Little Bits of Life…

So our church had a party the other night – a Trunk-or-Treat/Chili Cook-off. Needless to say we took the kids, who enjoyed the candy immensely (except the baby who has yet to taste candy), and we also took some chili. I don’t normally get into competitions, but when it comes to food, well, sometimes I just can’t help it. You see, there were three categories of competition: Spiciest, Most Original, and Best Overall. I’m proud to say I’m the winner of the Spiciest chili (which won’t surprise those who know me well because they know that Spice and I are rather close). Several people asked what went into my chili. (It was a 27-ingredient chili, after all – thanks to a friend from my past for the recipe.) And to summarize why I won, let me just say that the two key ingredients were a can of jalapenos and a 12 oz bottle of Asian chili sauce (labeled "hot" – and they really mean it when they say that). The rest of the ingredients don’t really matter, because you can’t really taste them around all the spice. (Of course if you’re a little less inclined to lose all your taste buds in a matter of seconds you could tone it down by using green chilies (what the recipe actually called for) and something other than HOT chili sauce. But really, why would you want to do that? I mean, where’s the fun in that? Don’t you enjoy feeling your eyelids sweat and your ears burn and the back of your throat on fire? Ok – maybe that’s just me…)

More than half of the chili was eaten at the party (or thrown away by poor unsuspecting spice-wimps) so I unfortunately ended up with only a little to bring home and eat myself (no other member of my family even wants to smell my chili, let alone be in the same room with it, which is just fine with me). I suppose I could just open up another can of jalapenos and toss a few on every meal… But I settle for some Asian chili sauce on my tacos (as a courtesy to my still-breast-feeding baby). I’m sure by the time I reach 35 all my taste buds will be dead to any real taste, which I think probably wouldn’t be all that bad – if I couldn’t taste my food maybe I’d eat less, which would solve my exercise and weight problems as well!

Should you feel adventurous enough to try my chili, I’ll make it easy on you (since making a chili with 27 ingredients isn’t exactly a fast process and since I ate all of mine and I wouldn’t have shared anyway even if you had asked me to). Go to the store and buy some chili sauce – the hottest you can find – and take it home. Sit down with a tall glass of milk and the chili sauce. Tip your head back, open your mouth, and dump some of that stuff down. Now THAT’S what I’m talking about! (And then put out the fire with a few glasses of milk. Or a few hundred.)

As part of my job of Mother and Primary Care-Giver to three adorable children, I’ve had plenty of opportunity to change diapers over the past nearly five years. Some days this is less fun than others (as you can probably imagine). My 2-year old is still in diapers, which means I’m changing him and the baby multiple times a day.

Lately, the baby has been trying to be big by talking. She’s not any good at it yet (really, what child is before at least age 2?), but she has managed to say a few things, "uh-uh-uh-uh" (read "no-no-no-no") and "uh-oh" being the two she says that seem to have meaning. She loves to throw anything and everything over the side whenever she is anywhere with a side and then say "uh-oh" as though some big accident just happened. Like she thinks she can fool me into believing she didn’t really mean to do that…

So I was just putting the baby down for her nap, which of course includes the obligatory diaper change. I take her up to her room, lay her on her changing table, and proceed to take off her pants and change her diaper. When I change her, I give her the pair of pants she was wearing. I used to do this because she would play peek-a-boo with me while I changed her, but now I suppose I just do it out of habit, since the novelty of peek-a-boo seems to have worn off. As I’m changing her diaper, she is struggling with the pants as hard as she can and writhing and squirming and generally making it rather difficult to put a clean diaper on, but I remember that at this age most all kids seem to do that. As I wrestle to win the game I remind myself that someday, I won’t be changing diapers any more. And then it happens (as has happened many, many times since she learned her new word) – the pants are thrown over the side and the baby becomes deathly still. She looks up at me in all seriousness and declares – you guessed it – "Uh-oh!" I burst out laughing, and, maybe because I look so funny when I laugh, she bursts out laughing as well. And suddenly, everything that has happened so far today that has been less than wonderful doesn’t seem to matter any more. The sound of my children’s laughter has that effect on me.

It’s times like this when I am truly thankful to be a mother and still changing diapers. Sure, it may not be exciting or even very fun to do, but it’s these small things that make me remember how much I love my life.

I’m one of those people who LOVES to eat. I mean that. I LOVE eating. There are some foods I just can’t get enough of. Have you ever sat down and eaten a whole bag of Doritos? No, I don’t mean the snack size – I mean the big, 13 oz bag. Or maybe an entire box of Swiss Cake Rolls? Or 5 helpings of spaghetti? Or… you get the picture, right? Well, let me tell you – I can do that! Not only can I, but I have done it more than once! And to top it all off, I am an emotional eater, so when I’m feeling lonely or sad or bored or maybe even mad, often my first instinct is to run to the kitchen to see what there is to eat. And so, as you can imagine, over the last 8 years or so, I’ve put on more weight than I’d have liked.

And consequently, over the last 8 years or so, I’ve been trying to find the "right" way to lose that weight. And by "right" I mean the easy, fast, junk-eating, no-effort way. I’ve seen a lot of stuff out there, from pills to wraps to diets. I’ve seen the pictures in magazines and on TV of the "before" and "after" shots of those women (and men) who have lost huge amounts of weight in almost no time at all. How they suddenly have a great figure. How life seems to be SO much better for them now that they have lost the weight. And I wanted that – I wanted to have a figure again. And while having a body like one of the supermodel teenagers isn’t realistic for me (come on – I’m over 25 and I’ve had 3 kids… it just isn’t going to happen), the shape of a watermelon isn’t exactly the figure I had in mind either (though some days that’s the figure I think I have)! But even though I want what those people have gotten by taking pills or staying on some crazy diet or having their entire body wrapped in saran wrap for 2 hours, there’s no way I’m about to do that kind of stuff to my body! I know me, and I know that just is NOT going to work. I’m anti-pills, anti-diet (unless it is the cheesecake and pizza diet), and anti-saran wrap. (Ok – maybe not against saran wrap, exactly, but certainly against body wraps…)

So if pills, diets, and wrapping are out for me, then the only other option I could see was exercise. Exercise. Ugh. That just doesn’t fit into my vocabulary well. For one thing, I hate to sweat. And for another, well, there have always been really good reasons for me not to exercise: I’m tired. I’m hungry. I’m working. I’m sleeping. I’m changing diapers. I’m breast-feeding. I don’t have the right equipment. I don’t want to. I don’t like it. I don’t have anyone to exercise with me. I don’t have a membership to the gym, nor do I have the money to spend on a membership I know I won’t use. I have to make dinner. I have to take a shower. And the list goes on and on and on. Believe me – if there was ever someone who had all the excuses for why exercise just wasn’t going to work, it was me! But I did finally break down about 3 years ago and buy an exercise bike, a Pilates DVD, and a few weights. I was diligent about using them for 30 minutes a day, roughly 4 times a week, for almost 6 months. And then something happened that gave me another excuse not to exercise (I can’t remember what it was – see what a great excuse it was?) and it was all over. I had lost a grand total of maybe 5 pounds, and of course I gained it all back right away (remember my lovely dorito and chocolate diet) in less time than it took me to feel guilty for quitting the exercise.

So when it comes to losing weight, my strategy for the past 8 years has been two-fold: 1) Don’t step on the scale, under any circumstances, unless there is a LOT of chocolate in the house (remember – emotional eater); and 2) Make a show of having intentions to exercise, but don’t, under ANY circumstances, actually make good on those intentions!

And then something happened. I saw my mom one day and realized that she had lost a LOT of weight. She looked great – better than I ever remembered her looking. And suddenly, having a figure and being in shape and not being embarrassed of my body seemed attainable. I mean, if my mom can do this then what is stopping me? She’s a regular person like me, and someone I can relate to (as opposed to the movie stars who have personal trainers or those people on the Dr. Phil show who have the motivation of someone like him after them). And so I did what anyone in my position would have done – asked her how she did it. And what I learned was what I had known all along – that the right way was not going to be the fast, easy, junk-food filled way, nor would it be a no-exercise, no-sweat, no-work way. But still – having the motivation of someone close to me who had accomplished what I wanted to accomplish made it suddenly seem realistic for me to lose the weight of 8 years, 3 babies, and too many candy bars to count.

And so it began. I took her advice, followed her example, set some goals, and talked myself into believing I could actually do it. And slowly but surely, I’ve begun to lose weight. My goal is to lose a total of 35 pounds, by my birthday next year (June 2, 2008). That will put me back in a healthy range for my height and build. I started exercising about July of this year. At first I gained more weight (muscle weighs more than fat, so as I exercised I built muscle (thus gaining weight) faster than I could burn fat). Boy, was that frustrating! But before too much time went by I did start to lose weight. I’ve been losing weight steadily for about 2 months now, and so far I’ve lost a total of 9 pounds, almost 10. So I’m well on my way to meeting my goal. If I can average one pound of weight-loss per week from now until my birthday, I’ll meet my goal in plenty of time. What better gift could I give myself than a healthy body?

Now don’t let me fool you into thinking this is easy. Remember what I’ve told you – I LOVE to eat and I really just HATE to exercise. But I believe working hard for 1 year to have a body I’m happy with and a healthier life for the next 75 years is worth every drop of sweat and every bite of sweets I choose not to take.

The moral of this story is that, in my opinion, there really is no good, safe, healthy way to lose weight quickly and easily. It takes work and dedication. And once I’ve met my goal and lost all 35 pounds, it will take work and dedication to keep that weight off. (Though thankfully not nearly as much work as I’m putting in now!) But isn’t it worth it to do the work NOW, while you have the ability, than to put it off until later, until a day that may never come? There will always be a myriad of excuses to hold you back. Don’t let those excuses stand in the way of reaching your goals!

And so I ask: What’s exercise to YOU? Is it something you pretend you don’t need to do? Something you dread? Or is it a portal to a better looking, better feeling, better living you? Don’t let your fears or laziness stand in your way. Do something about it now. Do something about your eating and exercise habits. Make a change for the better. You owe it to yourself and to the people who love you to take care of your health. Trust me – you’ll be glad you did, and so will they.

To see my article on how to lose weight, click here.

Some days, in spite of my best efforts, I just can’t seem to accomplish anything worthwhile. My day is a long string of changing diapers, picking up messes, making food, feeding kids, cleaning up the food (and then the kids), putting them down for naps and getting them back up again, making more food and of course the required cleaning up, picking up the same toys I picked up that morning, and then finally taking off the clothes that are now covered in all the food I made, putting them in their (hopefully mostly) clean pajamas, and putting them to bed. Only to do a bit more cleaning and fall in bed, exhausted, with another day of just the same to look forward to when I wake (assuming, of course, that TJOM3 sleeps through the night and I do get to sleep until my waking hour). And as I fall asleep, in those few brief seconds I have to myself before my brain shuts down to recover for a few hours, I wonder why I did what I did that day? Why do I continue to subject myself to the same routine, day in and day out, with little to no thanks and few pleasures to make it seem "worth it"?

Some days, I don’t know why I get out of bed. I don’t know why I keep on doing what I keep on doing. I wonder if there really can be a point to all of this, and if there really is life outside these 4 walls that have become my world. Are there still people out there in the great beyond? Do they really still exist? Or am I the last adult in a dead race, raising the last few children on earth? My phone rarely rings, though I have come to expect my morning phone call from a certain ghost: I’m cleaning up from breakfast around 10 or so (yes – it takes that long, by the time we’ve eaten, gotten dressed, and dropped TJOM1 off at school, gotten back, put TJOM3 down for her nap, and finally (joy of joys!) Sesame Street has started and I can get around to cleaning up breakfast) anyway – I’m cleaning up from breakfast and the phone rings. I pick it up. "Hello?" I say. Silence. "Hello?" Again, silence. A little exasperated: "Hello?" Still nothing. "Ok – I’m hanging up now." And I do. It has become so routine now that I suppose I would miss it if my ghost stopped calling.

So anyway – as I was saying – my phone rarely rings. My doorbell is even more silent than my phone. And so I wonder – do people still live on earth? Or have they all moved to the moon? Maybe I’m living in some sort of contrived world, like Jim Carey in The Truman Show. You’d think I’d get out of the house often enough to convince myself otherwise. But you have to realize what I’m dealing with here – I have 3 small children: the oldest is 4, then there is the 2-year-old, and the baby who just passed 10 months. So my day goes like this: I wake up at 6. Work out until 7:30, shower and get dressed until 8, nurse the baby until 8:20. Feed the kids breakfast, then throw everyone in the car to run the 4-year-old to preschool. We get back just in time for the baby’s nap at 9:45. She goes down, the 2-year-old watches Sesame Street, and I clean up breakfast and make dinner until 11. Read some books to the 2-year-old until about 11:15, then wake up the baby, throw both little kids in the car, and we’re off to preschool to retrieve the big kid. We get back and I nurse the baby, then make lunch for everyone. We finish eating, and it is nap time for the 2-year-old. Once he is in bed, the 4-year-old watches an hour of TV and goes to her room for "nap time" (which essentially means she stays in her room and does whatever she feels like (I asked her to read for that hour but I don’t think she does), but does it quietly). During nap time for the big kids, I clean up lunch, continue working on dinner or cleaning or doing laundry or whatever the project is for that day, and then nurse the baby again. Put her down for her nap just as nap time ends for the big kids. Then she sleeps until almost dinner time, while I finish up last minute dinner preparations, feed the big kids their snack, and read books or play with them until about 5:15. At this point Daddy comes home, we eat dinner,  throw the kids in the tub, get PJs on, read scriptures, have prayers, story time, I nurse the baby again, and all 3 go to bed. And then the next few hours I spend (my own choosing here so I guess I can’t complain too much) with my husband, hanging out or cleaning the house or doing one of our "projects" (a whole other story for another day…) and then I fall into bed, exhausted, and feeling like I accomplished ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. And having seen, outside my own immediate family, ABSOLUTELY NOONE. And some days, it is hard for me to believe there is life outside my home, and that I have accomplished anything worthwhile.

Realize that one of my goals in life is to contribute to the world. I want to leave a mark somewhere, on someone, for good. And somehow, changing 5 stinky diapers in one day just doesn’t seem to me to be leaving a mark (at least, not the kind I’m looking for). I know, I know, raising kids is a worthwhile endeavor, and of course it is a benefit to the world if I raise my children well. But still – it doesn’t feel like much while I’m scrubbing the sink and trying to get the crayon and pen marks off the walls (which, by the way, reminds me that I fully endorse the Magic Erasers from Mr. Clean that you can buy at the grocery store. How did my ancestors not kill their children without those???).

But then there are the times when I realize I know why I do what I do every day. These moments are often few and far-between, but they do come, and it really does remind me how much I love what I do. Take today, for instance: I’m sitting on the couch reading books to my kids (breakfast hasn’t been cleaned up yet, but hey – they asked me to read and honestly, reading to my kids takes priority over my clean kitchen, even if I am a neat freak) and instead of what I’m used to (which is TJOM2 yelling at TJOM1 "No! Mine!" and a bit of hitting or biting), I see TJOM2 put his arm around TJOM1’s neck and he says "I wuv you, E-ca" which, if you have learned to translate Isaac-ese means "I love you, Erica" and just about melts my heart. She turns to him and smiles and says "Thanks, Isaac" and my eyes tear up. THESE are the moments I cherish. This is why I do what I do.

And then there are other times. We’re driving in the car to take TJOM1 to school, or home from school, or going to the store for more diapers (since I changed 750 diapers today we ran out, again) or wherever we happen to be going. And of course, TJOM3 is fussy. She doesn’t like driving in the car since we went to Utah last week – 5 hours in the car without a break will do that to a baby. But anyway. We’re driving in the car, and she’s fussy. I try to tune it out, because since I’m driving there’s really not all that much I can do about it. I try to talk to her and she cries louder. But then TJOM1 and TJOM2 start making faces at her, laughing, and talking to her. And before I know it, the screaming has turned into giggling. And my drive to or from wherever I’m going doesn’t seem so bad. I realize that they do love each other, and that they do want to be nice to each other. And where did they learn to do this? I honestly don’t know, but I hope at least some of it can be attributed to what they see at home. I hope that my children do sweet things because they are learning them at home.

So even though I feel very much like I accomplish little in my time here on this planet Earth, I am blessed with wonderful children who do occasionally decide to remind me why I do what I do. And for that I’m truly thankful. Because without them, I might not remember just how much I love my life. So thanks, kids. You really are The Joys Of Motherhood.

So today is my anniversary. Seven years ago today I married my husband. Yes, October 13th, and on a Friday no less. We were crazy. 🙂 It doesn’t seem like it has been seven whole years, and at the same time I can’t believe it has only been seven years! Sometimes I can’t remember life before Kimball and TJOM.

So for fun today we took TJOM to the library. TJOM1 wanted to pick out some chapter books and a book about sign language. She amazes me. She knows more sign language that me. She reads as well as I do (well, almost). And she figures out stuff I thought for sure were still years away. But that’s my kid. Amazing.

At the library, TJOM2 announced he needed to go potty. This is wonderful news, as he’s still in diapers and I’m truly dreading potty training. But if he is interested himself, maybe it won’t be quite so bad! So anyway – TJOM2 announces he wants to go potty, so Daddy took him. And amazingly, he went. That’s twice in two days. All his own idea. I guess maybe it’ll be time for potty training sooner than I thought. They grow up fast!

TJOM3 made sure we all knew she was there. She has become rival to TJOM2 for "Strongest Set of Lungs" in the family. So of course we spent the time at the library trying to keep her from screaming louder than a whisper. Not likely to happen, but hey – I try to believe my kids know how to be quiet. It makes it easier to convince myself that WE are not the reason nobody can hear in church.

Speaking of quiet, we played The Quiet Game at lunch today. Twice. And I won. Twice. Not surprising, I guess.

Well, nap time is over and (as usual) TJOM are calling.