The Things You Find While Cleaning

When I was growing up I remember my mother was always drawing, browsing, collecting, and dreaming up house plans.  It was a big theme.  She was going to build her dream house, which evolved over the years.  For years, whenever I was cleaning and came upon one or more of her (usually) hand-drawn house plans, I would sit down and study it.  It was the topic of many a conversation.  Not only was this something that was easy to talk about with my mother, but it often delayed my chores for a while. 

For several years I did the same thing, starting sometime in high school and ending a few years into my marriage.  It was a fun thing to talk about with my husband, and we had grand plans.  While in the military though, that kind of dream is a very-far-away kind of dream.

The thing of mine most often found while cleaning my house is actually lists.  (My mother also had lists for everything, and various kinds of planners, which I loved to read through, occasionally stumbling across gift lists I’m sure I wasn’t supposed to see.)  Specifically, baby name lists.  No, this is not an announcement.  I am simply in love with baby names.  I have lists dating back to about the time I was 14 I think.  We had baby name books that I would read like novels, occasionally suggesting names to my mother for the next one. I very carefully named my stuffed animals, and many of them were named from my list of future children. (I also addressed journal entries to my unborn children for a time, haha.)  It never crossed my mind that my husband would probably want to have a say in naming his children. I still make lists of baby names.  I made one today.  Some are mistreated and lost, and then I’m upset I can’t remember the name I loved a few months ago.  Some find themselves tucked away in my filing cabinet for later reference.  Some float around the bookshelves in my room for a few years.  My husband thinks I’m balmy.  Illogical and obsessed at best. 

I still remember when my parents would announce they were having another baby, which happened, um, several times.  My greatest concern was what names they were considering.  I loved to look through my Mom’s baby name lists.  Ashley could have been Melody or Melanie.  Matthew was always in the top 5 for a boy.  I was also rather jealous.  At least two of my sisters had names that were ever so much more interesting than mine.  I changed my name to have an “e” at the end in middle school, and signed it that way—yes like in Anne of Green Gables, which was my favorite movie.  I changed it to have an “ie” in high school.  Notice, all of my children have at least 3 syllables in their names.  I think when I’m done having babies, I’m going to have to start adopting animals so I can keep using the names I love.  Hmm, or maybe I’ll just have to find another hobby before then!

Someday He'll Read This Blog And Never Speak To Me Again

Two weeks ago my 3-year-old suddenly decided he wanted to be potty-trained.  He found some underwear and used the toilet often, not having an accident for the entire day.  He clearly understood the principles involved in this enterprise.  The next morning however, it all fell apart.  We had been dubious about letting him use underwear at bedtime, but he staunchly refused to be put back in diapers, repeating over and over that he was a big boy now.  In the morning his underwear and bed were wet.  He was embarrassed and confused at the trick his body was playing on him.  He refused to talk to us for the first hour of the day.  He wouldn’t be put back in diapers, nor listen to his parents’ pleas to use the toilet when the need was obvious.  In fact, it suddenly seemed that the very act of excitedly telling him it was time to use the potty like a big boy caused him to immediately pee on the floor. 

Everything was really falling apart.  The week was spent threatening, pleading, bribing (unfortunately that backfired and he wanted the treats without the try on the potty- causing major tantrums), picking up a thrashing child off the floor and washing him off by force, and cleaning up unsavory messes.  I might note that most of this was done by my husband, as I was not capable of catching him while on crutches.  As the time for my husband to return to work approached, he decided he was done with the whole ridiculous process and put him back in diapers (which he promptly took off as soon as Daddy left the house).  In a last-ditch effort (and thanks to the advice of a brother-in-law) he purchased pull-ups (and more treats).  We told our son they were special underwear just for him, not really expecting it to work, and that the glow-in-the-dark ones were for night.  He was so excited!  And, for that, so were we!

He still gets upset and throws the occasional tantrum, usually when he has to change out of a wet pull-up (denial?), but for the most part he is potty-training himself.  I have had no accidents to clean up, and don’t even have to remind him to use the toilet.  Long live pull-ups!

In other news, my baby has a bad tummy bug, and hasn’t kept much down since about 3 a.m., so there are still plenty of a different kind of mess to clean up.  Poor baby.   And he only wants Daddy (which has been pretty normal since I returned from my trip with a broken leg anyway).  We are praying that this bug moves through him quickly, and also that it doesn’t hit every person in the family.  Feel free to join in :).

Last week I had a physical therapy appointment.  My therapist put electrodes all over my leg and shocked me for 40 minutes.  Ouch.  But really, nothing my mom hadn’t done while we were growing up, haha.  I had to call her and tell her about the huge machine the therapist had instead of wires and copper pennies and whatever other stuff she and grandma used in their homemade versions.  I told her I’d consider getting her one for Christmas to add to her arsenal :).

Today my therapy appointment was a group appointment for people with leg problems, and wasn’t really geared for someone who can’t walk.  So I just did everything one-legged.  One-legged squats, yoga poses, leg raises, and stretches.  20 minutes after class the one leg that I thought of as my good leg was useless.  Lesson learned.  Go slower.  Don’t try to be a hero.

It’s getting better though.  Easier to straighten, easier to bend, not very painful, and I can put a little weight on it. 

Proud wife moment:  On finding out that I didn’t have carrots for my vegetable soup I turned dinner into vegetable-egg drop soup on a whim.  My husband likes egg drop soup ever so much better than vegetable soup and I’ve never made it for him.  This was all accomplished while standing on one leg and making children bring me various ingredients.  I was just grateful he was holding the child who was likely to project fluids (mostly) at any moment.

Well, on the bright side, I'm still alive.

I wrote this in list form because it’s all a little overwhelming, and lists are therapeutic.  More so when I get to check things off.

1.       1. I have a tibia evulsion fracture (not what they said in the ER), and some damaged muscles.  I was ice skating and fell.

2.       2. The ACL fractured the bone and is currently unattached, floating around in space, with a small piece of   bone on the end.

3.       3. I don’t like surgery.  I don’t want to do surgery unless it’s absolutely necessary.  The doctors said it’s just fine and poses no risk to try to let it heal naturally.

4.      4. My physical therapist says a knee is either a “coper” or not a coper.  A “coper” will develop muscle around the knee to compensate for the missing ACL.  He named a couple of NBA player names that I’m sure everyone but me recognizes, and said that they went on to play professionally without an ACL.  That was encouraging.  I decided (God-willing) that my knee is definitely a “coper.”

5.       5. Physical therapy is hard and frustrating.  The things he tells me to do seem ridiculously easy, yet my muscles will not obey me and move when I tell them to.  I feel like some of them (muscles) are not even there (go figure).  There are six exercises I’m supposed to do once an hour.  The six exercises take me about 20 minutes to go through.  I think I’m going to have to work up to this.

6.       6. I’m very blessed.  Ladies from church have helped so much- cleaning, cooking, and caring.  My husband is awesome (even if I am upset about my messy house).  He loves spending time with his kids, cooking, and doesn’t mind looking after his invalid wife.

7.       7. I can now shower, get dressed, and possibly put my shoes on by myself (note to self: buy shoes with Velcro instead of shoelaces).  I can sweep the whole living room from a sitting position on the couches, and folding laundry is a breeze.  However, it is dangerous to try to carry plates, pieces of trash, piles of laundry, or a phone while operating crutches.  Also, those trash cans you open by stepping on them- it’s a trap; it looks easy, but doesn’t work the way you’d think it would.

8.       8. All in all, all is well- or will be.  I will get better, hopefully sooner rather than later.  My kids are safe and healthy; their guardian angels work overtime.  My husband is superman.  Priesthood blessings have made all the difference to me, and I’m very happy to have the Gospel in my life.  It makes everything better.

Favorite People

My favorite people are people who have influenced me deeply, people who love me, people I want to emulate.

Today I would like to share about one of my favorite people, my mother-in-law, whom I call mom. :)  My mother-in-law has taught me a lot of things.  She has taught me about the value of appreciation- and that a little of it goes a long way.  I have observed her consistently writing notes of appreciation, usually with her own little touches—stickers, homemade cards out of pictures, homemade envelopes.  Even when she’s super busy, she still thinks of others!  When I call and say, “Whatcha doin’?” it turns out she is often baking something for someone, or making something for someone, or thinking of someone.  Really, the thank-you cards I write, the gifts I give, the few times I do happen to remember birthdays, and the letters I answer can very possibly be traced back to this lady!

Mom loves her husband, and shows him she loves him.  This is another thing I’m practicing--demonstrating love.  She cooks food he likes, she tells him how much she loves him, she hugs him, and she tells others what a wonderful man he is!  I guess I should start figuring out what food my husband likes huh!

Mom loves the gospel.  She really loves the gospel.  She loves to study the gospel, is always willing to have a discussion about principles and insights, and can frequently be seen sitting at the kitchen table studying the scriptures.  She is excited about family history.  She has been an inspiration to me, and a huge motivation!  Seeing someone you respect and love spend their precious time immersed in the gospel reemphasizes its importance.  If that is what they are concerned with, shouldn’t I be a little more involved in this as well? I think.    

Mom cares about people.  She says she doesn’t, but it shows in her actions.  She tries to please others, or at the very least to be conscious of what she says and make sure it’s considerate.  She notices things I never would…but I’m starting to now after associating with her for a while!!  Last but not least, she is fun.  She’s fun to be around, fun to talk to, fun to go shopping with, fun to do anything with.  

These are really just a few of the things I love about my mother-in-law, or that she's teaching me.  I am one of the luckiest girls in the world to have her in my life and be able to call her family :).