I have a complex, but I can do this!

I have (among other neuroses) a mothering complex. I have hinted at it here, here, and here. (And laughingly, here.) And now my lovely friend Heather has asked me (well, her readers) to post a list of the things I do great as a mom. Good luck! I've been putting it off for days. Partly because I can't think of more than one item. And then because, well, I read lists like Heather's and Jessica's, and they look like the best moms in the world, and so how can I possibly...

Enough, already.

Okay, so herein lie the roots of my complex: I was a working mom when our kids were small. I didn't feel like I had a choice. Even though I worked at home, I worked long, stressful hours. Hours that took me away from my kids. At a job that often kept me mentally distracted even when I was with them. So I look at all my wonderful stay-at-home mom friends and in some ways I'm insanely jealous. I feel like I'm playing catch-up at a game I don't even know most of the rules for. Like I'm playing along, but I'm missing half the cards and most of the really cool pieces. But I'm smiling and playing along, pretending to have a good time. And berating myself constantly. Because I am really, truly not good at this. And I don't like being not good at things. I'm entirely uncomfortable being, in fact, not the best. There. I said it.

For example, I like to think that I'm patient. And then I think about how often that patience comes from a deep-seated habit of just TUNING THEM OUT and I think, that doesn't count. Or I think how not afraid I am to make a big, giant fool out of myself just so I can hear them laugh. And I think, pandering for laughs doesn't cut it either. Or that the kids rarely watch network t.v. and we keep a lock on the theater room door? Dubious honor. Or that getting all three kids off to school on time – once – feels as heroic as climbing Mt. Everest? This is not impressive.

So I went to the experts. My kids. And this is what they told me. Verbatim.

The Princess: "You're a good cook, you don't yell at us (yay)....very often (that's more like it), you smell nice (that made me laugh out loud...but coming from the Princess, who insists on smelling me, literally revels in burying her nose somewhere on me almost every day, okay.) You give good back rubs. You're good at helping us with our practicing and our homework. You make us feel good about ourselves. You love us. "

The 17-year-old (who looks and acts just like Jim on The Office): "You make amazing food! I'll tell you the rest later -- gotta go get my car now."

Mr. Cool: "I hate you." (Me: mock puppy-dog pouting, whimpering.) "Just kidding. You know I'm kidding, right? Because you're the best thing in my life. I'm serious. The very best."

So, it suddenly occurs to me, here's what I do best as a mother. I make great kids. I have a studly seventeen-year-old who still kisses me good night every night, tells me he loves me every day, makes me laugh several times a day, and genuinely enjoys being with me. He works hard in school, works hard to improve himself, and has a sparkle in his eye and a very sweet, sensitive core.

I have a lovely 13-year-old princess who is as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside, who lovingly includes other people in everything she does, who naturally nurtures and rescues and builds...and is surrounded by people who appreciate her. She is confident enough to stand up for herself and the people she loves. And she has somehow never lost the palpable sweetness she was born with.

I have the coolest nine-year-old on the planet, with drop-dead gorgeous eyes and a very adult sense of humor. He, too, makes me laugh several times a day...and he still wants to snuggle at night. Still wants me to walk outside with him at night to bring in his bike...even when he has his pocket knife out and at-the-ready. Still wants me to scratch his back and say prayers with him at bedtime. And greets me with wonderful hugs.

I have amazing children! So I must be doing something right...even though at times I'm not quite sure what that something is.

Friday Fragments: Oh, Shoot!

Okay, I am exhausted. But strangely peaceful and contented too.



I got so many terrific comments on my last post asking to see the paintings (thank you, everyone), I decided to shoot them and post them. (You'll just have to ignore the fact that most of them are not QUITE finished. And one is barely started.) But I hope you like them.








The top one is the one that's just begun (but I love all the swirly, watery stuff that's happening so far). If you look closely you can see what's eventually going to be a small fish and a giant sea turtle.

The ones on the left are paintings I worked on in my portrait class. They are: 1. Portrait of Ruth; 2. Lounging at Laguna; 3. Jeremiah and Sawyer ; and 4. Sleeping Princess.

The class was motivating and inspiring all week long, and today it became strangely gratifying. The other students in the class started coming to me for help and suggestions when it took the teacher too long to get to them. They also started to photograph my work in step-by-step stages. And yesterday the Society asked if my dad and I would be willing to team-teach a 3-day workshop for them next Spring. I expected NONE of that!






Last are the two that were accepted into the most recent Utah Watercolor Society show (runs through November 7 at the Finch Lane Gallery). The bottom one won a Juror's Award.





Here is my other favorite quote from Ted Nuttall:
"Some of the most beautiful landscapes I've ever seen are people."
(As a landscape painter, that helped me approach figurative painting with fresh eyes.)

























And since we're talking about shooting, I highly recommend you check out this hilarious video from Gunfighter today. You can't believe what he shot!
(Apparently some kids never outgrow the need to blow things up.)
And to go with that, here's an actual quote from one of my kids last week:
"Mom, Do you have any hard drives we can smash?"
(Turns out they were making a video...but STILL...)

I was also thrilled to come home and see that THIS (pardon the link but I cannot bear to SHOOT one more thing! ) had arrived in the mail from the contest I won over at Temporary?Insanity. (Thanks, Kim. Thanks, Erin) I agree it is even better in real life than it is on screen. I love it!
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Friday Fragments is the brainchild of Mrs4444 over at Half Past Kissin' Time.

Up, Up and Away...

Last weekend my sweet and brave husband took all three of the kids up to Salt Lake for an overnighter, leaving me here...and free to paint! I hardly knew what to do with so much unscheduled and uninterrupted time! Once I got over the light-headed giddiness, I was able to make a strong beginning on a project I've been waiting to start for a long time. It was so exhilarating...even if I was up until the wee hours. Time flew by because I was loving what I was doing, and completely lost in the flow of it all. Literally.

All this week I'm spending my days (and one night as well) up in Salt Lake at a watercolor workshop. Today was fabulous! The teacher is nationally renowned, I've admire his work for a long time, and his demonstration turned my world upside-down and inside-out. His process is so very different from the results. It was astonishing to see how very slowly, meticulously and painstakingly he created this loose, splashy, spontaneous-looking painting. (I'm sure there's a metaphor for life in there somewhere, but I'm a bit too tired to attempt to verbalize it.) :)

So you won't be hearing from me much (if at all) this week...but I'll be back before you know it. (Hopefully with a mind-bending psychological thriller of an SOS story!) Until then...

Here's a great quote from the workshop today, which is also a good metaphor for life:

"Artistic expression is a spirit, not a method, a pursuit, not a settled goal, an instinct, not a body of rules."- Foreword, Group of 7 Exhibition of Paintings, exhibition catalog, Art Gallery of Toronto, 1922.

I also like this one:

"The creative process is in fact, a surrender to this great life force and intelligence that has shaped us all. It is the spirit of the great creator moving through us. If we let this happen, without fear and resistance, we can act spontaneously letting this energy flow through us and direct us. This is the spirit that informs our creativity and allows us to express it in our own unique way." --Marsha Stonehouse

Can you see why I love it so much?

SOS Withdrawals: A Celestial Room With a View

My first attempt in bloglandia was a Soap Opera Sunday post. My friend Brillig had been encouraging me to blog...and the idea of posting a hilarious old boyfriend/dating story was too tempting to pass up. I put up one other post around the same time (just so I wouldn't have one lonely post up if anyone ventured over to read) and what resulted was astonishing. Some of my best friends in the blogosphere (most of whom were complete strangers at the time) (Brillig, Kimberly, Novembrance, Kateastrophe) showed up to comment on those two posts and have been coming back ever since.

So, it's Saturday, and the theme is brilliant: Long-distance Relationships. I've had more than my fair share of these! But I noticed no one's volunteered to host yet. There are no linkies. And I've been having such a ball with SOS lately (thank you everyone for joining me on some of these wild rides!) that I want to play again. Now. So for today, I'm re-posting that very first SOS post (which also happens to be about a double long-distance romance). Enjoy!


About a year after I broke up with Jack, (who it turns out was using me as his friend, confidante, and love interest during the week while making out with some other vixen on the weekends – a whole other soap opera story) his eccentric aunt called and wanted to line me up with someone. Weird, but I was open to it. The guy was from New York, which sounded exciting enough. Turns out he was the caretaker of someone else’s fabulous estate. So I went out with this guy when he was in town one weekend, and he was perfectly good-looking with impeccable manners and treated me great – spoiled me, in fact. Sounds wonderful, I know. So where’s the soap, you ask?

Well, he was also WAY older than I was. I don’t know how much for sure, but I was 23 or so and I think he must have been at least 30. Probably well on his way to 40. Besides the fact that this guy literally lived in a fantasy world, his age and his inexplicable into-me-ness scared me. Besides, he was a teensy-weensy bit straight-laced and, dare I say, boring? :) We’re totally talking Cecil, from A Room With A View. Well, thankfully he was on his way back to New York so Lucy Honeychurch here really didn’t have to worry about a thing. Or did I?

A couple of days later he called me from New York. It was flattering, but we didn’t really have anything to talk about. A day or so later he sent a dozen red roses. The next day he called me again. And on it went...lots of long-distance calls with not much to chat about. The roses were barely wilting and along came more gifts. And the next thing I know he’s made airline reservations for another trip out to visit.

“I guarantee you he’s coming out here with a ring,” says my ever-wise mother.

Holy cow! I started praying he’d find someone else. Literally.

I was involved in another long-distance romance at the same time. I was being written to, phone called, and successfully wooed by this other (younger, funnier) guy, named Jeff, from the opposite coast (California, to be exact). And Jeff, with whom I was rapidly falling head-over-heels, was planning to be in town the same weekend as Cecil. I had visions of one of those crazy Ginger Grant / Eva Grubb “Gilligan’s Island” episodes where I’d be frantically scurrying back and forth carrying on with two guys at the exact same time and trying to keep them on opposite sides of the island. But then it occurred to me that I could schedule things in advance and avoid all that awkwardness. So I booked most of the weekend with Jeff and saved a Tuesday night for Cecil. (Not proud of this...but better not to lead him on, right?)

So Cecil gets into town and calls to find out when I’m available, and I tell him Friday and Saturday are completely booked, and I had a deadline for work on Monday, but I’d love to see him on Tuesday. Well the weekend came and went and I had the time of my life with Jeff. Then Tuesday rolled around...and no Cecil. He stood me up! I totally did not get it. My heart was not remotely broken, I just didn’t understand how this guy could be so obviously smitten...calling me non-stop and sending me flowers and trinkets and long wordy letters...and then just disappear.

But it all came to light a few weeks later when I got a letter in the mail from Cecil. He explained (in his perfect longhand) that he figured if he flew all the way out to see me and I couldn’t make any time for him until Tuesday there was something wrong. (duh) So Tuesday morning he went to the temple, and there waiting in the celestial room after the session was the girl of his dreams. They met and talked – and he asked her to marry him right then and there! He even slipped a ring on her finger. A ring that likely was intended for me.

Man! That was a close one! But what can I say – my prayers were answered. And so were his. (And 20 years later, I continue to be head-over-heels in love with Jeff.) :)

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Note: After I posted this, Brillig announced that 2 Hearts has offered to host. So head on over there for the rest of the linkies. Mwah!

Life? Meet My Day.

I woke up with three simple goals for today:

1. Work out. (This implies showering afterward.)
2. Finish a Design Project. (The client is waiting!)
3. Spiffy up the house. (Before the financial planner guy gets here at 7:30 p.m.)

Completely do-able. Right?
Here's what happened when my simple plan encountered real life:

1. Gym: Check. (shower pending)
2. Project: Under way
I ran up to the office and started working on the design project. Then the doorbell rang. Oops! I forgot I was going visiting teaching this morning. So I ran out the door, still in my workout clothes and messy hair, to see our friend Mary.

2. Project: Interrupted
Enter: Life
Despite my panic over my appearance, we had a fantastic visit, and talked all about discovering and pursuing our eternal potential. I brought up this favorite quote:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous,
talented and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn’t serve the world.
There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking
so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.
We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.
It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine,
we unconsciously give other people
permission to do the same.

– Nelson Mandela
1994 Inaugural Speech

2. Back to Project?
Enter: Life
Next my cute dad showed up -- it seemed like he just magically appeared in our driveway somehow. Actually he was magically delivered there by the GMC shuttle service. It turns out Dad had hit a deer with his car a couple of nights ago. He now has his car in the repair shop, and needed a ride back up the canyon to his house.

2. Project: On hold.
Enter: Life
I fixed Dad and me a quick lunch, and drove him home. AND we had a wonderful drive up the canyon, with the autumn leaves in full splendor -- to the point that they literally took my breath away -- all the wonderful reds, yellows, and oranges sprinkled among the varied greens -- it was a GORGEOUS drive, and my dad and I had a great talk. I love him! Days don't get much better than this.

2. Project in progress. Enter: Kids
And by mid-afternoon, sweats and messy hair are rapidly becoming the fashion statement du jour. BUT I'm feeling rejuvenated. And there's still plenty of time.
As soon as I get home I run back into the office. Start to crank on the project. Making good headway. But then, one by one, the kids all come home from school.

2. Office hours: Officially Over
Enter: Life
Now it's snack time and homework time around the kitchen table. Nothing like little microwave cakes as a study incentive! Just as Mr. Cool gets to the last math problem, the doorbell rings. I assume it's a neighbor dropping off something for church. I make a quick mental note of my progress.

1. Gym: Check. (shower deferred)
2. Project: Now relegated to graveyard shift.
3. House: Moderate Mess.
Enter: Life
At this point I probably smell even worse than I look. Hopefully Mr. Cool could just collect whatever it was at the door and I wouldn't have to show my face.... Instead it turned out to be an old friend from Pasadena. A really wonderful dear artist-friend who has been a mentor and father-figure for me for about the last ten years. Of course I dropped everything. And we had a fabulous visit together, a deep, connecting conversation on a wide range of topics. He showed me some of his recent work, and, knowing some of the brutal things they've been through in the past few years, I got all choked up and teary-eyed as I saw the amazing beauty that has emerged from those harrowing trials.

3. House: Not spiffy
Enter: Life
Then I scurry through the house frantically putting away anything out of place.
The phone rings -- another friend from out-of-town has just appeared in our driveway.
This was a short visit -- delivering a small carload of groceries from Trader Joe's. And can I just say? It's not your average friend who will go shopping for you, big time, and then entice her adorable husband to haul the loot across state lines! This is better than Christmas! More hugs, more chats, a wave goodbye--

3. House: Still not too spiffy
Enter: Kids
I contemplate unloading the dishwasher. Ah, but one kid just got home with a new computer that needs to be set up, another kid needs a ride to cub scouts...C'est la vie!

1. Throw in the towel on showering.
2. Graveyards are fun, right?
3. Time to shove everything else in the laundry room and close the door.
Enter: Life
And then the financial planner guy shows up. He seems not to mind the unkempt house or the unkempt person he's talking to. He's bright and engaging, pragmatic and straightforward, realistic yet optimistic...and I think everyone should have such an asset in their cadre of experts. There is now a semblance of order in one area of our lives.

At the end of the day it occurs to me that the things I had planned were important and good. But what was unexpectedly sent my way (you can just call me "Girl, Interrupted") was infinitely better and more rewarding than anything I had scheduled. It reminded me of this quote: "Life is what happens to you while you're planning something else." And especially this one:

Yes, men and women who turn their lives over to God will discover that He can make a lot more out of their lives than they can. He will deepen their joys, expand their vision, quicken their minds, strengthen their muscles, lift their spirits, multiply their blessings, increase their opportunities, comfort their souls, raise up friends, and pour out peace. --Ezra Taft Benson

Rather than feeling frustrated, today showed me what can happen in just one day when I'm willing to choose the better part and turn my life over to Him. At the end of the day (even though we're still way behind on everything) I feel abundantly rich.

Friday Fragments: Whose Kids ARE These Anyway?

Our 9-year-old and two of his buddies mowed a guy’s lawn in the neighborhood and he stiffed them! You know, it’s one thing to take advantage of another adult, but to rip off three earnest, hard-working, (somewhat mercenary) little kids is criminal! So tonight we saw the guy pulling into his driveway and J5 confronted him...and was able to collect payment for himself and his two friends. Then on the way home he tells me, “Good thing he finally paid up. I was ready to take the weedwhacker and carve “You Suck” into his front lawn.” (We had a little chat about what might be a more appropriate response...after I stopped laughing.) :)

Our 13-year old daughter asked this brilliant question awhile ago:
What’s Mick Jagger’s first name? (Mick)
Well then what’s his last name? (Jagger)
Come on, really, what’s his whole name? (laughing, Mick. Jagger.)
No, really...
(We finally figured out that she thought his name was “McJagger”...like McDonalds, or Macgyver, or...um, McStones?) Hahaha. (Her 17-year-old brother WILL NOT let her live this one down!)

Two nights ago I made the rounds to kiss everyone good night, and I walked in on the princess...in a black swimsuit and aviator sunglasses, pinning her hair up. “AHAHAHAH!” I burst into laughter. Her response: “Don’t blog about this, Mom.” Last night, I made my rounds again, and stopped in to kiss her good night, and she was standing in front of the mirror in full hippie regalia: A fluorescent paisley polyester one-piece pantsuit with huge bellbottoms, and a headband. “HAHAHAHAHAAH! *snort* HAHAHAHAHAAHAH!” I laughed all the way upstairs and coerced my hubby to go look in on her too. I’m dying over this new nightly dress-up ritual. It's like playing "mystery date" and seeing a new creature in odd get-up every time you open the door! She comes upstairs. “Mom, don’t blog about this. PLEASE? You better not be blogging about this!” (Who, me?) Haha! She knows me too well...*

I’m folding clothes in the laundry room and our 9-year-old walks in. “Mom?” he asks. I nod, not pausing to look up from the laundry. “What are the birds and the bees?” (Suddenly he has my rapt attention.) “Well, it’s about S-E-X. Actually, not so much about that. More about reproduction. How they make babies.” “Oh, does our family have talks about the birds and the bees?” “Yes, we do.” “What age do we have the birds and the bees talk in our family?” “We don’t have a set age, honey. It depends on the child, and when they’re ready. Why?” “Oh, because Colby’s family does it at age 10, and Isaac’s family does it after you turn 8.” “Hmmm...Do you think you’re ready for a talk like that?” “Me? Sick! No way! I was just wondering if we do those. I don’t want to hear about any of that stuff right now!” And he took off. I sighed. And grinned.


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*Of course I got her permission before posting this!
Friday Fragments is the brainchild of Mrs4444 over at Half Past Kissin' Time.

Seven years ago today...

Seven years ago today I was walking the streets of our gracious Pasadena neighborhood in the pre-dawn darkness. I was with a trusted friend and I felt safe, listened to, loved. There was a comfortable chill in the air, just the right temperature for our ritual three-mile stroll.

We walked the same route nearly every morning. All the houses were familiar, as were most of their gardens and pets. One morning on this same route we witnessed something completely outside the norm -- we saw a hawk swoop down, catching a white dove in mid-air, and devour it on someone's front lawn. We were horrified, and yet we couldn't tear ourselves away from the scene. We watched the dove flutter and flap, nearly escape, and then succumb. It was like feeling compelled to look at a car accident when you pass by on the freeway. Something in our psyche needed to take it all in. We'd seen creatures in the wild many times on the trails -- a huge rattlesnake ready to strike, a great blue heron perched on a rock, a black bear on the run -- but nothing felt like such an injustice, an invasion, as seeing this dove suffer under the powerful talons of the hawk. Finally we couldn't watch it any more. We tore ourselves away and moved on.

My lungs breathed in and out, a little harder as we crested the hill, then slowing again as we covered the downhill stretch toward home. Home, where my husband would be waking. Home, where the children were still sleeping. Home, our bastion of safekeeping. I crossed the front lawn, stopping to marvel at the hydrangeas -- still blooming, changing color -- and noticed that the plants on the big wraparound porch were looking parched.

I walked upstairs and heard the radio abuzz with tension and static. When I got close enough to make out the actual words, I heard something almost as bizarre and unthinkable as H.G. Wells' "War of the Worlds". A plane had crashed into the World Trade Center, causing a gaping hole, flames, and then the collapse of the entire tower. I couldn't take in the gravity of it all at once. A freak accident. But then there was another, and another. This had to be intentional. An attack in mid-air. Master-minded by terrorists.

Over and over again we watched it on the news: The crash, the wreckage, the slow-motion collapse. We watched until we. Could. Not. Watch. Any. More.

My in-laws called from Newport where they were vacationing. They couldn't get a flight out. So they wanted to camp at our house. I was grateful and relieved. There was something so reassuring about their wisdom, their stability, their companionship. Family. I secretly hoped they'd never leave.

The hardest thing I had to do was send our children off to school. The sky was falling. The world was collapsing around us. Our sense of safety had vanished forever.
I didn't want my little hatchlings to leave our nest that day. But it was expected, required. As I pondered my total inability to protect them once they left my grasp, it occurred to me that the only thing I did have a direct influence on their spiritual safety. So that morning, as if their very lives depended on it, we dressed them in a full suit of armor, a piece at a time: The shield of faith. The helmet of salvation. The sword of the spirit. Right down to the feet shod in the gospel of peace, placed there by the angels themselves. Then, and only then, did we let them venture out into the world.

We followed the same pattern for weeks and months afterward, carefully reading each verse with the children as we symbolically draped them in the armor of God.

And then we started getting comfortable again. Terrorism didn't seem like such an immediate threat any more. The crisis was averted. Traveling was inconvenient. But our homes were safe.
--Or were they?

I love the lessons I learned on September 11, 2001. That no one is really ever safe. That family matters more than anything else on earth. And that there is incredible peace in knowing that our children have been taught of the Lord. That our only real safety is in the hands of the Savior. That His is the only real peace.

I am ashamed that I don't send the children out into the world EVERY day as prepared as I did that morning. But when I'm reminded of 9/11 I feel a renewed sense of urgency. I remember how that day, when I felt powerless and weak, suddenly I became strong. And I recommit myself to arming our children, and safe-guarding our home from dangerous influences. Because I want that kind of strength every day, for them and for me.

"Take upon you my whole armor, that ye may be able to withstand the evil day...that ye may be able to stand...Taking the shield of faith wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked."