Dear Me,

Dear Me in 1990 (junior year of high school):

You are at probably the lowest point of your entire life. You cannot see past the next week, let alone the next year. This has been a bad year for you. Your friends have not been there like you thought they would. You have had your heart broken into a thousand pieces and you don't see much of value when you look in the mirror. Trust me when I tell you, you will make it, and come out stronger on the other side. You will one day laugh that you dated boys named Skip, Kolby, and Mike. You will see that you were MUCH too good for them.

You will go on to college and have many more opportunities for growth. Your character will be tested and your integrity called into question. Have the courage to stand up for yourself. Don't be afraid of confrontation - especially when defending what you know to be right. These years will also be one of great freedom. You will thoroughly love not having a curfew and being on your own for the first time. It is here that you will discover the joy of running. Keep that up, for it will be a source of great happiness for you. You, my dear, will even one day run a marathon.

You will make a few poor choices in the boys that you like during this time. It will seem like the end of the world when they break your heart. Trust me when I tell you that it will be short-lived, for you will find your soul mate shortly into your second year of college.

This will be a man that you will fall hard and fast for. The first time you see him, something inside you will whisper, "Hello, old friend." Your brief courtship will be enough for you to know that he's the one - the one you want to spend eternity with. Your logic will argue against this, but you won't listen to it (thankfully). You will marry this man VERY EARLY on a warm day in March, and begin your life together. In the beginning, you will be oh, so poor. You will be the textbook definition of "starving students," but you will never feel anything lacking in your rich life. You will work at jobs you hate so that your beloved can get through school. He will repay that in spades by working hard enough so you can quit work and stay home when you have your kids.

Yes, you will have children with this man - and find yourself more in love with him than you thought possible. At times, these children will sap every ounce of your strength, but when you tuck them in at night and watch these angels sleeping, you will find a renewal of that strength. The baby years will go by so fast - please don't wish them away. You will always laugh - and stand in wonder that you still find this man funny after 13 years together. You will move cross country - more times than I'd like to admit to you - but it will be the

best

thing for you. You will be forced out of your comfort zone, and learn to get over your fear of the unknown. You will become an expert at making new friends - something you never thought possible.

Now listen up, this is the most important thing I've got to say to you. YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL. You don't believe it; you never have. You will not be 110 pounds. EVER. But you will come to feel at home in your own skin, I promise you that. You will one day look in the mirror and not hate what you see. Oh, and please, for the love of god, stop perming your hair. You will figure that one out, but far later than you wish. You will always cringe a little when looking at your wedding photos. They would have been so much prettier had you not gotten that one, last perm. In fact, you will hate it so much that you will get your hair straightened on your honeymoon and never perm it again.

So make the most of this year, know that there are so many great things up ahead for you. It's hard when you can't see past tomorrow, but I promise, tomorrow it only gets better.

Love,

You in 2007

the homework blues

I hate homework time. I should love it more, I know, but it's my least favorite time of day. I don't mind spending time with my darlings - teaching, nurturing, and generally building their vast stores of knowledge. But those things tend to happen best at the park when you find a butterfly cocoon, or the aquarium when they've discovered just how cool jellyfish are. Not at the kitchen table when they're hungry, they're tired, and all they want to do is sit down and watch themselves a little SpongeBob Squarepants.

It became such a chore this year, that I was forced to invent the "Homework is a Treat" jar. Yes, in that respect, I have become my mother. We roll a dice, and whatever number is the highest becomes the number of M&Ms everyone gets. The M&Ms are only given out upon successful completion of homework time. If there is complaining, whining, or poor effort - I get to take back some of their M&Ms. Since some days we roll only a two, these chocolate candies have become precious commodities not to be lost. We had to institute "homework" for Hannah simply as a means to keep her from tormenting the boys. She used to bounce around the table - almost always munching on some sort of messy, salty snack - singing the princess songs at the top of her lungs. IT DROVE THE BOYS CRAZY. So now we fill a yellow legal pad with rows of letters and words for her to copy, which has seemed to help.

Today is particularly challenging because Chase stayed home sick from school. I suppose that technically excludes him from homework, but his jumping on the couch tells me the antibiotic has kicked in and he could participate. Upon being informed of this, he returns to his prior death-like trance on the couch. "I'M JUST TOO SICK, MOM. REALLY."

Yeah, right.

Hannah has now finished her pages, which she loudly brags about and tosses in the face of McKay - who still sits chained to the table (figuratively, of course). He gets mad and returns fire in the form of verbal insults, which prompts her deliver a sideways strike to his cheek with her hand. This then results in his crying, and her promising all sorts of servitude if he won't tell Mom - which he recognizes as a great bargaining chip and begins a negotiation.

All this while I'm struggling to come up with an idea for dinner other than McDonalds, sort through the mail, not eat my way through a bag of Oreos, and somehow manage to tidy up the house in a vain attempt to appear in control when Josh comes home tonight.

I'm not.

And it looks like Oreos for dinner for me. Maybe for us all.

this week's lessons

• When attempting to break bits of chocolate in a glass bowl for melting, do not use the pointy end of a pair of scissors. It WILL BREAK THE BOWL, but more shocking is that I will be oddly surprised that it happened. (CLEARLY, I AM A MORON)
• Calling old friends to catch up is always a treat. One that should be repeated more often.
• Preschool starting up again after a month-long hiatus is PURE HEAVEN. For her and for me.
• Scrapbook stores are dangerous, dangerous places. Spending will happen; I will be powerless to resist.
• PMS is NOT a license to eat everything in sight.
• Exercise actually is better for said PMS than eating 40 pounds of chocolate. REMEMBER THIS IN 28 DAYS.
• Husbands can sleep through the children projectile vomiting in the middle of the night. A very mild case of alleged wife snoring will send them packing angrily to the couch.
• A clean house makes me oh, so very happy.
• The yearly cub scout Blue and Gold Banquet will feature the oddest potluck dishes imaginable.
• When waiting for a call from McKay that baseball practice is over, it always helps to make sure my phone is actually TURNED ON.
• A new pair of shoes can rejuvenate tired outfits.
• Favorite thing this week: Rediscovering The Royal Tenenbaums. Just a brilliant film. Netflix it today.

wishing

Inspired by my friend, Annie, here is a list (and we all know how much I love a good list):

I wish I...

• didn't love food so much.
• could be in an exotic destination, right this minute. (Oh, wait, kinda am. I guess I wish I was on vacation somewhere exotic)
• had a maid.
• wasn't so hard on myself.
• could remember everything I read.
• had more time to read.
• could always ensure my kids were safe.
• had better skin and no freckles.
• didn't like t.v. so much.
• was a better cook.
• could just be content with my body as-is.
• could write a novel.
• was more kind.
• could travel and see the world with my family.
• had fresh flowers in my house every day.
• could talk to my grandpa who died when I was nine.
• had a personal stylist to blow-dry my hair every morning.
• could scrapbook all the time.

Your turn - what do you wish for?

please let this plague pass by our house

I got a call from a friend yesterday warning us that they have lice. That's right, I said lice. And we have spent time playing with these friends in the last few weeks.

NOW. I. CANNOT. STOP. THE. ITCHING.

Took the boys for an immediate haircut (cutting their hair very short) to hopefully eliminate the possibility of them getting it. Hannah has been combed over and picked at like she's a baby chimpanzee.

So far, we appear to be nit-free.

PRAY for me that we remain that way.

We had our turn with this vile pest a year and a half ago, and I think I am still emotionally scarred from it. Truthfully, it is not that big of a deal, but it is SUCH A PAIN that I can't bear getting it again.

All the washing of the linens. And the washing of stuffed animals. And the vacuuming of furniture. And the spraying. And the shampooing. Oh, and the nit-picking. For hours. Days. Weeks, it seems. And every little absent-minded scratch of the head sends me into a frenzied round of head checking. Please, if there is a god in heaven, DO NOT let us get it.

It does lead me to wonder...could this explain Britney Spears' new hairdo? Probably makes picking nits much easier if there's no hair to do it in. Hmmm...

overheard this week at church

"So when's your baby due? "

"Actually, I'm not pregnant. "

"Oh. But you look so...SKINNY! "

Don't you hate the taste of your foot in your mouth? I know that taste all too well.

Lesson for us all: NEVER, EVER ask a woman if she's pregnant. EVER. I mean EVER. I thank heaven that I was only eavesdropping, and that I was not the party asking, or the party that got asked.