I'm a Mormon, yes, I am. At a meeting Saturday evening we were edified by some great speakers. My honey and I got to sit together, sans children, and just absorb. The feeling was peaceful and I wished that I'd remembered to bring paper and pencil for note taking.
The biggest thing (now the only one I remember) that struck me was a scripture quoted from Proverbs. The speaker (a wonderful woman that I've known for a few years now) was attempting to describe a "virtuous woman" using select verses from Proverbs that illustrated her point. "...eat not the bread of idleness." Bam!!! If you haven't read my previous post that "bam" will confuse you. The "bread of idleness" most udoubtedly means the fruits of laziness, but for me at that moment it meant something else.
Here is what I took away from that good meeting:
My perspective is narrow and needs to be broadened every day by doing, thinking and listening to good things like reading scriptures and uplifting articles and singing and listening to good music. If I work each day to fill myself spiritually then I will not feel so compelled to fill my mouth.
My bread binges are an act of idleness and selfishness. I can be better than that...I am better than that.
I made the most delicious bread last night. Today it was soft and oh-so-good. I've had one piece and not during nap time. It's not much but it's a start.
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Monday, February 1, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
The Daily Nap Time Dilemma
As you most likely know, I have six marvelous children. While four of them are getting educated in one of our nations "Blue Ribbon" schools, two of them are hangin' out with Mom. On a regular (decent) morning, we clean, we read, we play reading games on the computer or we go on walks or errands. Lunch time happens around 11:30 and then, with great excitement, I send them off to find one nap time reading book and to go potty.
The nap time ritual has evolved through the years, but lately we end up on my bed with me in the middle so that each child can see the book. I read, occasionally I sing, and then we close our eyes. Nine times out of ten I fall asleep. When I wake up I have this sense of freedom. Computer? Usually. Book? Sometimes. What I feel like I should be doing is working on the creation of some great piece of art and sometimes that happens. But no matter what I choose it's always accompanied by food.
Food is the great nap time dilemma. I've eaten lunch, right? I shouldn't need food and I understand that fact on a logical level. However, my emotional mind craves love and relaxation. For me that equals food...and more food. If I didn't have this two hour window during the middle of the day where I eat like a cavernous beast, I would be in top model form. Well, maybe not, but I would definitely be smaller around the middle...and the bottom, and the top.
I'm not terribly picky about what goes into my largest facial orifice. It just needs to taste good and last longer than a couple of minutes. I'm an awful good baker sometimes (sometimes not) and here I am in a house, mostly alone, with fresh homemade bread and soft real butter sitting on the counter. I will not totally shame myself by admitting to how much I can down in one nap time session. Let's just say it's a lot.
This is a conflict without a resolution, as yet. There have been days and even weeks when I have overcome the beast within and even lost some weight. I guess you could say that it was in remission. But it keeps coming back. If I get it figured out I'll let you know. Until then...
...Sorry, went back in for another slice.
The nap time ritual has evolved through the years, but lately we end up on my bed with me in the middle so that each child can see the book. I read, occasionally I sing, and then we close our eyes. Nine times out of ten I fall asleep. When I wake up I have this sense of freedom. Computer? Usually. Book? Sometimes. What I feel like I should be doing is working on the creation of some great piece of art and sometimes that happens. But no matter what I choose it's always accompanied by food.
Food is the great nap time dilemma. I've eaten lunch, right? I shouldn't need food and I understand that fact on a logical level. However, my emotional mind craves love and relaxation. For me that equals food...and more food. If I didn't have this two hour window during the middle of the day where I eat like a cavernous beast, I would be in top model form. Well, maybe not, but I would definitely be smaller around the middle...and the bottom, and the top.
I'm not terribly picky about what goes into my largest facial orifice. It just needs to taste good and last longer than a couple of minutes. I'm an awful good baker sometimes (sometimes not) and here I am in a house, mostly alone, with fresh homemade bread and soft real butter sitting on the counter. I will not totally shame myself by admitting to how much I can down in one nap time session. Let's just say it's a lot.
This is a conflict without a resolution, as yet. There have been days and even weeks when I have overcome the beast within and even lost some weight. I guess you could say that it was in remission. But it keeps coming back. If I get it figured out I'll let you know. Until then...
...Sorry, went back in for another slice.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Getting Edited
My husband hasn't found this Blog yet. Actually I'm not sure, but he hasn't offered to edit it yet. I'm feeling some feelings of humility because I believed that I was a good (sometimes great) writer and now I don't feel that way anymore.
It started out with his comment to me on eHow. "I will edit your article for a backrub." Or some such. He's brutal and thorough. It's good for me though, really. I do want to write...and draw, and paint, and bake, and sew... He is a realist with some very good tools in his belt. I am a dreamer with a few great stories to tell
I came into the office to check emails and wind down for bed. He beat me to the office chair and promptly pulled up my eHow account. I sat on the floor like an humble follower and tried not to cringe when he highlighted whole phrases and moved them or deleted them entirely.
I am grateful for his efforts in my behalf. Someday I hope to know where to put the commas and how to be confident when I say the word "parentheses."
It started out with his comment to me on eHow. "I will edit your article for a backrub." Or some such. He's brutal and thorough. It's good for me though, really. I do want to write...and draw, and paint, and bake, and sew... He is a realist with some very good tools in his belt. I am a dreamer with a few great stories to tell
I came into the office to check emails and wind down for bed. He beat me to the office chair and promptly pulled up my eHow account. I sat on the floor like an humble follower and tried not to cringe when he highlighted whole phrases and moved them or deleted them entirely.
I am grateful for his efforts in my behalf. Someday I hope to know where to put the commas and how to be confident when I say the word "parentheses."
Sunday, December 6, 2009
"mishmallows"
My dear in-laws kept my 6 kiddies for me on Saturday while I made my fortune selling bread at a "boutique" on a residential street corner in front of someone's house. When I returned to fetch them I was greeted by a row of ginger-bread style graham cracker houses each created with different levels of skill and creativity. They were covered with candy (of course) and mini-marshmallows.
I managed to load everyone into the car with their houses on their laps except my 3-year-old boy. When I went in to fetch him Grandpa told me that he'd gone to the toilet down the hall. There he was, little bum hanging into the toilet, balanced on the front edge of the seat. This is his conversation with me;
Adam: "I'm having poops...and it's hurteen' my neck. The poops are hurteen' my neck when I'm pushing them out."
Me: "It hurts your neck when you poop?"
Adam: "Yep. The mishmallows are hurteen' my neck when I poop because I ate too many and now I have a tummy ache."
He is so right about that. When I eat too many "mishmallows" I get a tummy ache, too, but I'm not sure I've had a neck ache from them as well.
I managed to load everyone into the car with their houses on their laps except my 3-year-old boy. When I went in to fetch him Grandpa told me that he'd gone to the toilet down the hall. There he was, little bum hanging into the toilet, balanced on the front edge of the seat. This is his conversation with me;
Adam: "I'm having poops...and it's hurteen' my neck. The poops are hurteen' my neck when I'm pushing them out."
Me: "It hurts your neck when you poop?"
Adam: "Yep. The mishmallows are hurteen' my neck when I poop because I ate too many and now I have a tummy ache."
He is so right about that. When I eat too many "mishmallows" I get a tummy ache, too, but I'm not sure I've had a neck ache from them as well.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
How to Stay Married During Financial Hardship | eHow.com
How to Stay Married During Financial Hardship | eHow.com
Check out my eHow article and pass it along.
Check out my eHow article and pass it along.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Hold On
This is my latest achievement. I saw the reference photo for this piece in a local news story. The subjects are the wife and newborn of a fallen soldier. He was killed just days after returning to Iraq after being home for this birth of his baby girl and this is wife as his body is returned to American soil. This is an 11x14 color pencil portrait on a smooth Bristol paper. I titled it "Hold On."
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Antiques
My three oldest daughters and I were looking forward to meeting a family friend at the Tempe Center for the Arts yesterday (Saturday) to be her guests at a pre-show reception. After the reception the girls were going to be treated to their first theatrical performance by the the Child's Play Theatre. We were on time and thirty seconds from the building waiting at a tricky intersection for the light to turn green when I noticed a little white haired old lady peeking over the steering wheel of her late model orange Mustang in the lane to the right of ours.
Since the street that we were both on ended there we were both required to turn right when the light changed. I made a mental note to give the Mustang as wide a berth as possible recognizing that her turn would be sharper than my own. Just as I turned into the new lane I saw the orange of the Mustang get really close before she hit my 2003 Chevy Suburban and shoved us up onto the median. She proceeded to gun it enough to propel her car up over the median until her Mustang was straddling the median where she finally found the brake.
Mavis (as she later introduced herself to be) got out of her car unharmed and asked me what happened. I explained that she ran into me after crossing into my lane. She had no idea that there had been two right-turn lanes and was expecting to just make a wide turn. She called 911 from her cell phone while I called John (my husband) from Brad's (the name of the younge man who had witnessed the accident and kindly stayed around to help).
After wating for about 10 minutes I got my girls out of the Suburban and the whole lot of us walked across the street into the shade of a nearby building to finish waiting for the police to arrive and tell us what to do with our cars. Brad called the police one more time after we had been wating for about 20 minutes. After a total of about 30 minutes two police cars arrived. The second about 5 minutes after the first.
It was about 105 out there in the sun. I was wearing black slacks and was dying. I don't know how the police do it with an entire black uniform. Leah was dying of thirst, she assured me numerous times, and Hannah was complaining that we were missing our food and fun. The police asked me to move my car to a nearby parking lot and there I filled out all of the necessary paperwork. John showed up to take the girls down the street to the arts center to meet our friend who didn't know what had happened to us.
We missed our play but when I finally showed up an hour late the kids were happily eating leftovers from the reception in the lobby and we were given the option of another group of free tickets to another showing of the same play. So all turned out well in the end. At least, it did for me. Poor Mavis Boyle's 66' Mustang was stuck on the median. The policeman offered to back it off for her but the median was too high and grinding the innards with every inch so a tow truck was called. I guessed my attacker's age to be around 75 but I was 11 years off. Mavis Boyle in her 66' Mustang was born in the Spring of 1923 which makes her an 86-year-old woman driving a 43-year-old classic without power steering. It was an accident waiting to happen.
Since the street that we were both on ended there we were both required to turn right when the light changed. I made a mental note to give the Mustang as wide a berth as possible recognizing that her turn would be sharper than my own. Just as I turned into the new lane I saw the orange of the Mustang get really close before she hit my 2003 Chevy Suburban and shoved us up onto the median. She proceeded to gun it enough to propel her car up over the median until her Mustang was straddling the median where she finally found the brake.
Mavis (as she later introduced herself to be) got out of her car unharmed and asked me what happened. I explained that she ran into me after crossing into my lane. She had no idea that there had been two right-turn lanes and was expecting to just make a wide turn. She called 911 from her cell phone while I called John (my husband) from Brad's (the name of the younge man who had witnessed the accident and kindly stayed around to help).
After wating for about 10 minutes I got my girls out of the Suburban and the whole lot of us walked across the street into the shade of a nearby building to finish waiting for the police to arrive and tell us what to do with our cars. Brad called the police one more time after we had been wating for about 20 minutes. After a total of about 30 minutes two police cars arrived. The second about 5 minutes after the first.
It was about 105 out there in the sun. I was wearing black slacks and was dying. I don't know how the police do it with an entire black uniform. Leah was dying of thirst, she assured me numerous times, and Hannah was complaining that we were missing our food and fun. The police asked me to move my car to a nearby parking lot and there I filled out all of the necessary paperwork. John showed up to take the girls down the street to the arts center to meet our friend who didn't know what had happened to us.
We missed our play but when I finally showed up an hour late the kids were happily eating leftovers from the reception in the lobby and we were given the option of another group of free tickets to another showing of the same play. So all turned out well in the end. At least, it did for me. Poor Mavis Boyle's 66' Mustang was stuck on the median. The policeman offered to back it off for her but the median was too high and grinding the innards with every inch so a tow truck was called. I guessed my attacker's age to be around 75 but I was 11 years off. Mavis Boyle in her 66' Mustang was born in the Spring of 1923 which makes her an 86-year-old woman driving a 43-year-old classic without power steering. It was an accident waiting to happen.
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