Ugh! Templates!

So, just a quick rant. I am not a computer programmer, but neither am I completely technically challenged. That said, I am having serious difficulties with my blog templates.

Cutest Blog on the Block is where I usually get my templates, but a few months back this stopped working. I didn't have time to struggle with it, so I went with a boring and generic template from blogger.com.

Today, however, I took some time to try to get this worked out, since I really do want a cute Christmas background.

AND

IT

IS

NOT

WORKING!

Ugh. Anyone have any ideas?

On Getting Divorced

It has been quite a while since I have posted here, not because nothing has happened, or because I don't have time to write, or because I don't want to share my thoughts. Actually, tons of things have been going on, I write for several hours most days, and I would love to share my thoughts.

But I censor myself. All the time. In everything. For example:

I filed for divorce last month. This was a major life event (clearly)- along the magnitude of marriage, a birth or death in the family. But what would I say on a blog, where the whole world can read it, that would not offend or hurt someone, somewhere? I mean- someone I know personally and care about. (I realize people in China that I don't know- I'm not referring here to the people in China I care about very much- read my blog, (I'm not sure why, but they are welcome) and if I offend them with my thoughts on marriage and divorce, well, life goes on.) But how about my family? My in-laws? My kids?

And so I am silent. As I have been on many subjects. For many years. As I write this I hear Taylor Swift in the back of my mind saying, "Speak Now!" Yes, well. She's not getting divorced, is she? If she ever does, I expect she will make millions selling albums about it. And I will buy them and sing along with her and cry.

So, what have I been doing? Thinking? Not talking about?

I've been wondering how to settle a divorce. What do I ask for? What do I accept is just not going to happen? What is worth fighting for- if anything- and what is not? Do I have to have an attorney with me along the way? Or can we work this out ourselves in a way that won't hurt me and the kids in the long run, and bring the attorneys in to sign everything off at the end?

I've been trying to come to grips with life as a single mother. Some things I expected as part of this package deal- like doing the laundry myself. (Mike used to wash and dry the clothes.) And some things I've been surprised by- like the hollow feeling I get when I fill out a form and the "Father" information side stays blank. Or the way people look at my left hand, and then at my kids, and give me a look that says they have misjudged my entire life in 15 seconds and placed me into a box where I don't belong.

Or, where I hope I don't belong.

I have been cleaning out the house. Getting ready for the inevitable move that has to come some time. Throwing away some of the junk we accumulate by living in the same house for 8 years. When we moved here, it was the 21st house we had lived in, and we had been married 18 years. (Counting every place we lived for 3 months or longer) It's amazing how much junk we can hold onto when we are not forced to clear it out. Do you know I still had baby socks in the sock bucket? And my youngest turns 13 next week!

I have been looking at families. Watching husbands and wives interact. Comparing and measuring myself against them. Did I speak that kindly to my husband when he was here? Am I gentle like that with my children? Where do I need to improve? What will my kids remember when they are my age? And I've been keeping a careful mental thermometer on my kids, watching for signs of distress in the midst of their lives being turned upside down. Ready as I can be with the emotional Tylenol and hugs. Hoping I can do this all myself.

I have spent a lot of time thinking. A bit of time crying. Much time in prayer. Several hours in the car with my kids and heavy doses of Taylor Swift. Not as much time as I should spend cleaning the house. A few hours a day writing- usually my endless YA novel, but occasionally something else sneaks in. At least a few hours each month in the temple. A sprinkling of moments, like sugar dusted on cake, visiting with friends in person or via email. And moments here and there staring at the sky and wondering how life got so wonderful. And complicated. And painful. And perfect. All at the same time.

And being surprised that I can feel peace and happiness these days.

That's what I have been up to. How about you?

Extreme Multitasking!

When I was in Morocco in highschool I thought I had multitasking down. I could curl my hair with one hand while tying my shoe with the other, and pause to spray a cockroach with hairspray, all while singing along with my cassette. Yes. It kills them. The hairspray.

And when my kids were little, I could fix dinner while listening to a rambling story from a three year old ("Let me tell you about when I was 26!"), watch the child at the table do her homework, and write a grocery list all at the same time.

Then came the mom-of-teens, homeschooling years. (I'm still in this stage.) And I found this was a skill that could be taken to new levels. Teach them to drive while taking someone to dance, while texting the daughter at home to see if dinner is in the oven, while making sure junior in the back seat is doing his math.

And then... throw in being a single mom! And what do you get? Extreme Multitasking! The all new, high thrill sport for moms with negative time!

Consider Saturday.

Plans had already been derailed by 9 am when I realized Bethany had to see a doctor asap for her asthma. The pediatrician's phone was totally not working- so plan A (call for a refill of her inhaler Rx) was not going to work. We put plan B into effect: Insta Care place. Should be quick. All we need is a script for an inhaler.

After over an hour sitting in the room waiting for the doctor and listening to my daughter wheeze, I stick my head in the hall to find the doctor lounging with the nurse, going through an iHop menu. But I digress. My point is not about doctors and nurses and iHop-- although that could be a subject for another post. The point is, we missed the violin group lesson we were supposed to be to, and by that afternoon I realized the inhaler was not going to be enough. She needed a trip to the ER for nebulizer meds and steroids.

I figured all this out about 1 pm as I was putting dinner in the oven. (New meal plan! More on this later.) And at 2 pm I was supposed to be meeting for the first time with the girl I will be tutoring this year. First impressions being what they are, I didn't want to start off the year with, "Umm... I'll be a little late. Or, actually, probably very late. Depending on the doctors at the ER. And the iHop menu." But I also didn't want to leave Bethany home, unable to breathe. "Just call 911, sweetie, if you get any worse. Or text me. I should be home soon."

My plan? Throw all three kids in the car, call the tutoring family while driving to their house and ask if I can stop by a little early (a better first impression than being several hours late), then call a friend to see if the younger two can hang out with her while we're at the ER. Drop the kids off at the friend's house after the tutoring meeting, then hit the ER.

I tell kids to get on shoes and grab books to read while dialing my friend. I get her answering machine and start leaving a message, wondering if she's home but couldn't find the phone. Where could she be? Then, mid-sentence- I remember. She's gone for the day and asked me to take her dogs out around lunch time or 1 o'clock! I sputter something about having a good day and hang up, then run upstairs and grab the DS games. Apparently the kids are all going to the ER. Whoopie!

In the car, I call the tutoring family, who sounds a bit confused but says, "Umm, sure. I guess now would be fine." Thank heavens.

I park 5 houses down in the only spot of shade on the street and leave the key with Bethany and instructions to turn on the AC if it gets too hot. She's wheezing, but nods. I sprint past 5 houses and tell the grandma watering her roses, who looks like she's expecting me to stop and talk, that I'm just borrowing her neighbor's shade, and that her tiny white dog with a pink bow in its hair is cute.

The tutoring family is great. Nice daughter. Nice mom. Really nice house. 15 minutes later I'm back out the door, past Grandma, the roses, and Poopsie, and in the car. Bethany's eyes are closed. I peal out of there, heading to my friend's to take out the dogs before the ER.

But... As I'm driving up Cardinal I suddenly see my oven in my mind. And the casserole I'd put in the oven just before realizing Bethany needed to go to the ER. Ack!

I drive home, watching for police in my rear-view mirror, run inside and grab the casserole out of the over. It was only slightly more brown than was intended. I set it on the counter and stared at it. Do my kids actually need to eat?

This is where I explain our new meal plan. We eat our big meal-- the all-together-dinner-type thing-- around 3 or 4 pm. This makes sense for lots of reasons, not the least of which is because that's the only time we're all home. Then we have cookies and milk or microwave popcorn or a quick frozen pizza around 9 pm when we're hungry again. It works for us. At least that's the theory. I just started it on Saturday.

So, I'm staring at the casserole. Chicken and broccoli. I run through all the possible scenarios in my mind, and decide the best plan is to just take it with us.

So I grab a couple of dish towels to put it on, pick up the Costco-sized bag of paper plates (no time to count them out), grap a handful of plastic forks and one plastic spoon, and run back to the kids waiting in the car.

"What are you doing?"

"Bringing dinner. Why?"

"Do you expect us to walk into the ER with a casserole?"

"Don't be silly. We're going to eat it while taking out our friend's dogs."

"If there is any left over, can I bring it to the hospital? I'll eat quietly."

We let the dogs out while eating our casserole on paper plates in our friend's house while Bethany lay on their couch and wheezed and I calculated how much I'd make from tutoring and called back the electrician about the lights in the front room while watching out the window to see if the dogs had done their thing yet. The plastic spoon made a decent serving spoon, and the tiny size kept our portions small. I made a mental note to try this at home for myself as I told Peter to refill the dogs' water dish, told Naomi to call the dogs inside, and I checked to make sure Bethany was still breathing.

And I thought about the fact that, although I really miss my calling in the stake Relief Society, I was glad I was not one of the people in charge of the reception that evening.

This is my life. Not too unusual. For our house, anyway.

When Bethany was well-medicated, the casserole was gone, and the kids were back home with instructions to practice the violin songs they'd missed at the group lesson that morning, I put on a skirt and went to the reception. I arrived just as it was ending and wondered if my hair was still sticking out in back like Bethany had said it was in the ER. Probably so.

My friends smiled and said, "How are you?"

And I smiled and said, "Fine. Kind of a crazy day."

And they nodded. "I know what you mean."

And I wondered if they really did.

The Story of Carly

My cat is curled up beside me, resting her tiny chin on my foot. Her eyes are closed and her breathing is in slow little breaths. At moments like this, even if my computer is about to die because it's not plugged in, or I am so desperate to go to the bathroom that I'm squirming, or the pizza is burning in the oven, I look at her and think, "But I don't want to disturb her!"

I know people get carried away with their pets. Dogs getting manicures and cats with an entire wing of the house to themselves seem a bit much when we are not the ones in love.

This particular cat came to us in an unusual way. We drove to church one Sunday morning in April, and after services, we drove home again. When we got out of the car, my family members said, "What is that noise in the engine?" I groaned. Car trouble. Great. I informed them that I did not even want to know about it and went inside to change out of my dress. A moment later one of my kids was banging on my bedroom door shouting, "Mom! You've got to come see! It's a cat!" My eyes flew to the bedroom door. Oh, this is going to be a mess, I thought. A cat got stuck in our engine? And the kids are down there to see it? I steeled myself, prepared to be the brave mother who holds her traumatized children as they weep over dismembered kitty parts.

But when I got downstairs, there was my husband, leaning into the greasy car engine in his white church shirt, saying, "It's all right, kitty kitty." This is the same man who had claimed for years not to like cats. Until he rescued our grey cat, Brigitta, who had been hit by a car, and spent thousands of dollars to have her restored to health. His story that he couldn't stand cats began to unravel after that. And now he coaxed a tiny, tiny kitten out of the engine of our car, where she had been sitting in one of the few places where she could have lived on the five mile ride home. I breathed a sigh of relief. She was all in one piece.

And she was tiny! I mean, even for a kitten. She fit in the palm of a child's hand and mewed so pitifully that we were all making little squeaky sounds back at her out of sympathy. Someone got some milk and someone else got a few bits of cat food. The kitten tried to eat a piece of the food, but she was so small that it was like watching a two-year-old try to fit a whole Five Guys hamburger in their mouth and then chew. I did some quick emotional calculations and realized there was no way this kitten was going anywhere. Darn it all.

We already had two cats and a dog, and though I was feeling animal overload, I felt like we were still within the "normal" limits of animal ownership. But THREE cats? That's getting a bit fanatic. And yet, look at her! they all exclaimed. She fit in a tea cup. I know, because they put her in one and took pictures. Rachel carried her in the pocket of her bathrobe, where the kitten slept with her head just poking out, resting on the lip of the pocket. And Bethany claimed ownership, bringing the kitten to sleep on her bed with her. How could I say, after she lived through a ride home in our engine and had been fed milk with an eye dropper and slept on Rachel's pocket, "Nah. Take her back to the field beside the church. Or drop her off at the shelter." So, we acquired a third cat. We named her Carly, since she was found in the engine of the car.

Something about being raised by people made Carly into a different beast. She is fine with having people maul her. Her paws, which most cats will not let anyone touch, are so soft, and she just lays in our arms like a baby and closes her eyes as we stroke them. She talks to us, mewing and making little sounds in her throat to communicate things like, "Milk would be good! It's right in this fridge!" and if she gets stuck in the garage overnight or shut in the bathroom for too long, she tells us all about it when she gets out, talking and talking and asking to be held and comforted after her traumatic ordeal. She loves our dog, Heidi, and rolls all over Heidi's muzzle and licks Heidi's face until the dog can stand no more and gets up to walk away. And anytime we're gathered as a family, Carly comes to join us. She is there for scripture reading, bedtime stories, songs and prayers, and any other time we are all together, curled up beside us with her eyes closed, looking like the world is a good place.

She is still small for a full-grown cat, although it's been a few years since we found her. And Bethany still hauls her around, snuggling her and exclaiming, "She is so CUTE!" when she find sher asleep somewhere. Right now, Carly is curled beside my feet, looking like she is sound asleep-- until I lean over to look at her more closely. Then her ears turn toward me and I know she's just resting, apparently enjoying my company as much as I enjoy hers.

Wild Hat in the LoC

A while ago I was in the Library of Congress and noticed- I could hardly not notice- a woman's hat. It was sprouting flowers and sparkly things and feathers in the brightest colors, and was so completely out of place sitting on top of the short, dumpy woman in the calico house dress. I stared at her on the steps, couldn't take my eyes off her in the upstairs hall, and was surprised by her again in the special display on Native Americans. I began to think I should say something, since she must have noticed me staring. But, what?

I went to use the restroom, and when I came out of the stall, there she was, horrific hat and all, washing her hands. I decided I would speak to her. I couldn't say I liked her hat- that would be too blatant a lie. I decided on, "Your hat is so interesting!" Which was very, very true. But, as I opened my mouth to speak...

She bent over and pulled from her bra two large, hard-back books! My jaw hit the sink and I stared at her. How was that possible? She rearranged herself, tucked the books back in, and walked out of the bathroom, all while I stared, the hat all but forgotten.

I saw her again, as I was leaving the library. She was going through security just before me. She opened her bag and the security officer poked his stick around looking for stolen books, nodded his approval, and she walked out the door, wild hat, books in her bra, and all. I wanted to say, "Um, sir? I think there is somewhere else you should check!" But I didn't.

I ask. What would you do?

Dizzy

My toes

Turning on the grass

My dress

Rippling, floating

My arms

Stretching out, palms up

My hair

Flying in the wind

I look toward

My fingers

Reaching toward the sky

Where the birds fly

Into the clouds that spin

Against the blueness that blurs

And the stars that shine

And the night that falls

Like moonbeams

Onto my skin

As I tumble

Into the grass

That might be the sky

And try to remember

Which way is up

Taylor Swift, Dr. Laura and My Life

I went to the Taylor Swift concert with Bethany last month and had a ton of fun!  We jumped up and down and sang all the songs along with Taylor Swift, and bought concert t-shirts, and went home totally exhausted and happy.  We brought several friends with us, and Josh took a date- but didn't get to sit by us because we had tickets in different sections.  All in all, a great evening!

While I was there, I was looking around at the other concert-goers and was amazed at the ages represented.  There were 2-year-olds in cowboy boots and sun dresses with their moms.  There were teens and pre-teens, and college students, and 40-somethings, and even a few boys!  (One was wearing a t-shirt that said, "Because my girlfriend loves her!"  Haha!  Understood.)  I

 wondered, as I looked around, what it was that made so many girls, of so many ages, love taylor Swift.

And here's what I've concluded.

First:  She's just SO good!  Her songs are well written, fun to sing along with, and they cover the gamut, from "Today was a Fairy Tale" to "I'm not a princess... This ain't a fairy tale."  From "You're just another picture to burn!" to "Can he tell that I can't breathe?"  If you have a boyfriend, used to have a boyfriend, wish you had a boyfriend, or might one day grow up to have a boy friend, she has written a song about where you are.  And if your ex-boyfriend (or husband) was a jerk-- well!  She has a whole album for you.  =)

Which brings me to point #2:  She encourages girls to be girls-- and to expect boys to treat them like princesses.  She curls her hair, wears cute dresses, loves sparkly things, and announces from stage to sold-out audiences everywhere that boys "Shouldn't do bad things!"  and that if they do bad things to her, they can expect to be written up.  In a song, that is.  

She showed a mock interview in which a middle-aged woman quizzed Taylor about the way Taylor treated her ex-boyfriends.  The woman said she was concerned.  "If you are naming the guys you dated in your songs, why would any guy want to date you?"

Taylor said, "Well...If guys don't want me to write bad songs about them... they shouldn't do bad things!"  The stage lights went out and words began scribbling themselves all over the set saying, "They shouldn't do bad things.  They shouldn't do bad things.  They shouldn't..."  The crowd- of almost entirely women and girls, remember- went wild!  I wish I'd thought to look around and see what the few men were doing.  I'd love to know.  Did they jump up and down and scream, "WooHoo!"?  Or were they looking at their shoes wondering how they'd gotten themselves into this situation?  (Not you, Josh.  I don't think you were looking at your shoes.)

I know what I was thinking.  After Screaming and thinking, "YES!" and wiping my eyes, I thought, "Dr. Laura would like this girl!"

An odd thing to think in the middle of a Taylor Swift concert?  Maybe.  But maybe not.  

I've been reading 10 Stupid things Women Do To Mess Up Their Lives, by Dr. Laura Schlessinger, and thinking a lot about it.  Yes, she can be offensive on the radio, and no I don't listen to her regularly.  I don't listen to the radio at all, actually.  But I have heard her from time to time, and I agree with what you're thinking.  She should get some tact.  But I also agree with what she's thinking.  And saying.  Almost 100% of the time.

She has several points in the book- but many of them can be summed up in this statement:  Girls, get a life!  

She believes that if girls (or women) set goals for themselves and work toward achieving them, they will see that they are actually, in Taylor Swifts words, princesses.  And that they deserve to be treated as such.  Then they will stand up to the men in their lives and insist that they "shouldn't do bad things!"  She suggests that, instead of waiting to be chosen by a boy, girls go out and do the choosing themselves.  What a novel concept!  

I thought a lot about this.  From the time girls are small we are told to wait for boys to choose us.  The very fact that Sadie Hawkins dances exist, and that they announce "This next song is girl's choice" means that the rest of the time we are supposed to stand on the side and hope we are-- what?  Cute enough?  Smiling at the right moment?  Dressed right?  So that a boy will choose us.  We are not supposed to ask the guy out on a date.  Or even call him!  That would be too forward.  And have you ever heard of a girl proposing to a guy?  I haven't.  And I bet if you have it stuck out in your memory because of how totally unusual it is!

What does all of this say about girls?  To be honest, I don't have the answer to that.  But I do know that I like the idea of girls being someone they, themselves, can feel good about, so that they are choosing, at the very least, to say Yes to the princes out there and No to the jerks.  and when they kiss the prince and discover he is, in fact a frog, they can dump him back in the swamp, wipe off their mouths, and say, "Yuck!  He shouldn't have done those bad things!"  And walk away.  Instead of moving into the swamp with the frog.

Rebecca  =)

who recommends Graceling by Kristin Cashore

Awake!

You'd think, after almost no sleep for a couple of days, and driving for 12 hours straight today, that I would be exhausted enough to sleep.  But no.

I lie awake in the dark hotel room, alternately closing my eyes and staring at the patterns of light made by the gaps in the curtains and wondering why my brain won't shut off.  

And then thinking, of course my brain won't shut off.  Did I really wonder that?  What a stupid question.  (sigh)  It's 12:13 am.

I turn over and try laying on the other side.  

and then turn back over.

and then stare at the ceiling some more.

and then go to the bathroom, just for something to do. 

and then lay down and close my eyes again.

and then open my eyes.  The patterns of light have not changed.  It's 1:26 am. 

Perhaps while driving all day, my brain has to keep alert about traffic and road conditions, and listen to the kids, and think about exits, and listen to the book on CD (Fablehaven, today) and try to stay awake, and perhaps with all that it does not have time to sort through all the other things going on in my life, and so, when I lay down in a dark hotel room, and there is... nothing... it can finally begin to sort through real life.  

We have a court date next week.  And another next month.  And What if Mike looses his job?  Where will  our pets live?  Where will we live?  Scenes from the past replay over and over in my mind.  a phrase here.  a snippet there.  What did that mean?  What will we do?  I try to tell my brian to do Yoga Nidra, but it keeps wandering to everything else.  I bring it back to focusing on the left side of my mouth, (yes, it's a little weird, but it usually works!) and then realize I've drifted back into life.  

Finally, I get up, undo the velcro on my laptop bag (very loud in a silent, dark hotel room with 4 kids asleep), tell Bethany to lie back down, and go sit in the bathroom, on the toilet seat lid, and turn on my laptop for the first time on this trip. 

After checking my email, posting a sleepless status on Facebook, and writing on my blog, I am out of things to do.  Perhaps I will try going back to bed.  

It is 2:10 am.

Rebecca  :0   

Preperations

Tomorrow morning we leave for Utah. 

I am not running away

Not really

or at least

Not forever

I'm just getting a break

And seeing Rachel!

And Elizabeth!

And Michael!  =)

And Grandma and Grandpa and Sadie and Polly and Dan...

=)

And I'm not being here

for February

14th

Which probably

Will make life easier

But at the same time

being gone

tastes

like

Really

Really

dark 

chocolate

Like Cinderella

I feel

like Cinderella

standing 

on the empty

ballroom floor

holding

both my slippers

and wondering 

what 

to

do

now

This was not

how the story

was 

supposed

to 

end