Brazil

This may be too much of My Reality for some of you. But truth be told: I have bad days. I mean really bad days sometimes. And it seems that when I have had a string of these bad days (or weeks) where I feel like a failure as a mother, a friend, and even a wife, my mind wanders to one place.

Brazil.

I have never been there. I don't even know much about it, other than what I have seen on TV or heard from friends. But when the going gets rough and I want to get going I picture myself on a plane to Brazil. I am not really sure who this alternative Katie is. She is carefree. She is thoughtless and selfish. She is not thinking of nap times, meal times, out-grown school shoes, or love notes in her hubbie's lunch. She is thinking of the beach. She is listening to the ocean and drinking Brazilian lemonade. She is wearing cut off shorts and a bikini because she doesn't have a saggy post baby body. (this is how we know it is not the Real Me) She is flying First Class because money is no object in her made up world. She is sleeping on the long flight because no one is there to interrupt her sleep.

In my fantasy this is where it ends. I have never actually seen this Katie getting off the plane in the tropical sunshine. I have never heard her blunder through the Portuguese she picked up on the flight down. I have never even seen the fabulous hotel that she will own there (to support her new carefree life). It ends with uninterrupted sleep because that is where it just gets too obvious that it is all a dream.

And honestly, it isn't even a good dream.

A good dream is getting a call from my sweet hubbie in the middle of the day telling me to get ready because he is coming home from the office to send me out. No, he didn't send me to Brazil. He sent me to Southcenter. But an afternoon alone felt like a tropical escape. An afternoon of shopping by myself, eating out quietly, buying "frivolous things" as I was directed by him to do so, forgetting about coupons and sales, and not even considering what the kids would eat, or who has a runny nose, or if the laundry was getting done.

By the time I got home from my Get A Way, my kids missed me. They cheered when I walked in the door. My man was glowing with "yep, I just scored big time and my wifie is smiling again" all over his face. My laundry was done, my house was clean, my kids were going to bed. I guess if I did go to Brazil they might just survive with out me. But I would be lost without them.

The reason my Brazil Dream ends sleeping on the plane is that somewhere over South America I realize how happy I really am here. Right here with a snotty nose rubbing my baggy shirt that hides my baby rolls. Right here with nap times, grumpy times, and snuggle times. Right here with a husband who thinks of me and my needs. A husband that is trying his best everyday to make our family and our marriage the dream come true we thought it would be. A life that is not perfect, or even easy, but it is wonderful and mine.



Who wouldn't want to be waken up from a deep sleep to a life like that?

One of My Many Talents

I thought I would tell you all about one of many talents that also gets me in trouble.

Most Talents aren't Trouble Makers. Those are the talents I don't posses. You know the obvious talents like playing the violin. Singing. (ok, I can carry a tune- but I am not sure it is up there as one of my real talents) Sports. Math. Dancing. Don't get me wrong here, I love to dance. I just don't do it well. (I always thought I did because I went dancing with others who could dance well and I watched them and thought I was doing what they did - yeah, I don't think so.)

First Talent: the ability to see someone else and assume I look the same.

This doesn't just happen when dancing. This is a problem at clothing stores when the cute 19 year old girl helps me pick out jeans and I say I like the ones she has on and assume we are the same size. She is nice enough to pretend I fit into a Size 2 and then grabs my real size "just in case". It is also a problem when I am telling someone I am a Hair Stylist (or at least I was in my past life) and then thinking that my hair looks so good that she will wish I was still doing hair. (when the truth is that my roots are an embarrassment to my trade) My sister has called it our Reverse Anorexia. You know, girls who look in the mirror and see fat when they are skinny? I look in the mirror and see Sexy/Good Dancer/Tall/Brunette/Brazilian - when in all actuality I am none of those things.

Second Talent: the "gift of gab".

I have discovered that is the politically correct way of saying "talks too much".
I have had people instinctively fluff their pillow and turn the other way on an airplane when I have taken my seat. They fake sleep because they can feel that I am a talker. I had a chiropractor laugh uncomfortably at my jokes today because I would not shut up - even while getting my back cracked in two. (p.s. not my regular chiropractor- he has endured years of those corny jokes) I have heard that deep nasal rumble from the other side of the bed right when I am getting to the good part of my story.
Growing up my report cards would have little comments written next to the grades. (this is where my first talent comes in handy- "what, mom, you see a 'c-'? I see an 'A+'!") Inevitably the comment that would follow whatever grade was given would be "Katie is a pleasure to have in class. Talks excessively in class." That's right, I was fun, but man I talked a lot. And this would be written next to every single grade, in every single class, at every single level of my entire academic career!

This brings me to my last real talent. This one gets me in the most trouble of all.

Last Talent: the talent of exaggeration.

What? You didn't know that could be a talent? Then you probably did not know it is hereditary. I got the gift from my mother. (actually my dad is really good at it, but he learned it from my mom) I think everyone in my family has this talent. Some of us don't even know it. I have even heard rules and directions on How to Properly Exaggerate. I think the rule is that whatever you are trying to emphasize needs to be multiplied to the 4th power. (I said that like I even remember what those math terms mean-- I just know you have to make it extreme) For example: Someone who is not talented at exaggerating might say they are "hungry enough to eat a cow". (amateur) A Nelson would say we are "hungry enough to eat two bison" (because all of you Math Geeks know that two bison are a cow to the 4th power). You can't say that you could "eat a cow" because that does seem doable. I have been pretty hungry. And I am capable of eating a lot. So the only way to exaggerate is to make it so extreme there is no room for confusion. Maybe one of you would see an attractive person. You would probably describe him as "good looking" but if exaggeration was your talent it would sound more like "that was the best looking person I have ever witnessed in the flesh".

Don't be jealous of my talents. I am sure you are all good at something...
And besides, this is about how my Talents get me in Trouble.

Take this incident with my back. How does someone with a talent for exaggeration handle all of this?

First off- when I tell my husband of the piercing pain I feel in my back. Do I say "it hurts"? Of course not, I have to equate it to giving birth to Quadruplets with spiky heads. When I get to the Chiropractor and they give me a questionnaire to "rate my pain" I think it is an 8 out of 10, but that won't do, what I need is a 16 out of 10! But I don't want him to think I am being a baby- so do I go the other way? And rate it -3 out of 10?
Then when I get home in my excruciating pain (oh yeah, I was on major pain meds when I got home and the pain was practically non-existent- there I go again- An Exaggeration Within an Exaggeration! the pain has never been "non-existent" that is my way of saying "less painful than before") which to the 4th degree means "excruciating". I decide to mention casually in my Blog that my "back is broken". (because a hurt S.I. joint and a Bulging Disc are actually equivalent to paralysis if you have my talent)

This is when the trouble starts. Emails, Texts, Phone Calls, Singing Telegrams (ok, for those of you who have not figured this out- the telegrams is an exaggeration) all come flooding in with concerns on how I broke my back!

How do I respond to all of this?
Is the pain a 16 out of 10 or -3? Am I on my death bed, or ready to go play tennis? (as if I know how to play tennis) Do I need dinners or can I just whip up Thanksgiving on my own tonight?

Do I even know how to give a straight answer?

So- to apologize for the confusion and to brag about my amazing talents and to help you understand future posts- remember this simple rule: EVERYTHING x FOUR.

You get what you deserve...

I just finished reading a talk in the General Conference Ensign. (apparently when your back is hurt and your family is out on fun walks without you - you have more time to read articles entitled "As Many as I love, I Rebuke and Chasten"....) I remember this talk from General Conference, but it really hit me today.

Maybe because recently I have found myself thinking this thought "they will get what they deserve" or "what goes around comes around" or whatever horribly judgemental thing we tell ourselves when we see someone "get away with" something that we perceive as wrong. Is there some cruel human part of me that hopes that others who do things that seem mean, hurtful, dishonest, or evil will get some type of "pay back" for those actions? And is that what I think is on God's agenda? As if He does not have better things to do than go after the people who are hurting others and punish them. Does He?

After reading this article I realized He definitely does. Going after the rest of us.

I love the example He gives of the followers of Alma who "established a Zion community in Helam but then were brought into bondage. They did not deserve their suffering - quite the contrary - but the record says:
"Nevertheless the Lord seeth fit to chasten His people: yea, He trieth their patience and their faith.
Nevertheless - whosoever putteth his trust in him the same shall be lifted up at the last day. Yea, and thus it was was with this people." (Mosiah 23:21-22

(P.S. My spell check is loving all of these putteth and trieth and other fun words!)

Here it is. The answer to my most difficult questions right in front of me. "why me?"
Why when JT is working so hard is he not accepted? Why have I watched us move up on wait list only to be denied? Why do I hear his colleagues saying in shock that they wrote him good letters of recommendations, that he is the top choice and even they are not being heard? Why - when we are doing all that we should do - why are we not being blessed?

But in reading this article I realize that God is not out looking for those who "deserve" it so that He can "let them have it". He is looking for those who "deserve" it, and chastening us. So that when I am ready, he can "let me have it". All of it.

The other story Elder Christofferson shared was about President Hugh B. Nibley. (It is just too good to paraphrase)

"He told of purchasing a rundown farm in Canada many years ago. As he went about cleaning up and repairing his property, he came across a currant bush that had grown over six feet (1.8 m) high and was yielding no berries, so he pruned it back drastically, leaving only small stumps. Then he saw a drop like a tear on the top of each of these little stumps, as if the currant bush were crying, and thought he heard it say:

“How could you do this to me? I was making such wonderful growth. … And now you have cut me down. Every plant in the garden will look down on me. … How could you do this to me? I thought you were the gardener here.”

President Brown replied, “Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. I didn’t intend you to be a fruit tree or a shade tree. I want you to be a currant bush, and someday, little currant bush, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for loving me enough to cut me down.’”

Years later, President Brown was a field officer in the Canadian Army serving in England. When a superior officer became a battle casualty, President Brown was in line to be promoted to general, and he was summoned to London. But even though he was fully qualified for the promotion, it was denied him because he was a Mormon. The commanding general said in essence, “You deserve the appointment, but I cannot give it to you.” What President Brown had spent 10 years hoping, praying, and preparing for slipped through his fingers in that moment because of blatant discrimination. Continuing his story, President Brown remembered:

“I got on the train and started back … with a broken heart, with bitterness in my soul. … When I got to my tent, … I threw my cap on the cot. I clenched my fists, and I shook them at heaven. I said, ‘How could you do this to me, God? I have done everything I could do to measure up. There is nothing that I could have done—that I should have done—that I haven’t done. How could you do this to me?’ I was as bitter as gall.

“And then I heard a voice, and I recognized the tone of this voice. It was my own voice, and the voice said, ‘I am the gardener here. I know what I want you to do.’ The bitterness went out of my soul, and I fell on my knees by the cot to ask forgiveness for my ungratefulness. …

“… And now, almost 50 years later, I look up to [God] and say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for cutting me down, for loving me enough to hurt me.’”⁵

I remember hearing this for the first time in April and wanting to cry for the sad little tree.

I love picturing President Nibley shaking his fists at Heaven. Maybe because it is something I think I have done in the last two years. I have asked Why we have been led down this path, why we have completely changed careers and direction? Why someone so qualified as JT can be overlooked? President Nibley knew it was because the Gardener had a better plan in store. I am not sure at what point it all became clear to him. I look forward to that moment when we can look back and say "ah, that is why it happened this way"

For now, I am able to see that Heavenly Father does give us what we deserve. Not because "what goes around, come around" but because I deserve the chance to be pruned back so that I can grow. I deserve the miracle that the people of Alma felt when their burdens were lifted and they were finally delivered. I deserve the opportunity to put my faith in Him and let it be tested. JT deserves an opportunity to prove himself and his capabilities. He deserves the chance to fight for something he wants and loves and not give up when it doesn't go the way he planned.

We are being blessed. Not in the ways we expected. But we do get what we deserve - or at least what Heavenly Father knows we need.

the Pain in My Tooth

As one of my Not So 90 Day Goals (yes, I just said Not So 90 Day Goals, because our group decided that we wanted our goals to end with the summer, so instead of doing a full 90 days we are doing not so many--- "Not So 90 Day Goals") I am keeping a Daily Tender Mercies Journal. I first heard about it in a talk given by President Eyring in the October 2007 General Conference. He shared this experience that has always stuck out to me about a prompting he received.


"I was supposed to record for my children to read, someday in the future, how I had seen the hand of God blessing our family... I wrote down a few lines every day for years. I never missed a day no matter how tired I was or how early I would have to start the next day. Before I would write, I would ponder this question: “Have I seen the hand of God reaching out to touch us or our children or our family today?” As I kept at it, something began to happen. As I would cast my mind over the day, I would see evidence of what God had done for one of us that I had not recognized in the busy moments of the day. As that happened, and it happened often, I realized that trying to remember had allowed God to show me what He had done."


I was so impressed with this story. Partly because it was the Dad of the home doing this, not the Mom. I know a lot of Moms who blog, or journal about their kids and their lives. But the idea of a Dad writing down the Tender Mercies he had witnessed for his kids future benefit really touched me.

Hint: To all of you Dads/Husbands out there who read my blog... crickets chirping... (ok, so maybe the only male who reads this is my own Man) if you start now- you would have 9 months of this to give to your Cute Wifie for Mother's Day and she would give you a big kiss and maybe cry and you would win big points at Girl's Night when she brags to her friends about the sweet Journal you made her and you might even get mentioned on my Blog for being that awesome... just an idea.

That brings me to Today's Tender Mercy... which start out as a Pain in my Tooth!
A few months ago Fresh-Out-of-Dental-School-Dentist determined I had a cavity that needed filling. This is my first cavity in well over a decade -almost two! A few days after the filling was done I was in a ton of pain and could no longer eat Peanut Butter M&M's. So I went back in for him to fix it. Which he did. Then a week later I was in pain again. So I went back in for him to fix it. Then a week later I was in pain again. Are you feeling like you have read the same sentence three times? By this point- I am angry. Not only am I unable to eat P.B. M&M's without pain (you will note that I did not give them up- just endured the pain) but I have to keep taking time to go back to the Dentist! Why can my Massage Therapist never mess up? I wouldn't mind going back for a massage every week till she "gets it right". But the Dentist? Every other week? And all he did - besides numb me, shoot me, drill me, and fill me - is give me a lousy Jamba Juice card "for my inconvenience". I wanted to get mad and complain. But the problem is- he is really nice, and young and I am bad at confrontation so I don't knot how to confront him. (Most of you know I have only two settings: Happy/Nice or Very Very Angry/Mean. No in between)

So today I went in. Again. He "fixed" it. Again. And I was mad. Again.

Then tonight, when I sat down to write in my Tender Mercies Journal, I thought of him. (and how I am angry but too scared to go Crazy Very Very Angry Katie on him) I asked myself what had happened today to show me that Heavenly Father loves me, or that I am blessed. And you know what thought came to my mind?

The time I was on my mission in Madagascar and I chipped my tooth drinking out of a glass bottle of Passion Soda (which is my favorite beverage of all time and is making me drool and tear up just thinking about) (by the way- in a 3rd World Country- it is probably best to never drink form the bottle...P.S. who likes my back to back parenthesis? I do.) There I was- in Madagascar with a broken tooth. My companion laughed at the idea of us finding a "dentist" to work on it. So I went to my make up bag, pulled out my nail file and took matters into my own hands. (who knew they would teach my Dentistry in Beauty School?)

So as I sat with my Journal I realized it isn't so bad to have to go back to the Dentist over and over and over again. At least I have Fresh-Out-of-Dental-School-Dentist to go to. It is better than taking matters into my own hands. Thanks Heavenly Father, for helping me to appreciate the Pain in my Tooth.

Parenting Regrets

We started out the day excited to make Strawberry Jam. We headed out in search of the last berries of the season (because that is the way we roll, unlike my mom who got us out early picking our own berries). After what felt like a scavenger hunt for berries we ended up with a flat of giant strawberries and a half flat of beautiful raspberries. I could almost taste the strawberry jam in my Swedish Pancakes and the Raspberry Sauce drizzled over my White Chocolate Raspberry Cheesecake. I could see me and my kids in our aprons hovering over the sink of washed berries. I could see myself pretending not to notice them sneaking berries into their mouths even though Blake's berry smeared cheeks would give it away.

It would be a wonderful day full of laughter, finger licks, and memories...

Until we pulled into our driveway. In the moment it took me to get out of my seat and round the car to scoop up the berries from the passenger seat my visions were shattered.

It was chaos. (ok, maybe not chaos, but I like the dramatic affect of that word) Riley was yelling, Blake was frantic and I was in shock.

"Mom!! Blake spilled the Blackberries!!!" (she meant Raspberries but the guy selling us the strawberries saw them and kept asking if they were blackberries, I used my amazing Spanish to spell out Raspberries for him - I am pretty proud of myself)

As I opened the door I found Blake kneeling on the dividing console between the front seats, up to his elbows in smushed berries. We have asked him before to not climb into the front seat, but Riley had hopped up to check her Lip Gloss in the review mirror (I don't know where she learned that...) and Blake had followed after her. Somehow, I am still not sure, he managed to knock the Half Flat of Raspberries all over the entire front of the car. He was frantically trying to pick them up, but the berries just squished in his pudgy little hands making raspberry juice all over the driver's seat.

I lost it.

The next thing I knew I was shouting. Kids were being hurled into the house to sit on the stairs in Time Out. As I stood surveying the mess that somehow covered the steering wheel, console, both front seats and the carpet on the ground (how could one half flat cover so much??) the anger grew. I saw the $15 dollars I had just spent on the berries, I saw the berry juice oozing, I saw the carpets staining, and felt my blood pressure rising. By now, the kids are all wailing inside the house. I am not sure if they were trying to wake up JT to come to their defense (but after working last night- he was pretty out of it) or to see if I would take pity on their sobs.

I tried to channel my Mother. I pictured her standing over a freshly baked cake that she had spent hours decorating to be an exact replica of the Boy Scout Emblem for my brother's Eagle Scout Court of Honor. She was staring at a broken water balloon that we had thrown over her cake and had somehow come down right on her cake. (why were even throwing water balloons in the house? good question.) That same anger was boiling under her skin.

But she didn't yell. She calmly told us and our friends to get out of the kitchen and go home. Actually I think it was more of a warning.

I pictured her coming home from a day of selling her crafts at a bazaar to a house that we flooded when we filled the tub for an Apple Bobbing Contest at my Halloween Party. And when I say filled the tub, I mean we forgot we were filling the tub and it ran over and all the way down the hall before we remembered. Again, no yelling.

I even picture her finding me, as an adult in beauty school, trying to clean up hot wax I had spilled on her living room carpet, where my sister-in-law and I thought it would be a good place to wax her eyebrows... Again, no yelling.

As these scenarios flashed through my mind I knew there was only one thing I could do. Go back into the house where my little children were sobbing on the stairs in time out- and yell some more!!

What is wrong with me? Why did it feel so good just to yell?! That is not what I saw as a child. Or what I want my kids to remember from "the Great Day we made Strawberry Jam". And yet, I did.

After about an hour the car was clean. To my surprise (and embarrassment) I got most of the raspberries out of the carpet and the little cracks and crevices. The kids were eager to help. Especially Blake.

Looking back at "the Great Day we made Strawberry Jam" I keep thinking of my parenting regrets.

That I yelled (not just raised my voice- but full on yelled) at my small children for an accident.

That I failed at the goal of all children: "to be better than our own parents".

That I missed a chance to snuggle and ask forgiveness from a frightened sad child.

and maybe most of all:

That I did not take a picture.
Because what was tragic, and frustrating, and horrible today-- would make a funny blog post tomorrow.

well, now that's embarrassing

You know the time you read my blog about how I am living my dreams of traveling and helping others who are less fortunate? The one where I was so excited to try to speak Spanish and spend a week in Bolivia?

Oh, what? You don't really read or remember my Blog posts? Oh, well, now that's embarrassing for me also.

So- those of you who DO read this Blog from time to time and were really excited for me and my adventure... we have some bad news.

We are not going after all. It is so hard to go from telling the world that I am excited to do something to turn around and say-- "well, actually...."

But as we prepared for it- something just did not feel right. I worried and prayed and tried to figure it out. I tried to rationalize the feelings and continue as planned. But the more I did that- the sicker I felt. We did not feel true peace about the whole thing until we firmly decided not to go.

We don't really know why. It is frustrating when you get a prompting and never know why. I hope that there is a reason. And I hope that it becomes clear to us. But for now- we will go with our gut and just stay home.

On the happier side-- JT did find out he is #1 on the Wait List for Rochester University. So I guess there is still the chance that someone will drop out and we will be headed off on an adventure to New York... Keep your fingers crossed. :)

(and that would be a really good reason not to go to Bolivia)

It was the BEST of times....

It was the best of times, It was the worst of times...

Charles Dickens really nailed it when he wrote those words. I recently reread A Tale of Two Cities by Dickens. We read it in High School (but I was slacking off and just skimmed it) and it was my best friend's favorite book (or so I thought until this afternoon) and so I decided I would see what the fuss was all about and reread it. I loved it. It may be one of my new FAVORITES! It has everything - suspense, romance, deceit, and real vocabulary words that you can't find in the young adult section of the library that I have been reading lately! lol

But this is not a book review. This is a life review

Aforementioned "best friend" (that is right, in honor of Dickens I used a fabulous word like aforementioned) came to visit today. Lisa and I have known each other since 6th grade. And by our Senior year of High School we were pretty much inseparable - until the day she left for BYU. I was devastated. And to make it worse her roommate was none other than Ashlee Riding (whose HS boyfriend played Baseball with my HS boyfriend and I was under the assumption that she was a bit snobby...) But soon they were having the best time in Provo while I was struggling to keep things on track in Washington. (that's right, Ashlee was stealing my Bestie!! I think we are still fighting over her today!) So - I packed up my car and moved to Provo (I was planning on attending Beauty School in UT, but ended up moving back here). For the next few months I did EVERYTHING with Lisa and her roommates. It was a good time for me to sort out where I wanted my life to go.

I think we could have applied Dickens' phrase "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times" to that Freshman year in Provo. I think we each went through our own struggles and faced some of our own demons. But we had each other. (and dances at "the Wilk" to take our minds off of things) But that Phrase might be even more true TODAY.

I REALLY thought that ALL my PROBLEMS would be OVER when I got married. In fact Lisa and Ashlee both got married about 6 years before I got around to it, and I envied them. I thought that Life was HARD for those of us who were single- still LOOKING for "the One" But today- after everyone left my house to go to their own families (instead of staying up all night in the dorm room) I realized that LIFE IS STILL HARD!

It is a DIFFERENT kind of HARD now. We each have our own struggles. And are still facing our own demons. And yet- it felt WONDERFUL to be together again. It DID feel like THE BEST OF TIMES! Their "big kids" were thoughtful and patient with my little kids. We still like eating brownies right out of the pan! Although I think we use to eat Ashlee's Jello Cake out of the pan back then. We still talk about the same things... although instead of Dances at the Wilk it is Zumba or Yoga at the Gym! We still LAUGH and LOVE EACH OTHER. (even though we don't just live to two blocks away)

And EVEN THOUGH we have struggles (some REALLY HARD struggles) I think we can still smile and say it might be the WORST of times- but it really is STILL the BEST of TIMES when we are together!

Right HERE I should insert an awesome picture of us all with our arms around each other back when we were kids. But you know me better than that...

So you will just have to picture two REALLY CUTE BLONDS who look almost IDENTICAL (to the point that Blake could not tell them apart today!) and then me. (wah wah)

And you'll have to think of YOUR OWN BESTIES (I just heard that phrase the other night and now I can not stop using it! I thought BFF was good, but Bestie?! it's awesome!) and think of how you survive your Best and Worst times together, and then get sentimental and call them and tell them you love them and were thinking about them because some girl with a blog was blubbering about her friends and it made you miss yours. (By the way, Ashlee, I said think of YOUR OWN bestie-- not mine! JK I think I have decided we can both SHARE Lisa... since I don't think I will win that one)

ANYWAYS -- Really do love you both, Lisa and Ashlee. You are both women I have ALWAYS admired and loved and been grateful to be friends with. I don't think I would be where I am today without friends like you that have seen me through some of my WORST of times and my personal demons and continued to love me.

It IS the BEST of Times.