First Quilting, Now Gardening. Have I Lost My Mind?

I would like to share with you yet another thing I totally suck at. I mean just when you thought there couldn't possibly be anything else, let me reassure you. I have zero talent for gardening. As I said in my last post, I'd prefer to go to prison. Keep in mind, with the exception of two short stints in houses, I was basically raised in apartments (Read: No Gardening). My mom really likes to move, and I suppose it was easier for my parents to move from place to place when they didn't have to worry about selling and buying homes. The first two homes Gerald and I owned (Mt. Vernon and Billings) had small, manageable yards, well fairly manageable. Gerald hates all yard work and couldn't care less what the yard looks like, so it's always been just I dealing with it. While neither yard looked wonderful, both were small enough that, with minimal effort, I could make them sort of acceptable.

Until we moved here. Yikes! These former owners were seriously into gardening. They planted all kinds of cra....stuff. The one and only thing I appreciate is the huge raspberry bush along the side of the house because I love fresh raspberries. The peach tree, strawberry plants, roses, daisies, other foliage I don't recognize, and relentless weeds all mixed in.....not so much. And the very worst thing about this yard is this ridiculous island garden right in the front. Whose bright idea was that? Surely they could have just planted grass that I could mow. But no, instead there's this large, curvy, circular island thing with a peach tree, another tree of some sort, a patch of daisies, and millions of weeds.

At least that's how it used to look. Right up until this past weekend. I wish I had taken a "before" picture, so you could see it, but I didn't think to do that, so you'll have to use your imagination. Okay, are you imagining? Now multiply whatever you are thinking by 100, and maybe you'll have an idea how bad it was. Shulamith and I were determined to do something about it before this coming weekend when we're hosting her baby shower (two months late) and a brunch following Swen's blessing the next day. So we enlisted the help of the only master gardeners we know, Matt's parents Dawn and Todd. Dawn explained all the stuff I needed to buy: Two different bottles of chemicals--Ground Clear and Round Up; plastic border that goes around the inside of the island; yards of mesh liner to keep weeds from coming back; and bark for over the top. Got it! But not only did Dawn explain what to do; she also spent a good two hours helping us dig up weeds in 100 degree heat! No one, not even Dawn, could possibly enjoy this, but she did it anyway.

The following day, Shulamith and I spent hours digging up the remaining weeds. We were two tired girls.

 

At that point, it was time to put the plastic barrier around the perimeter of the island and cut and lay the mesh weed blocker. Finally, we could pour the bark, and Shulamith could use her creative talent (of which I have none!) to place the large rocks back on top of it all. And here is the finished product:

Was this worth it? I'm not sure I can answer that question, at least not unequivocally either way. It was so hard and so not fun. Perhaps the better question is "First quilting, now gardening. Have I lost my mind?"

Would I Choose Prison?

Today, for the first time in two months, I worked in my yard. Why so long, you might ask? Two reasons. First, I really hate yard work. Like really hate it. Ooh....which reminds me of a story. As you may or may not know, in our church we have a lay clergy. That means no one is paid to do anything, so members must share the work to keep the church functioning. One of those shared tasks is speaking in Sacrament Meeting. Other churches, I believe, call this "preaching" or giving the "sermon" or "homily." We call it "giving a talk," and everyone gets his or her turn eventually. For the record, it's my absolute favorite thing we do in our church. I am in a tiny minority, however. It seems most people don't like to speak in front of others. But I really do love it.

Anyway, last week in church, our neighbor, Gus (who lives directly across the street from us), gave a talk in Sacrament Meeting. Now you should know something about Gus. He LOVES yard work. And he loves his yard. And, consequently, it is positively beautiful. It seriously looks like a yard right out a gardening magazine. In Gus's talk, he taught about the need to nurture our faith and testimonies with constant care, just as one must provide constant and loving care for one's yard in order to have a good result. As an introduction, he explained how much he loves to work in his yard: "If I had the choice to spend an entire week either working in my yard or going on vacation, I would choose to work in my yard." Okay, this made me laugh. Right there in Sacrament Meeting, where I was trying to be all quiet and reverent, all I could think of was "If I had the choice to spend an entire week either working in my yard or going to prison.....uh, prison might look pretty good." The painfully sad situation for people like Gus is that he does hours upon hours of work to create this exquisite yard, and I reap all the benefits. I get to gaze out my front room window at this lovely work of art, while poor Gus must look across the street at our disaster! Totally unfair.

Moving on, the second reason I haven't worked in my yard in two months is because of Baby Swen's surprise arrival a month early. Before that, I really was trying. I was. About a week before Swen was born, the Monsons (Matt's parents) came over and spent a whole evening working on my yard. They weed-whacked, they pruned, they dug, they trimmed. They are just incredible. They are so good at this stuff, and as a result, their yard looks very much like Gus's. Why did they come and spend all that time and effort on my behalf? We joked that it must be because Mathew lives here, and they couldn't stand the thought of their son living in a house with such a crappy yard. But I don't think that's it. I think they did it because they are that type of people, naturally generous and giving. Anyway, the yard was on its way to looking better by that point; I thought I had this beast under control. And then Swen came along, and priorities shifted.

As you know, Swen was born early because Shulamith developed a life-threatening condition called HELLP Syndrome. Even after Swen was delivered by emergency C-section, she was still very sick. And even four days later when we came home from the hospital, she was weak. Her platelets had not yet recovered, and she was terribly anemic. Just walking up the stairs from her apartment to our house made her dizzy. Add this to the fact that she brought home a preemie who weighed not even quite five pounds, and you can see how she needed lots of help. You can be sure that yard work was the furthest thing from my mind during those early weeks. And the weeds grew and grew.

Fortunately, she is all better now. She once again has color in her face. She has energy. We even went back to the gym this week. Swen is growing even faster than my weeds, and he even slept four hours in a row last night! Woo hoo! So today, even in the nearly 100 degree heat, I figured I'd better get out and face that nasty yard once again. The weekend of Shulamith's rescheduled baby shower and Swen's blessing is in just two weeks. The pressure is on. After mowing and watering, I pulled all the weeds from the front of the house and the parking strip. I still need to weed out the island garden and prune the daisies there, but I definitely made progress. It's amazing what you can accomplish when you have 16 essays that need to be graded sitting on your living room floor. Ahh, but that's another story. For another day.

Happy weed-whacking, everyone!

Birthdays at Taco Bell and Parenting Philolosphies

Last Monday was Gerald's birthday. So what did we do? We all met at Taco Bell for lunch before Gerald headed to work. Okay, just so you know, we did have a birthday dinner, with cake, etc. the day before, but he kept telling us that wasn't his birthday, so we thought maybe he wanted some sort of recognition on Monday (his actual birthday) as well? Generally, he doesn't like his birthday to be celebrated at all, so that was a bit confusing, but what could we do? And why Taco Bell, you might ask. That's a long story. Suffice it to say that Mathew loves Taco Bell and thinks it's the absolute best place to celebrate birthdays, and Gerald and Seth both like it too, so that's where we went. But I issued this warning to all: Don't ever take me to Taco Bell for my birthday. Not ever.

As we ate our double-decker tacos (Isaiah, Seth, and Shulamith), bean burritos (Gerald), fresco-style chicken soft tacos (Am I always dieting???), and cheesy gordita crunch with cheesy fiesta potatoes (Matt), somehow the conversation turned philosophical, particularly to the subject of parenting. I have no idea why this happened, but for some reason, Gerald and I found ourselves discussing our parenting beliefs, how they differ from most other parents', and why they are the best fit for us. That's the most important part: "for us." We would never try to force our beliefs on others or offer unsolicited advice; unless someone wants to know, we'll keep our opinions to ourselves. Through the years, though, people have asked, some because they were seeking actual suggestions for parenting their own children and others just out of idle curiosity. In either case, I thought this might be a good forum in which to present our ideas, because reading here is totally voluntary. If you're not interested in parenting philosophies, feel free to skip this particular post. I will write something totally different next time. I promise!

Though we never discussed it before we got married (Bad idea! Couples should discuss these things before they marry; we just didn't), both Gerald and I fell naturally into a philosophy I call "gentle" or "non-punitive" parenting. By that I mean our goal was to take a gentle approach and never to engage in any sort of punishing. We tried to be the "guides on the side," allowing our children, as soon as they were able, to decide most things for themselves, while providing lots of encouragement along the way. I remember hearing someone admonishing parents to "choose your battles" and thinking to myself, "but I don't want any battles." Is that possible? Is it possible to simply get along with one's kids, without a lot of conflict and contention? We believe it is.

Our theory is this. When they're too young to understand danger, it's our job to keep them safe. When they're too young to understand the value of material things, it's our job to keep valuables out of reach. As they grow and mature both physically and cognitively, they become able to take on more and more responsibility for themselves and for their choices, and we let them. In most cases, we found that they knew far better than we what was best for them. Kids are smart. If you let them run their own lives, it just might surprise you what a great job they do.

We let them eat when they were hungry and sleep when they were tired. We didn't tell them what to eat, how to dress, how to style their hair, or when to go to bed. With regard to food, we offered a variety of nutritious choices along with plenty of treats, and we let them choose for themselves. Ultimately, we have two kids who will eat almost anything, two who are somewhat picky, and one who is the pickiest eater on the planet. I suspect this is exactly what we would have ended up with had we tried to legislate their eating; we just bypassed all the hassle. And encouraging them to choose their own clothing, dress themselves, and style their hair however they like? I can't see any possible downside to this.

Then there's the bedtime issue. That's the one people tend to be most shocked by, well along with no curfews for teenagers. The thing is kids' sleep needs vary greatly, just like those of adults. Three of our kids take after Gerald and barely need any sleep at all. This was true even when they were little. I remember Luke staying up until 10:00 or even 11:00 p.m. in early elementary school, and waking well rested and ready each morning without an alarm. It was the same with Eli, and it's the same with Seth. In contrast, Shulamith and Isaiah are like me; we need lots and lots of sleep. I sleep 9 - 10 hours daily. When Isaiah was in elementary school, he decided that he needed to be in bed by 9:00 sharp, no matter what. And he was. OCD like his mom, missing that self-imposed deadline by even a couple minutes made him anxious. I remember him telling me in all seriousness that he would never be able to have children. Why not, I asked. "Because I could get a kid like Eli who stays up late, and I wouldn't be able to go to bed at 9:00."

So what about discipline? Don't all kids need discipline? It depends on how you use the word. As a noun, I love the word. It comes from the same root as "disciple," meaning to teach, to guide, to lead, and best of all, to serve! We tried to model self-discipline for our kids and to be good examples of positive behavior, and we hoped they would watch and follow. But used as a verb, the word "discipline" often means the same or close to the same as punishment. That is never a good idea. Even if it were effective, I wouldn't be a fan of the concept, but the truth is, it isn't. All punishment does is make people sneaky. They learn how to do exactly what they want to do without getting caught. They modify their behavior in the presence of the punisher, but once outside his presence, they tend to become all the more rebellious because they resent the whole situation. Punishment breeds resentment, and it teaches nothing. And that resentment can last a really long time. Ask any adult who was punished as a child by being forced to scrub floors to lift a finger to scrub a floor as an adult. No way! Floor scrubbing = punishment. Punishment = resentment. End of story.

As you might guess, we took a lot of flak for our methods, especially early on when are kids were very young. I remember one person telling me my children would never be able to function in school because we didn't discipline them at home. They would never sit still or follow directions because we didn't give them rules and consequences. If we didn't change our plan, by the time they reached middle and high school, they would probably be involved in drugs or in trouble with the law. Yes, someone actually said these things to me. But one by one, our kids entered the public school system, and one by one, they excelled. They were happy, well-adjusted students, who enjoyed school. They did their homework with no prodding from us. They made friends. Their teachers loved them. The older four continued through high school and graduated. We had not one single issue with a teacher or administrator.

Our two oldest kids attended private universities and graduated with honors. The oldest is working on his PhD. Our middle kid is half way through a computer science degree and works 30 hours a week to help us pay his tuition and expenses. Our fourth child successfully completed one semester of college and is now serving a full time mission for our church. I suppose the jury is still out on Seth since he's not yet a teenager, but I have no reason to believe he will be any different. I'm his mom so not at all objective, but he is really one of the nicest boys I know.

I should probably mention that Gerald always says we have "easy kids." He's right. They lived before they came to earth and brought with them their own unique personalities. And yes, they have been easy to raise. But I also believe that had we chosen to micromanage their lives and taken a punitive, authoritarian approach, they would have been a lot harder. In fact, I'm sure of it. Gentle, non-punitive parenting does not ruin kids. If it did, surely the odds are that at least one of ours would be ruined by now. Instead, I believe it strengthens and empowers kids to be their very best, because they know that there are two people 100% on their side, always, and forever. And those two people are their parents.

I know our parenting philosophy is not for everyone. There are many ways to raise children well. But for us, this was, and is, the best fit. One more thing. If you're looking for a cheap place to celebrate a birthday and one whose environment elicits great philosophical discussion, may I suggest Taco Bell!

So It's Probably the Craziest Thing I've Ever Done

...okay, let me backtrack. Between 1993 and 2004, we lived in a town called Mt. Vernon, 60 miles north of Seattle. During our time there, I had a friend named Joanne who made baby quilts. All the time. Dozens and dozens of them. She made quilts for every baby she knew and some she didn't. Not kidding. She would just happen to meet someone with a baby and think to herself, "That baby needs a quilt." Then she'd go home and make one. These quilts were seriously beautiful, absolute works of art. I watched her make them, one after the other, the entire process from start to finish, over and over. I was forever in awe of her talent.

Here is a picture of Seth holding the quilt she made for him 12 years ago when he was born:

Fast forward 12 years, and Shulamith is pregnant with Baby Swen. And I think to myself, "This baby will need a 'Joanne' quilt." But how? Okay, you guys know me pretty well. You know that my skill set is woefully limited. In fact, it takes only very basic math to count the number of things I can do. There are just three:

1. I can give talks in church.
2. I can teach English classes or Gospel Doctrine lessons.
3. I can write blog posts or edit text for others.

Yep that's it. I can't do anything else, and I am positively clueless about all things domestic. Sewing? Making a quilt? You've got to be kidding! But I'm also rather OCD, and for some reason I got this bee in my bonnet about Shulamith's baby having one of these quilts, so much so I decided that against all odds, I was going to make him one. Crazy? Absolutely. I mean come on....I've never so much as sewn on a button or made a hem. Never.

The first step was going to a fabric store to buy all the stuff. This was the nightmare experience I lovingly refer to as The Twilight Zone. You can read about it here if you like. After that it was a matter of remembering exactly what Joanne did and in what order. First, she would lay out the bottom piece and then put the white fuzzy stuff on top. Then she would put the top piece over the fuzzy stuff sort of like a sandwich and then pin the whole thing together. So that's what I did. Now it was time to begin the actual stitching. Sigh. Heavy sigh. Stitching is hard. I'm so not good at it. Even harder is threading the stupid needle, which seems to come apart about ever two minutes. Then there's the constant finger poking. Ouch! "Why do people do this?" I asked myself time and time again. It gives new meaning to the term "masochism."

My goal was to have the thing done by the time Swen was born, but as you know, he insisted that his mother deliver him a full month early, so alas, it wasn't done. By the time he was born, the actual stitching of the front was done, but I was utterly baffled by how to bind the edges. For the life of me, I couldn't remember how Joanne did it, and I still can't. I have some wonderful sewing friends, but sadly, they don't live nearby. One is in San Antonio, TX; one is in The Dalles, OR; and one is in Vancouver, WA. All of them offered advice from afar, and both Celeste (Texas) and Lorrie (Washington) offered to bind the quilt for me if I just mailed it to them. I considered both offers fairly seriously, but something held me back. I didn't know exactly what it was until Shulamith articulated it: "Are you sure you want to give up now?" she asked. No! I don't. I don't want to give up. This is the hardest thing I've ever done, and I want to finish it myself, but how? Oh how I wished that just one of those friends, Celeste, Diane, or Lorrie, were here to guide me through this final step.

Lorrie suggested that I buy something called "wide bias tape" for the edges. I thought that was a funny name: bias tape. It sounds like tape that is prejudiced! Anyway, I got some, and sure enough, it fit perfectly around the edges of the quilt. All three friends suggested that I find a sewing machine to sew one side of the bias tape to the quilt and then hand-stitch the other side. Now I know Joanne did not use a machine. I know she didn't, and I obviously don't own one or have the slightest idea how to operate one. But after trying every other possible way I could think of and having zero luck, I decided I would need to follow my friends' advice and find someone with a machine. But who?

Keep in mind that I have no friends in the Salt Lake area. Well, except Shulamith, who knows exactly as much about sewing as I do. So I did the bravest thing ever. Really, you are going to be so impressed. I called up a lady from the ward who lives down the street from us. I barely know her. We are not friends or anything close to it, but I know she's one of those people who can do anything. She's what I call a "Celeste." Everything she touches turns to beautiful! So I called her up, told her who I was, and asked her if she owned a sewing machine. "I do," she replied. In fact, she apparently has two of them, one for regular sewing and one for something she called "searching"? Anyway, she said she would be more than happy to sew the bias tape on one side of the quilt edge and that it would take her maybe ten minutes. It took five.

I was home in no time and ready to hand-stitch the other side of the tape. That was two weeks ago, and finally, last night, at about 10:30, it was done. Totally done. You can't even imagine the relief that flowed through my body. Now be cautioned: You won't want to look too closely at any of it. The stitching is crappy. Like really, really crappy. But I figure Swen is a baby, so he won't know the difference, and Shulamith doesn't care at all about crappy stitching, so it's all good.

So here it is:

Probably the craziest thing I've ever done.

If It's Not Cancer, It's Rattlesnakes

What's a girl with anxiety to do? Seriously, every time I turn around, someone is talking about cancer. Ads for the Cancer Treatment Centers of America are on TV constantly. Every other day, someone on Facebook posts about a relative battling the disease. Billboards everywhere encourage people to get mammograms and colonoscopies.  And that's a good thing. Really it is. Preventative medical care saves lives. But for someone like me, even the suggestion of cancer causes the mind to wander to places irrational and horrible.

And if it's not cancer, it's rattlesnakes! I'm not kidding. Just yesterday, the news reported that here in Utah, wildfires are forcing rattlesnakes into neighborhoods. What? I live in a neighborhood. One lady up in Ogden (just 44 miles from my house) saw four in her backyard. This is not good for me, not good at all. I've struggled with a variety of anxiety disorders, but agoraphobia has never been one of them. I do need to leave my house. After hearing that news report yesterday, I opened my front door slowly and with definite trepidation. And for just a moment, the way the garden hose was lying in the grass filled me with such terror that I slammed the door and ran back inside. I had to get Gerald to go move it, just to feel comfortable going back out to my car. Ugh!

How am I supposed to walk if I'm terrified I'll run into a rattlesnake? My walking regimen has taken a serious hit already since Swen was born six weeks ago. You may remember my goal of walking 1,200 miles in 2012. I was exactly on track right through May, even a little ahead. Then, on May 26th, Swen arrived five weeks early, and everything changed. I didn't walk a single step the four days we were at the hospital and not much more our first two weeks home. I've been trying to get back on track, but there are obstacles for sure. One of those is my compulsive (part of OCD) tendency, the need to do everything 100% or not at all. I'm seriously the most "all or nothing" person you've ever met. The saying "It's better than nothing" has never made a bit of sense to me.

Nope, I like things to be 100%, and I'm not a good faker. I wear my emotions on my sleeve, as the saying goes, and I'm not one to ignore the proverbial elephant in the room, or (in the words of a dear friend) to sweep it under the rug and then be shocked when someone trips over it. But in this case, compulsive personality or not, I need to move forward with my walking routine. I need to do it whether I can accomplish my original goal or not. I need to, and I will. I need to adjust both my ultimate goal and my daily goals and to somehow be okay with that. While I used to walk 4-5 miles a day, I need to be happy with whatever I'm able to fit in, even if it's just a mile here and a mile there.

Most important, I need to be able to do that without the fear of freaking rattlesnakes.

Happy July 2012, Everyone!

Eli sent us a snail mail letter this week. It was an unexpected surprise because usually, we only receive one weekly correspondence, his Monday (P-day) email. It was a typically joyous letter, filled with a voice that is only Eli's. I am constantly delighted by how eloquently he writes. The joy of his mission poured through every line. He loves his mission so much that I worry he might never come back! The mission secretary has reassured me that President Petersen will make him go home when his time is up. Thank you, Sister Kenworthy.

One section from this letter gave me pause. He wrote, "Mom, time is just flying by. I have been in the mission field three months now, and it feels like only a day. Where did the past year go? Didn't I just graduate from high school? Didn't I just go on Pioneer Trek? Weren't we just living in that basement apartment in Shepherd, waiting to move to Utah?" If he were here, I would attempt to answer these questions. The feeling that time is racing by uncontrollably means you are growing up, Eli. It means you are a child no more.

Remember when summer vacation seemed to go on forever? Those long, lazy days filled with sprinklers, popsicles, bug collections, and the ice cream man seemed to last 100 years. By the time the new school year approached, it felt as though a lifetime had passed. That was childhood. Age and the passage of time work together to play tricks on us. The older we get, the faster time passes. I wonder if this phenomenon is related to the experience of any trip, short or long. Whether we travel 500 miles or just 5, it always seems to take much longer to get there than to return. Gerald explained his theory about this. It has to do with the percentage of time spent "getting there" compared with the entire trip. The trip to one's destination is 100% of the whole experience, but the return trip is less than 50%. So it seems much faster. Is it the same with this "trip" through life? Perhaps.

A friend recently posted as her Facebook status: "Where has June 2012 gone?" That one was easy for me. My June 2012 was spent rocking a baby---countless, glorious hours of rocking! And what could possibly be any more important or worthwhile than that? Nothing. I know exactly where my June went, but the previous 11 months? I really have no idea. Yes, Eli, you just graduated from high school. You just had your senior piano recital, senior prom, and yes, you just went on Pioneer Trek.

And we just moved to Utah. Just the other day. The other day that was actually a full year ago. Once again, time deceives us. Since it's not likely time will slow down, may I include a couple photos to document some precious memories, just in case, down the road, in this speed race through life, we would forget.

Happy July 2012, everyone!