A list for next time

I’m hesitant to even put this out there.  It’s so lame.  But maybe if it helps someone else feel normal then it will be ok.  It started when I was texting my sister a couple of days ago, she asked how it was going.

Not the best day.  But nowhere near the worst.  Probably because it wasn’t Thursday.  But still an anomaly.  When people ask how I am, I try to be honest.  Not the nitty gritty particulars, but I do try to be sincere and not just give the fake lipstick smile.  Occasionally—especially at an evening event—I’ll admit I’m kind of grumpy or just tired.  But truly, I’m not lying when I tell them I’m usually doing fine—there’s really nothing worth being extraordinarily upset about in my life.  And you should know me well enough to know by now I’d tell you the truth.  I caught one teen girl off-guard one Sunday when she was standing by her mom and the mom asked how I was.  I told her how irritable I was at getting the five kids ready for church by myself.  She was stunned;  but the mom knew where I was coming from.  Most days are just the perfect mix for me:  some structure flanked by flexibility.  Some commitments like dinner and laundry that everyone has to do, but plenty of time to fill in the gaps with whatever chores or activities I want or need to get done.  They aren’t very eventful, but most days really are just great.

And even yesterday wasn’t bad.  Just a little less great than normal.  And no, I don’t have cancer or even a sore throat.  Todd still has a job.  We have food and health and a comfy life.  So this is probably a good place for you to stop reading.  It really does get pretty small from here.

Really petty.  But I also think it’s ok to admit that some of the little things in life—while in and of themselves are fine, manageable, no big deal, whatever—once you start accumulating a few in a day, you start wanting to go to bed.  And it’s ok to just do that without reconciling the day.

Left at 8 and made my way into a friend’s house; we were in her bathroom.  I weigh myself like twice a year when I visit Todd’s work.  They have a dog scale.  So I decided to see, just for fun.  Who cares, I know.  I could tell my skirts were getting a little tight, a little gushy at the tops of my jeans.  I guess I just don’t want to add five pounds a year for the next 40 years.  I like to stay on top of things.  I can’t ever remember weighing this much.  Something to be aware of.  I skipped my chocolate chip cookies in the afternoon.  There’s got to be a better way.  I think sweatshirts are a better way.

The stacks of books were teetering, just waiting for me at the school library.  I had a glorious two hours of shelving.  That was a good part.  So satisfying.  I think I could live in a bookstore or library.

Brought home four extra friends for the little kids because it was half-day.  They are like our cousins.  I caught them pretend smoking and playing Truth or Dare—“Mormon Style,” Callum assured me.  Good grief.  They couldn’t think of things to do or play, my kids were being bossy.  I wondered if I’d made a good decision.  I lectured them a couple of times.  I sent them home with cookies.  I hope they’ll come back.

Somewhere in there a lady called and asked me to speak at a dinner.  Sigh.  I’m one of the top 3 least qualified people in the living world to give a talk.  I’ll write one out if you’ll present it; I’m just not the eloquent, captivating, motivational speaker anyone’s looking for.  But I said yes because of my relationship with her and because I have oodles of faith.

Meanwhile we baked two pies, but they took forever.  I needed the oven for cookies and the dinners I was making.  Running behind.  Fielded phone call and texts like I was an old-fashioned telephone operator.  Wasn’t till I tasted our own dinner later than night that I realized I’d messed up the recipe.  I’d already dropped off the other half earlier.  I can’t even tell you how embarrassed I was/am.  I hate that.  I’m sure it made her sicker.

At the activity later that night I found out I hadn’t been invited to a friend’s going away party.  Made me wonder if I’d only been invited to things in the past because of the position I used to hold.

I was too tired and headachy to even muster the strength to talk to the people I saw by themselves at the activity.  I knew I should’ve.  Something I can usually be counted on to do.  For some reason, even something so simple was beyond me.  I sat on the same chair and chatted with whoever came by.  Totally looking like a clique.  I hate that.  My headache was too distracting for me to even stay and clean up.

Saw a group email with a quote clarifying some dumb comment I’d made in a class a few weeks ago.  I was so embarrassed at the time that I’d invited controversy and even mild contention into the discussion, I’ve chastised myself a million times for not keeping my thoughts to myself.  And here it was again, reminding me of my off-judgment.

Went to bed without even flossing.  That’s how Todd could tell.

There’s no point having a little downer without using that information for something good.  So here’s my take-home message:

1.  Don’t worry about scales and numbers.  That’s always been my mantra; why did I even look?  Who cares?  Who notices?  Scales are all different.  The numbers can change with the hour of the day and what clothes I’m wearing.  Not worth worrying about.  When I can’t see my feet then I’ll know.  I’m not living on lettuce and green juice drinks.

2.  Bake the pies earlier in the day.  And I suppose I would’ve.  If I’d been home at all.  Lesson here is to not put it off.  I find myself doing that all the time, forgetting that we only own one oven.  But it’s not just a cooking issue.  And I don’t think I’m the only one who procrastinates.

3.  Stick with my standard answer when someone asks me to do something I’m not sure about.  “Let me check my schedule and call you back.”  I’ve learned I just need a second to process what ramifications my answer will have.

4.  Read the recipe twice.  And then again.  Be present (not on the phone) for the ingredient part.  The stirring part is a good time to chat.

5.  Always have a little taste before you serve it.  Especially if they aren’t related.

6.  Take a nap even if it’s lying on the couch in the middle of the commotion; 40 winks is what my mom calls it.  It’s worth the investment when I make it a priority.

7.  Don’t spend energy on things we can’t control.  And remember what it feels like to be included so we can widen our circles.

8.  So what if I’m tired?  Lots of people just want to curl up and go to bed.  I can still muster the strength to say hello to a friend.  If nothing else, this is the kind of stuff that matters.

9.  Hold my tongue just a minute longer to think about how it will sound.

10.  It’s ok not to floss once in awhile.  And I never take off my mascara—there’s nothing left anyway by the end of the day.  But I’m just afraid if I fall asleep with my contacts in they will stick to my eyes.

A warm walk in February

It was probably 45 degrees early last Sunday morning, warm enough to arouse any Montanan out of bed, coaxing a walk out of stiff joints that had rested too long.  The morning was just waking up and the stillness cocooned us as we snuck out of the neighborhood onto the long back road.  The one that kicks up a lot of gravel when a big truck passes.  The trek felt familiar, taking us back to the summer and fall mornings when we’d adjust once again to daylight by stretching our cramped muscles, a little tight from squatting and bending over our weeding and harvesting activities the night before.  I never think to do a pre-weed stretch or post-rake cool down, but we might be getting to that age.  Walking feels good.  We’re quiet to begin with.  I’m used to spending this time alone.  But after a few minutes I’m loose and more coherent, engaged now; we can chat.

Because we noticed a breather between snow storms Todd wanted to jump on the chance to take in the morning the way we’re used to when the weather’s warmer.  It’s been a tickler of a break; we realize it’s still February in Montana, not exactly time to plant springtime flowers.  But everyone’s on board.  Saturday neighbors were washing vehicles, I swept the garage, kids were on their bikes.  The warmth wakes you up, reminding you of summer.  A little respite from the sharp chill of winter.  Montana has a good mix of temperatures and weather conditions: a rainy afternoon just right for sweatshirts in the middle of August, a brilliant day with clear roads perfect for riding bikes in January. 

Still a contrast to the easy-going San Diego climate where I grew up.  Pretty temperate, not a lot of volatility.  Mostly warm days, a little overcast in the mornings.  You know where this is headed.  A little like life.  I’m also kind of slow to start, a little irritable without my time alone first.  But we both warm up eventually.   San Diego has its gray days, definitely some rain.  Nippy ocean breezes and a little more humidity.  But mostly pretty evenly sunny and warm.  How my uneventful life has mostly been.  It wasn’t till I moved away that people would ask how I liked growing up there and why I ever left.  I didn’t realize how beautiful it was, I was just amused when they’d make snow at Sea World in wintertime and enjoyed walking along the beach on Christmas Eve.  I didn’t appreciate the uncomplicated weather—or life—I’d been blessed with; both were easy to take for granted.

Like you, I experienced a few dull days growing up.  No one’s life is constantly bright.  I had unfulfilled dreams, insecurities, heart breaks, disappointments, and failings like all of you—some drizzly days.  An occasional hint of an earthquake, but no blizzards or tornadoes.  Like I said, it was a pretty straightforward childhood and climate.  I had it so good.

But then I moved to Utah for college.  License plates boasted The Greatest Snow on Earth, and visitors to BYU would ask me (as their tour guide) all the time if we got a lot of snow in Utah.  Hailing from Southern California I wanted to assure them, yes—piles of it.  I’d never seen so much snow in my life.  But I didn’t know what to compare it to, so I just guessed that it was a lot but told them to ask the native tour guides.  I’d definitely never been as cold as I was that first year at BYU.  I’d never felt such powerful homesickness.  I’d always kept a pretty busy schedule, but in college I felt deep pressure as I realized how ignorant I was and how hard I’d have to work, how long the hours would be.  I’d also never felt the depth of confusion as I did at this time.  Some days were downright frigid.  Water dropped from the skies and down my cheeks many times as I adjusted to new weather and life conditions.

Illinois six years later was even colder in some ways.  More humid.  Icy walks across campus.  Frost on the insides of our windows and snow sweeping under our apartment door.  Todd was gone to school from early in the morning till late at night.  Mothering was the least familiar part of my life.  I was such a novice.  The weather there played out in extremes, and so did our marriage and life.  I was stressed from working and being so tired and alone and new at being a real grown up.  Sometimes short-tempered and unsupportive.  And yet we made friends of a lifetime, and some of the best times of our marriage were found camping and hiking in state parks, sneaking in times to be together between his demanding school and work load.  We so enjoyed the warm days, and we sometimes just endured the cold winter nights.

We feel like we are home here in Montana.  I had some trepidation at first, still not acclimated to wintry weather even after all those years away from California.  Another cold spot.  Probably permanent.  Definitely snow.  And ice.  But we took a step in the dark and have made a little life here.  We live outside in the summer months: gardening, hiking, camping, walking… the good times are easy to love.  But I appreciate the sun more now than I ever did growing up because I know how dark and cold it can get now.  As I said, my life growing up reflected the weather—pretty easy, nothing note-worthy.  Easy to take for granted.  But nothing makes you appreciate spring like having endured winter.  I wasn’t so good at dealing with the long, dark, cold and sometimes lonely winters in Illinois with little respite—just like most of us don’t think of trials and hard times as blessings, even though we need the moisture for future growth.  And I didn’t know to appreciate the relaxed sunshine of California when I had it so good.  I think we need a little mix, and Montana’s formula is just right for me.  I hate the inevitable negative 20 degree days, just as there are times you feel below zero in life:  all the appliances seem to be broken at once, you can’t seem to get ahead financially, you deal with one illness after another, relationships are off.  The details are different, but you know the story.  Harsh days you just endure.  But without these kinds of days, I wouldn’t know to be grateful for the brilliance of the good days.  I’m afraid I would continue to take them for granted.  I’m beginning to see the beauty in winter, in the long, dark, hard times, because those are the days you parcel out everything that is superfluous, you huddle together as a family, stoking the embers, maintaining the fire. 

But a pleasant day in February reminds me that there really is more to a year than just snowy days, cold winds from the north, and icy stretches of road.  More than the stresses of life, the heartaches, the worries that keep you awake.  Those days of respite tell us that spring always comes, even if we can barely remember what it used to feel like.  Taking a walk when it’s warm strengthens the heart, buoying us up for when we need to just hunker down for a time, titillating our memory.  A long walk on an unexpectedly mild February morning prompts us to hope for better days.  And tells us again not to take the warm ones for granted.

Thursday

(Just a little heads-up.  This one’s a real snoozer; I’m just putting it here for family momories’ sake.  Feel free to peek, but don’t expect a lesson, a moral, a surprise ending.  It really is about a day of the week, nothing more.)

I know it’s supposed to be TGIF, but for as long as I can remember my favorite day of the week has been Thursday.  Trust me to be nerdy even when it comes to liking the wrong day of the week.  As always, there’s a story.  Reasons.

Remember back to the old days when we watched tv starting at like 7 or 8 into the evening?  We only had one tv, so we huddled around it as a family—a lot like those 50s shows.  Monday nights we had Little House on the Prairie.  Earlier in my life we had The Waltons.  At some point in my young life The Donny and Marie Show was on.  And The Wonder Years. But my favorite line-up was Thursday: Family Ties and The Cosby Show.  And then (I will admit this but not advocate it) 90210 later in high school and into my freshman year of college.  Those shows were constants in our little family, back when you could and would watch night tv as a family.  Just so happened that Thursdays’ choices were my favorites.

Back in elementary school we had a tradition of going to Gemco after my mom got home from working at the bank.  Who goes grocery shopping on a Thursday evening as a family?  I remember buying milk in those half-gallon paperboard cartons that we still buy half-and-half in.  We’d buy like six or eight.  We’d buy the round container of ice cream.  My dad would slice through it with a knife and give us all a cross-section.  It only lasted for a couple of days.  Beyond chocolate and vanilla, choices were limited to Neopolitan, chocolate chip or sometimes mint chip.  We’d also sometimes buy Eggo Waffles.  My little kids have no idea what those are.  But those treats stand out because otherwise we had boring brownish cereals like Cheerios and Corn Flakes and Rice Krispies.  And ingredients.  Not really good snack food.  So Thursdays we got spoiled, what with it being ice cream day and a night out.

Gemco was one of the first stores I remember noticing little departments, like a Super Walmart today.  Back then one of my favorites was the music department.  I guess in that way I was a normal kid.  Kind of how kids browse itunes these days purchasing individual tracks, I would rifle through the 45s (records, I know) and select one maybe every other week or so, a single song—with an additional less-popular one on the back, usually just an instrumental version.  That and a Reese’s peanut butter cup.  And a little stroll through the office supply aisle.  Really, now that you know me, what could be more fun for young Caren?

We would guess how much the total would be.  I remember it was usually around $100 a week.  One time I remember it was $138.  This was back in the 80s.  I don’t know why I have such useless bits like that floating around still when I could use that brain space for names or places in the world.  I guess I wonder what that would be in today’s dollars.  Was that a lot?

Gemco offered an unusual benefit called “pick-up service.”  If you accepted it, you’d be handed a plastic number to match an identical one attached to your cart.  Kind of like a coat check in a fancy restaurant.  We sometimes needed two numbers/carts.  They’d wheel the carts out behind the store and wait for you to drive around later and get your groceries.  Ingenious.  I wonder whatever became of it.  Sometimes we’d get all the way home before realizing we’d forgotten to “pick up” our groceries.

Eventually we’d make our way upstairs with the groceries and settle down in front of the tv.  Dad’s job was to make us BLTs with gobs of mayo on sourdough bread.  So traditional we didn’t even question it, just like pizza on Fridays.  Contented sighs.  We’d made it through the important part, the hardest part, of the week.  We could relax.  We were almost done.  Time to celebrate and bask in Friday-eve bliss.  Those were good times.  Simple times.

Unexpectedly Thursdays continued to be a favorite in college.  As a freshman I had just one class from 7-8 a.m. on Fridays, so essentially my weekend continued to start a day early.  At one point my sister and I started a tradition of going to my aunt’s house every Thursday night for dinner.  We’d go to our cousin’s soccer games and then just end up at the house.  I feel so bad now because we just assumed it would be fine, but she was so sweet and gracious.  We had tacos or pasta.  I don’t know.  We stayed late and just hung out with the cousins and sisters.  Loved our family time.  We did that until Todd and I moved away with our own little baby.

Through the years I’ve continued to be partial to Thursdays, I think because we’re over the hump.  I like Fridays as much as anyone else, but it’s kind of like going on trip: sometimes the anticipation is just as good as the reality.  Fridays were a little more relaxed in elementary school it seemed.  Teachers handed back our papers from the week.  Maybe there’d be time for art.  Games.  Just a little exhale knowing that we didn’t have to really be that serious.  So that was worth anticipating.  But as far as home life, not that much happened on Fridays that didn’t happen on other days.  Pizza, I guess.  But my mom worked late every other Friday, and I hated that.  Eventually when I took over the laundry as an older elementary school kid we’d have to go to the laundry mat on Friday nights, so I didn’t love that.  Thursdays were much better.

Ever since my kids have been in school all day it’s the day I get to go to the temple and meet Todd for lunch.  It’s so etched in our minds that I hardly think about it, definitely don’t have to look at the calendar to see what’s happening; it’s just assumed.  It kind of throws us off if he has too many surgeries and can’t get away during our usual time.   It’s fine, just not the same, when we switch things around and meet a different day.  Just feels better ending the week and anticipating a whole weekend together when we get together on Thursday.

Pretty sure everyone’s day of choice is Friday.  But that’s so conventional.  And sometimes more work than a Thursday.  We don’t usually have people over for dinner on Thursday nights; it’s just us, our intimate family’s start to the weekend.  A lot of times it’s our clean-out-the-fridge night, so I don’t even have to cook—happy day!  Fridays we sometimes make plans; the kids have places to be, expectations, there’s work involved in making things happen.  But not on Thursday.  If you stay up late Thursday night, it’s really not that big of a deal.  You just have to make it through Friday and you’re home free.  Maybe try it out.  Start anticipating the weekend a little earlier.  Maybe Thursday will become your favorite day too.

Told you.

Better to fix it before it's broken

So six or so years ago our house was brand new.  Even more than brand new.  It wasn’t even all the way finished. But we’d been staying with friends, school was starting in a couple of days, we moved in anyway and just tried to avoid the workers.  I felt so bad messing up their flow, but I also felt kind of desperate to be independent again.  A new house smell is intoxicating: the fresh paint and just laid carpet smells coalesce.  To us, the cabinets were flawless.  Our carpenter was a craftsman and knew exactly how to make our mantel feel like us, even what kind of closet configuration would work—we left it all up to him and loved his work.  The walls were seamless and the painters, expert.  The yard would come later of course.  But introduce 5 kids, 3 dogs, mud and snow, I don’t know how many puppies, and hundreds and hundreds of visitors of all ages over the next several years and you know what we’re dealing with.  Baseboards are chipped, walls look like ice picks or at least hammers were part of some creative play.  The table’s been scraped to the wood.  Beds have been jumped on to the point of breaking at least five times.  Blankets have been pinned to the walls, Christmas lights framed windows with nails.  We even have holes in the pantry door where I asked Todd to drill so we could add a hook and eye lock back when the kids and snacks were harder to keep track of.  We sometimes stop and take a little look around at all the dings and repairs we’d have to address if we were to ever sell.  We’ve even made a list.  You can only imagine what it will look like in another 20 years if we don’t keep up on it along the way.  The exterior needs a power wash every now and then.  The lawn could get a little unruly if the boys didn’t mow.  The garage needs an overhaul at the beginning and end of the summer.  Todd rototills the gardens each season, and the raspberry canes get cut back every fall.  The walls really could use a touch-up.  Or a re-do.   Just a little easier to keep up on things along the way before things are so far gone you hardly know where to start.

A little like a marriage.  I think it started getting to me when three friends’ husbands died a few years back.   And then a college roommate’s husband had an affair and left them.  I hear about it happening all the time.  Friends divorced.  I know things could happen to us too, life is real and we’re just normal people.  It scared me, in a way, having losses hit so close to home.  Made me think.  I wondered if I’d have regrets if I happened to lose him.  I think if we’re honest with ourselves we’d probably all admit we would.

But like our house, our marriage wasn’t and isn’t falling apart, it’s just been lived in, seen some long days, a lot of people have traipsed through it, the weeks kind of get away from us, there are some weeds.  It hasn’t always been our top priority, kind of how we put off doing the windows.  I think because most of us feel we have a good thing—like our new house.  We kind of assume it will maintain itself for awhile longer.  And it has so far.  We’ve had the normal wear and tear, we’ve had some leaks, even some flooding, but both our house and our marriage have held up through some windy days.

But I’m just not a risk-taker.  I’m not into taking chances.  And definitely not when it comes to my family.  Especially my husband.  My marriage.  I didn’t want to wake up one morning and not know what had happened, how we got to a place we would have a hard time coming back from.  I decided I didn’t want to wait to see how long it would be.  I wanted insurance, the umbrella policy.  I knew a major disaster could really test us, but I didn’t want to wait to find out how we’d do.  I’m in a position to make things stronger right now; to me it’s worth the investment to safeguard what we have.

Like I’ve told you before if you’ve read my post on sustainability, I’m not into making goals or plans or promises I can’t keep, so I didn’t presume anything last year when I decided to make a conscious effort to put our marriage first.  I didn’t really have an idea of what that would look like, so I just tried to be cognizant.  I simply tried to be more aware, keep up with the things that were working and do what I could to make him more of a priority.  Pulls on your time and energy come out of nowhere and everywhere, especially when you’re trying to focus on something important.  The easiest people to ignore are yourself and your spouse.  So backward.  The two most important people.  Interesting.

I’m no marriage expert.  I’m not any kind of expert.  I just know we feel tighter when we make time for each other, when we text or call during the day, when we hold hands, when we’re getting enough sleep, when we say no to even social or church things sometimes for the sake of our marriage and family.  It’s keeping up on the basics, it’s Thursday lunch dates we’ve done for years.  It’s letting the kids see what love looks like—even if it embarrasses them.  You know what it takes.  It’s about keeping things strong, not letting them slide just because it’s easy to.

It’s easy to skip the screens and prayers.  No one’s counting the number of days between changing the sheets or how many dates you go on every month.  Who cares if you clean the gutters or forget to say I love you?  No one notices what’s behind the dryer or the words you use.  Who can remember the last time you switched out the filter or did something special just because?  It’s all so trivial.  But it matters.

I just know I’ve got a good thing.  A comfortable home and a strong marriage.  Both largely because of a great husband.  I don’t want to neglect them, and yet I’m not perfect at keeping up with either.  But I know with a little effort we can keep them both in good condition.  It’s not worth waiting till they’re falling apart before they finally get attention.

One of my favorite people in the world gave this timeless piece of advice.  We have it on our bedroom wall with pictures of us together, the first thing we look at when we wake up.  “You will know no greater happiness than that found in your home. You will have no more serious obligation than that which you face in your home. The truest mark of your success in life will be the quality of your marriage.”  (President Hinckley) I’d rather have my house cave in, get washed away, or burn and fall down around me than to watch my marriage crumble, especially knowing I could’ve reinforced it back when there was still time.

When we’re feeling the warm winds of summer outside, we’ll open up the house to let some fresh air in, just as we like to have fun and do things out of the ordinary, just to freshen up our marriage.  And when we just need to deal with the inevitable chills or difficult times, we’ll rekindle the fire, huddle close together, and hold hands.  There’s never been a storm too cold or too strong for our fire, but we like to cut and stack a little extra firewood on temperate days and keep it nearby just in case.