What Budget?

It's a well known fact of those who love me:

I spend money when I'm worried/stressed...okay and maybe just happy.

It's not good.

Not insane amounts of it (as if I have insane amounts to spend), but large enough to do some damage.

Today, I just realized I've spent my entire two weeks budget for gas/groceries/diapers etc (you know ones' typical basic necessities) and I still have a good 8 days left.

Crap. Yes, I've been especially stressed...but, crap.

Apparently, the new fake diamond studded flip/flops from Target, New Moon and Princess and the Frog DVD's, Gap clothes, Micheal Buble' Cd, dining out expenses and gummy bear runs have taken a toll on the old checking account.

(Sorry Blair)

Hindsight says I should have possibly thrown in MLB Season ticket or something to please the husband and lesson the residual blow.

On a positive note...I could be shooting up smack or something...that would be way worse.

Sure hope my family enjoys Fruit Loops and canned Chili.

Hey - at least we can watch shirtless Jacob while we starve.

Four Days.

I'm going to be real honest.
I was not feeling it in church last Sunday.
At all.
So much so, that at one point during Sunday School I may or may not have muttered, "Oh Hell...not again" in reference to a comment I had heard repeated too many times to count.
I sat near the back row, reading Lost Theories on my iPhone and counting the minutes until I could get home and have a diet coke.
The class ended and my sister (who was staying the week with me) and I headed to Relief Society; happy to have made it through to the last hour, and somewhat hopeful I would allow myself an opportunity to worship he for whom I had gotten dressed and driven to church for.

The lesson began, and was introduced as the story of Hannah in the Bible.
*I'm going to be real honest again.
I haven't read it (The Bible).
Most of it.
With the exception of the Gospels for a spell in college while I went to Institute with a group of boys I wanted to impress.
Oh, and Luke at Christmastime.
My little family began reading a children's version of the Bible together each Sunday this year, and I have sat and listened intently as my Husband reads them aloud...hearing most of these stories for the first time in my adult life.

The story of Hannah (briefly synopsised) is one of a woman who desperately prays for her Heavenly Father to grant her a child, and is willing to sacrifice her child to the Lord at the age of three...knowing that by doing so, he will be serving God.

Several women relayed correlations to the sacrifice mothers make when their sons choose to leave for two years and serve a mission for the church.
My heart swelled and I was touched...as if this lesson had been written for me...even on a day I didn't particularly want to hear it. Funny how things usually work that way.

I had four days of experiencing Deakon before we knew our Deakon was going to be the Deakon we know now.
Four days spent dreaming of Jordan Shoes and Football Jerseys.
Four days spent dreaming of sitting on sidelines of sporting events, and bouncing Jazz stats off one another.
Four days spent dreaming of a gorgeous blond and blue-eyed boy deflecting numerous phone calls from girls, because truly...his mother was the only one for him:)
Four days spent wondering if I would be strong enough to allow my son an opportunity to serve the Church we believed in, should he choose to...when the time came.

I remember very clearly telling Blair, "I don't want him to go on a mission. I couldn't bear it." Blair's response being, "Jenny...he's not born yet. You have 19 years." (Psshh to rational thinking...)

Four days to buy crib bedding with footballs.

Four days to place several Internet orders through Gymboree and Gap: Jammies with cars and baseball bats..."Mommy's Little Slugger" one said. Boxes my heart could not open until the day before his birth.

Ten seconds on the phone with my Doctor who was unsure of what, but knew something wasn't right...ten seconds for the life of this very alive and beautiful boy I had spent four days dreaming about, to disappear.

Those next few weeks were spent in fervent prayer; a phrase which I did not fully comprehend until I was involved in it. I made promise upon promise...most of which I have done terrible at keeping. I would have sacrificed nearly anything to be able to hold this baby boy I had grown to love so deeply.

Much like Hannah...

I sat on my bed the other night, watched the new episode of Gabba, and held my precious boy. He curled his head into my chest and cuddled. I watched him drink out of his sippy cup with car pictures, wearing a pair of Nike basketball shorts and Kobe sneakers...and felt at peace. Those dreams I had for those four days have all come true. The grief I've felt at the loss of experiencing a world with a "traditional" son is beginning to dissipate.

I Have My Son.

Something I promised I would never take for granted. Something I willingly sacrificed my silly superficial dreams for. Those four days I often look back upon as one of those places in life one knows they can never get back.

But, for once...I think I am finally okay with that.

Little Bits of Happy.

Happiness requires effort.

It just does.

If you expect it to be given out in massive doses once you master a set of skills or accomplishments, you will be left with nothing but disappointment and resent.

I am trying to be better at this...the whole "work" for happiness thing. Lucky for me (said without sarcasm), I have been given opportunities in my life, in the most recent weeks and of course years, which have allowed me glimpses of understanding into this philosophy/choice. I get to choose to look at these pieces of my day and simmer them together to become a full steaming stew of happy.

Lately my stew has included...

*Deak has invented a dance (if you wanna call it that) where he hits himself in the head once, claps his hands a few times, and then uses both hands to pat his belly repeatedly...like a Gorilla. It is absolutely hysterical. He will begin on cue, at any impromptu time...all anyone needs to say is "Head" and he takes it as his starting signal. This past Friday night while eating at Zuppas, a darling little thing toddled herself over to Deak's highchair. He gave her his classic sideways eye glance and then softly touched her cheek.

Then...he busted out his dance routine, without cue from Blair or I.

She actually was quite impressed and came back for round two.

This boy is a Lady Killer.

*Ab goes against the grain...in most aspects of her life (except her hair and clothes, which have to be perfect). She began a love for China when her class celebrated Chinese New Year a few weeks back, and it has turned into an obsession. She would only root for anyone of Asian descent while watching the Olympics, and will only cheer for the young Asian fellow on American Idol. We have attempted to explain to her that China is Communist country where children obey their parents (interesting phenomenon), but she refuses to believe us. In fact, this morning while getting ready to go to school she said, "I wish I lived in China. They don't have to go to school." I was met with a look of disdain and a classic eye roll when I tried to tell her about the school schedule in China.

Blair and I have told her if we hear anything more about China she will be required to eat Chinese food (which she doesn't do much of at the moment).

I have to admit that I've found myself looking for Chinese items (which isn't difficult considering everything is made there) etc...anything to make her smile.

My Ab sure is full of it...but, that spirit is what I love most.
(At least she is moving to China now, and not to Switzerland where she could marry a woman and adopt a baby...I was a little thrown off by that one...(Boys have "cooties" in second grade, don't you know?)).

*Fake snowboarding on the Wii makes me feel as if I can be an Olympian, and I love it. I don't have to wear a coat, buy equipment, or fall off the ski lift. It is the perfect winter Olympic sport for me... Cheers to fake snowboarding.

*Eye cream...I have high hopes my new eye cream will make me look ten years younger, and ten pounds thinner. I am sure of it. If it doesn't, no need to tell me...I am sure my evil Wii Fit will.

*Kyle Korver's recent increase in minutes for the Jazz. So much irrational pleasure is derived from him doing well. Really. I get nervous and jittery while he's on the court and live each three point shot as if it is his last.

*Watching my kids irritate the heck out of one another. The joy I feel when I watch them relate and love each other as typical siblings do is really and truly immeasurable. Goose eggs, bites, and screams are all things I did not know I would ever get to experience. I do get to though...and I am so eternally grateful.

*CRAWLING...still not over it. I know; it's been a while now...but, I don't care. I Love It!!!


*Alone time with Ab as I run and she bikes alongside me. She chatters the entire way and takes my mind off the hurt. It is perfect.
....and I could go on...
Choosing to be happy is awesome.
Life is awesome.

Friday Night Dates.

For no reason in particular, our family has recently been developing a pattern of going on "family dates" every Friday night. I think it initially started because I have a strong moral opposition to doing any cooking on Fridays, and has become amplified by a strong desire to unwind after a week of craziness.

I'd like to say this was a plan, or family goal...but, no...it has just happened. I'm not anywhere close to being "with it" enough to have family goals.

Earlier this week Blair forwarded an email to me mentioning that the MLS cup was making a stop in Bountiful. We decided to take the kids to see it (considering we have had no other kind of experience with a championship team in Utah), and thought it might be a good opportunity to document that we try to do fun and cheap things on occasion with our kids.

We brought Emily, one of Ab's Bff's from school, and her very cute 5th Grade brother Zac.

(Whom for future note...Ab tried her hardest to impress ALL NIGHT LONG. Because you know, 5th grade boys totally love knock knock jokes and Miley Cyrus. In his defense, he was extremely kind and a great sport.

PPS...don't tell Ab I've mentioned this or you'll be killed.)

We came home and attempted to relocate our brains to a warm and sunny climate by eating tacos, guacamole, and chips...and drinking smoothies.

And, yes...I broke my rule about cooking...
But, only because I really wanted to pretend I was on a beach in Mexico.
I seem to re-create this night once a year for my kids...when Winter has just lasted a tad longer than my psyche can take.


You can see, Ab was really into the spirit of things...
Either that, or she really wanted to show off her swimsuit and sock combo for her friend's brother:) I love her innocence.

Crap.

Not really Crap...
only kind-of.
You see, Deak is now crawling for real.
In fact, we had to cave and put up a gate this weekend.

In the past week or two...
*He has crawled over to and attempted to drink my diet coke. Which is a big problem. The last time this kid had coke, he was up and partying hard until 1 in the morning. (A certain rap song comes to mind..."and the b@*!! ain't leavin 'till six in the mornin'...or maybe that's just me).
*He has crawled over to and stolen my fritos, and I really like Fritos.
*He has crawled over to and chewed on a VCR cord (unplugged at least...not that the hair this boy has would cause you to think otherwise) for who knows how long while I showered.
*He has crawled across my bedroom into the bathroom where I get ready in the mornings and literally screamed at me with a disgusted look...only to crawl back across the room, take a seat in front of the TV and finish watching his show. (I assume he was pissed I turned on the blow dryer and he couldn't hear Gabba anymore.)
And the worst...
*Now...he crawls to my bedside and yells at me to wake up.
"AHHHH!"
Gone are the days of 6am wake up calls postponed by a few Gabba episodes and a stationary child.
I really, really, love the crawling...in fact, I'll admit that a day has not gone by that I haven't still felt my eyes well up just thinking of it.

But mobility has decreased my ability to be lazy.
Hence...."Crap."

Happy Thoughts.

I had to do something last night that was pretty terrifying for me.

It was one of those times I actually had to put to practice some of the techniques I whole-heartily believe in and teach to cute little bodies in my schools.

I had to breath deeply and consciously choose to think of things that would bring me happiness.

I had to do it for forty-five minutes.

Which, is a really long time...when you really want something to be over.

It was funny that during this situation, my thoughts permeated around the very same people my life tends to revolve around...

Thought #1

This face.

Abby took first place out of eight competitive cheer teams in her division this past Saturday.

Her first, First Place...ever.

The feeling I felt as she and her team won, was better than any feeling I have ever experienced winning in my life.

It was better because it was her.

She is becoming one of my closest friends, and I am content to live watching her grow and learn and experience all these crazy emotions life throws at us.

I was so proud.

Thought #2

This face.

I am still not over Deak crawling. I simply cannot get enough of watching it. As we sat and watched the Superbowl with family on Sunday, I enticed him to crawl to me across the entire room with a Texas Sheetcake brownie.

Boy...did that kid move.

(Not saying I wouldn't do the same.)

And, then he ate and clapped for himself for quite a while.

I was so proud.

I find it quite ironic that although I've desperately needed an outlet for myself (which I've found with running), when my priorities settle and I am forced to compete within my thoughts for happiness...they win.

My family takes the cake. They are my happy place. All three of them.

I would give up anything in this world to keep it that way forever.

"Run Forest, Run."

I could come up with several parallels between different lines of the movie Forest Gump and my life. I survived a couple of junior high years with an ominous "Jeee...ny" making its' daily appearance either directly or indirectly in several conversations. Thank goodness the craze eventually died down and my nickname progressed into becoming "House of Pain" or "Payne." Those were much more tolerable on the teenage ego.

Lately, as I've persistently stuck to my running routine that I began five weeks ago, I've found myself repeating the infamous "Run Forrest, Run" line in my head. Funny...yes...because I am sure if you've seen me on the side of the road barely breathing/moving, I would definitely bare a strong resemblance to Tom Hank's famous character. On a different level, I've realized the persistance this line has had in my brain may show a deeper connection to my most present motivation to run. This motivation is coming from a place I've shoved to the back of the list...and left there...for a long time.

I don't like to fail, or be criticized, or do anything wrong...basically. Not too much to ask, right? To preserve my pride (whatever is left of it) and general anxiety-based nature I generally choose to stick with tasks I can be successful at. I know my strengths, and choose to use them. I can recall doing this as far back as elementary school. I have never been close friends with the idea of taking risks. What a boring life...

Hence...the running program.
During a much-needed conversation with a good friend recently, we were discussing the complacency of the routine we get involved in as mothers. The laundry, dishes, and homework yield high rewards; the problem being that the rewards are not seen immediately. More often than not, for years. Sure, there are daily moments of love and progress, but that intrinsic feeling of worth is not always clearly validated.
We then went on to discuss why running has become, at certain times, so important in our lives. Yes, I would like to drop another ten pounds, develop a stronger core and begin to have something that may resemble muscle definition.

But, this time that is not what is driving me to get on my shoes and go.

It is the progress I'm seeing very clearly and visibly as I monitor it on the little screen in front of my treadmill. It is the sleep I've been getting, and the breathing that has felt deeper and richer than it has in years. It is the internal gratification of seeing a goal become closer to reality. It is the endorphin rush that my brain and heart have needed for some time. Quite frankly, it is the money I am probably saving in weekly therapy.
The activity and the reward are connected to ME, and I am in complete control of the results. Not my cute kids or family or friends. ME.

I ran two miles without stopping last night for the first time in my entire life. I then walked for a couple minutes and continued to run intervals for another mile, running as fast as an eight minute mile at some points.
Best run so far...
I felt proud, and I slept good.
Some nights I have not been able to put on my shoes and run until 9:30. These are the nights that I would have easily and justifiably rationalized away in my past - but, not anymore. I am learning now, those are the nights I need to run the most.
I may look like Forrest, and I may not go far (yet).
But, I have learned a few things these past three and half years; the most important being that it's okay if things take a little longer...and look a little less than perfect...
the reward is just that much sweeter.