Get More from your Monday

I have a problem, and I've been such a spaz about it I don't even know how to explain myself. 

Let's start with the part where I am totally not professional. Like, if my coworkers (children) had access to the internet, I would have been fired a thousand times by now.

Okay, that's all I can say while "others" of an actual professional nature might be listening-- please excuse me for a second...

Ahem! Attention Professional Ladies and Gentlemen of Alex and Von; please refer to my stellar and completely professional introduction to your products here:

Please Don't Lick My Face

<wait for it...>

Ok... are they gone?

Whew!

Being professional is hard! Sometimes I feel like such a weirdo. My end game is so different from what most people are moving toward I don't even begin to know how to explain myself. Like the part where I want you to come over and get free samples and I really, for REAL, don't care if you buy anything. 

It's tricky because I was raised in a store. IN a STORE. When I was five I was arranging soap and rugs and asking people, "How are you doing today? Can I answer any questions for you?"  hoping they wouldn't say yes because I had no idea what to say after that. 

I know HOW to be professional. I know how to open a storefront on etsy or sell Chinese antiques on eBay to make some extra dough, but that's not why I signed up for this gig. I signed up because I am SO picky. I signed up because I was devoted to the Body Shop for years, I would wait for clearance events and stock up on their wonderful vitamin c face scrubs and vitamin e illuminating moisturizer. I would pounce on a good deal for an eyeliner or foundation at department stores or online, and I was devoted to Maybelline colorfast lipstick for about five years. 

3 years ago when I lost the first fifty of my seventy pound goal, I hit a plateau. That's when I paused and got the book "How Not To Look Old" by Charla Krupp. I loved it! Feeling more fresh faced, applying my makeup correctly, buying pants that weren't to small, and getting the right underwear just gave me that little boost I needed to lose the last 30 pounds. 

Last year I was so disappointed to look Charla up and find out she had died from breast cancer. I was stunned and so sad, but since she was a woman who made a living trying every beauty product ever invented I have to admit it made me rethink something I had been trying to avoid--what is in my make up? And lotion. And shampoo. 

I'm not trying to be insensitive, the causes of cancer are complicated and rude, but I threw away my colorfast lip gloss anyway after I did minimal research before discovering it had such a small amount of lead in it they weren't required to list it in the ingredients. 

I'm not made out of money, people! I live on a strict budget that has, on occasion, tried to molest me through the computer screen. I started investigating my makeup more, spending a little more, and over a few months gradually budgeted to switch out some of my long time favorites for things that were more natural at places like Sephora, or Nordstroms, or the AMAZING Lush stores that have been popping up. 

Fast forward a couple years and, honestly, you guys would be crazy not to take advantage of all my experimenting by checking out the products I have found through Alex and Von.  No one even asked me to become a consultant, I went to a party my organic guru neighbor was throwing, I ordered some products, and a day after I received and used them I was knocking down her door trying to find out how I could make this stuff available to my friends. 

I'm SO picky about where my dollars go, but there are not words to express how refreshing it feels to work hard all day, and suddenly be washing my face with Mint White Tea Foaming Wash. It's like a present for my FACE! For my nose, for my bathroom sink! Then I treat any trouble areas with the Purity Spot Treatment that doesn't suck all the good stuff out of my face. As a 33 year old woman who has tried everything from Oxy to Proactive to expensive sets from Oil Of Oley, I was about to surrender to the dermatologist for a Rx for Accutane. I'm too old for the awful monthly hormonal breakout! Now I can't believe I'm saying it, but this stuff has been kicking butt! On my, um, face. 

Not only does it immediately soothe the undesirable swelling and redness as soon as you apply it, but it's also eliminating acne causing bacteria. I follow it with the light and lovely Acai Moisturizer that has such a delicious scent I wish I could brush my teeth with it.  There's no other way to say this; I haven't had an ouch zit in over 8 weeks. Before that, I can't remember the last time I didn't have at least one sneaky monster frustrating me somewhere on my nice mom face. I'll give you an update in six months to see if this trend held up.   

Even more than that, I discovered for what I could pay for one massage, instead I could have week after week of "spa experience" at the end of EVERY day--and that doesn't even mention the skin brightening citrus scrub, or TO DIE FOR Honey Almond Body Butter. I have never used ANYTHING like it, it starts as a solid then melts into your skin as it reaches body temperature. It is not heavy, I can slather Alice head to toe, and it gives her pink ouchy eczema skin luscious nurturing moisture for hours and hours without being slimy or heavy. 

I don’t technically work outside the home, so the way I make money for my family is by how I SAVE it. Girls, if you clicked on those links and had reservations about the prices compared to what you could get at say, Target? Let me tell you now, I have been using these products for months now and have not yet had to replace one. They are so pure, I use less, a little goes a long way! I used to budget in my cleansers and moisturizers because I would use up a container in a month. Now? My skin has never felt better, and I’m not even halfway through most of my items.

You really do have to see it believe it, so even though I didn't think I was going to do “parties,” well... I kind of want to! You may or may not have noticed that I have put up an invitation (or two) to come get some free samples, and then took them down. And then put them back up. And then took them back down. I know. I'm embarrassing. 

I don't want people to cut me out their newsfeed because I've taken on this stay at home business. I don't WANT to bother you! And I don't ever want you to think I've only invited you to my house to sell you something.

But when I thought of having regular casual get togethers... (shhh...)  I sort of got excited!

I don’t know why as a mom I don't take the time to have girlfriends over, to watch a movie or drink wine or lemonade on the back porch. Suddenly I had a great excuse to see people I miss. 

So here it is, no shame, and I promise not to put this post up and take it down ten times: On a regular day at a regular time once a month, I'm going to start opening my home for a few hours hoping to see my friends! Let's say the first Monday of every month. That day is always a killer bummer, so I'd like to start looking forward to it instead. I don't care if you buy a thing from me, but I do care about your health and life and I want to see you. If giving you free samples and hanging out just happen to be best when done together, so be it. 

Let's throw in a couple books, too. I just started reading Breathers, anyone want to join me? It was a gift from my rad brother in law who is an English Professor at John's Hopkins and just taught an entire semester on ZOMBIES.  This is a person whose reading advice we should all want to take :) 

And see? Even if you happen to be one of my far away dear ones you're still invited! I invite you to take a advantage of the day, do something nice for yourself, get the book, call a girlfriend for lunch, and/or get yourself a cruelty free (and guilt free) makeup brush that feels like butterflies kissing your face and will last you for the next twenty years. 

Can a kabuki brush from Au Natural really change your life? I think yes :) 

Plus, I can't wait to tell you all about EO! Affordable, amazing, natural cleansers for you and your home--but this post is already long enough so that will just have to wait :)

I promise, near or far, I'll keep you up to date on the great deals, the free shipping specials, and best of all, free gift with purchase events, and I officially declare the 1st Monday of every month MORE MONDAY and invite you to join me.

Get more from your life.

Do more for yourself.

Get more for your money.

Expect more from your bath, beauty, and cleaning products.

Make more time to see good friends.

I really hope to see you! Doors open at 11am for a few hours and again at 7pm. As always, feel free to bring a friend or your little ones--we have over a thousand Lincoln Logs and a trampoline in the family room, I'm sure we can work something out ;)

I mentioned the free samples, right? 

Free.

Samples.

Freeeeeeeeeeeee....

See ya later ;)

Once you see it, you can’t un-see it….

I wear dresses. A lot.

I wear make up everyday.

I shave my armpits several times a year for heavens sake!

And I'm a feminist?

I think I'm a feminist! Huh. I guess I didn't realize it because I was raised by an artistic independent mom, feisty intelligent sisters, and my father was a big strong man whose presence filled a room without any need for him to be extra patriarchal about it. Later I married a man who has a beautiful open smile, wide shoulders, loyalty and purpose in every action he makes, and doesn't care if I talk about my feelings (and everything else) on the internet. 

I wasn't raised in any particular religion, but I was raised amongst Mormons every day of my youth. I was able to partake in many benefits provided by what would later become my chosen religion, but I realize now that I was lucky to be able to do that and still avoid being prematurely subscribed to the consistent and often subtle messages delivered to Mormon youth during their spiritual education. 

I cringe even writing that because I know how it will make some people cringe reading it, but there's this thing I've never been able to put my finger on and the other day I was suddenly faced with a blue print mapping my dilemma so eloquently, I didn't post anything on Facebook for TWO DAYS. 

Two. Days. 

That's, like, a hundred years in Facebook time. I could be dead for all you people know! I'm sorry for any alarm I have caused but I read an article that thoughtfully examines and compares the new LDS youth teaching guides for young men and young women and my head stopped functioning.

(You can read the whole article in here: Exponent II Spring 2013)

Check it out if that's your thing, it's brilliant, but the ten seconds that has been flash frozen in the front of my brain is this:

And all of a sudden I could see. I could SEE. For the most part, we call our boys to action, to leadership, to responsibility, and we call our girls to believe, to understand, to support and edify.  All great things! 

But the distinction--suddenly my brain has been one domino after another of aha! memories clicking into place.

For instance; I all of sudden see the draw I had with the guys in my youth, particularly after high school when I was a wayward 18 year old living a few blocks from BYU campus. I wasn't so far gone to be "dangerous" but I was a sheep just far enough out of reach to need a Shepard.

I have never in my life presumed to have visions on behalf of another person, but, wow! Suddenly in retrospect even I am a little taken aback at how encouraged and appropriate these young men felt it was to tell me what the spirit had impressed upon them ABOUT me. In the context of my love life, not my physical well being or education, but my romantic life was an area which they were being spiritually guided to advise me about? 

If this had happened one time, I would totally not bring it up here. Maybe it was a special case? Maybe I'm being disrespectful of someone putting themselves out there? But the truth is, it happened to me with almost every eligible bachelor I came into any extended contact with during that time. Easily more than 20-25 times in a 9 month period.

What's interesting about the man that eventually did take me and marry me in a Mormon temple is that he was a recovering alcoholic, sober for a little over a year, out of the Navy, and beginning college for the first time at age 27. Though he'd been baptized at 8, he'd never really been active, and to this day has never been "impressed" to advise me how to alter the course of my life. We travel side by side, sometimes we take turns pulling the other through a heavy tide, but our hands have remained clasped and I have taken that for granted in the way it has supported the WOMAN that I am. 

The thing is, the BIG THING, is this is not a Mormon thing. We were watching Swiss Family Robinson for the first time with the children tonight, and oh! The imagination! The adventure! That movie stands the test of time, we were all captivated and Russell has already begun drafting the perfect treehouse in his mind... but the women in that movie. Sigh. I don't know if you remember how they save that "boy" from the pirates and she turns out to be a girl, but watching it tonight... well that's when I knew my transformation into the title of feminist was complete. I will NOT sit here and watch this with no comment. I will not allow my children to absorb her behavior as even the tiniest bit believable despite me voicing no qualms that it only took them ten minutes of movie time and, at most, a couple weeks of real time to build and furnish five levels of tree house including a fully functioning kitchen with plumbing and an ice box stocked with, wait, is that corn?! Corn. 

No, go ahead, believe the corn! Believe the boys took the extra days needed to hang drapes before getting their mother and young brother out of the lean-to shelter on the beach and safely into the tree at night. But don't you (not for one second!) believe that when a giant boa constrictor wraps itself around your brother in the murky swamp and tries to drown him, that the person who was as tough as a boy until you discovered she was a girl an hour ago suddenly can't make it to the side of the marsh without your help before you go to aid your brother from the snake that is trying to EAT HIM. 

She's fine. 

And if she's not? Boy or girl, she is too delicate to live and it's just natural selection doing it's job. Don't laugh! It's an important job.

In conclusion, if feminist means I want everyone to feel like I do; that I can be whatever I want to be, even if that's a stay at home mom, and still be a leader in and out of my home, have strong opinions, nurture friends and strangers alike, proclaim, meditate, apologize, or set someone free with confidence, boss my husband without being called a nag, and be bossed without feeling controlled, then yeah. 

After I read that article, I went to church and had an amazing discussion with my Sunday school class of 14-16 year olds about something unrelated, and when they left the girls went to watch a spiritual movie and have popcorn while the boys had a special guest speaker and were required at the end of the lesson like a "pop quiz" to write a "pop talk." Something about it reminded me of the activity at last years youth conference that was a favorite and involved the boys carrying the girls across the street because they couldn't do it without each other, but I didn't hear about any of the girls carrying the boys across in the same spirit and THAT would be my idea of a powerful team effort. 

I couldn't help but see it. And now that I see it, I really don't think I can un-see it. It's not about taking something away from our men, it's about making sure we are empowering our girls with the strength of their voice to speak, of their hands to bless, of their feet to travel. The youth I have been so blessed to teach could not be better examples of what my church is able to give to their children. My girls are sharp and strong willed, my boys are honorable and devoted. I can not speak to the current youth where I was raised, but looking at my California young women I can't help but wonder if they have felt the call to lead simply because they are not the norm for their culture. As they are coming into adulthood with peers who are beginning to make some serious adult choices, more is required of their spiritual sense of self if they continue to stay on this path. 

In the end I was left sitting there thinking about what an important guide my patriarchal blessing has been for me, and also years later sitting across the desk from Mrs. D at cottage preschool when I was just about to sink below the waves while I held my family afloat with sheer force of will and a good husband. These are two Mormon miracles in my life brought about by revelation, and they came at the hands of a man, and of a woman.

As it should be. 

I am a grateful Mormon Feminist.

It’s For The Children

Wait! No need for an intervention; I know I'm a little Facebook obsessed these days. My poor blog is barely speaking to me! But seriously, in between the long conversations I have on here about my feelings, kidney's, and LIZARDS, Facebook is where I have the most fun and you should join me with the button on the upper right if you haven't already.

I'm also obsessed with photo editing. I love that extra little creativity I get to add to a moment. It's not about eliminating the authentic feeling of a picture, but about transferring a feeling of what it was like to be there.

For those wondering, on the iPhone my TOTAL favorite photo editor is called "Wood Camera" and for my iPad I'm partial to "Camera+" and InstaCollage. You know, just FYI since I tend to try a million apps before I pick favorites. The most IMPORTANT update my blog has missed was the one that involved THIS GUY:



Yes, Osem is his name and it comes from the following Russell Art at the spider loving age of five:

Orb Weavers ARE Osem, and Osem is TOTALLY awesome too.

Anyway, thanks for not harassing me too bad about my Facebook enthusiasm lately. I'm in the mom stage where I do a lot of "hurry!!” ...then wait. I don't have a bazillion Facebook friends, so I feel pretty free doing my best to entertain myself as I share our life in bite size pieces. It's a lovely feeling to be connected to so many people from all area's of my life and I hope you can tell I like you by how I trust you with all the information you would ever need about my armpits. That's my love language, you know: Armpit TMI.

Also, if you didn't see this:

That is my Facebook BOOK. It only cost $80 bucks to print 302 beautifully hard bound pages of updates, photos, comments and links from my wall for the entire year of 2012. Unfortunately for you (or fortunate depending on how much information you want about our adventures in education or the play-by-play of Alice teaching Osem about human anatomy), if we are Facebook friends you now have ringside seats to the perfect solution for the wife who took three weeks to immortalize two wedding pictures in glitter and stickers. The Facebook BOOK is how this ADHD mom can finally capture, compile and easily access the magic and chaos of the years I get with my young kids.

Life is our miraculous, sometimes tragic, and always precious gift. I feel an enormous responsibility to the children I brought to this planet to be a balanced, loving, encouraging parent who will foster their learning, independence, and stability. I feel an equally great responsibility to those who didn’t or do not have the opportunities I have, to do this job well, and never behave entitled to have the family I do, to be living in the year 2013, or to dismiss the resources available to us where we live. I know my fellow moms feel this same way. I know it in the way they take so many opportunities to express gratitude and pictures on Facebook even though the life of every good mom is difficult and tedious no matter how you Instagram it. I’m lucky my particular friends also make time to share difficulties and quotes that inspire them.

I guess some people are addicted to Facebook. I can get addicted to technology in general, but right now, Facebook is a conscious choice I happily make. I am out and about in the world, I enjoy my kids and friends and community everyday... and I love sharing that with the my Facebook community, too. I get to know new friends quicker, stay up to date on old friends, and engage with my family almost daily in a way that makes us all virtual neighbors.

Which brings me to my final disclaimer: if we are Facebook friends, at some point I guarantee I WILL comment on your stuff, "like" it, or message you. If you don't remember who I am, or how we met, or why I'm commenting on your stuff, you should unfriend me right away because I consider my news feed a great source of entertainment and information and impulse control is not high on my list of skills……

You are disclaimed :)

Now I'm going to try and figure it how to upload the video of Osem and his first encounter with a lizard. Until next time, see ya on Facebook, peeps!

I love a good parade!

I'm obviously not the first person to think this, but if we are talking bible here, I'm pretty sure the resurrection of Jesus happened the way it did because it was supposed to teach us not to fear death... but if you look around, as a culture, I think we fear it more than ever. 

If you have a minute you should watch this video, I saw it once a long, long, time ago and I have never forgotten it:

The living children or grandchildren take up the bones of their ancestors from the ground, they "re-flesh" them with paint, wrap them in silk, then have a parade through the village as they take their honored loved one to their final resting place in the family mausoleum and then celebrate all day. I LOVE THIS. It’s not a sad day for them. I would seriously love it if my grandchildren carried my painted and silk wrapped bones through town, singing and joyful, to our family crypt! I hope they would eat a lot of dark chocolate that day and watch reruns of Judge Judy and Cops, pray to my dead cats, kiss and hug each other more than is appropriate, and go somewhere they can see the whole sky when the sun sets. 

I don't know what is up in my grill but I am so not interested in the Easter Bunny this year. Maybe it's the passage of time… I know I’m not the only person going through the transition when the people who have run the universe you live in, your parents or grandparents, are no longer the immortal beings you remember. You know; how you find yourself worried about them, or regretting how young they might still be if you hadn't been such a butt stink when they were raising you? However we got to what I call our "omnipotent thirties" (when we have the small children, the crazy schedules, and find ourselves running the universe), we are now more aware of life's many paths, the importance of our choices, and interestingly, I think we are more conscious of the imminent END then when we were in our "all knowing twenties."

And holy cow, life is hard. And oh my gosh, life is so wonderful it's sort of terrifying. 

Lately Russell (you know the SEVEN year old) has been contemplating his own baptism and the meaning of life and his ultimate demise. I wish I was kidding. He is supposed to give a talk in church in Sunday about "if Jesus stood beside me" and he is so stuck because suddenly the explanations about Jesus aren't cutting it: "Is he dead? Or isn't he? You can't be both." Real quote.

Um, he's undead? 

Listen Russell, I like to let you work out stuff on your own so I try not to push my opinions on you, but hear me now: maybe I don’t know this, or mean it in the same way other people mean it, but Jesus Lives. He died and now he is alive. for real, or in your heart, or in the bible, but he is far from dead... and I will live again, too. If I live in the clouds, on this earth, if I come back as a blade of grass, I will never be done, and I am not afraid to die. Our time, it is OURS. Every good day we have can NEVER be undone, the bad things to come don't scare me because they are part of my ALL TIME. You know, and eternity. The good and the bad help us understand why we are alive. I can't stop bad things from happening, but no one can ever stop the good days we've already had. They will exist in the universe forever. This isn't religion, this is science, Man! And Jesus? Our heavenly parents, our families on earth? They can't be undone, it's already happened. That love has already been given, it is already in the air, it is already fact and that is what matters.

Will I rise out of the cold embrace of the earth in a fresh new body someday? I don't know (and probably not if I keep talking like this), but that's a lot of people! It's kind of more than my brain can process (have you been to Disneyland on a Saturday in the summer? Like that, except with more people and less ice cream) …but I hope so. And if I don't, know this: I am at peace. You know, ‘cause I'm dead, and because I’ve already put my love in the air, into fact, into existence and whether I'm sleeping or awake, it can't be undone. 

Don't be afraid my children. Be brave. Be kind. Be faithful if you can. 

So we are skipping Easter. After church we are heading to an old cemetery down south with the kids to make rubbings on the tombstones. We're taking a picnic lunch, our camera, our giggles and our reverence. We will talk about all the ways we can live again, about the people below our feet, the angels all around us, and what the word resurrection means to us, in our family, today. 

I'm really looking forward to it :)

Son of a Mother Screaming Goat!!

Last night I stood completely naked in my four year old daughters bedroom full of firemen and my husband, and it was not a dream. 

That HAPPENED. It is on the permanent record of my life and the saddest part is I'm not even a little embarrassed.

You see, it all started with a pinch in my tummy, not my back or my side, just an uncomfortable "ugh" below my belly button to the left. I'd had a nice day, fine evening, and I decided to just get in the shower to shake off the pinch. When I got out, I heard a furious lean pink machine crying a demand for a third bedtime story from her tired old dad, so I wrapped myself in a towel, headed up the stairs, and then proceeded to collapse into the fetal position on the cute new rug we had just purchased for her room yesterday. 

The end.

Seriously. My memory from that point until now is kid of like a foggy strange nightmare. The pain... listen, I have done pain, but the speed of this, the relentless rage of it... I am still completely ashamed of the way I could not stop screaming. My poor kids, Russell was hysterically scared and as I was pleading to the new carpet to show me any mercy, Alice cheerfully said "I'll help you mommy." Thank you Jon for calling 911 right away, and thank you Jody for taking the kids right that second no questions asked, because all I know is that suddenly there are tromping black boots all around me and I'm still a huddled dripping mess in a towel on the floor cursing at anyone trying to slip a dress over my head. When they finally asked if I would like to be carried to the ambulance or if I could walk there I gritted my teeth like my ancestor Wyatt Earp, grabbed the dress off the floor with one hand and told them "I can go, but get out of my way because I am going to run." 

Then I stood as the pain sliced me like Hell fire, pulled the dress over my head and proceeded to run down the stairs, out the front door, and up to the waiting gurney where I threw myself back into the fetal position and cried like Alice when Jon wouldn't read her that third book (in other words: with all my might).

My friends, I would have been a terrible pioneer.

An hour or so later, amid morphine and all the nice nurses and paramedics comings and goings, a man asked if I wanted socks? "Yes, please, and if you could also sock me in the face until I'm unconscious that would be cool." 

"Don't worry, that's coming," he replied as he lifted the sheets and prepared to put on, wait? One of my own favorite stripy socks? I look up and it's not a nurse, it's MY man! Seeing his face was like breathing in clean cold air on a hot muggy summer day. "It's you!" I finally sit back a little and laughing he asks "so you didn't know it was me when you asked me to sock you in the face, huh?"

Things got worse there right after that, but in between fits I was still able to hammer out what I thought was an alarming yet amusing update for Facebook while my husband looked on disapprovingly, when suddenly, wait for it... humph, it was gone. My belly hurt, my ribs were screaming, but the violent stabbing had finally subsided. 

Turns out I had a stone that passed pain free through my kidneys only to get stuck in my ureter which is the last inch of the tubes that go from the kidneys and make the final deposits into the bladder.

Also, funny thing (hysterical really), the ureter is also the place in your body with more nerve endings per square millimeter then any other single place in human anatomy. 

No, really, a terrible pioneer.

Anyway, the moral of the story is: if you plan on going to the ER a lot, you should pack an emergency bag otherwise your well intentioned husband might bring you something to wear home that is almost as painful to look at as it would be to pass through your ureter:

Thanks to Jody, Paige, Isabelle and Kristina for helping out with the kids on short notice, to everyone else for all your nice thoughts and kick ass curse words, Russell King for the back rubs and making my name into funny art, and to Miss Alice for climbing in my covers at 6:30 am to hold her daddies hand while tucking my hair behind my ear and eventually telling me this weird story about being Rainbow Brite, talking to the "reg-lar" Rainbow Brite and eating candy until she died, but then they fixed her with "skitters and chinners and kenalls" and then when she wasn't dead she went to the winter woods and showed Tinkerbell's sister where she died and they laughed and laughed. And they ate more pink candy, and it was pink, and it was delicious. That's pretty much verbatim, make of it what you will but it cheered me up with its weirdness. 

That's all for now, if you need me tomorrow I will be at the pool continuing to be grateful about the not traveling across the country in a covered wagon thing. Good night!

I stand all amazed.

My life is a glorious struggle. Does anybody know what I mean? The tedious nature of every days that have moments of beauty or tragedy that can steal your breath, and then it's time for bed and you do it all again tomorrow.

I read this great analogy about a professor who asked his students which glass of water was the heaviest, a 6oz, an 8oz or a 10oz. Of course they all said the 10oz, but he had not mentioned how long they would be required to hold it outstretched. 6oz may not seem like a lot, but day after day, or year after year of holding it with trembling arms... eventually it will slip and crash to the floor. He was talking about depression. 

It was a beautifully simple metaphor that I understand too well. Right now I take one small Adderall and one small Xanax twice a day. I was taking prozac, but have recently switched to Lexapro because of the dry mouth I was getting, and that overlap as I switched was (not) awesome. There is nothing more comforting than grabbing the bag of RX's marked "mom daily" and having a million bottles clanking together since I also have a few things I rotate through to help me sleep, some organic, some prescription, some behavioral skills; I like to mix it up so I don't build a tolerance to any one thing, but sleep continues to elude me and runs from my ceaselessly racing thoughts. 

Then of course, getting into the sleep state is such a difficult transition for my brain that leaving the sleep stage is also very difficult. My fully alert self has such frustration with my dream self. Almost daily they can be so real, I honestly struggle to leave them behind and know I'm in my bed, in my real life, and I need to get up.

Elvis is in the house I guess: meds to wake, meds to sleep, meds to cope... but! They work. And they work well, I feel WELL. I feel connected to my brain with the Adderall and I don't feel the Xanax, it just takes the edge off the physical side effects of the Adderall and keeps my highs and lows in check. The Lexapro is okay. I liked the Prozac, but seriously, the dry mouth and the dry eyeballs were like sucking and blinking on sandpaper. 

I tell you this because I don't care if you know. I just don't. In a hundred years I'll be dead, my great grandchildren might read parts of this blog and feel better about the meds they need to take. My own KIDS might read this one day and know that it was never easy for me, I hate the idea of people thinking, "yeah, you take meds, but it worked for you so well and it's harder for me. No one understands." 

My lovely fellow humans, I understand. 

And I'll never quit. And I'll never get complacent. And I'll never make peace with it, which means I'll never stop fighting to be the best version of myself I can be using all the resources available to me. I desire to be my authentic self. I desire to be well. I desire to find the middle ground on those goals. I owe that to myself. 

And I owe that to my family. 

I am leaving a mental health legacy for my family. The way I live now, the foundations I set for my children, the peace I make with my preceding gene pool, will have a ripple effect through the generations that follow me down my family tree. I know this like I know a lunch of perfect fries with perfect fry sauce is more effective than any antidepressant on the market, but my hips shouldn't be the only ones to bear my emotional burdens. 

I rambled through all this medical crap to tell you three stories about the power of behavioral therapy and providing our children with emotional intelligence in addition to all the other dance moves available to us.

The first took place several months ago. Russell has the difficulty of truly believing, at seven years old, he has the knowledge and authority of an adult and will relentless assert this as an adult would if another adult were to tell them what to do. This behavior is often disruptive, many times inappropriate, and sometimes even dangerous. So one day after a blow out, a stomp off, and a grand finale of rage tears I found Russell in his room despondent and somehow still simmering. I sat him on my lap, I did not revisit what had began the event, but used some of our other skills to talk quietly for about half an hour. At the end of the conversation he said to me:

"I get it, mom. You know what it is? It's like I'm dancing by a cliff with my eyes closed, and you just don't want me to fall."

Gasp. Dear Lord, please grant me whatever I need to raise this person well, because he is going to change the world.

The next story, last night actually, things had boiled over in a way I was not handling. I can't be something I'm not, I'm switching meds, I'm a little depressed, I'm getting my house ready for guests, I'm volunteering at the school, I'm working on grandma's cookbook that is a week overdue... Which is when Russell mashed the big red button that is my greatest trigger point when he told me know one cares about him because I wanted him to take three bites of dinner before I got him milk. He became more and more agitated until finally his accusing eyes were boring into my soul, and his chin was trembling with the heartbreaking depth of his belief. My WHOLE LIFE is devoted to him and Alice and Jon. I snapped, I hauled him to his room, I silently removed every item in it, I dumped all his markers and crayons into a trash bag, I took his sheets, blankets and pillows, his posters, his toys and every stitch of clothing in his closet. I left him with a mattress, gave him an old big T-shirt to change into, and then quietly told him with my own simmering rage "maybe you need to understand what you are saying when you say no one cares about you, and take some time to notice all the ways in which you are cared for."

Then he laid on the floor and called under the door how much he loved me, how I'm the best mom in the world, how sorry he is, how I should throw all his stuff away, he just wants me to know how much he loves me. 

I'm ashamed. I'm ashamed I write on this blog as if I have a clue about how to help our ADHD kids and then lose it like someone who doesn't know better. I'm ashamed of the way I felt nothing when I did it, and nothing afterward. Like an empty shell.

Twenty minutes later, he was in my room and we were screaming like reality TV villains. I have never done that IN MY LIFE. No one listening, everyone hurting, nothing making sense, nothing hitting home, just angst, and hurt and trying to find out who is going to come out of this as the "victor". 

And then he looked at me and yelled: "Your life would be easier if you just had Alice! I make everything hard! I should never have been born..."

Shit. Oh shit. Oh holy shit. Now, as a person who swings through emotions myself I know exactly how he feels, we have had had conversations where he has said stuff like this before, and I also do not believe in ever telling someone what they are feeling is not what they say it is. I shut my stupid mouth. I blinked hard, I rubbed my fingers over my temples and I looked at him, square in his beautiful red face.

Then he knew he had my attention and again he said "I never should have been born... even though," he looked up, looked me right in my eyes "even though the world was waiting for me to be born." Breath stolen. "And you know what?! I really believe that, I know the earth is waiting for everyone on the planet to be born, it's waiting for us, and it's waiting for us to be hero's, or not, but it's always been waiting for us."

I pulled him on my lap. I rocked him, I told him he was right, and I told him I have always been waiting for him, too. I told him some people live their whole lives and see some pretty things, and see some ugly things, but people like us, artists and singers, when we look at the world we see things that are MAGNIFICENT, and sometimes we see things that are DEVASTATING, some people see a little color in the world and we see it ALL. That means sometimes you're going to hurt, but those are the most important times to eat, and breath, and make it to tomorrow, because that is where you will find the beautiful things again. Some days you just have to give over to hopelessness, and pray to God to fill your body with the warm honey of his love, and then push it through your limbs and fingers and toes and hair until you can feel the light of the goodness that never really leaves you.

"The world was waiting for everyone of us. I know this."

Dear ancient spirits who guide my family, please guide me as I raise this remarkable man.

And finally, I was frustrated yesterday afternoon when I heard that during carpool Russell had called an older high school boy fat. When someone tells you this, you just want to hide your face, you want to scold, I just cringed and I could see on his face he regretted it. I did not bring it up again, but today my friend who drove the carpool gave me the full story.

As the older boy got into the car he declared "I had a shitty day." Russell has never met this older boy and was quiet but then the boy said "yeah, today was totally fucked up." This is when Russell from the back third row seat piped in "You should not say the f word. That word is gross and stupid." As my friend is telling me this, I'm thinking a lot of things, but one of them is how to help Russell ignore stuff, since he just can't seem to help himself and correct the behavior of people around him, but he's seven, so I was shocked when I found out the older boy decided to teach him a lesson by barking "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!" 

Um? What?! 

My driving friend immediately told the kid to shut his trap, and then went on to explain to Russell "you know how your mom says there are words in life you have to earn? Well, this guy has been through a lot of hard things in his life and maybe he has earned it at his house, but not in my car, and he isn't going to say it again." I assume this was accompanied by some kind of awesome mom glare through the rear view mirror. 

There were a few beats of silence and then Russell said:

"Even if I earn that word, I'm never going to use it. Or the shit word." The older boy snarls and asks why that is and Russell replied matter of factly:

"Because I am an artist. Because I am going to put beautiful things into the world. If I can put ugly things in the world, or beautiful things, I want to be the one that makes the beautiful things, and says beautiful things."

Dear Jesus, if you are reading this, please don't let me fail this boy. Dear Universe, if you have reasons for giving a small family of four three brains that are wired squirrelly, please make it be for a reason, and please let me work for that reason. Dear Dead Cats, please tell Fern to stop putting lizards in our shoes. 

In the name of hope and tomorrow, amen.

Since, apparently, I have nothing left to lose.

First, I would like remind you about the time I was taking a precious 30 seconds to myself when Alice slid the turkey thermometer under the bathroom door and declared "Here, mom, this will tell you when you are done."

Then I would like you join me in laughing a little too loud and a little too long because I assumed that would be the first and last bathroom story I would feel the need to share in a public forum.

Duh. MOM = endless supply of "hysterical" stories that take place in a room that prior to children I was able to pretend didn't exist when in the company of cute boys. 

So it's Sunday morning, when I find myself daintily perched on the unmentionable porcelain throne while wearing my new favorite skirt which happens to be 6 layers of flowing olive green floor length chiffon. Minding my OWN business! In a rush to get out of the house and to my very dignified calling as a Sunday School teacher for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints...

...when under the small crack at the bottom of the door...

...followed by the frantic sound of claws, furry bodies slamming, and general low to the ground chaos...

...a big,

slithery,

toothy,

sharp fingered,

lizard! comes FLYING across the floor, smacking into my bare feet, and then SCRAMBLING UP MY DRESS. 

I was actually surprisingly calm and collected; as long as that description includes shaking my skirt like it was on fire until finally swatting this damn thing off, grabbing handfuls of the suddenly excessive layers of slippery fabric and holding my legs straight out in front of me while shrieking "HELP ME! HELP ME! HHHHHEEEEELLLLLLPPPPPPP!!!"

Now for just a second I would like you to imagine my sweet husband brushing his teeth, minding his own business, and also being the only person left in this house who affords me any bathroom privacy. I can't imagine there are many things you would like to hear more than your wife scream behind a closed bathroom door, and for his polite knocking on the door I thank him.

But for his polite knocking on the bathroom door?! When I'm screaming "HHHHHEEEELLLLPPP!" I also kind of sailor curse him.

"JUST OPEN THE DOOR!"

"Why?"

Is that fear I detect from you, dear husband? I'm in here with a prehistoric creature and YOU'RE AFRAID?!

So of course I calmly responded with inarticulate rage yipping and hollering while my legs began to threaten lowering the remaining dripping fabric close enough to the floor to allow another reptilian scaling.

"Open. The. Door." Said in the scariest voice I could manage which finally prompted the cautious turn of the handle and revealed not only Jon, but both of my darling children and two evil cats, all with eyes as big as silver dollars.

I wish I could tell you I had the common sense to have pulled my skirt up around my waist in the beginning so that when this grand picture opened I could have been sitting like a proper lady, legs propped up, cheeks covered... but I'm afraid I did not want any part of my cute new skirt sitting on the back of the toilet so instead it’s wrapped around my thighs and my eyes were shut so tight I was almost sure that if I couldn't see them, they couldn't see me, right?

Eyes shut, legs giving out, brain about to explode and all I can get out is "Lizard! LizardlizardlizardlizardlizardlizardLizardLIZARD!! LIZARD!!"

Thank goodness Jon saw the size of it, exclaimed "Whoa!" and finally jumped into action!! Unfortunately it was to find something to pick it up with. I repeat: SOMETHING TO PICK IT UP WITH.

I am not ashamed to admit the next words out of my mouth were in line with my previous lady like conduct when I cried, "Jon King! So help me; you are a grown man, you were raised on a farm, your children are watching, and if you don't get this lizard away from my bare butt right this second I am returning you to your mother and requesting a FULL REFUND!!"

Needless to say he grabbed the dinosaur and quickly threw it out the back door saving our marriage, the lizard, and what little was left of my dignity. 

Which I needed so I could write this and obliterate it completely.

You're welcome  :)

You gotta have faith, Faith, FAITH!

Okay, I'm going to try really hard not to step on any toes here, but I'm on a journey and in order for me to get help on my journey I have to speak from my truth. 

(That was my version of a disclaimer :)

So, it has recently come to my attention that I have a problem with the word faith. More specifically, I have many negative associations with the word. 

What a weird thing to say, right? Only, I don't think it's that weird now that I’ve put my finger on it. I get so squirrelly in my chair when people get all religious in sing songy weepy voices, or quote a scripture that seems to signal the end of a conversation I thought was just getting started. I'm not trying to be rude, I actually have to grip the chair to keep myself from sliding out of it in an attempt to disappear, or you know, BE ANYWHERE ELSE, when someone cuts off a conversation with the words "you've just got to have faith."

Now would be the time for you to close this blog post if I've just made you uncomfortable. 

Here is my truth: I do not want to replace the word "fear" with the word "faith" just because being afraid makes me uncomfortable. When some people speak of faith they conjure an image in my mind of someone crouched in a ball with their hands over their ears squeezing their eyes shut and repeating the things they have been promised at a later time if they will just maintain this version of the fetal position. I find myself thinking at them with all my might:

Stand.

Up. 

God gave you arms and legs and life! To fill your mind with opportunity and wonder! To give you knowledge of good AND evil so you could return to him a more complete version on yourself, one that you participated in shaping. The church I attend on Sundays was STARTED with a question in a grove, and now I feel that there are two groups of people, those who still ask questions, and those who seem to react as though wondering or questioning is blasphemous. 

To be clear, I do not believe faith is a bad word, I think I just need some new reference material for what that word means to me. The one definition I've always liked is: Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. (New Testament, Hebrews, Chapter 11)

I like the words "substance" and "evidence" in that quote since I often feel like I'm flailing around for a railing or something. That is the faith I am seeking, and obviously that substance and evidence has to come from my own understanding or participation. This is not something you can really give or take, even though there may be times you can snuggle under the warm blanket of someone else's faith, the substance and evidence you carry will eventually have to be your own if it is really going to keep you warm. 

So what hoped for things do I have evidence of? Well: there is a force greater than myself that cares about what happens on my earth journey. I don't know why, I can't justify why someone would be born to a short mean life in a war torn nation while across the planet I would have a night where I am guided to the forest where we would eventually buy our home, and KNOW, before I had any proof to give anyone including my most beloved, that this spot is where I would raise my children.  Why would someone give me that knowledge? Why, when there is such neglect in the world, would I have been given visions of my bright future when I was a homeless 17 year old? No, not visions; knowledge. Sometimes I have been given knowledge about things that will happen in my life, exactly who will be there, and other pretty specific information about the moment and I never tell anyone because it almost seems too freaky, but when these moment come to fruition, I always wish I had so we could scrape our jaws off the floor together. That is a tangible thing I can not personally deny, and it erases for me why "pure science" would be the only thing at work on this planet. 

But I've never seen a ghost, I've never had important biblical persons appear in a dream and wake with the need to write it all down, I've never had an incredibly moving experience receiving a blessing except the nervousness of feeling like if I don't cry everyone will know I didn't feel anything when they look at my dry cheeks and that means something is totally wrong with me, right? Like a soulless shell wandering the planet who someday will commit a ghastly crime and the news will show the haunted faces of characters in my past saying "There was always something wrong with that girl..."

People talk about the birth of their children being the moment the universe opened its arms and golden truth flowed through them like a crashing storm. I may have been overwhelmed by the blinding newness of my tiny beautiful humans, but I had more questions then EVER after they were born.

But substance? Yes. They gave me substance over time. They are the reason I was born. They are here to show me who I really am. They are the substance of all the things I have hoped for my whole life. 

But I need some faith. I don't know how long I can stand the way my boat gets tossed around the hills and valleys of everyday life. The way I can have ultimate confidence in myself one moment, and crippling doubt in the next. Sometimes I read my own damn blog and wish I knew that girl! I bet she would have tons of good ideas to help my family! 

I hate extremes. Even growing up "not Mormon" in Utah, I was never anti-Mormon. I had as much interest in hearing "the things Mormon leaders don't want you to know," as I did in hearing a 16 year old boy who wanted to date me bear his testimony. I just mind my own business, so I found myself totally thrown off balance last week while playing a game of Bubble Witch and listening to the TLC show "Sister Wives" and finding out that not only was Joseph Smith a polygamist (which I knew) but he was married to 33 women, many who were still married to other living men who were not told, and in fact did it ALL in secret. One of my beloved heroine's of Mormon history, Joseph's wife, Emma Smith, was never told about the marriages, denied it vehemently publicly and privately only to find out shortly before Josephs death that it was true and in fact, he was married to many of my other Mormon heroines that were among Emma's best and dearest confidants, the same women who together founded the original Relief Society that still functions in our church to this day. 

I have to say, I hate the thought of her being humiliated and deceived this way. My heart really broke as the reality of what that must have been like for her sunk in, and knowing that she continued to be a woman of tremendous dedication and faith until her death made me pause like nothing has in a long time. The amount of children she buried alone would make most people fall completely apart, and she was a rock, the original kick ass Mormon woman, and I felt so crappy for the bad turn she was delivered. 

Lucky for me, I happen to be the sister of one of the worlds leading brains for all things Mormon women's history. I mean, she was only quoted in the New York Times last week, and when she's not directing her ward’s primary choir, she is the co-editor of Exponent II, a poetic and insightful Mormon Women's publication filled with art and an array of female voices at various stages of spiritual growth, and more than I’d like to admit to my big sister (especially publically), it is often what inspires me to get my sarcastic butt to church.

So while I'm already in the midst of this "new meaning for faith" kick I've been on for a few months, suddenly I'm sitting with my sister and her Johns Hopkins Professor husband who did much of the research and is quoted in Rough Stone Rolling (the thick biography of Joseph Smith as told through authentic historical documents). We sat on the porch in my “foretold” forest backyard, and my mind is being blown by the calm and almost bemused delivery about facts dating back to the conception of the church I take my kids to. I wasn't having a bible basher yell in my face outside of the Manti Pageant, or in a pot smoking haven in some Park City basement apartment partaking in Mormon trashing, I was outside! Being educated by worlds experts on my religion while our kids made swords out of sticks and pretended to slay each other while shrieking and laughing, then laying exhausted sprawled on their backs in the thick carpet of clovers to find designs in the leaves overhead. 

I don't know. I don't really know what to say about any of this, except to say my faith journey is taking me down roads I did not anticipate. I have always been fond of Joseph Smith, and I have been more fond of my religion lately than I ever have been before, but sometimes you have to take time to reorganize things as new information filters in or one day it might all come crashing down. For NOW, I am going to leave myself with a challenge and if you made it this far, I would love you to join me: 7 days of faith. I am going to post one comment per day on this entry of something I have faith in. This is not just a Mormon thing, my favorite spiritual music is sung by the SLC Calvary Baptist Choir and my favorite preacher shows up to a nearby elementary school every Sunday to lead his Rock Harbor congregation. I promise not to ever tell a fib, be sarcastic, or claim I have faith in anything I still only hope is true, and I promise to honor anything you guys might share if you don't mind letting me snuggle up under your faith blanket for a minute :)

Mary Poppins Costume Grand Finale

If you get Mary Poppins overload just yell Uncle! I probably won’t stop posting Mary pictures, but it will startle anyone nearby, and that would be funny. I am almost done with the slideshow from the Mary Birthday Party, but before I put Alice’s dress in a shadow frame for her wall, we just HAD to put it on one last time and see if we would finally get our Mary and Bert to meet the REAL Mary and Burt.

There was minute, fully costumed in the car, when we heard that Mary would not be at the park today. Determined to make the best of it we arrived anyway only to be flagged down by Disney Employees waiving their arms calling “Turn around!”

Brace yourselves!

THIS

is the magic that followed:

I. Cried.

I didn’t mean too! But that dress, I made it for Alice for fun because she loves Mary, and then it took over the last few months of our lives in a practically perfect way. I’m so grateful for the beautiful sunshine that came out today and for the opportunity to have big dreams for my tiny humans, to live in a place where they are possible, and then be there when some of them come true.

Amen :)

In Case Of Emergency

My ADHD tabs have remained mostly unchanged up there, and I check them sometimes to see if they are still valid, always ready to cringe, yet usually surprised that I still pretty much stand by what I had to say about this subject when I was just getting my feet wet.

BUT

I know so much more now! And without complicating things by adding a little info under each tab I am going to put my cup holder right here where everyone can grab it quickly!

(I say “cup holder” because when my big sister was attending her first day of kindergarten she pulled the fire alarm by the drinking fountain thinking it must be where they keep the cups, and I love her and that story)

SO, here you go guys, my BEST and MOST successful advice, items, books and links for when you find yourself at the "What Now?!" Crossroads of this crazy ADHD ride.

1. A label is not something you WEAR like a beauty pageant sash, it is a DOOR that you open.

Behind that door are people and resources and coping skills for making a successful life. A label is a quick way of identifying with someone who has has faced similar struggles, only they are totally nailing this life thing! Sure, you can try to figure it out yourself, but why WOULDN'T you want to know what they have gathered in their tool box? Listen, I'm lazy and selfish, if I can, I will always opt to save myself some time and from unnecessary heartache.

2. Sometimes? Act like you've just been involved in a car accident.

I swear it's the slow motion catastrophic events that will ruin your life in a far more permanent way than an earthquake or a heart attack. Those events demand ACTION. They demand your ATTENTION. You will take time off of work to ADDRESS them. I CAN NOT stress this enough: apathy will ruin your life.

In every ADHD life cycle there are moments where the walls crumble and a teacher or a doctor or a police officer or a divorce lawyer will make you look at the ugly thing, and right then it has your attention, but as soon the the worst part of the crisis is past, walls begin to rise again quickly. “I will do it tomorrow, it's just a phase, the medicine has fixed it, everything will be fine...” and you MISSED your car accident! You might even miss the moment when your son needed his legs set by a proper doctor and then the physical therapy required so he could walk correctly in the future.

3. By the time someone tells you that you, or your child, or your spouse! has ADHD, they and a hundred other people have already thought it a thousand times.

When a teacher says "you may want to look into this." You better get off your butt because NO ONE wants to be the bearer of that news. It’s my professional mom opinion that if they can avoid telling you for one more year, they will. By the time you are hearing about it, it has been discussed with other teachers, principles, day care providers, possibly even other parents. Do not sugar coat this information for yourself, do not say "well, we'll see what the next teacher says" go to a DOCTOR. Go to a behavioral specialist, or get them evaluated through the school immediately.

As grown ups our days fly by, but do you remember how the four years of high school felt like a whole decade? Or how much agonizing time was in between Christmas' when you were 8? For our kids, a day is a long time, and day after day of not having tools to keep out of trouble WILL wreck havoc on their beautiful shiny brains. I speak from experience. To this day I still feel like there is something essentially wrong with me, even though I know that feeling comes from years of living on the verge of being reprimanded at all times; by others or especially beating up on myself for one dumb thing or another. So…

4. BE NICE TO YOURSELF

When I'm so mad or fed up with Russell I could lose it, I say "I am a good mom. He is a good boy. I am doing a good job." Suddenly, even though he is still pouring a bag of oats over the back of the couch, I have the ability to say "Can I please have that?" remove it with no anger, walk to the kitchen, come back and sit down. "Now what should we do?" I ask. He might rage up the stairs, he might cry and say he sorry, his behavior is still his, but now my temper is not the focus of this situation, because, huh! I am a good mom, he IS a good boy, and I am doing a good job.

5. READ THIS YESTERDAY: Kids Parents and Power Struggles

The name is so serious, but OMG, this book is sharp, compassionate to the reader, and changed my life. Period. It doesn't have unrealistic expectations, it also falls under the "be nice to yourself" idea and, because of that, I am about a thousand times more receptive to all the great coping strategies she includes. And she never uses labels if those still bug you, it really addresses the humanity of everyone involved in the situation. Plus you will leave this book with the most important information you might ever bring the table in this adventure: Know Your Parenting Style.

6. THEN READ THIS: 10 Days To A Less Defiant Child

I will be honest, I skimmed this book because I already read a lot and don't need the baby steps of information, but it's written in a great bullet point style that is easy to flip through, Jon has read it page by page, and I would say the yelling in this house has gone down about 90%. Russell didn't change when we read the book, WE changed. I don't agree with everything he says, but I got three huge things out of it:

Never let someone else bring you down to their level, even in punishment it rewards them (consciously or subconsciously)

Living life by the saying “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure,” does not make you a weak parent. I suddenly had a NAME for parents that don’t give their kids clear expectations inevitably followed by screaming at them ten minutes later: worker bee’s! I am far too lazy to deliver the pound of cure a little patience and forethought at the beginning could avoid.

Finally this book led Russell and I to making up number 7…

7. "I am extending a hand of friendship."

This phrase lets no one off the hook. It doesn't say I'm right, it doesn't say you're right, it says: when we woke up this morning we liked each other, now let's act like it.  Russell LOVES language and the power of language, so these words aren't too advanced for him, it’s almost like a ritual. When I start to boil over, or he does, or Jon with me, or Russell with Alice, we close our eyes put out a hand and declare "I'm extending a hand of friendship." Then you wait (maybe peeking a little). Everyone gets quiet, and eventually everyone gives in because if  you want this time out trick to work for you, you have to work for it. The minute your skin makes contact and hands clasp... everything changes. It's not magic, and the patience it requires is tedious sometimes, like when you're at the mall with people watching... but I stand with my hand out reached and we pause. Then, after fingers are clasped, the one who extended the hand has to ask "Are you okay?"

It still doesn't let anyone off the hook, but it validates their angst. Rules still apply, consequences still apply, but love is also applied.

Those two phrases have changed our lives.

8. SLEEP

Russell has a weighted blanket. It has also changed our lives, you can make them but when I priced them out it was only a little more to get it done correctly and professionally with fabrics of our choice. He also has a large oscillating fan in his room (because the little fans are too loud), and he has a simple sound machine with 10 sounds. For the first time in his life he goes to sleep easier, and stays asleep longer.

9. Eat Real Food

This falls under the car accident mentality, I know you don't want to, but I'm not asking you to go on a diet to lose weight, I'm telling you for the sake of everyone in your house: eat real food! Don't go crazy, don't become a vegan prophet, don't get overwhelmed! Just get Michael Pollan's Food Rules and start thinking about it. Take a little more time at the store to read labels. Buy lots and lots of dark chocolate from Trader Joe's. Russell is not gluten allergic and our pediatrician said its not healthy to take gluten out of your diet if you're not allergic, but goodness knows I would do it in a heartbeat if I knew it would help.

Also, medicine makes food a nightmare so Russell has his own snack shelf. He can eat anything on it at any time, as well as certain things in the fridge and freezer. Midnight, morning, after school, DURING DINNER, I don't care because being on medicine at seven years old is challenging and that's one way we can be understanding.

10. Sign up for email updates from ADDitude Magazine

Then, just every once in a while, open one up and click on an article that interests you and read at at least 30% of it before going back to check your Facebook. This will help you not feel ALONE, or like you might be making up some of your problems, or that no one can do anything about any of this. People can and they are and, whew, we really are not alone in this!

11. MEDICATE

Do it. Do it well. Become a connoisseur and use the BEST information both Eastern and Western Medicines have to offer, then breath deeply, and know that what works today may not work tomorrow. In fact your medicine needs will change for your WHOLE LIFE. Accept that now, shake your fist at the sky like I do, but accept it, and never get complacent with meds. And NEVER MEDICATE WITHOUT SOME FORM OF BEHAVIORAL THERAPY. Psychologist and psychiatrists are two TOTALLY different animals, you cannot get your needs met by just one or the other. Period.

Most importantly, never accept that feeling like crap for no good reason is okay.

12. Aroma Therapy.

Don't over think it or overpay, go to amazon, get some oils, keep them in your house, your car, your purse, by your bed, in your fridge. I don't get caught up in what they are supposed to be for; calming, energizing etc., I just pick what I like and it's wonderful how a smell can make you instantly present in your own skin.

13. Beam Me Up Scotty

Accept technology. I spent a year telling Russell enough, get off the computer, you don't need the iPad right now... then I stopped. I say sure! And... no one died. I have accepted that all those families in the Star Ship Enterprise used technology as part of how life FUNCTIONS for them. I've embraced it and while we still take total zero technology breaks for a week every once in a while, I love Russell, and I respect his love of games and the art of games, and his skill at them. I am an active participant in his technology life, and he has more input on my blog and Facebook than you'd ever imagine.

We have plastic gold coins displayed proudly in the middle of the house, one gold coin is one minute of Minecraft. The satisfaction of twenty gold coins clanging into the Good Boy Jar is quite fun, and removing five here or there can be a devastating blow for someone unwilling to take a dish to the sink… until they find a way to earn them back ASAP.

Plus we live in a forest and he asked for a pick axe and geodes for Christmas. Technology works for us, not the other way ‘round, and that’s always the goal.

14. Empower Your Bright Child With Language

My last piece of advice is for you and your child, or you and your INNER child. I don't care if that makes me a hippy dippy weirdo, our kids (inside and out), need to understand they are not bad. They are not broken. They are responsible for their actions, but making amends is so much more important than never screwing up.  Understanding the way your brain craves adrenalin is CRUCIAL to self esteem, a person isn't bad because their brain wants to be connected to itself. With ADHD it's just not. It's trying to create its own paths and excitement and movement and sensory input to feel connected. That's just science, man! Not a bad seed. I promise you, if you don't include your kids in this process now, they WILL stop taking their meds in high school. They will not have coping skills when it's time to leave home. They will not know as much about their brain as you do when it time for them to be the one taking care of it.

Russell has seen diagrams of the brain, he can probably explain ADHD to a college class, he knows all the famous figures in history who were brilliant and a little “off their rockers,” he knows he has everything a person needs to change the world, and most of all, that we are a family proud to be a part of the moving and shaking that comes with this.

Even when we yell about it with our brightly colored “love of language” sailor cursing.

Good luck guys. Let me know if I missed anything!

It’s not me, it’s you.

Dear Technology,

Once again our relationship has become unhealthy and we are GIVING YOU THE BOOT! Well, for a week. Expect things to be different when you return.

Love, The Kings

…

Just like all of our cats, we don’t pick our Technology Breaks, they pick us! If you try to plan a Technology Break it will always be “next week.” Even when next week arrives, somehow Technology Break is still next week!

And then, as in Breaks of the past, a few weeks of relentless technology sounds boil over and Mom puts down Bubble Witch in the middle of a great move and says “DONE!”

Then Mommy, despite her own immediate and building withdrawal symptoms <and maybe a little whimpering>, asks to Daddy hide all the iPad’s. Yes, ALL of them <more mommy whimpering>, uninstall Facebook and Safari from the iPhone's, unplug all the computers except the one in his office that has had the chair replaced with one mighty uncomfortable little square stool with no cushion or back rest. What it DOES have, is a sweet little record player and a cushion bench for Miss Alice to play her Disney Read Along Records while I type this, keep up with important emails and maybe give the occasional Facebook update about our deep suffering.

Well.

Except.

We started this at 4pm yesterday and by 8:00pm kids were asleep and we had already gone on a slow short forest walk after a day of everyone being very sick, we had made a small chicken soup dinner, together! Talking and hanging out in the kitchen, sat down together and ate it, read stories snuggled with mommy in bed…

…and then…

<brace yourselves>

Jon vacuumed the living room. JUST BECAUSE.

Before we ate dinner we had a family meeting where Russell shed some great big tears, but we let everyone talk about their favorite parts of technology, and I frankly told Russell that I feel like when he asks me if I want to draw with him, I would rather play iPad and that makes me feel guilty, but I don’t know how to feel different. I need practice, I wonder if he would like to draw with me more? Then we agreed that once a day Russell and I would sit together in Dad’s office and play half an hour of our favorite computer game Mystery Case Files together. We used to do that all the time before iPads! And we sat down with paper and pencils! and began to outline the iPad game that our family has always wanted to create with our children's art and voices. 

It’s amazing how many things I’ve been meaning to do, and how little time I seem to have to do it. As we have done during breaks in the past, I now have a small notepad I keep with me that I use to jot down notes for what I would normally pull out my iPad for… and then never did because I see something shiny and end up reading about the divorce of a “celebrity” I’ve never heard of.

Now I can sit on my uncomfortable chair for bit, head down my list, make technology work for ME (instead of the other way round), write this blog post, write overdue thank you notes for Christmas presents, send a bday present out through etsy, begin compiling the Mary Poppins Bday pics, and then walk out of daddy’s office, closing the door behind me iPencil and iNotepad in hand :)

I feel anxious. I feel RELIEVED. I feel my fingers twitching for a screen to swipe across. I feel FREE to blow off all the things I have felt obligated to do recently, like tv shows that “must” be watched, tragic news that “must” be read, invest in political bickering that NEVER ENDS. I am pretty sure I won’t be able to stop myself from sometimes thinking in the form of Facebook updates, but I promise to write them down and give the best ones in a BLOG POST later this week. You know, my sad neglected blog where I used to spin my hopes and dreams and now sits ignored. 

Oops! The Pete’s Dragon Record has come to an end and the Tiny Pink Punk just lifted the back of my shirt and pressed and ice cold Fresca to my warm skin!! YIKES!! I guess that means time is up!! Hahahahaha, look I even have this picture on my desktop of the face I made when she did it:

Hey, that’s also the face my family made when I told them about our Technology Break :)

See ya around peeps!

Support a Marine family this Christmas! (for reals)

As the wife of a Navy Veteran I'm always looking for ways to give back to our service men and women. This year I have been drawn to the Marines since my beLOVEd cousin Montana is headed there in March. We tried to talk him into the Navy to the point of getting smacked, but now that he has begun his pre boot camp training the change that has come over him steals my breath a little. This is a kid who was born for honor, and now he's becoming a man, one of The Few and the Proud, right in front of us. 

So I reached out to one of my high school besties, Ms. Deanna, who lives in Japan with her beautiful family, and works for the Sailor and Marine Relief Society. I asked if I could just send her some money? Could she get it to our service men and women and the families she serves? She sent me this link (which we should all bookmark) 

http://www.nmcrs.org

I will use that, but again I pushed her, "I don't like giving cash, I never know where it goes, but I know YOU, can't I send you some money and know you'll get it to someone who needs the holiday pick me up?" This was her response:

"As a society, we put 100% of donations right back to the Sailors and Marines.  You can choose some of our other programs to donate to like our educations programs or our visiting nurse program. I recently have setup a visiting nurse program here in Iwakuni. The nurse goes to new parents' homes and helps them out with whatever they might need after a baby is born. It's wonderful especially because we have so many young mothers here and they are so far away from family. She is volunteering her time to do this too."

I. Cried. I moved to California at 8 months pregnant, I know what it feels like to tackle something so overwhelming so far from everyone who loves me enough to see me barf covered in a three day unwashed shirt and no bra with peanut butter in my hair, but I had Jon with me. And I was in my home country. I love Deanna for this suggestion and I feel enormous gratitude for this visiting nurse and the time she donates to our Sailor and Marine families in their time of such great need. 

In addition I will be asking Deanna to use some of the money to buy some baby blankets and essentials so when the nurse goes to visit a family she has a stock of items to pick from to help the new family. I would gather these items here, but I'm not sure that is cost effective with the price of shipping to Japan, and I know Deanna will do a good job budgeting and setting that up.

Thank you, Deanna, I am so proud to be your friend. And, of course, thank you to all our service women, men and families, especially during these holiday seasons and every other day of the year. 

Did this strike a nerve with you, too? Join me in donating to the Sailor and Marine visiting nurse through my friend Deanna by clicking on the button below. Just imagine your ten bucks swaddling a new Marine baby overseas, and then give me one good reason you don't want to join me on this :)

(don’t worry it’s all secure through paypal, I just liked that graphic :)

Because I'm an excellent mother on Tuesdays and every other Sunday.

So Russell barfed at school today (wait for it, that's not the terrible part of the story) so we came home and commenced with the bowl/couch/blanket/ginger ale portion of our day. Because Alice and I were now hostage to "sick day" as well, we decided to find something on Netflix for us all to enjoy
together. Enter "Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale"

The cover art was sort of charming, the kids asked me to play it and the description read "This unusual Christmas story is set in the frozen beauty of Finland where local reindeer herders race to..." yeah, I get it, blah blah blah I push play. Enter adorable boys spying on weird fur coat guy standing on a mountain declaring the spot "a sacred tomb, the grave of SANTA CLAUS!" Wha?! But the spying boys were so cute and even though I thought, "geez, that's weird maybe I should turn this off," suddenly our small hero's were in an library pulling down great old beautiful books covered in red and green illustrations so I cautiously put down the remote only to have the boys open the books to black and white drawings of Santa sitting on a pile of skulls and boiling children in a cauldron!! I am the WORST MOTHER EVER.

All at once I'm sort of laughing/yelling/frantically pushing buttons on the remote trying to distract them and turn it off while hopefully not scaring them even worse with my own crazy eyes... which is how I get back to the description screen and finally see the four very important words I missed at the end of the description, you know the one that said "This unusual Christmas story is set in the frozen beauty of Finland where local reindeer herders race to..."

And I was all blah blah blah?

And it was all : "capture an ancient evil!"

Oh yeah, on Russell's early off barf day I decided to accidentally start a rated R horror movie about Santa for my three and seven year old.

Followed promptly by a four hour brainwashing of GOOD Christmas goodies, including chipmunks, a grinch, and my little ponies decorating cartoon trees with their no hands.

You guys, I'm seriously red in the face even writing this. As red as a naughty child Bad Santa boiled in a cauldron.

Don’t Walk, RUN!

*SPOILER ALERT*

If you aren’t caught up on The Walking Dead, the second half of this post is NOT for you, although if you like The Walking Dead, the first part may interest you.

*don't worry, I'll tell you when to run*

I will keep this short, I have seen a lot of zombie movies. A. Lot. I'm sure there are forums and experts and this topic has been dissected a million ways, but you're not there, you're here, and here is what I think:

Masses of people moving "unconsciously" as a group is freaky, and that happens at Disneyland and Costco every single day. The phrase "she is so cute I could EAT her!" is said about children because secretly we all want to consume/absorb/own/never-part-with the things that make us feel alive. 

(in this case I don’t think it’s about the child, I think it’s “youth” because I’ve never heard anyone talk about how they love their grandmother so much they could eat her)

The zombie nightmare also accompanies the “End Of World” scenario that fascinates us because we all imagine ourselves as one of the rag tag survivors, and not one of the masses who bit it in the first ten minutes... plus we LOVE our "Now What's!?" You know: rules out the window, religion up for grabs, resourceful deviants now become the go to guys, and hero's might become the villains on purpose or accident. That's how those movies often go, because none of us went into the theatre as our own hero, good story tellers know we identify with the complicated "human" character as long as he redeems himself in the end (and we all want to nod wisely because we always knew that smug good guy was mostly an act since no one is THAT great all the time)

<cough>facebook<cough>

As a devoted zombie fan I got so freaking scared during the first season of The Walking Dead that I had to pause it once to tell Jon "I am SO scared that I can't help being SO happy for the writers and creators of this show." The show is so good, watching it feels like a conversation I am having instead of just cataloging information into my nightmare files. 

But today?

*Now you can run, Innocents, the spoiling has arrived*

...

...

I can't stop crying. 

It's just a TV show, right? Except humans are EXTRAORDINARY, and whether it’s a TV show that makes you remember that, or the stone pillars beside historic sights where enormous courage once emerged for a brilliant flashing moment, some things are worthy of great heaving sobs.  

What happened with T-Dog, after all the things he had done and seen, the way goodness continued to trickle unobtrusively from him for the last two seasons, I felt in step with him into the moment of his reckoning and was startled when his last thoughts were courage and faith in his loving God. His first bite broke my heart and his last scene made my blood run cold (on a side note, I'm always happy for an actor when they get a glorious death scene. If you were in a zombie movie and your character died in their sleep, wouldn't you just be pissed?) 

But Laurie's death has left me reeling:

1. Duh, I'm a mom 

2. Duh, I have a son 

3. Duh, I had a c-section (OMG, right) 

But more. Back to Disneyland, to Costco, to no problem exclaiming our desire to eat "widdle adorable puppies"... When zombie movies and real possibilities collide. Today women are out there, walking for miles in labor, only to be turned away from tent hospitals that have no room until someone is actually dying. Not far from where I grew up, a monument stands where a band of Indians surrounded a small pioneer family, scalping them all and leaving them for dead. A young mother dragged her wounded body and unharmed newborn ten miles to the nearest homestead where she died on the porch. And her child lived. 

I can not change the world. I can barely get dinner on the table and attend 2/3rds of my religious services every couple of weeks, but I can watch a silly little TV show with my husband one night, and I can choose not to look away when a beloved character fights to live, to die well, for their family, for what life CAN BE. And I can cry, and I can wake up the next day and write this post. And I can know that one female character on a tv show grabbing her child for the last time and forcing her love into him, onto him, around him, to feed him, to carry him, to gift to him... I will honor that. I will honor what it looks like because I've never had to do it, but it is done All. The. Time. 

And today I will remember that. 

Plus, I like being right! I always knew Zombie movies where just a bloodied up commentary on real life, and now it seems like everyone else knows that too. Now… on to Election Day! That IS scary! No wonder zombies are always looking for brains, they must have lived through election season in Ohio.

You get the paint, I’ll get the hose.

I watch Oprah.

I will wait while you roll your eyes enough times to get it out of your system.

I think her series Oprah:The Next Chapter does what her talk show couldn't, it gives you the surface gossip you want and then digs deeper into the lives of the worlds most remarkable people or into world events in a way that can permanently change the way you process an idea.

I am a brat. There is an element of these interviews that validates my bratty-ness :) For instance, I am very selective about what I will let have power over my life. I consciously pick and choose what comes into my sphere, takes my time, and influences the actions of people in this house. I visit Pinterest, but I prefer uploading to Pinterest. I'm a great singer, but unlike devastated American Idol rejects, I don't need to be famous to know I'm a great singer and I intend to sing every day for the rest of my life.

What I feel like I have in common with many of the people Oprah has been visiting this year, is they all seem to take greater risks on a more regular basis, are motivated by genuinely wanting good things for the people they encounter, and possess a hope reservoir that refills itself after moments of indecision, great doubt, or of total failure. I know many people that have these traits, but the person I know who has it the most and in a lot of the the same ways I do, is my son Russell. We share a fierce determination to be the creators of our own universe. To storm around but eventually come full circle, switch gears, and try again. No matter what anyone thinks, we know we were right in the first place, but maybe our approach was wrong? We just do it again, better, to prove ourselves right. It's like a requirement to keep the balance between the two halves of our brain.

(that some doctors have suggested could use couples therapy)

(Left Brain says, "Right brain? When you make our finger poke us in the eye, it makes me feel frustrated. " To which Right Brain responds "Hey do you smell candy? I wonder if we will have pizza for dinner again. I love kittens!)

The time has been quickly approaching when I know I will be opening an art studio for ADHD children in my home, and also heading up my own ADHD/ODD parent support group.  This has the potential to put me in a tricky spot, since my opinions about ADHD are strong, it is a polarizing topic, and I want people to like me.

I would say, ADHD or not, one of the greatest challenges every person that comes to this planet faces, is learning to make peace with people who don't understand your choices. Whether it's the break up of a friendship, a parents disapproval, peers that band together as a group to dislike you for something you did or didn't do, or OTHER parents opinions about your parenting.

In the last four years, I have learned to stop explaining myself. For instance, I am not sorry for the way I loosely practice my religion, and am a little surprised to find myself more devoted to it because of this new freedom. I have learned that I don't mind pushing buttons about things that are important to me, even if it makes people mad or uncomfortable. Those feelings are so much better than indifference!

Anyway, I tell you all this because Lady Gaga said something to Oprah that could literally be the mission statement for how I intend to effect change in area I am the most passionate about; Nurturing and guiding the tender spirits of the next generation of ADHD children. This includes the challenges we face getting them through the tedious routines of our everydays, knowing we are raising future adults who can be successful while embracing themselves for who they are, preparing them to leave our homes with a tool kit of coping skills, and have the vocabulary to understand their own remarkable journey.

Lady Gaga said the following when discussing her song “Born This Way”:

Once I put it out there, the conversation wouldn't stop. Whether this was good, bad, controversial, this is an old topic, this is a new topic, people who have been around; 60 year olds were saying "we dealt with this in the 90's" no we didn't! It's still lingering and the denial of it is more pervasive than ever. The shallow excuses, the efforts to tear away at the center of the heart of something that is is so simple and so pure and so loving, I saw it and I said "I did it." I hit the nerve. You know how you hit the nerve? Because everyone isn't waving a flag that says "I love Gaga" you've got a bunch of "I love her," and you've got a bunch of "I hate her" and "I don't get it" "what is this rubbish?" "explain it to me" and I said "this is it." I hit the nerve.

You have to hit the nerve. If you don't hit the nerve, it's like a volcano. It can't erupt unless something goes haywire. It has to emerge, it has to explode. I'm not interested in making lukewarm pop music, or lukewarm philanthropic efforts, or raising a bunch of money and just throwing it against the wall of an organization that I don't even know about. What I want to do is strike your nerve over, and over, and over again, to get YOU talking, so YOU can be a part of this message that will change everything.

Wow.

Hearing that I just had this “aha!” feeling: I might spend the next few decades of my life throwing paint on the walls and embracing the mess that has to happen in order to get to those volcano’s. The explosions that rip away what we expected from these babies when we carried them in our bellies, so we can look them right in their faces, decide to know who they are while they are still figuring it out, and adjust our plans accordingly.

Now I have to go, my house is a mess! Kidney Stone + Camping + Halloween = Disaster! Wish me luck :)