Did I miss Christmas?

So far this December I have:

* Tried to put a 4 ft angel on a 6 ft tree. Those meaurements are approximate, but let's just say that it took 5 strips of duct tape to get my huge-y angel to stand upright. Luckily, my son has every color duct tape there is (including tie dye), so he was able to contribute some white tape that blends right in. sorta.

* Skipped my first rehearsal for the Messiah. Yes, that's right, this year I made the cut to play my violin in our community sing-along version of the Messiah. This is an unpaid but prestigious position that I clinched by sending note-shaped cookies to the powers-that-be. Then I missed the first of only two rehearsals. I hope I'm not fired. I had a good reason!

* Tried to wait up for hubby when he went to the ASU game with his amigos. Unfortunately, the act of getting married some moons ago activated a sleepy gene in me that causes me to fall asleep at 10:30, no matter where I am. Hubby found me on the couch with some No-Doz in my hand at 11:00, fast asleep. Well, I tried.

* Received a random cake. German chocolate, too, my favorite. The sweetest teenage girl in the world showed up at my door tonight and gave me a big ol' chocolate cake that she made for me because, to paraphrase a wise sage, "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me." It made my day, thanks MG!

* Heard about a weirdo vendor at Tempe Marketplace trying to sell some sort of smoke vapor machine that mixes straight nicotine with water vapor for a new smoking experience. He came right out and told my LDS friend that it was okay for him to smoke because of a "loophole" in the Word of Wisdom - this little cigarette replacement doesn't actually contain any tobacco. Yeah, I was never worried about the nicotine anyway.
(Don't know what the Word of Wisdom is? Find out at http://www.mormon.org/.)

* I also: learned that even a stuffed SpongeBob with the creepiest pop-out eyes in the world will get taken at a yard sale if it's free, sold 2 things on Ebay, was forced to clean out my garage, got yelled at in Spanish, used my fireplace, saw the cutest smile I'd ever seen on the face of a little boy hugging a stuffed Piglet, hung outside lights with the help of our neighborhood cardiologist (I'm so scared of heights that it's good to have a specialist nearby, just in case), AND wore my favorite Old Navy jeans three times in a row before I washed them. Don't judge me, I'm conserving water.

It can't possibly be only the sixth! Merry Christmas, if I'm still coherent by then.

Glee-ful

When my 15-year-0ld son was four, he liked to watch Barney. A lot. We had all the videos (yes, VHS), and they pretty much got worn out. If D-Dawg felt like singing, it was Barney songs he belted out. "Mr. Sun" and "Drivin' in my Car" were two special favorites. Ipods hadn't been invented yet, but he certainly didn't have a Walkman or a BoomBox. He accompanied his own singing with some artful jumping and twirling.

Now that my youngest is four, things are a little different. See, she has a 15-year-old brother. And a 12-year-old brother. And an 8-year-old sister. They don't like Barney. They like Selena Gomez, Rascal Flatts, Taylor Swift and the YouTube clip of the Glee football players dancing to Single Ladies. (I have to admit, I like that one, too). Little AJ still jumps and twirls, just like her older brother did all those years ago, but she does it with his Ipod stuck in her ears, and she's bustin' a move to Life is a Highway.

I miss the innocence of my oldest. If I could, I would keep all my kids from any knowledge of the outside world until they start kindergarten. I haven't found an effective way to do that, but when they're sick and half-alseep on the couch, and I sit down to rub their foreheads, I still sing "Mr. Sun". D-Dawg rolls his eyes, but I'm pretty sure I see him mouthing the words right along with me.

P.S. Check out that hilarious YouTube clip here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ornIWg0VG7g

Provident Living

I have just completed an intense four-hour course on provident living. Being provident is defined as, "Having or showing foresight; providing carefully for the future," (dictionary.com). Do you admire how I annotated my source there? Let's discuss some of the areas of your life that could use a little more providence. Yes, I mean you. I'll discuss my own life at a later date, since it's not as amusing to me.

First, let's talk hygiene. You stock up on cream of chicken soup when it's on sale, but what about toothpaste? What would happen if there were a great peppermint shortage and the price of a tube of toothpaste hyper-inflated to $300? I can't abide bad breath, and so I urge you to provide carefully for the future by buying a few extra tubes next time you go to the store.

Dare I discuss jeans? All the YFBs will villify me for this, but know this - if I thought $120 jeans would make my buttockal region look cute, I'd spring for them too, but unless those babies are fashioned out of spring steel and tenterhooks, it just ain't gonna happen. Therefore, I can be self-righteous and say that $120 is just too much. I mean, I could get a really cute Wonderbra for that much...oh wait...

Now sit down a minute while we talk about the phone bill. Do you really need to be able to track your stocks while you're in the bathroom? Give up the internet access already! Actually, the only reason I'm hateful about phones is because we're cutting back on extraneous things like water and Cheetos at my office, but everyone still has their iPhones. Everyone but me that is - me, who never got one. Me, who still uses the old Radio Shack model that barely fits in my purse. It's embarrassing, and it's about time for everyone else to come back down to my level.

And Christmas. That's right, I'm going there. People! I don't need three presents from each of you. Just one will do. I mean it, I'll be fine. I'm cutting back.

Games for the Tired

Ever have one of those days where you're just too tired to play with your kids? Maybe you had a long day at work, or maybe you were up all night with a sick baby, or maybe, like me, you just finished your weekly triathlon. Anyway, the point is, you're tired, and the kids want to play.

Never fear, the Currant Pie Official List of Games to Play When You Are Tired is here:

Car Alert: I just played this one today. In my version of this little-known game, you take some blankets and pillows out to the front yard and get cozy with your kids. Everyone needs part of a blanket to cover up with. Whenever you hear a car coming down the road, you scream "Car Alert!" and you all cover your heads, as if you will blow up if the people in the car see you. Once the car has passed, you can poke your head out again. If you want a really brilliant variation, make it a rule that you can only listen for cars, not watch. This guarantees a little shut-eye for you while you play.

I'm the Baby, You're the Mom: You can't walk or talk, all you can do is recline on the couch and have your kids feed you a pretend bottle and rub your forehead and sing you lullabies. Their goal is to get their "baby" down for her nap. Let them succeed.

Sleeping Monster: You sit in a chair or on the couch and close your eyes (see how good I am about this closed eyes thing?). Your children have to muster enough courage to come close to the sleeping monster and risk waking her up. When they are very close, open your eyes and tickle whoever you can grab. You are not allowed to run after them, you can only tickle the ones you can reach from your sitting position. Repeat until someone wets their pants, then send them to Dad.

Tickle Monster: A close cousin of the Sleeping Monster, the Tickle Monster sits perfectly still in a chair with two arms. One child decides to sit in the "comfy looking chair" they have found. When they sit on your lap, you suddenly come to life and start tickling them. As soon as they fall out of the chair, you go back into statue mode (closed eyes optional).

Speed Bump: You lie on the floor and pretend to be a speed bump that your race car children must navigate as they crawl around the room. I recommend lying on your stomach for this one so you don't get the breath knocked out of you by an errant knee. Also, the face-down position will mostly hide the fact that your eyes are, yet again, closed.

Dead Man: You pretend to be dead while all your little doctors work to revive you. A word of caution - keep your lips tightly closed, as you never know what they'll decide to use for "medicine". Of course, this game requires that every few minutes you actually do revive, but then you can quickly have a relapse, and the fun begins all over again.

I am suddenly starting to feel some shame for how quickly these games are coming to me. It only took me about four minutes to list those six games, and I'm pretty sure I could come up with several more, if only I wasn't so doggone tired right now.

What Exactly is Currant Pie?

Red currants...don't they look delicious? If anyone knows how to grow these delightful little berries in Arizona, you'll have to let me know.


I grew up in Michigan, and it seems like everything under the sun grew in our backyard. At least 3 varieties of apples, plus peaches, raspberries, rhubarb, strawberries, innumerable veggies, and of course, maybe, currants.

Mostly I have painful memories of all this largesse. Picking peas, putting them in a sack. Shelling peas, and putting them in another sack. Washing the peas, and putting them in yet another sack, bound for the freezer. Actually, it wasn't so bad. I put a pound of peas in my stomach for every pint I put in the sack, and to this day I only eat raw peas. I detest cooked peas. I was brainwashed at an early age. Only the freshest for me, please.

I also remember picking raspberries and eating them out of my hand, sometimes getting a stinkbug in the mix but not realizing it until it had already been squished between my molars, which is so GROSS to remember that I can hardly ever think about it.

I have vivid memories of picking (and eating) pretty much every single thing we grew. Except currants. And that's so funny, because I remember currant pie as being my absolute favorite kind of pie. A kind of pie that I haven't tasted since I moved to AZ when I was 12, but that I dream about every third Thursday from 1:00-1:20 a.m. (which totally explains the drool on my pillow). Currant pie, to me, is childhood, easy-growing gardens, family and not caring how many calories are in a slice.

I named my blog after this elusive memory. Where did it come from? Dad? Did we grow currants in Michigan? If so, why don't I remember picking them? Unlike every other edibility we had, I only remember eating them. Maybe I've blotted the work from my memory so I don't taint the deliciousness of it all. Kind of like writing. Until the moment I sit down to do it, I'm pretty sure there isn't a shred of even a single idea in my head, and I dread the work of it. Then I sit down, and poof! I find the work is delicious to me, and the rest is all forgotten.

Two Friends

Sometimes I feel myself going through life lurching from activity to activity, as if busy-ness itself were keeping me upright, rather than any particular will to live. Not that I lack the will to live, just that I forget the purpose in it sometimes.

Today two friends woke me up by doing me a service so great and so inherently risky that it was both wholly unexpected and completely endearing.

They took something I love (to despair sometimes), and wrestled it upright and gave it a moment of success, a moment of meaning that meant a great deal to me, too. It was an assist that I didn't even realize I needed until I got it, when the sense I had of gasping for air after being under water too long made me realize how necessary it truly was.

I know I'm being vague. Forgive me for that, but some things are too personal even for a half-baked blog!

Service is the handmaiden of charity, the pure love of Christ. When you give it, it changes your life. When you receive it, it changes your heart.

Thank you.

My People Pleasing Disorder

The time has come for me to make an important disclosure on this blog. I was born with PPD - People Pleasing Disorder. For those of you who aren't familiar with PPD, it is a very serious disorder characterized by excessively pretending to like things you don't really like and the strict avoidance of any and all strong opinions, except those that happen to mirror the opinions of the people you're with at the moment.

My life has been marred by several unfortunate flare-ups of my disease. For example, in the throes of a romantic high-school courtship with my now-husband, I wrote the following statements in my journal:

"I went to prom with J. It was so fun! He really likes to fast dance, which is so cool, because I totally love to fast dance but none of my other dates ever want to."

"I played sand volleyball last night with J. It is like the funnest sport ever! I can't wait to do it again."

Let me be perfectly clear here - both of those statements are boldfaced lies. In addition to PPD, I was also born with a certain lack of coordination, making fast dancing and sand volleyball two things I should never do. And that's not just me saying that, I've heard it from several other people as well. But, I was so anxious to please J that I had convinced even myself that these were activities I loved.

My ever supportive sister says that we're all like that when we're in love. Well, then, I must be in love with her, because I hide my O Magazine every time she comes over, since I know very well that she disdains Oprah as a regular old talk show host cleverly disguised as a moral compass for the world. (I like all the book reviews in the magazine).

Please make a note of how I felt I had to defend myself at the end of that last paragraph. If that is not an indication of the advanced state of my disease, I don't know what is.

Another indication of my sickness is that I have no favorite anythings. Truly. No favorite food, color, musical artist or author. This is likely the result of my many years of practice in having only the same opinions as those around me. I've actually made up a favorite color over the years, simply because people expect you to have one. It pleases them. I say yellow. But, I enjoy orange, blue and green equally as much as yellow, so, whatever.

Since I rarely have the courage to say my real opinions in public (the few that I've formed, anyway), here is a short list that you can print and keep in your wallet for handy reference:

*

Oh, poop, I couldn't think of any.

I'm happy to say...

that my last electric bill was under $300. Good-bye summer, I will not miss you (for those of you who miss summer a LOT when you are snowed in, note that I live in melt-in-your-hand Arizona, where there is no winter).

that my son FINALLY got to play in a football game (8 downs, a new family record)

that my YA novel rough draft is done, done, done. Emphasis on rough. Bigger emphasis on DONE!

that I accidentally forgot to lock the back door last night and I was neither robbed nor murdered in my sleep.

that my mom is bringing dinner over tonight, just to be nice. I'm not even sick. Moms rock!

that I scored a full-size sample of Olay Pro-X, so I can finally get crackin' on those wrinkles.

that I got a "maybe" from LDS Living on one of my article queries. I query them almost every month, and usually they just say no, so now I'm as excited as a hillbilly with a pile of fermenting apples. (That was just my way of showing LDS Living how great I am with similes)

that I just found out that the singular form of parentheses is parenthesis. That will definitely come in handy if I ever have to write an English textbook.

that all (6) of my loyal readers will soon be getting Blogger identities so they can start leaving me comments, because Connie, Signe and Melissa are getting typist's cramp. They are also getting better Christmas gifts from me than all y'all. (that was a sample of my ability to write from a broad perspective of cultural mores)

Compensating Blessings

Last year I listened as a church leader taught the principle of compensation. He said, “The Lord compensates the faithful for every loss. That which is taken away from those who love the Lord will be added unto them in His own way. While it may not come at the time we desire, the faithful will know that every tear today will eventually be returned a hundredfold with tears of rejoicing and gratitude.”

His talk caused me to reflect on my own compensating blessings, and how I first learned to look for them.

My husband’s battle with chronic pain has, for most of our marriage, made it difficult for him to take the leadership role that he would like to in our family. I try to compensate for that, but at times the burden of providing for our children financially, spiritually and emotionally has threatened to overwhelm me.

I particularly remember a time when I was drowning in self-pity. A difficult change in medication had rendered my husband temporarily unable to watch our toddler while I was at work, and so each morning I shuttled her to the homes of various church members who had volunteered to look after her for me.

I was miserable as I dropped my little girl off each morning. I felt like I was surrounded by happy homemakers, each of whom seemed blessed with the time to nurture not only their own children, but mine as well. It seemed so unfair.

One kind sister was able to change my perspective. Dropping my daughter off to her on a Monday morning, she remarked out of the blue that all of my children seemed to have been blessed with an unusually strong faith, and perhaps that was a reflection of the considerable amount of time they spent praying for their dad.

Tears sprang to my eyes as I recognized the truth of what she was saying. I drove off to work, my mind filling with thoughts of the many compensating blessings I had received, not the least of which was the loving bond I was developing with the church members who were always so willing to offer me service and encouragement. I had also recently been blessed with a new job, working for a company that was far more family-friendly than my previous employer had been. Many other blessings filled my mind as I drove.

Since then, although the basic circumstances of my life remain unchanged, it has been easier for me to focus on what I have that is good, instead of what I feel like I am missing out on. How grateful I am for the seed of hope a friend planted in me that day, and for the many compensating blessings our Heavenly Father gives us during difficult times.

The Six Best Words

I know you can picture it. You're in the checkout line at the grocery store with your 3-year-old when he spots the foot long Nerds rope. He has to have it. It is the most glorious item he has ever seen, and he can't possibly live one minute longer without it. He tells you this using that very toddler-specific language of shrieking. The particular kind of shriek that suddenly makes every other adult's private thoughts appear in a bubble above their heads. The bubbles say: "What a brat." "I can't believe she lets her kid act that way." "Get that snot-nosed ankle biter out of here!" Some bubble thoughts are much worse than that and cannot be recreated here.

You think you have outgrown that phase with your 7-year-old. But then Halloween comes, and you are at Target, and suddenly the angel costume you already have in the closet at home from years past will not do. It has to be Hannah Montana, full-on with the wig and fake mic and everything. You also find out that, to make the outfit complete, you will have to dress up as a backup singer and follow Hannah around the neighborhood singing harmony to "Best of Both Worlds". Your sweet 7-year-old loses any concept of how to leave a store with some composure. Not so much shrieking this time, but plenty of sobbing. Pretty much the same bubble thoughts spring up all around you.

Surely teenagers have more self-control, right? (My older sisters are laughing out loud right now). Okay, we can get through the candy aisle without too much trouble, and Halloween costumes are no longer cool, but please don't let me happen to pass Electronics with my teenager in tow. No shrieks or sobs, just a certain kind of glare that tells me I am definitely the worst mom in the history of the world if I don't break open my pocketbook, and quick.

Luckily, a miracle occurred in my life several years ago, at a time when I'd completely had it with all those checkout lane showdowns. I somehow stumbled onto the six best words in the annals of parenting: "I'll keep it in my mind". If it is close to my child's birthday, I say, "Wow, that is a really great toy. I'll keep it in my mind for your birthday." If it's closer to Christmas, I say the same thing, replacing birthday with Christmas.

The best part - my kids believe me. The only time I've ever had a problem with it was on that Target shopping trip last year. Don't get me wrong, I tried. But somehow, "Wow, that is a really great Hannah Montana costume. I'll keep it in my mind for Christmas," just didn't cut it.

What works for you? If you have a great tip, you can be sure that I'll keep it in my mind. After all, I've had lots of practice!