My only experience with shooting guns is a shotgun when I was, maybe, seven or eight. Some neighbors let me shoot at a can but didn't warn me about the kickback. My shoulder hurt for days. All I know about handguns I have seen on TV, so I have no idea if what I have seen is even true. I just know there's a safety that has to be turned off if you want to shoot. And in my dream, that was the problem. I really needed to shoot a guy and I couldn't.
I don't know if my recurring mission dream has anything to do with perceived danger, unless my body is remembering the fact that I biked or walked approximately 20 miles a day and knows I am in no condition to do that in my current state.
Most of my dreams, however, are usually just mundane on one hand and bizarre on the other. Subconscious diarrhea.
In family news, we had a ward party at the neighborhood pool last night. It was potluck, so I saw my chance to off-load a container of strawberry cream salad (with marshmallows) that I knew we weren't going to be able to finish. I dumped a container of cottage cheese into it and away we went.
I didn't even bother getting into my swimming suit as I knew I would spend my time following Child Six around while he investigated various substances, known and unknown, to stuff into his mouth. Husband and the other kids went swimming, but Husband came back after a while carrying Child Five, who looked pale and wan. "He just went white and looked like he was going to faint, " said Husband as he wrapped Five in a towel and rubbed him on the back. "Maybe he was really cold. The water is freezing." The water boiler has broken, one of many things that need funding at the pool, and quite a few of the kids who came were blue-lipped and shivering violently despite the warmth of the day (in the 90's). Five recovered quickly, ate a brownie, and went back to playing. I did find him later, though, sitting in the big pool on the steps. I scolded him soundly for that, as he can not yet swim, and made him promise never to get into the big pool without one of his parents. (Hey, I remember a dream where I kept having to pull Five out of pools of water. Danger dream.). The rest of the party was uneventful and I ended up taking Five and Six home to get them ready for bed. The rest arrived home not long after. It was hard getting them all into bed as I was so tired.
Today I bought some Floradix, an iron supplement in liquid, vegetarian form. It doesn't, you know, stop up the works like regular iron supplement pills based from meat. I hope it works. I am starting to feel really abnormal with how tired I am, like I could sleep for days at any given point. I mean, really tired. I can not stress how tired I am. Tired.
I also bought a basil plant. I love basil. When we got home I made grilled two-cheese sandwiches with fresh basil. Yum.
I am including the recipe for one of my favorite side-dishes that showed up at the potluck last night. It was a big hit with my kids, too. Six was walking around with two fistfuls of it that he had swiped from an unguarded plate.
Shantel's Pasta Salad
2 eggs
1 cup vinegar
1 tsp salt
1 cup mayonnaise
2--4 hard-boiled eggs, chopped
1/2 to 1 onion, chopped
1 cup sugar
1 Tbl. horseradish
1 package cooked vermicelli
1/2 - 1 cups chopped celery
Mix together the eggs, sugar, vinegar, horseradish, and salt in a saucepan. Cook until it boils and thickens. Cool. Mix remaining ingredients into the sauce. Chill.
Mmmmmm.
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