Old not-so-faithful

I'm not talking about John!
Annika and I went to the mall to pick up her portraits from JC Penney. The mall is 30 or so minutes away and involves several highway transfers and the stuff there costs money, so I don't go often. In fact, this is only the second time. As Hillsboro only has Target, Ross, Old Navy, etc. I don't buy new clothes very often, which I've been needing to do.
So, we head out, which is hard because Annika's naps are relatively predictable, but not completely. And, outings are hard because the block of time needed between meals, diaper changes or naps doesn't leave much. But, I was intrepid, and we left.
I hate the mall. I hate department stores. I hate maneuvering (sp?) a stroller between the racks of ugly, non-fitting clothes. I hate the small dressing rooms. I hate the size 4s and under. I hated today, the large (very large) woman who came out of the dressing room with app. 3 billion shirts and skirts and pants and hot fudge sundays and golden eggs, beaming and loudly telling her friend how wonderful it is to find just the right stuff on 75% sales. Humph. I couldn't find anything that I even liked enough to bother trying on, and the few things I tried were so pathetic and small and armfat showing, that I left defeated without so much as a silver yolk.
So, I bought candy. That'll show 'em.
Anyway, Annika had been expressing her true feelings about our outing for some time at this point, (I like to think she was sneering at the golden egg lady) so we finally went home with nothing to show for our labors except our portraits and some candy and some self-loathing. (the candy)
Again, 30 minutes home. Annika is asleep, I bring her in to put her down for a real nap. I'm desperate to sit and veg(?) and eat my candy. But, I have to change Annika. Her diaper is really wet, so she's already peed. And, she's not a boy. So it didn't occur to me to move everything within 3 feet (yes, 3 feet) in front of her. How does a lying down little girl spout urine like that? 2 feet in the air, 3 feet out. And all the stuff that stayed on the changing pad with her, soaking everything there. She peed on the basket of clean diapers. And the wipes. And the bum cream. And the everything!!!!! Quick bath. Nap whether she wants on or not. Now, I'm going to eat lots of candy. Then I'll go shopping again and everything will fit.

Greatness

When I heard that the funeral services for President Hinckley were going to be 3 hours long, I blanched a little. John and I planned to watch some of it via the internet, but we didn't think we'd last for all 3.
We were riveted. Tears streaming down our faces at parts. I kept picturing the reunion, both of them looking how they did on their wedding day. I kept wondering how a reunion with His Savior would be, how proud Jesus is of him. What kind of joy to at last return to his friend, knowing he had done EVERYTHING he possibly could have. The phrase, "Well done, my good and faithful servant" becomes so much clearer.
So, the recurring thought and reason for my tears, was this: this whole plan, this gospel, this plan, this Savior, its all real. Its all so real. President Hinckley knew with perfect knowledge where his sweetheart was and where he was going. And, because of the joy of thinking of their reunion, I couldn't stop thinking about the sublime blessing of eternal marriage, and the unspeakably wondrous blessing that I've been given to marry John in the temple.
I was also struck by President Hinckley's work ethic. He literally wore out his life in Christ's service, building His kingdom. And that is what we need to be doing. It is not enough to be only working on our own salvation, on our own testimony and righteousness. We need to get our own "houses" in order so that we are ready to build the kingdom. President Hinckley wasn't the prophet because he had his own testimony. He was prophet because God knew that he could trust President Hinckley to work and work and work. (God may think I'm being a little presumptous, explaining His method of choosing his servants.) Anyway, I need to "forget myself and get to work."
So I will.

Pizza

Last night we had homemade pizza at my house with the Laurels. There are 5 Laurels and one other adult were expected. Since I was making the dough and providing the main ingredients, I worked a fair amount getting everything ready. I made enough for all the Laurels and 3 adults. (John eats too.) For mutual, the young men and young women all meet together for opening exercises, the point of which, I assume, is to make sure that the young men remember that there are girls in the ward. When I got there 5 minutes late, no Laurels. Slowly they came, one by one, but until I saw at least 3 of them I was really stressed. You can't really have a fun pizza party with 2 teenagers, their advisor and her husband. Eventually, all 5 Laurels and the other adult showed up.
We had a GREAT time. Enough pizza, enough cheese, enough of everything, etc. And, everyone had a good time. Our useful and education part of the evening was going to be making some dough, so everyone could learn, but there wasn't enough time.

So, here is my point. I really did get stressed for the 5-7 minutes that it took for all the Laurels to show up. Why do I do this? Its like waiting at your house, streamers waving in the wind, (air conditioner?) Pretty cake ready for candles. Donkeys waiting to get pinned in the butt and the pinata is trying to catch an air current from the air conditioner. Everything is in limbo once the clock turns "party time". WHAT IF NO ONE COMES?

When I was 5, though I don't remember except through pictures, a whole lot of kids in bathing suits were running through the sprinklers in the back yard.
My 12th (13th) birthday, 15 -20 girls and GUYS(!) came. Some of them even brought presents! It was fun, which is quite the accomplishment for middle schoolers.
My first Christmas in Romania (mission), I couldn't quite bring myself to expect gifts because I'd only been in the country for a month, I'd already lived away from home for 3 years before my mission, and packages take a long time to get to Romania. Christmas day at 2 pm (?) in Romania 6 am (?) in New York, I answer the phone and my whole family is joyfully singing "We wish you a Merry Christmas" sounding happy to wake up way too early. My 2 enormous packages came in time, filled with warm clothes, some treats, and lots of gloves and hats to give to cold Romanians. My companion had given me a present, worried that I wouldn't get anything!

Lastly, Libby B. threw me a baby shower. I was excited, but I knew someone's kid had a birthday party the same day, so some moms might not be able to come. I arrived a few minutes before 12 noon, the appointed time. No one yet, but that was expected. 12 comes, no one. A few more minutes. Margaret comes with some food. More minutes, no one else. I'm wondering how it would feel to go home and answer John's "how was it?" with, "no one came" and bursting into tears. Libby asked me to go upstairs and get baby Sara dressed. While I was up there, 10 (?) people showed up. At the height of the shower I counted 24(?) well wishers who wanted to celebrate with me.

So, why do i do this? Even if I were to have a bust of a party, it would not be the norm. Why do I forget that I have good friends? Here's my theory. If all my friends are expected to show up at once, if fewer than are expected show up, you feel rejected and embarrassed. Its as though that a party is the real test of one's popularity. And that would be a real bummer of a time to find out the sad truth.

Anyway, I was so relieved that we had a good time and that the girls came!

So, thanks to all my good friends, who remember that they love me, if even occasionally I don't!

Blechh.

All three of us have had the stomach flu this week and though we're on the mend, my house is not. Well, if I start to mend it, it will be. But, I'm still tired. It is a lot of work being sick and not doing any work. Except, I will categorize changing stomach-flu-baby's diaper WORK. But, John helped with every single one he was home for! Amazing man. Even when he is sick.
So, I read Anne of Windy Poplars yesterday, (my sickest day) and though I generally enjoy the Anne books, yesterday she was SOOOO annoying! Why is everything so flowery? Why is everything rosy or misty or hallowed or cozy or a kindred spirit house? Why is there always a sweet or moody or lovable or midnight black cat with a mysterious scowl? Why is she able to fix every single problem ever? Why is it ok that she doesn't see Gilbert for three years before they get married. (With a few exceptions.) And, why doesn't she ever get the stomach flu and spend days in the cherubic and truly delicious bathroom?

Sunshine!

I'm pleased and surprised to be able to announced that we've had several beautifully sunny days this past week. Cold, but sunny. (And yes, I realize that cold is a very relative word.) We've gone for lots of walks and opened all our shades to allow the sun to envelope us in joy and hope. We bought this house in large part because of its windows. Lots and lots of windows.
If you haven't seen them, you should come and visit!

Laurels

I was recently called as the Laurel adviser in our new ward. I was dumbfounded, as I've been a teacher for so long. I soon got really excited, and then intimidated. As I'm getting to know the girls, I have 5, I'm more and more impressed with them. Our activity tonight was a mini book club. We each brought our favorite books, up to 3, and talked about them, one at a time. I had brought some basic questions to guide us. I was worried that it seem boring to them, but we had a great time. Everyone was really enthusiastic about presenting their books and we had great discussions. We had a lot of fun, and I'm so glad!

I'm so glad when Daddy gets home!

Annika, seeing me ALL day, although I know she loves me, absolutely lights up in joy and excitement when John walks through the door. He can't help but pick her up right then, without putting down his stuff, because she is at his feet, crawling up his legs. She looks exactly how I feel!
Still waking up 1-2 times a night, our darling girl is quickly helping the bags under my eyes swallow my whole face. An exaggeration? Yes. Completely? No.