so proud...

of my genes.

Millie is getting the glasses. I thought that perhaps two negatives might make a positive.

Clin - glasses in 1st grade

+

Jackie - glasses in 1st grade

=

Glasses in Kindergarten!!!!

I sat in on the eye exam and was pretty surprised at how large the letters had to be for Millie to see them. And this is our gift to you.

Millie sassed the optometrist. Yes she did.

I will NOT wear glasses.

I will NOT try on glasses.

Even though she has 2 friends who wear glasses.

She pointed to a picture of herself on the computer from last summer: I want to be her.

What do you mean?

I want to be me. Not with glasses.

How does a 5 year old make the connection that glasses will change an individual? Where does that come from? The same conclusion that I made many years ago, when my self image was based on the idea that glasses decreased individual attraction. And worked an entire summer to save for contacts. That were supposed to make me less shy and increase beauty.

It didn't work.

She picked out some specs, and now looks for them in the mail everyday. Excited to wear them to see the MDT Review. Hoping it might make a difference in what she can see.

I think they will make her completely awesome. When we chose baby names, Clin and I tried to choose names that we could envision on little girls with glasses.

See. We planned it this way.

lazy.

ah, the week before school begins. so nice in that it creates anticipation that encourages buckets of anxiety. and this semester it just so coincides with the week of my feminine cycle that holds the greatest amount of angst and hallucinations. fun times for all!

Really.

i had an entire "to-do" list that has been flushed and replaced with absolute nothings. like sleeping in. kind of. after laying awake all night thinking about:
-lousy tuition and how i'm going to make it a reality minus debt.
-or contemplating the hazards of leaving a full recycling bin out on the curb for a week, because we never seem to put it out on the right week. and it overfloweth. and is causing me turn to hording. newspapers and milk jug stacks in all crevices!
-or looking at the past seven years in detailed lists and realizing that i don't feel that much ahead of where i was in 2003.
-future job prospects, in that by the time this degree ends i'll be just about 40 and will anyone really want to hire a non-nurse gerontologist with a PhD in nursing?

Probably not.

So then I roll over and wait for my nasal passage to drain to the other side. ready for the one second of double nostril breathing that will bring a momentary reprieve.

that is why I now blog. to do something other than review the files of anxiety that pile in this brain.

so this week has been filled with lazy interactions with Millie - as she is off track for 2.5 more weeks. we work on letters, sounds, reading, games, and whisk Ellis from Silverpups to treats of Icees and library visits. Then afternoons spent running around high school auditoriums while watching rehearsals for this.

and i've done the dishes. they get done. for now.

next week will be deadlines, spaghetti-waffle dinners, and expectations gallore.

calm and bright. part 2.

while still sick. and tired. oh so very tired. my night of misery evolved into a morning of joy.

I finally returned to bed sometime between 5:30 and 6:00 AM - this was after having been awake since 3, and could not stop the tears, or calm down to sleep. So I layed in bed, eyes leaking.

Clin woke around 6, and proceeded to lecture me on healthy behavior.... kind of ironic. I know. But in the early morning fatigue we both decided sleep was not an option and went downstairs to watch this - which we've had from Netflix since October 15th. What better time to conquer. Thinking it would force sleep upon me, I was wrong.

I enjoyed it.

And it calmed me down. And brightened my day. Because I wasn't so lonely. And it was the first time we've ever watched a movie at 6am.

I'm thinking we have a new Christmas Eve tradition!

in the snow.

One thing that I enjoy about blogs -- other peoples' blogs -- not my blog -- are the beautiful, vibrant, photoshopped pictures of the beautiful, vibrant, edited lives of lovely, articulate strangers. How easy it is to present life as a shimmering orb of perfection. And I like following shiny orbs. Or I like perfection. Particularly the glossy cover-art kinds.

And I think it might be a fun hobby to attempt the creation of a snowglobe life filled with sparkling whimsy and splashy fun.

But I can't write that way. If I did, though, you would now be reading about the crisp evening in a backyard covered in mounds of snow, pristine and untouched. Steam from the dryer vent adding a haze to the cloud covered sky, creating stage effects for our first attempt at throwing ourselves into such perfection.

Small bodies stuck in drifts after each fall, as mother makes her way to save each one from the snow angels holding them hostage. Rolling out the snowman layers, creating snowball machines, eating the productions and starting over again.

Frosty appearing underneath the large tree, without carrot, hat, scarf, or buttons but sculpting replicas out of the excess snow that just happens to be laying at our feet.

And you might imagine an evening of perfection and beauty, within a snowglobe of our own.

Until I admit that this is our first snowman. And I feel bad about that.

And that is where I fall out of the orb, in that I am compelled to admit my guilt and complete lack of abilities of submitting my will to the needs of my children.

schooled. Week 1.

Orientation began at 8:00 AM last Monday and ended at 4:00 PM Friday. And every hour was scheduled. I was home around 10 every night and left at 6:30 AM each morning.

How strange to see my children a total of 10 minutes awake. Or what seemed like 10 minutes.

What I learned in my first week attempt at PhD:

- I'm vulnerable.

and have very thin skin. One reason I wanted to stop auditions was the call back. Where you return and perform in front of your competition. last week was a callback. Not that I perceive my fellow students as competition. But it still had a callback feel. Particularly by the end of the week when I was very, very tired. I tend to think of this as my hallucination period.

Kind words can bring me to tears.

So can smiles. and familiar friends from the past.

I did nothing at my house last week. And if it weren't for some amazing parents, I don't know what we would have done. Not only was the house clean, dishes put away, family fed, but my daughters were schooled, homework completed, and lawn mowed without a finger lifted by me.

It was insane how kind and giving my parents were. And now that they are gone (refusing my cries for them to move in and take care of me until my vulnerable period ends)....I am on my own.

So I will continue to claim hallucinations until my skin thickens a bit. And I stop perceiving unfounded emotions from others. Or opinions of me.

Because I will just continue to tell my psyche: this is not middle school. this is not middle school. this is not middle school.

a big, fat, piece of cake.

Yes I am. And whenever I feel like dessert I want to eat more. And then it becomes this mad circle that spirals into a slow motion life of little motivation.

That's right, and top on my no-motivation list? Scrapbooking. Hair. Getting out of bed. Showers. Cleaning. Brushing my teeth. Cooking. Dishes.

And then my resentment increases at others for sitting while I have to move. Because. I. don't. want. to. move.

To fight this? I made lemon squares AND Halfway cookies yesterday. Today I plan on making the homemade oreos.

But I have a really good reason. Payment for the substitutes in primary. 36 instructors equals a lot of subs. And the few who actually say yes to subing are getting burnt out.

So my evolution into dessert will be shared, so that the majority of these feelings will not end up in my stomach. But on someone else's doorstep.

And then I will go back to bed.

checking in.

Here it is the beginning of August. Let's see if I've done anything that I planned to do as of my last post. Because the plan was to be done by August 1st. And focus on my girls. Solely on my girls.

Scrapbooking the first 3 years of my girls lives - I have not started. However, my evenings will be free these first few weeks of August, and slapping some glue on some pics and throwing them in binders will be the minimal goal and I will get this done. And I continue to ask, why do I dread this so?

Update my online Research Course for Fall - Done. Almost. The finishing touches are going on tonight. No matter how late I need to stay up. But in the mad prepping of the past two weeks I learned something awesome. BYU has copy machines in their library that allow you to scan to your email. So instead of wasting all of my coins? I completely mastered the free world of scanning. Seriously, awesome.

We met Millie's teacher. And guess what? She assigned homework. Millie's first homework. And here is the result. All ready for the first day of class.

It's supposed to be Millie. And she did it all herself, cutting, pasting, coloring. The only thing that I did was tie the bow on top. But she placed it. Very Project Runway, don't you think?

As for that Wallace Stegner novel? Scratched. Because I have homework. 3 weeks until school starts, yet I have articles and a nice thick book to read.

So Stegner will have to wait 3 or 5 years. But at least this assigned book is one I've been wanting to read.

in mourning...

for the life that was full of potential but never realized.

doesn't returning to your childhood haunts do that to you?

it makes me sad. every time. and i think of things. like how in first grade i visited Portland, and then wrote that i did not see shark meat, avocados, or policemen on horse in really great handwriting.

my mom and my sister said it was really great hand writing. for first grade.

and i think. at that time. what potential was seen? and was it realized?

not fully. i'm sure. or at all in the manner imagined.

kind of sad.

and now.

the time spent with my girls is coming to an end. and i'm sad.

for i had a vision of the potential of that time. and it wasn't fully realized.

and i also really want that family that all lives near one another. so i can abuse privileges by utilizing the safety of cousins and comfort of siblings to shield me from anxiety and fear.

i've never had that. reliable, automatic, adult friends through family to hang out with on a school night.

but then again, i don't like people. and would probably en anger some.

and then i would have to apologize.

quoted and red.

so i have some very intelligent friends. and it sounds like we all need to grab us a wallace stegner novel. stat.

which i will. because i have a plan.

july: update future classes. finish updating all photo albums. 5 years worth. for there will be no time for photos for 5 more years come the end of august.

august: focus. on. two. things. plus a little bit more. for august will be the end. of life. as. we. know. it. kindergarten begins. and i will not work for the first two weeks. only walks to school. and bonding. and a lingering with the final whisperings of toddler-ness. and weekends shall be devoted to freezing meals. 8 months worth. for that will be the next time that i might breathe long enough to cook.

and perhaps. somewhere. sometime. i can throw in a bit of wallace. just for fun. for fall will shroud all reading with discipline and learning. and novels will be replaced with responsibility. and due dates.

continuity theory in human form.

and now i admit to the world the truth.

not too much here in regards to redeeming qualities.

i made cinnamon rolls.

to find redemption.

for everything.

but only found joy in the short journey to my stomach.

and it didn't work.

failure people.

right here.

at connecting with humans. siblings. plumbers. kids. PR.

neglect...

of anything not imminent.

And thus, my little blog, you have suffered neglect. But not to the extent of my hair, my eyebrows, my diet, my house, or my soul... Muah-ha-ha-ha-ha.

That was an evil laugh.
You know.
In case you couldn't hear.

So this is what you've missed. I think.

• Clin grew some hair.
  



• primary 1st counselor calling = utter chaos. as in all of the children look the same. and not one name sticks.
  


• Ellis threw up. on me. in cafe rio. a deep red gatorade. during rush hour. in front of the soda machine. and no one helped. and I aimed her on me, so as not to get others sick. and I watched as those around us slowly moved away. awesome.
  


• Aging and Arts Presentation at Theater Ed Forum @ BYU.
  


• Clin grew more hair.
  



• I gave up the ghost. Of diet coke that is.
  


• Ellis screaming.
  


• nursery toy drive.
  


• Millie screaming.
  


• cleaning nursery toys.
  


• Me - screaming.
  


• cleaning more nursery toys.
  


• more facial hair. for Clin. not me. Although Ellis likes to say, "ew. I kissed your beard," to both of her parents.
  


• Spring Break O Ten. Disneyland.
  


• Ellis throws up again. This time temperature won't come down. Until Clin realizes that I have been giving her expired medicine. Yeah for me! And Back to the Disneyland.
  


• Kindergarten orientation.
  


• The smell of bleach will not go away. Neither will the nursery toys.
  


• Snow for Spring.
  


• Millie's 5th Birthday: Scooter, Tag books, princess Tiana figurines, My Little Pony, memory game. And the declaration: "Now that I'm five I get to go to kindergarten. I do not go to preschool when I'm five."
  


• I'm still working on prepping my class for Summer. And realize, tonight, that only 1 person is registered. Hmmmm, so much for inspiring all of campus. Deadline approaches. Number of late nights increase.
  


• Millie tells me about her dream. I can't remember it now. But somehow, in someway she used the word drunk.
  


• Fiddler done. Beard gone. Hair cut. We now have Clin back. He is unrecognizable.
  


• Planning princess party as I feel that Millie should be allowed to make friends sometime in her life.

And.

PhD. I've been accepted. For Fall 2010.

I've said yes.

So be prepared for more neglect.

racing...

towards an end. sometime. in some way. do you know that feeling that invades after reading for eight hours straight? brain headache. of sorts. that is how i feel. all the time. right now. i can't get my mind to stop running. and just breathe. it won' stop racing. even when i close my eyes. or attempt escape. like through a post. such as this. it jumps to another place, another job, another thought. and I can't organize it. at all. it is everywhere. all the time. at once. continually. i am not in the moment. but ahead of the moment. or behind. i'm unsure.

and i don't know how. or when it will find release. it is out of control. and i am all over the place.

stacks of books. jump drives full of articles. i drown in pages of lists, thoughts, questions, quotes, references, resources, websites, videos.

and i can't seem to come up for air.

were you...

...told by interlibrary loan that your order of 30 books and articles had to be ordered from a different library? One that charges for ILL? And it will now cost you $174.00 to access resources that could make your class that much better?

Me too.

Good thing I got a grant.

Too bad none of it has actually materialized.

But I only spent one afternoon crying. Only one. Because, you see, I expect all good things in life to be free.

I need to get over that.

On to happier thoughts....

calm and opaque.

Damn you GRE. You have pushed me over the edge and into the edifice known as carbs. Laughing as I grovel and swell amidst the homemade rolls, chocolate dipped pretzels, and lemon squares that have become my sustenance.

Obsessing over numbers and words has turned into an obsession over sprinkles and yeast. And Clin says that I can't help myself now. Failing practice test over practice test three days before the exam is not going to improve my score.

But that would be giving up.

And Dear Amanda,

you delivered emollient to my soul in the form of John Denver, the Muppets, and a big jar 'o' fudge. Kermit provided a moment of peace. And I am now washing it down with a few chugs of chocolate directly from the mason jar.

random release...

Shoveling the drive twice within 17 hours is nice inspiration. For a variety of blog posts. Only the second that one pops in my head, it leaves. For warmer weather I suppose.

Like I wanted to post about how I can't stand doing my hair right now. And I was about to write it out in my mind. But it went away. And that ended that.

Or about how Millie called our car a genious. Which it totally is. But I can't recall the circumstance, or story surrounding it.

And then this morning, before shoveling episode #2, my period started. And clarity came.

I thought - oh, I should write about this. But then realized that I always write about the beginning of my period. Why must I force my blog to be my calendar?

And that might be gross. For you. If you're reading. But it's not gross for me. (Remember: blood not gross. Stickers and long nails? Vomit inducing.) I like to talk about it. It's a huge part of who I am. Or I guess in how I act. And perhaps it is my one token form of rebellion. (Or is that the dc?)

Rebellious? How can it be rebellious? Well, when you grow up not swearing, or drinking, or sneaking out, or toilet papering, or skipping class, or whatever your token form of rebellion may be...

But sometimes you just need to shock. For shocks sake. Right? My rebellion of choice has always been complete honesty regarding my cycle. (Okay, and screaming at the parentals -- but that's another story. For a therapist.)

My brothers could share some choice experiences. Kyle in particular. But I see it more as one of my life purposes. I completely prepared them for the realities of womanhood. In fact, they probably have it much nicer now that they are warm and cozy in marriage. Because I know that the sis-in-laws are not leaving surprises in the sink.

And I'm sure the brothers are so thankful for their awesome wives. And I feel like I had a hand in that.

here.

I didn't want to get out of bed this morning. And had it not been for a planned visit from cousin Becky, I would still be there.

Clin would categorize this as PMS. But who knows? I mean I've given up on calendaring these things. And maybe I'm just in a state. Or tired. That would definitely be a label I could wear.

But who isn't?

Maybe it's the four point five day food free-for-all that began Thursday and has not yet declared an end. I can't stop. Right now I'm downing a glass of the DC and graham crackers with a bunch 'o' frosting in the middle. And I'm not satisfied. Seriously, the frosting/graham combination used to be so much better than it is in this moment.

But I did put on a new, old pair of jeans this morning. Size 8. I only own 1 pair of eights. I've only ever owned 1 pair.

Perhaps the one exception could be Brian Rothery's hand me downs that ended up in my college dresser during my boy jean phase. But they were labeled based on that male system that makes no sense. So those can't count.

My eights are considered new because they were only ever worn for a couple of months preceding the pregnancy of 2004. They have lived in the closet since.

So this should be some cause for celebration. For not crawling back into bed.

But I just don't feel it.

*I would like to take this moment to give a shout out to the high I got yesterday from the Ginger Snap bubble bath scent wafting from Ellis's hair. That was nice.

paid.

So I'm not getting paid for the rest of the semester. I should know that, right? That it would all be paid out over the first 2 months rather than 4... But alas, I expect my accountant to deal with these things.

If I had an accountant.

Or a brain.

And I keep seeing all these deals. Like a Mr. Potato Head for a buck. And I have to restrain myself. Physically. As in I'm no longer allowed to leave the house. And the $1 spot at Target? Restricted. Clearance aisle of Wal-Mart? Purgatory.

And here I have one month left of grading, testing, and sending my girls for naps so that I can work, work, work.... and what feels like nothing to show for it.

today.

Listening to the cashier and customer in front of me talk as I loaded the belt with sugar free candy and broccoli, I thought I heard the word marijuana. Not usually the word that pops up when checking out.

And then the two continued. Talking about how hard it is to quit. To stay off of it. And how so many states are legalizing it for medicinal purposes. This continued while my food was scanned and thrown into bags.

Okay. So the two bonded over an important topic to us all. But I couldn't stop staring and thinking how odd. 18 year old cashier and 40 year old mom. In Utah.

More important? They talked through my entire checkout time. Like I was part of the conversation, though I didn't utter a word. If I'm paying for groceries I at least want some attention. From someone. Isn't that part of the purchasing experience?

And then in the car, on the way to the library, I spotted a woman wearing a bonnet. In a normal residential neighborhood.

Just out for a stroll.

suspecting a new suspect.

I had reason to suspect. Oh boy did I ever.

When Mr. Furnace showed up, the first thing he said was:

Did you change the batteries?

Um, batteries?

Me, trying to address my stupidity. You know. To make me feel not so stupid: I'm going to feel really stupid if you came all the way out here just to change a battery.

And then he took the thermostat off the wall. No battery.

HA, HA! I don't have to feel stupid. There really is a problem with this thing.

And then he went downstairs to further inspect the furnace.

One second later, the heat came on.

Mr. Furnace: Your furnace switch was off.

Um...okay. Feeling worse about a switch than a battery, I didn't even bring the topic up.

Instead, I let him pretend that he was servicing the furnace. To make the visit seem as if it was worth the $45.00 he was about to charge me.

suspect.

At times I think that perhaps we have purchased a money pit. Friday night I flashed back to that movie. (Tom Hanks and Shelley Long. Man I loved it. You so did too.) Home from a much needed night out, and our garage door crashed to the ground.

It didn't hit anything. But the ground.

Saturday morning we learned that our garage door does not stay up on its own without a working door opener. And I became the early morning opener as Clin drove away to rehearsal. And that door is heav.vy.

Clin slow poked it to the car. And I yelled. Yeah. Unheard of from me. But you would have too. With both hands above my head.

Leave. Get in the car and go. I'm about to vomit.

I should have. I should have let it all out. To help emphasize the weight of that 6:30 AM weekend door.

So I returned to bed to think upon the pit. And noticed a cold. And quiet. As in no heat.

Which launched me from bed to find what I feared. Thermostat blank.

Money pit confirmed.