The Joys of Joy Club

Did you hear? I started a club. EVERYONE’S ALLOWED. Do kids still do that?

This week we had our first official meeting of “Joy Club.” Twice a month, a bunch of amazing ladies from my neighborhood (and across town) are getting together to learn about thought work and how to direct our thoughts to get the results we want in our lives and our relationships and our work.

And I know one thing for sure: I got the name right.

Because it was sheer joy to teach. When David asked, “How did it go?” I said, “Well, I don’t know about everybody else, but I thought it was amazing.” Which was a first for me. I never give myself good reviews. Notoriously stingy with self-praise, over my lifetime I’ve given loads of bad reviews, my share of scathing reviews, and I’ve even managed a mixed review once or twice, so I dare say, this one bordered on a “rave review.”

To be fair, my expectations were low going in. I woke up on Tuesday morning with sweaty palms and a stomach that had bottomed out. I was nervous. I asked myself, “Why am I doing this? It’s totally unnecessary. Why make your life harder? You wouldn’t have to be nervous at all right now…this was totally optional.”

My nerves quickly turned into recrimination and despair. This is going to be terrible. What what I thinking? I’m totally unprepared. How can I possibly help anyone? Did you forget you’re a mess yourself? (Don’t worry, I never forget this.)

My brain is like, so helpful at times like these. Thanks, brain.

My brain was just doing its job, selling me the front cover of a magazine that was all about how I was going to teach this class and how I was probably going to die. But the thing is, I don’t have to buy it. I don’t ever have to buy what my brain is selling me.

And so I thanked my brain for doing it’s job and then I coached myself instead.

I told myself I was totally prepared. I had been studying for six months. I told myself that it was going to be amazing. Because I had the model. I had all the tools, and I don’t have to be perfect because the model is perfect. The model always works. No matter what. It didn’t matter that my workbooks didn’t arrive or that I had never coached anyone that wasn’t related to me, or that this was the first time I’d ever tried to teach what I have been learning. None of it mattered because I managed my brain.

And it was amazing! Like really amazing and at the end we had sugar cookies with thick pink icing. See? It’s a really good club.

Late that night, as I lay in bed grinning in the dark, hopped up on adrenaline and frosting, I thought about it all again. It wasn’t perfect. I could see where I could have explained this better or helped someone see that differently. But, remarkably, it was still amazing. It was exactly as it should have been. And where normally I would have spiraled into self-loathing and mental flagellation, I saw the things I can improve from a place of joy and appreciation and wonder at what I had done anyway.

And that’s what I mean by amazing. If only for me—to see the peace and progress that is available to me, to see the work I’ve been learning work in a real way in my own life. It was amazing because I thought it was amazing. What? You mean I’m the only limiting, determining factor in all of it?

Lightbulb.

Kinda makes you wonder what else is possible, doesn’t it?

The Last Week of September, By the Numbers

Oh, September, get going already.

It's no secret that September and I have never gotten along.  And this year was worse than usual.  I think it is no coincidence that September starts with the same letters as Satan and sadistic and stupid and sorrow and self-pity and suck.  So there. 

But the last week of September does have a few redeeming qualities, namely that  one, September is almost over, and, two, that a couple of my children were born at the end of it.  And speaking of numbers, here are a few more: 

1.  At 8:30 last Tuesday night, Olivia told me that she needed a poodle skirt for school the next day.  Trouble was, I didn't happen to have two yards of colored felt on hand and at that time of night I didn't have the heart to face Joann's (which is difficult even when you're feeling 100%, let's be honest).  And so I looked through my cupboards and found what I thought was a decent substitute: quilt batting.  Ahem.  Brilliant, I know.  (I blame it on September.  I told you it was stupid.)  I whipped up a poodle skirt with ric rac and everything.  Trouble was, quilt batting is not actually felt and it also does not possess the same qualities as felt, and so it began to stretch apart when she sat.  I could foresee a tragedy of monumental proportions at school the next day when she stood up after Algebra.  Skirt made of batting x school day = Absolute naked.  So I whipped up another one.  Yes, that's right.  2 poodle skirts in 1 night.  The next morning when David dropped her off at school, Olivia noticed that no one else had dressed up.  Zero high-schoolers thought 50's Day was a good idea.  This had not occurred to Olivia, who thinks everything is a good idea.  She asked David to take her home to change.  He wisely (remembering my two-poodle-skirt-effort the night before) encouraged her out of the car.  I got this picture texted to me later.  Luckily, the cutest guy at school also thought 50's Day was a great idea.

2.  Last week we became a three-car family.  I told David that I thought I'd be old when we had three cars.  He just looked at me.  Because...um...we are old.  Apparently.  David loves having a third car almost more than Caleb does because it has eliminated his 5:30 drive to early morning seminary.  As for me, no one ever told me about the abject, all-consuming fear that would become a permanent part of my life once my children started driving themselves around.   

3.  Ethan turns 10 this week and Olivia turns 15.  There will be 1 chocolate cake and 1 lemon pie and 25 candles.  There will be a camping trip with 1 bonfire, 6 sleeping bags, and a billion stars.  And we will watch the waning moon cross the sky and mark another year on earth with these 2 beautiful children.  I will never get over how fast it really goes.

4.  Last week I spent 8 hours in the emergency room with a friend who had an ectopic pregnancy.  My own experience, twelve years ago this September, has been on my mind a lot since then.  I have replayed those days and weeks over in my mind and have been left to simply conclude that the preservation of my life was nothing short of miraculous, Ethan's arrival 2 years later was nothing short of divine intervention, and I have been deeply humbled, once again, by the mercy of God.

5.  For the next two weeks, David is the acting CEO at the hospital, while his boss is out of town.  This has not changed any of our lives in any way, but David has been delighted about it.  I told him he should do a performance evaluation on the vice president (David's current job) and give that guy a raise.

6.  When we moved into this house, I moved the girls into a shared queen bed.  Because of the configuration of the room, there just wasn't room for two twin beds.  Two and a half years later and the queen bed just wasn't working.  The girls were uncomfortable, someone was always on someone else's side of the bed, or someone would steal all the covers in the night, or it was always someone else's turn to the make the bed, and on and on and on.  I was determined to find a solution.  We had a conference.  I got opinions from people smarter than me.  We talked about it.  We googled it.  We called in the acting CEO.  We thought about having Ethan switch rooms, we thought about turning the loft into a bedroom, we thought about repainting, rearranging, and, briefly, even about moving.  (I told you September was stupid.)  Finally I decided to make a really tall headboard and cover an outside door.  This made enough wall space to put in two twin beds.  While I was at it, I made a couple of upholstered bed frames to match.  (I don't know how my mother ever did her job without online tutorials.)   Honestly, I feel about as proud about the whole thing as if I had personally separated conjoined twins. 

7.  Lastly and leastly, after months of waiting, we are all happy that season 4 of The Middle starts tonight.  We've had to get by on months of Food Network and netflixing old BBC crime dramas, and are completely delighted that real television is starting again.   

And with that, I am shaking off the shroud of September.  Come, thou Great October, with your promises of Conference weekend, hot chocolate with salted caramel, a BYU homecoming game, spooky movie marathons, homemade donuts and spicy goulash, fall in the mountains, and a little green face paint.

Only five more days, September.  Your number's up.

A Day in the Good Life

My Basis kids, Caleb and Savannah, have the whole week off.  Believe me, they've earned it.  They've done the work of an entire year in just nine weeks.  And then some.

My other two, trudged reluctantly back to school today, as I pumped them full of promises of a couple more days off at the end of the week.

Minus David, we all spent the day yesterday playing round after round of Bang! and eating the weekend leftovers.  This morning Caleb and Savannah slept blessedly late and then we played a few more hands and an opening match of Caleb's new game, Power Grid.  Then we went for a late lunch and a lazy trip through Barnes and Noble, mostly just to browse.  It was a near perfect way to spend the day, and I feel nothing but lucky to have them to myself for the week.  Believe me, I've earned it too.  As amazing as I am, chauffeuring and cheerleading and championing has worn me thin.  It is not to much to say that for the past month, the thought of this glorious week in my future has been the only thing getting me out of bed in the morning.

Tonight my three oldest have gone to the temple.  It's Savannah's first time inside.  When I was ironing Caleb's shirt, I overheard Olivia reassuring Savannah not to worry, that she would show her what to do.  And she will. David is on his way home from surgery committee.  He had a terrible day, but I will cheer him up because I could not have had a better day.  I even managed to wash and fold the laundry in between my turns on the game board.  I was fun and efficient.  A near impossible combination.

This morning as I was sorting laundry and doing dishes and picking up pens and highlighters and General Conference notes, I found a treasure: Ethan's careful summary of each talk.  Succinct little sentences of what he heard.  They were a revelation, sweet and tender and unaffected.  Then under the notes from President Eyring's talk, Ethan had written:

President Henry B. Eyring talked about the temple and how you can't see Jesus Christ inside the temple.

Which probably wasn't quite the message President Eyring wanted to convey.

I smiled.  And wondered if there were any talks that I had misinterpreted as well.  What a job those men have!

Speaking of difficult jobs, mine was a very good one to have on a day like today.

Verde en Amarillo

Dear Reader,

Are you weary of these letters yet?

The good news is that we will arrive home tomorrow.

The bad news is that we are not there yet.

Regretfully yours, April

*******************

Dear David,

You will be amazed to know that we made it to the panhandle tonight, even before the sun went down.

Apparently there really is nothing I can't do. Make a note of it, darling.

I drove through five states today and went 855 miles (all by myself) and even the sun was impressed. It watched me all day long and then threw a little party for me as we came into Amarillo. The sky was on fire and made one of the most spectacular sunsets I've ever seen. Add the silhouettes of the huge silos in the foreground and you know my heart was thumping.

(I'm giving you fair warning that whatever welcome home party you are planning for tomorrow night, it might have been upstaged by the show tonight. I recommend a little passionate necking as one of the party games just to be safe.)

We stopped at Liberty Jail on the way through Missouri. It was tender and faith-promoting, and especially touching to Caleb. (Though it does pain me to admit that hearing the accounts of women who walked from Missouri to Illinois with their little children in the middle of winter made my cross-country driving feat seem slightly less impressive.)

From Missouri we went a different way than we usually do, and when we came into Kansas, I excitedly told the kids they were in a state they had never been in. But actually, it looked quite a bit like Oklahoma and even though it was all new, the kids lost interest pretty quickly and slept from Topeka to Wichita.

The rest of the day was miles and miles of land and sky, barns and hay bales and cow crossings over the highway. The heartland will steal your heart.

And now we are tucked in in Amarillo. The kids showered and are softly snoring. I know I made it look easy today, but to tell the truth, I am dizzy and rather nauseated. (A consequence of being both slightly carsick and popping M&M's most of the day to stay awake.) This does not bode well for the final leg tomorrow.

It's a good thing I'm amazing.

But then, you already knew that.

Always yours, Ap

At the Gate of the Year

The Kansas City airport, early 2011

I am writing from the middle of the country.

It is charming out here, even in the dead of winter.  Nearly everyone you meet wishes you a "blessed day" and there are cows and rolled hay bales on the hills behind our hotel.

I am here looking for places to fry up the bacon, as it were.

And I'm sorry to admit, it's a little bit scary to imagine cooking bacon anywhere other than where you've done it for the last ten years.  I am not quite as brave as I had imagined.  (That is the trouble with an active imagination...you can even deceive yourself.  Woe is me.)

When we arrived in Kansas City, we had to rent a car and drive out from the city for a while.  The lady at the rental car agency gave us a blue Toyota Corolla, the very kind of car we owned when we were first married and just starting our adventure together.  Back when nothing seemed scary except being apart.  Remember that?  When we got in the car we grinned at each other.  David said it was like starting all over again.  Trouble is, it's not just us any more.  There are four other people in the equation now.  Four people with hopes and dreams and futures of their own to worry about.

It can be overwhelming.

Last night I couldn't sleep for all the fear and worry.  David and I stayed up late.  Happily, this morning, everything looked a little more cheerful by the light of day.  I told David we can't have any more discussions late at night.  He just looked at me.  Because our late night discussions are never his idea of course.

All morning, as I passed the cows on the hills, and the bare oaks and maples, and frozen ponds in this little midwest town, Minnie Louise Harkins' poem was running, running, running through my mind. 

And it was some comfort to my terrorized heart.  Bless you, Minnie Louise.  It gave me back a bit of the courage that has ruthlessly abandoned me, and tenderly prodded me to do my best "to trod gladly into the night."  That's right, not just trod, but trod gladly.

How'm I doing?

I haven't cried once all day.  

I told you I was a wonder.

At the Gate of the Year

I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year
'Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.'

And he replied,
'Go into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God
That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way!'

So I went forth and finding the Hand of God
Trod gladly into the night
He led me towards the hills
And the breaking of day in the lone east.

So heart be still!
What need our human life to know
If God hath comprehension?

In all the dizzy strife of things
Both high and low,
God hideth his intention.

Stress Makes Me Cheeky

Well.

Just like that, it's the beginning of December.

Seems like I just published this photo, and here we are again. 

For the record (because you know I like keeping score, especially if I am winning) I got my tree up early this year.  A first for me.

Because this weekend we are hosting the entire neighborhood for Christmas dinner, a hayride, and a holiday concert.

Ha!  Pork tenderloin for four hundred.  Good thing I'm amazing.

My mom called me yesterday and said, "What can I do to help?"  And I thought, "Oh, I guess I'm supposed to get out of the fetal position and do something."

Be brave, I tell myself.

Did I tell you the whole event is outside?  Which is probably the reason for our current "cold snap."  We even had to light our first fire of the season on Monday night.  And we didn't have to turn on the air conditioner to do it!  Plus right now I am wearing socks.  See?  Cold.

My Christmas cards arrived late yesterday afternoon.  (David and I had a debate about what picture to use this year.  I won.  Which is a shame.  I told him I wanted one where we didn't look "perfect," one that "reflected our real life."  He said, "But it looks like we just rolled out of bed."  "Exactly," I said.  At which point he gave up.  Which, again, is a real shame.  I think it's pretty clear that this whole thing is his fault.)  Plus I'm seriously considering not writing a letter this year.  David says our friends would protest.  I'm thinking they would be relieved.  What can I say that I have not already said a thousand times?  Entropy.  The fall.  You can fill in the rest.  But then all there will be to do when people open the card is to stare at our very real picture and wonder how bad things really are over here. 

The best part of my week was singing "Oh Come All Ye Faithful" with my lovelies, all of us around the piano on Monday night.    

And, yes, I am at least as tired as I look.

Evening Grace

somewhere in the middle of yesterday

At the end of yesterday, at the very end, after I had fed, and read, and testified, and prayed, and coaxed, and washed, and combed, and consoled, and sandwiched, and packed, and taught, and coached, and hurried, and kissed, and reminded, and wiped, and bused, and fieldtripped, and Costcoed, and Targeted, and unloaded, and restocked, and put away, and perspired, and tracked down, and dropped off, and encouraged, and picked up, and tutored, and picked up again, and talked, and listened, and bolstered, and picked up again, and nurtured, and cajoled, and cooked, and fed, and curriculum-nighted, and helped, and edited, and re-edited, and kissed, and prayed, and kissed, and goodnighted, at the very end of all that...Olivia showed up in my dark sewing room and asked me if I had any "cardboard" so she could make a pyramid for her game project that was due tomorrow.

I didn't handle it well.  I was all out of nurture.  And it was only by the grace of God that she made it out of the room alive.  Well, that, and David showed up just in time.

Yesterday was so exhausting--mentally, physically, emotionally--that by the end I could only make animal noises.

David said, "Do you want to talk about it?"

I said yes and did my best.  I started with, "I am a wonder!" at the top of my lungs, but then the rest of it dissolved into gibberish followed by primal hoots and grunts and whoops and deep bellows of frustration.  I finished by saying, "Ay, carumba!"

At which we both dissolved into laughter.

He rubbed my back for a while, and it is not too much to say that it was the best twenty minutes of the whole day.

Have you heard?  Even if you are a wonder, it is still the hardest job in the whole world.  I mean, I was playing a gold medal game yesterday.  You should have seen it:  mothering and homemaking and serving and giving and blessing and nurturing and all with patience and compassion and perseverance and inspiration all day long, but then I lost it in the final minutes of competition.

Ay, carumba.

You can’t possibly do this alone, but you have help. The Master of Heaven and Earth is there to bless you—Yours is the work of salvation, and therefore you will be magnified, compensated, made more than you are and better than you have ever been as you try to make honest effort, however feeble you may sometimes feel that to be.

Remember, remember all the days of your motherhood: “Ye have not come thus far save it were by the word of Christ with unshaken faith in him, relying wholly upon the merits of him who is mighty to save.

-Elder Jeffrey R. Holland

A Post In Which I Bless Your Life Again

I am making steady, wondrous progress on my "before-school's-out" list. 

The swim cupboard is accessible (no small feat) and pleasing to the eye.  The school file boxes have been readied.  The ironing has been completely caught up.  (A gasp and three cheers are in order here, should you feel so inclined.)  I have made summer pillows and bought the fabric to recover the cushions in the girls' room.  I've made cookies twice, for no reason at all except pleasure.

On Saturday afternoon I bought a round table on Craigslist (oh joyful day!) and I have begun sanding my kitchen chairs so that I can stain them to match.  (I'll take before and after pictures and save them for another post, because, as you know, there is nothing I like quite so much as bragging.)

In short, I am a domestic goddess.

And so that you might be too, (I find most people want to be like me...that's what happens when you're amazing) here are a few things to help you on your way:

1.  This Book

My lovely and talented Aunt Jill wrote this book and it is gorgeous and drool-worthy for several reasons:

1. There are lots of pictures of me in it (reason enough right there to buy it).  There are also lots of pictures of lots of people who are related to me and who happen to look EXACTLY like me as well, so if you like pictures of me (and who doesn't?) this is the book for you.
2. It is FULL of beautiful quilt patterns (really beautiful quilt patterns) that you can do with a group (if you have lots of domestic goddess friends to hang out with) or by yourself (if you are into making everybody else jealous of how amazing you are).
3. So many other cute projects like pincushions and notebook covers made from selvages.  Just yum!
4. Speaking of yum, it also has some favorite recipes. 
5. I wrote the foreword.  And some people have told me that it made them cry.  And I think even if it doesn't make you cry, it will make you want to call all the women in your life and tell them that you love them.  And even if it doesn't do either, it may be the one and only time I am ever legitimately published and so get it while it's hot.

2.  Bamboo Sheets

A long while back I heard Martha Stewart say that she only sleeps on bamboo sheets and I thought, "Egyptian Cotton is out?  When did that happen?"  A few weeks ago I put the summer sheets on the bed only to find that they were worn out and threadbare and needed to be replaced.  I went to Tuesday Morning (where I always go to buy sheets, because I love quality sheets, but I refuse to pay for them.  See how that works?)  Anyway, they had a set of bamboo sheets and my inner Martha was delighted.

It's been a couple of weeks now, and I've got to say, for the record, that there is a reason she is Martha Stewart.  And she was absolutely correct about the bamboo sheets.  They are so soft they are almost more like leather than fabric.  Even though that sounds a little weird.  (Probably especially to Kelly.  You'll have to trust me.)  I told David these are the sheets that Adam and Eve slept on to populate the world.  They are that good.  And cooler than cotton too, which is a delightful characteristic in your summer sheet set.

3.  I am recovering my kitchen chair cushions after I re-stain the wood and so I have been looking through upholstery fabric swatches.  Talk about joy!  (There are times when I am completely my mother's daughter...this is one of those times.  She used to carry swatches around in her purse for months.  I am just now discovering that she did this just for the fun of it.)  Anyway, I found these lovely designs from Thomas Paul.  (The two owl prints at the bottom are Alexander Henry.)  You have my permission to drool, and then find something to recover.  I think I will do the piano bench while I am at it.  Perhaps Aviary in Tangerine.  Be still my heart.

For Money

It has been five days since the Garden of Hope Spring Tea (my big fundraising event of the year) and I am out of excuses.  It is time to post.

I cleaned my house.  Long neglected.

I paid the bills.  Long overdue.

I went to the store and the library.  Long out of anything to eat or read.  (There is a running debate around here about which is worse.)

Today I intend to go to my final class and iron David's shirts.  The man has been ironing his own since February.  And after that I have a list of things I've been meaning to get to: wash the girls' bedding, organize the swim cupboard, prepare the file boxes for the end-of-the-year school treasures, breathe, sleep, nap, smile.  All good things and all about time.

Last night I had a dream that David no longer loved me.  Too hard to live with, plus the house was a mess, he said.  I woke up and had to be reassured several times before he left for work this morning.

When I think back over the last three months, I want to dance (it's over!) and cry (it was hard!).  David has been calmly coaxing me through the ensuing maelstrom of ups and downs.  You can imagine.

Anyway, did you know I was a philanthropist?  (Honestly, there is almost no end to my amazingness.)

Well, I am.

I made this quilt and raised a whole lot of money for the cancer program at David's hospital.  (He should be so lucky, I tell my horrid dream.)

And even better, I looked gorgeous doing it.  (Hello.)

David and I have a standing joke that since he didn't marry me for my money he must have married me for my looks.  This post is evidence that it seems I'm good for both. 

Tomorrow, a real post. 

P.S.  A generous and heartfelt thank you to all of you who sent cards and help and good wishes my way during the madness.  They meant more than I can say. 

My Blog by the Numbers

David and I are in a fight.

I'm not sure what it's about, but I think it might be about rootbeer extract.

No, that can't be right.  And yet, I think it is.

When I got married I had no idea that the big issues would include rootbeer extract.  I'm thinking that that probably wouldn't have even come up in premarital counseling.  Though I could be wrong.

Anyway, add rootbeer extract to my list of regrets.  (I'm as surprised as you.)

In other news, my blog turned 2 today, and so for your delight and entertainment, I give you my blog by the numbers:

In the last 2 years

I have written 370 posts,

including this one,

that have been read by people in 50 states

and 5 countries. 

(Two of my readers are technically Americans just spending the semester in Europe, but I'm totally counting that.  And ya, Canada counts too.) 

And what did I say in those 370 posts?

Contrary to what some people think, I've only mentioned entropy 15 times

and my perfect breasts 3 times. 

(Can that be right?  Clearly a serious oversight.)

Rachel commented once, "This blog has everything...suspense, sex, comic relief, scripture, drama, and oh so much more,"

but looking back I've only mentioned sex twice

and Isaiah twice,

but she's right about the comic relief.  (It has to be in the high three hundreds.)

For the record, there have been 6 kissing pictures,

but my favorite is still this one.

(What rootbeer extract?)

To my surprise, my most revisited theme was pie.  24 times in fact.  Well.  You can't beat pie.

Over the last twenty-four months

I have recorded the celebration of dozens of holidays,

deconstructed scores of days around my dinner table,

noted several perfect gloamings with my darlings,

and counted my blessings hundreds of times

Add to that the fact that this blog has blessed your life in countless ways (See?  More comic relief.  I told you.)

and I think it's a blogiversary worth celebrating.

I think I'll make pie.