Dear Blog

I'm sorry I've been neglecting you. My goal is to post every weekday, and I am failing miserably.

BUT...

Tomorrow is a new day, and I can get a fresh start. Right? And this week will be free of weddings, family reunions, wedding cake making, and unexpected free babysitting requests (knock on wood). So I will try again.

BUT...

I warn you--you have competition. First, the bad competition in the form of massive piles of laundry. That's what happens when you have eight extra people sleeping in your house. Then, there's the good competition in the form of Gone With the Wind. I'm totally sucked in and have spent hours reading instead of doing laundry. Unfortunately, as the book is bigger than my Triple Combination, I'm only halfway done.

BUT...

I will try. I swear. But be forgiving if I fall a little short. Again.

Things I Need to Practice Saying:

"I'm sorry--I really can't help."

"I have a lot going on this week. It really isn't going to work out."

"I wish I could. Is there anyone else who could do it?"

"I would love to, but that's not really my responsibility. Ask _____________."

"I really don't want to."

"I can't."

"No."

But instead, I say yes and wonder how I'm supposed to pull off piano lessons, wedding cake making, preparing a house for visitors, and doing these extra things that seem to fall into my lap at the last minute. Is it really so hard to just say, "no"?

So...How Many Kids Do You Want?

This is my husband's family. One mom, one dad, ten kids. No adoptions, and only one set of twins, right at the end.

My family is tiny in comparisson--just four girls. Granted, had everything gone according to plan, there would have probably been more of us. But nowhere near ten.

Once people have assessed our family sizes, the next question is always: "So how many are you going to have?" My answer? "I don't know."

Honestly--I don't. I guess right now we're thinking four to six, but I'm keeping an open mind. What if something happens and I can't have that many children? What if we hit six, think we're done, and then are told very clearly that we are not? Who am I to put an arbitrary limit on things?

So that's my answer--I don't know. And I probably won't know until we're done. But I hope we get the chance to have a big family. Because as crazy as ten kids sounds, it's a heck of a lot of fun when we're all home together. Except for the bathroom situation, that is...

(No, we're really not shooting for ten. I swear.)

Of All the Weird Habits...

My son is obsessed with my belly button.

Whenever he catches a glimpse of it, he'll rush across the room. 'Buh-un! BUH-UN!'

At this point I have to squat down until my belly button is at his eye level, where he will either snuggle up to it or plant a kiss on it.

If he's really desperate, he'll peel up three layers of clothing to get at it.

I'm a little weirded out by this one. Thankfully he hasn't tried it in public. Yet.

For those of you who are thinking, 'How cute! He's giving kisses to the baby in your tummy!'--let me clarify: he started doing this a week or two BEFORE I knew I was pregnant. And considering he's still completely clueless about the 'baby in Mommy's belly' (despite my attempts to explain it), I think we can rule that one out.

Unless it's some kind of sibling premonition... In which case I guess I should be grateful he's kissing and snuggling instead of scratching or smacking. Hopefully that holds true once this baby makes an entrance.

Hi. I'm Martha, What's Your Name?

I really hate this painting. No offense, Del Parsons.

This is a mandatory discussion item in every Relief Society around the world: are you Mary or are you Martha? It's also mandatory that whoever is giving the lesson announce that she is a Martha, and then confess her shame that she can't be more like Mary.

From what I've seen, there are a heck of a lot more Marthas running around than Marys. (I'm also convinced there was a third sister, Margie, who was neither sitting at Christ's feet nor whipping up a pie in the kitchen. She was sitting in the corner sneaking food and avoiding Martha's eye. There's a good portion of Margies running around, too.)

I'm squarely in the Martha camp. So is my mom. And her mom. And her mom. It's hereditary. Give us something to plan and it's done. Everyone will get plenty to eat, there will be nice tablecloths, and all contingencies are planned for. We are the Activities Committee's dream come true.

But give us someone who needs compassion--someone to mourn with them, to listen to them and empathize--and we struggle. Can't we just drop off a perfectly cooked meal with delicious cookies for dessert? Or arrange a babysitting schedule for her kids?

I have some good friends who are Marys. They are the ones I would call if I need someone to just listen and understand.

To be perfectly honest, I'm jealous of their gift of compassion. I wish that I could be a Mary. I wish I were the one the Young Women went to when they needed to talk. I wish I were the one who gets promptings to give people a call when they need a friend.

But I'm not. And I'm starting to think that maybe that's not such a bad thing. We need Martha. Without her, things wouldn't get done.

It's a hard balance: Martha wants Mary to take some initiative; Mary wants Martha to get off her case. Mary wants Martha to take the time to care for the individual; Martha wants Mary to take the time to see the big picture. You need both to function, but it can be frustrating to work with a Mary if you're a Martha or vice versa (ask Jon about my whining).

I've decided that being a Martha isn't a curse--it's a gift. Just like being a Mary is a gift. But, as a Martha, I have to work for things that come naturally to a Mary (like taking the time to just call and talk to a friend when I have so many other things to do). Perhaps those who are Marys also need to learn the things that come naturally to us Marthas (like realizing that the gym actually has to be reserved for activities--you can't just show up and assume you'll get it).

So Marthas of the world, we can stop cringing every time we hear that story. Christ's words about choosing 'the better part' aren't meant as criticism--they are a reminder to take the time to slow down and nurture our spiritual sides. Then we can get back to working willingly with our hands and keeping our candles going all night (Proverbs 31). Because--darn it!--we're good at that!

My Cake Complex

I worked at a bakery for 5 months when Jon & I were living in Iowa. Not exactly what I pictured my post-degree professional life to be like, but whatever. It was a job.

I had no experience. They only hired me because I was desperate and because I had a good background in art. It was a gamble on their part.

There were definitely parts of the job I didn't enjoy. Specifically, cakes that required obscene amounts of flowers. I hate flowers in real life (generally) and they're even worse in cake form. I swear over half of our orders were for flower cakes. BORING.

But every once in a while I had a chance to do some really fun cakes. Cakes that let me be creative. It was still fairly limited--never fondant, and never anything besides your basic round or sheet cake. But it was enough to make me go out and buy some (always overpriced) decorating equipment for myself.

I started making cakes for my family and some for close friends. Then word got out and I actually started getting requests. And, you know, getting paid. That was weird.

And stressful. If you're giving someone a free cake, they'd better be happy with what they get. But if they're paying you, you'd have to deliver something good.

I still stress out every time. I have these great ideas, but the final product never quite lines up with the image I had in my head. No one has complained (yet) but I am rarely satisfied. I think that's SOP for most artistic endeavors, though.

I also struggle because the artist in me refuses to copy. Sure, I can browse for ideas/inspiration, but I have never (outside the bakery) copied another cake. Unfortunately, it's a heck of a lot easier to copy someone else's idea than to come up with your own.

But I love it. I love creating something, even if it's going to be eaten. And I love getting the chance to experiment with new things--fondant, royal icing, crooked cakes, etc. Now if I could just get someone to make the cakes/icing/fondant for me and take care of the clean up after. Then it would be the perfect job...

Want to see my cakes? www.meganscakeattempts.blogspot.com

How to Deal

This is my cat, Don Gato. I loved that cat like crazy. He died in 2006 and I cried for days. He had been in our family for almost 16 years.

I don't have much experience with death. I have fuzzy memories of attending the funerals of my great-grandparents, but I was so young when they died that I didn't really know what was going on.

When I was a teenager, my favorite Primary teacher unexpectedly passed away. She was my teacher when I was five, my pen-pal after I moved away, and an amazing friend. When we would go back to visit my grandparents' ward, I would always go to her class. Even when I was in Young Women.

I flew up to Utah for the funeral. I remember getting a giant bear hug from her husband, and my heart just breaking for him. If my loss was so painful, I couldn't bear to think about what his loss was like.

Then, when I was in high school, a boy in my seminary class was hit by a car and killed while on his way to school. We were all in shock for days. I didn't know him very well, but the idea that someone my age could die was terrifying.

And that's it. A cat, a Primary teacher, and a kid from class.

As ridiculous as it sounds, I fully believe that the people I love are never going to die. Consciously, yes, I know that everyone is going to die. But something in me refuses to believe that it will ever happen to anyone I really care about, especially not family.

And so my reactions are all wrong. When my grandpa is diagnosed with Stage 2 Myelofibrosis, I just take it in stride (partly because I had no idea what it was, partly because I honestly believe that somehow it will just go away). When the doctors discover a huge tumor in my cousin's brain I am shocked, but once again, I honestly believe that she will make a full recovery despite the diagnosis. When my dad goes into septic shock while on a business trip in California and almost dies before any of us even know what's going on, I want to smack him for not giving us more details sooner. But I'm not really scared, because nothing will ever happen to my dad.

But the realistic part of myself knows that some day, probably sooner rather than later, I am going to lose someone close to me. And I'm scared because I have no idea how to deal with it. Despite everything that I know and believe about life after death and eternal families, I'm not sure I will be able to handle the 'now' part. The part where I can't call them on the phone to say hi. The part where they won't be there when I go visit. The realization that something is missing and will always be missing.

I know that eventually the pain fades. But it's been almost five years since Don Gato died, and there are still times I think I see him lounging around the corners when I go home. And in that split second where I forget and remember, it's like losing him all over again. And this is a cat, for Pete's sake! I refuse to even think about losing a family member.

Which is why all the people I love are going to live forever.

How I Stay Stylish

These are my three little sisters. They are all very stylish.

This is me in December of 2009. I tell myself that I prefer comfort over style.

Truth is, I am completely style-oblivious. The only way I can tell if something is 'in' right now is if it's being sold en masse at the mall. Also, I know if it has shoulder pads, it's out.

I still own and wear some clothes from high school. (Actually, I still own and wear something from elementary school, but it's a T-shirt, so that doesn't really count). Generally I don't get rid of something unless I outgrow it or ruin it. Great for those of us who are cheap, not so great for those of you who are trendy.

Luckily, I have three sisters and an aunt who are not only stylish--they also apparently don't have big enough closets. Which means when they have to get rid of something, guess who gets it? Me!

And that, my friends, is how my closet stays updated. In the past six months I have purchased exactly 5 articles of clothing--all shirts, two of which were for family pictures. Before that, I can't even remember. I'm that bad. But luckily I got in a fresh shipment of Bethany clothes last week, so I'm not completely hopeless.

Shoes on the other hand...I can't resist shoes. So go ahead and ignore my five year old shirt and hand-me-down jeans and just look at my shoes. Because I guarantee they're awesome.

Faith, Hope and a Baby

I thought I was going to lose this baby.

As soon as I suspected I was pregnant, I had a terrible feeling that something was going to go wrong. I don't know what set me off. The two pregnancy tests that came back negative even though I knew I was pregnant? The fact that I wasn't really very sick? The fact that the doctor couldn't find a heartbeat at 10 weeks?

I didn't really have a good reason. But that didn't stop the ache I felt. I prayed so hard, several times a day, that everything would be okay. That I would be able to keep this baby. But I never really felt any assurance.

Every day I expected something to go wrong. Every night I would ask Jon, "Do you think everything is okay with our baby?" and he would say, "Yes. Why?"

Finally I just couldn't take it anymore. The worry. The anxiety. The detachment I was forcing myself to feel because I was sure something would go wrong. Every mom-to-be feels worries about these things, but I was letting my fear swallow up all the joy and excitement I should have been feeling.

I put it all into the Lord's hands. It doesn't sound appropriate, but I made a deal with Him:
"I'll do everything I can to make sure this baby is healthy (you know, resisting the temptation to take illicit drugs or take up a tackle-football hobby) and the rest is in Your hands. I will stop worrying--I will believe that my baby will be completely healthy. And if You have another plan for this baby, please give me the courage to endure. But until I learn otherwise, I am going to assume that this baby is perfectly healthy and that I have no reason to worry. And I am going to be excited about it, and I am going to make plans without fear that they'll never happen."

It worked. Even when I went to the doctor at 12 weeks and he had to search for the heartbeat, I felt at peace. And yesterday when he picked up the heartbeat the second he touched my belly (love that sound), I let go of the last of my reservations.

Because having a baby really is all about faith. I can do my small part to make sure my baby is okay, but it really is in the Lord's hands. I still wish I had a personal ultrasound machine (or any ultrasounds before 20 weeks) because it's so hard for me to be dependent. But being able to let go and trust Him has been such a relief. You'd think I would have figured that out a long time ago...

"Keep Thou my feet, I do not ask to see the distant scene--one step enough for me"
~Lead, Kindly Light

Dear Garbage Truck

I really, really hate you today.

Why can't you be like a normal garbage truck and come by in the morning? You know, around 8-10am so my son could watch you and be entertained for 20 minutes?

Do you HAVE to come between 2 and 4 pm? You know, in the middle of my son's nap?

I've done everything I can. I have a fan in his room making all kinds of white noise. I have his window blocked to drown out light and sound. If you were a normal garbage truck, he would sleep right through.

But no. You feel the need to back up two or three times right in front of our row of town homes. Which is really mind boggling when you consider that we live at the end of a cul-de-sac. Which means there is a giant loop for you to drive around and pick up trash. So why you have to back up and sound your white-noise-piercing 'beep beep beep beep' is really beyond me.

Twice a week, I dread your arrival. I pray that you come after his nap. I pray that he sleeps through your incessant attempts to wake him up. And sometimes it works. But sometimes it doesn't. And I get to spend the rest of the day with a toddler who melts down if I look at him wrong.

Thank you. May the odor of his three-day-old diapers linger in your clothing.

Thoughts Before My 17 Week Appointment

-Is something wrong with my baby? I don't think there is, but it drives me insane that I can't know...

-If something is wrong, is it because I ran two 5ks?

-Because I'm still sleeping on my back (I can't help it!)?

-Because my son has made some flying leaps that ended right on my belly?

-Because the idea of eating any sort of fruit makes me sick?

-Because I wasn't as morning sick with this one as I was with Seth?

-Because I insist on taking hot baths and not just lukewarm baths?

-Because I've eaten at Arby's at least three times during this pregnancy?

-Because I am still too utterly exhausted to think about exercising (except for aforementioned 5ks?)

-Because I still haven't felt the baby move (at least I don't think so) and I feel like I should have already?

But the worst part is knowing that if something is wrong (and I really, honestly don't feel like there is) I will blame myself for every single item on this list, even though logically, I know how improbable it is.

The good news is that by tomorrow afternoon, all my fears will be either confirmed or unfounded. And if all's well, I'll get my 'permission slip' for The Ultrasound! Within the next 3 weeks we should know if this little person is a girl or boy (barring any modesty on the baby's part--if you've got it, flaunt it, baby!)