Hunting of the House: Day 3

Ever notice how house hunting is like speed dating?

I've never really done either, but they seem essentially the same. Trying to make a long-term commitment decision based on a 3 to 8 minute physical assesment.

You've got your pre-reqs, of course. Must be at least four bedrooms. (At least 5'10".) Prefer an office and dining room. (Have a steady job and good manners.) Basement would be ideal, allowing room for family growth. (Good with kids, Mom must like him.)

But seriously? The house can meet every bullet on your list, and still be wrong. But you won't know it til you move in. (No one ever tells you on the first date that they are incapable of putting dirty laundry in the hamper.)

Maybe there's a bully across the street. Or a meanie teacher at the elementary school. Perhaps there's scorpions burrowing in the backyard (eek!) or the local ward needs a new bishop (ahem.)

They just don't put the REALLY neccessary information on the MLS listing sheet.

Because buying a house isn't just about where you're going to sleep at night. This decision will determine your social circle, your children's friends and education, and can even affect your health.

All crammed into a week of frantic in-and-out-of-the-car, taking pictures of everything and reading between the lines on the listing sheets.

No pressure or anything.

(And incredibly, amazingly, miraculously - I really did marry the right guy. I didn't even really know it at the time. Not like I do now. And I do. Know. He was custom made for me. And I get him for much longer than a 30 year mortgage.)

And God looked upon the light and pronounced it good. And a litmus test.

I remember well the first fight that interrupted our marital bliss.

My Man claims that it was about broccoli - I love it, he hates it - but it wasn't.

It was about the very deep and profound subject of LIGHTBULBS.

But before we get into that, an introduction: This is my dad.

My dad is the all-knowing god of the computer realm. (Translation: I really can't tell you what he does for a living.) He also happens to be Mr. Fixit Extraordinaire.

Dad installs carpet and wood flooring, tiles kitchens, knows how to rework the plumbing on the bathroom sink or dishwasher and redid our roof to boot. He's knocked down walls and rebuilt them, and knoweth the 'thou shalt nots' of electrical wiring.

I took it for granted that all dads do that sort of stuff.

So when the first lightbulb burnt out in the first hallway of our first homestead, I patiently waited for my own personal Mr. Fixit to replace it.

And a week of darkness went by.

I got more and more frustrated that he was neglecting such an obvious part of husbandship. Truly, didn't he NOTICE the gloomy globe of outer darkness hanging above our heads? Finally, in exasperation, I berated him for not fulfilling his duty as resident All Things Maintenance Man.

And that's when I learned that my mother-in-law was the MRS. Fixit in the My Man household.

He'd been waiting for ME to change the lightbulb!

Thus ensued many years of re-defining our roles of who-does-whats in our abode. 'Cuz household duties aren't outlined in The Family: A Proclamation to the World. So many of us naturally think that the way our parents did it is THE WAY IT IS.

And it isn't. It's whatever we WANT it to be.

So we each have our own 'deveres de casa' now (or 'musts of the house') -

And at this very moment there are about eight lightbulbs that need changing.

Teetering, tottering - the act of balancing. That doesn't rhyme but it's close. Okay, not really.

I am a stay at home mom.

I devote every waking hour (and very often my sleeping hours) to my children - raising them, worrying about them, trying to mold them into somewhat normal people. House responsibilities are chiefly mine - I usually don't take out the garbage on purpose mostly so I feel like My Man is doing something. He does his share of dishes and putting away laundry (the bane of my existence), but it's usually just ME.

And sometimes I struggle.

Because I know that I CAN'T do it alone, nor SHOULD I. Nurturing our children is my primary responsibility - but it is not my sole purpose in life. Nor is working, his. I am just as much a parent as My Man is; we share the job of raising our three boys. And while household chores are usually mine, that is just because I'm the one who is home all day - not because I am a woman.

But I can't do it all. I CAN'T.

So here's the thing. Every time I ask for more help with the kids or around the house, I feel guilty. My Man has no time to call his own. He works 24/7. He's bishop of a very very (very very very very very) needy ward. The guy doesn't have two minutes put together. Whenever he's fulfilling one obligation, he's ignoring three others. Because he just can't be everywhere at once.

He does an excellent job of making me feel like I'm his #1 priority (and I am), and we work very hard to make sure we still get alone time at least once a week. We communicate. We talk. We share our deepest darkest feelings. Our relationship is just ... too pure and perfect to talk about here.



But it's never, ever enough.

Does this mean I'm needy? Does this mean I'm weak? Because every time he kills himself to spend more time with me, I'm reminded of all the other responsibilities he's ignoring. All the people who need or want him. And oh, I hear about it too. Members whining that they needed him to give a blessing, pay a bill, counsel until all hours of the night, etc., etc. And instead he was home watching a movie with me. I'm a sinner. A selfish, selfish sinner.

I can't help thinking of all the wives whose husbands travel for work. Or are in the army. Or divorced mothers or widows. They have it a thousand times worse off - I should just be happy, right? Just shut up and be happy ....

So why can't I shut up?

Where do you draw the line? How do you balance? When do you say "enough is enough" as opposed to "I can be stronger"?

Sometimes I feel like maybe I'm not SUPPOSED to do it by myself, but I SHOULD be able to. Because whenever I break down and ask for help, I just feel like a weakling. Especially since I know My Man is already giving me everything he has.

.... what do you do?

Love and Marriage, Love and Marriage .....

So today's Valentine's Day - in case you didn't know. I'm sure the stores have been blaring it at you since New Year's. See, I almost forgot; it's not a holiday in Brazil. Our "Dating Day" isn't until June. (And, quite frankly, I usually don't remember that one, either. I'm rather lame like that.)

But the thing is that I've had marriage on the brain lately.

Most of you didn't know that I was (fairly recently) released from my church callings as Young Women's president and stake Girls Camp director. I've been in Young Women since ... Young Women. I've been known as the Girls' Girl forever. So when I was released, I sort of lost my identity. I had to redefine who I was at church.

But my crisis didn't last long - almost as soon as we got back from Christmas vacation, I was called into The Bishop's Office and asked to sit in The Chair.

That's when you know your life's about to change.

I've been extended two callings - as our ward's Marriage and Family Relations teacher and as a CES Marriage Preparation teacher for two stakes. I have twenty and one hundred students, respectively. Now I'm known everywhere as The Marriage Lady.

And let me just say, I LOVE my callings.

It is a little known fact that I got my Bachelor's in Family Science. The goal was to get my CFLE license (Certified Family Life Education) and Masters degree, and go on to teach marriage prep and parenting through state extension programs. Things were all set to get both at Ohio State (much to the chagrin of my thoroughly Michigander family) when the opportunity came to go to Brazil. And that, as they say, is history.

I love the family. I originally set about to go into Family Therapy, but I was horrified to see all the sadness and tragedy that had already occured. I wanted to prevent it. I wanted to stop the problems from ever happening, avoiding all the pain that comes from, well, not being prepared.

You need a license to fish or dig a hole in your backyard, but ANYONE can get married or pregnant. And starry-eyed couples spend exponentially more time preparing for the WEDDING than they do for the MARRIAGE. I ache to teach people HOW to be married - happily.

But I never got to fulfill my dream of teaching others. Instead, for the past seven years, I've been teaching myself.

And this is what I know:

• There is no prince. There is no princess. There's just two human beings, trying to be happy.
• If you hear a couple claim that they never disagree, it means that they're either lying or one is completely dominating the other.
• There is rarely a "right" or "wrong" way of doing anything. Just different. This is a tough one for people to get - especially with money. The husband wants to spend money on the car and the wife wants to buy the kids' clothes. Who is right? NO ONE. They are just different areas to spend on. The only wrong way is to disagree.
• Everything is fixable. Everything. Some problems are astronomically harder to fix, but that's what the Atonement is all about. Fixing the unfixable.
• Never try to change the other. Change yourself first and foremost.
• Never pray to marry the one you love. Pray to love the one you marry. If He can part the Red Sea, He can change your heart.
• Look for the good. You always, always find what you're looking for - especially faults.
• Communication is crucial. But before you can communicate your wants and needs, you need to know yourself. You need to know HOW you want to be loved - and how the other wants to be loved.
• Sex is important. Yes, I just said that.
• No one is a mind reader. I know women want the men to "just know" what they want. Guess what. THEY DON'T HAVE A CLUE UNLESS WE TELL THEM, SO HELP THEM OUT ALREADY.
• You have to be unified in everything. Remember the egg. When hot water comes (and it WILL come), if you don't break the shell open, the egg will harden - and separate. Never more will the white and yolk become one. But if you break the egg open and unify - voila! The hot water (the trials and difficulties that EVERYONE passes) will solidify your relationship - and never again can you be separated.
• Be friends. Have common interests and do things together. You must must MUST date - alone, without the kids. You need time to talk, too. My Man and I have a Sunday Session every Sunday at 9:00. That time is sacred. We have a notebook with our agendas in it - after a prayer, we discuss, in order: 1) spiritual experiences that week, 2) us - our relationship, 3) the kids, individually, 4) finances/budget, 5) any calendar items that week, including Family Home Evening, and 6) callings/work/house stuff. It is often my favorite time of the week.
• A covenant marriage includes three people - man, wife, and the Lord. Even when one spouse falters - or even both - the Lord is still capable and willing to carry the load. Basing marriage on the foundation of the Savior's love is the surest way to find joy.
• Only in celestial marriage can we really experience the true pinnacle of happiness. I know it. I've felt it. I have it.

I hope you each have a Valentine that you love as desperately as I do mine.

There are no words for these

What's the perfect ending to a perfect Sunday? Getting home from a (fabulous, wonderful, uplifting) fireside to a clean house, dinner on the table and THESE:



Which you then smother with THIS:

And get to kiss HIM:

Get the recipe here. My Man not included.

And why am I doing this? Because ....

MWAU-HAHAHAHAAHAHAAAA!

(Thanks, Randi!)

Obsolete, run-a-the-mill, boring Thanksgiving blog

So I woke up happy today. And not JUST cuz I went to bed at 2:30AM last night watching movies with my brother and his girlfriend, laughing and snorting and being incredibly stupid for no reason at all and then getting to sleep in this morning cuz the house is full of people who'd love nothing more than play hide and seek with my children all morning. Truly. Happy stuff here. 

I woke up happy cuz it's THANKSGIVING. And I'm HOME. 

Usually on the last Thursday of November I go about my normal Brazilian day - ya know, hang around the pool all day - and totally space the fact that once upon a time the Pilgrims and Indians had a big dinner. And then I get all sad and nostalgic and wish I had remembered. 

But today? I REMEMBERED.

I woke up happy and just laid in bed, completely content in my green fuzzy PJs, wiggling my toes and sighing. Mr. Squishy woke up too, and we loved on each other for a good ten minutes before the other kiddies came in. Another truly wonderful excuse for happiness.

And I ate Raisin Bran for breakfast. I LOVE Raisin Bran.

So. Since that delicious concoction of bran flakes and two scoops of raisins, I have been composing a list of Things I am Grateful For. It got kinda lengthy. And all the while I'm saying to myself: To blog or not to blog? EVERYONE will be doing a Thankful List today, and it will be boring and repetitive and blah.

But then I answered myself: EXACTLY.

Isn't it incredible that we're all grateful for the same things? 

God. Family. Friends. Health. Comfort in our homes. Clothes and food. Technological advances so that we can talk to family and friends across the country. The miracle of prayer, so that we can talk to God across the universe. And mittens. I'm really grateful for mittens.

I'm also incredibly grateful for centerpieces and placeholders. Decorating matters, ladies. When it looks good, we feel good.

And most of all, I am grateful that I am sealed to My Man. He is in Brazil right now - pining away for turkey, stuffing, and MOI. But nothing can keep us apart - not a silly thing like an ocean, and certainly not death. He's mine for all eternity. And it don't get much better than that.

I love you, hun. And I miss you. That much.

Question for the questioners

What do alls y'alls (I'm practicing for when we move to Utah) want to know about Brazil? I've gotten a few questions here and there, but is there anything in particular you'd like to know? What they eat, electoral practices, common house layouts, educational system, mating customs?

Okay, scratch that last one, my mom reads this thing.

Though I WILL tell you that dating here is super different. BYU rituals - a Tonka truck left on your doorstep filled with hot dog buns and a note with "Can I haul your buns to the homecoming dance?" - are completely alien in this country. Well, frankly, they're alien outside of Happy Valley. But here it's just plain weird. Nope, here they kiss FIRST - before they even start dating. Before they even know each other. See, Brazilians feel that you gotta have a good make out session to find out if you like each other.

NCMO is a way of life. Most of my friends don't even know how many guys they've macked on.

They cannot believe it when I tell the story of our first kiss. My Man and I had been dating casually for three months or so - I was "waiting" for a missionary and all. Though admittedly forgetting him rather quickly. So one night we went for a moonlit walk. This wasn't so much for romantic reasons as because we were dirt poor. We had to save up for Frosties. Anyway, it started to get cold so we decided to continue the conversation in the car. (I know, I know. You're not supposed to park. Don't tell my bishop. Wait, My Man is my bishop.)

So we talked and talked until 3-in-the-morning came and went. By now I'm rather sleepy and wanting to go home. But My Man REFUSED to drive us back. He had been working up the courage to kiss me for hours and had told himself he would not go home without some action. Finally, with the moves of a jungle cat, he swung over and planted one on me. Scared me half to death. Though it did wake me up. *grins*

But this concept of 'working up to' a first kiss is completely foreign in Brazil.

So - whaddya wanna know?

In which I got pampered

Today was one of Those Days. Ouro Branco was every inch the terrible twoer. Little Prince and Jellybean were both whiny and plain mean. I must have picked up the entire house four times but I currently can't see the floor in either the den or our bedroom. I had to go to the police station to rat out an abusive father and it turns out he's been turned in two times already and they're not doing a DANG THING. Picking up LP and his friend from preschool was a fiasco - screaming children running around the parking lot for fun and to see how fast my blood pressure can rise. (Psssst. Car rides with four children under four are never fun. It's supposed to be My Man's job to do the preschool run but WE STILL DON'T HAVE THE CAR BACK, REMEMBER?!) Plus also the washing-machine-fixit-guy didn't show up and my laundry pile is reaching Everest proportions.

And I'm just crabby today.

So when we went to pick up My Man I was a leetle beet on edge. Just a bit. I started enumerating my many wrongs and getting closer to tears every minute. We dropped of LP's friend and we were halfway to our house when My Man cut me off.

"We're running away."

Just like that, people, he turned the car around and headed toward the mall in Jundiai, where he gave me explicit instructions.

"You are getting your hair cut at that fancy spa place. Get your nails and feet done. I want you to be like this: (Throws his head and arms back and does his impression of a sponge.) And see if they have cucumbers for your eyes."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

There are no words in English or Portuguese to describe my love for that man.

So now let me tell you about the fancy spa place. I totally walk in there in my floppy sandals with the soles coming apart, dirty jeans and a stained T-shirt. I'm surrounded by the Beverly Hills 90210 high school class reunion looking askance at me. But I SO DO NOT CARE.

First they wash. But "wash" is not the appropriate word here. They "out-of-body-experience" you. For twenty minutes I had my head scrubbed and massaged. Eyes shut, I couldn't even remember my name. I get goose bumps just thinking about it. Then I'm off to the swivel chair and I get talked to about my face shape and scalp condition and daily routine and such. The guy(totally adorable in a pre-scary Michael Jackson kind of way, and knows more about the American economy and presidential elections than I do) snips and styles for the next hour, complete with smoothing on some fantastic-smelling creamy stuff that makes me look H-O-T. And they did that round-brush thingy with my hair. I can never do that round-brush thingy.

So when I'm declared finished I glide through the mall ready to flash my wedding ring at the many young men who were no doubt going to ask for my number. I could practically HEAR the whispered chorus of "Who's That Lady?"

And there, at the appropriate meeting spot, was My Man - with a Twix McFlurry in his hand.

Sorry, girls, he's taken. Now if you'll excuse me, my night's not over.

My Man

TRUE LOVE is

leaning your pounding, pain-ridden head against your man's chest

listening to his heart

breathing in his scent as he blow-dries my hair

brushing it out with slow, tender movements

and sending shivers down my spine

for more than one reason.

It is really late

So my mom and sister have been here for a couple weeks and we've been crazy-busy doing ... nothing. It's a beautiful thing.

I am currently killing time (which is so much worse than plain ole WASTING time) because Steve left for the States today and I don't want to go to bed. Even though I'm so tired I can barely keep my eyes open. (I am outright unhealthy when he's not here - I eat way too much chocolate and don't get enough sleep.)

SO - it occurred to me that I could blog! Hey! That's so much more productive than cruising celebrity websites to catch up on the latest gossip - which I would never do, of course.

Admittedly, I don't really have much to blog about. Let's check out my computer's file to see if I've got any cool pictures to share.....

Hmm. Apparently I haven't transferred pics from the camera to the computer in a while. (Not for lack of TAKING of them.) Gotta work on that one.

So what should I talk about? The possibilities are endless. But perhaps just random stuff is more conducive to my current state of mind - or lack thereof. So let's go.

* I just checked my friend Reva's website and she related the most horrific story I can possibly imagine. The hard drive with ALL of her pictures - everything since her wedding - has died. Resurrection costs total $700 and I feel her pain. Deeply. Every time I turn on the computer I hold my breath until I know for sure it hasn't died during the night. This is why I scrapbook. And even then I have nightmares that they'll be victims of a natural disaster or an insane maniac thief with a penchant for other people's family photos.

* This reminds me. All of my home DVDs no longer work. I was recently told that home DVDs only last three years or so. WHAT KIND OF CONSPIRACY IS THIS?!?!?? PEOPLE'S MEMORIES ARE NOT SUBJECT TO TECHNOLOGY BLUNDERS!!! SO GET WORKING, SCIENCE! INVENT SOMETHING THAT WILL ALLOW ME TO WATCH ENDLESS HOURS OF MY CHILDREN ROCKING BACK AND FORTH ON THEIR KNEES, WAITING FOR THEM TO CRAWL! *I* LOVE IT, IF NO ONE ELSE DOES!!!

* What kind of price would you put on memories, anyway? This reminds me. So the other night Jordan decided to be wide awake at midnight and my mom and Steve were both not feeling good, so I took the late shift. We got comfy on the couch and flipped channels. I settled on a half-way-through "50 First Dates" with Adam Sandler and Drew Berrymore. Frankly, I don't like either one of them, but choices were slim at midnight on a Wednesday night. And it turned out to be THE sweetest little love story. She suffers from short term memory loss - she has retained all of her old memories up to the day of her car accident, but any memories accrued during the day she loses that night. So every morning she has to be informed that she was in a car accident, that it was years ago, and all the events that have happened since then. Adam Sandler's character has to make her fall in love with him every day. Everyone thinks he's nuts; she can't remember him from one day to the next. But he just says that there's no one else he wants to spend his time with - he loves her. I actually cried at the end. I could go into the ending, but it would spoil it and take too long.

It really got me thinking, though, you know? I can't imagine being in love with someone who doesn't remember you - indeed, having years of memories that they don't. But you know what? Even if Steve didn't have a clue who I was, I'd never leave his side. He's my everything. Like the movie said, there's frankly no one else I'd rather spend my time with. Okay, I'll stop before I get toooo mushy and risk losing readers. ;o)

*I will say, though, that even edited for TV, I was deeply disappointed in a couple of completely unneccessary foul-mouthed characters and raunchy character traits. Why ruin a perfectly sweet plot? I ask you.

* Perhaps one more recent occurrence before I go read Harry Potter until I pass out. This is of a much more serious nature.

Last Sunday, the stepfather of one of my young women tried to kill himself. He slit his wrists while we were at morning church. I was on the phone all afternoon, it seemed, and spent all evening letting Jennifer cry on my shoulder. Then one of my counselors, the Relief Society president and I went to the house to clean up all the blood late that night. I've never been one for horror movies, and now I know why. That scene will haunt me for the rest of my life. I will spare you details.

He's okay now - he got out of the hospital on Friday and is now undergoing treatment for depression. Jennifer is also doing amazingly well. And her mom? Her mom, Maria, is getting baptized.

This is nothing short of a miracle.

Jennifer's best friend, Dayse, had to work on Maria for TWO YEARS before she let Jennifer go to church. Another two years passed before Maria let Jennifer get baptized. Maria is a devout Catholic - a wonderful woman - but rather anti-Mormon. And now she's getting baptized herself.

I talked to her for a long time today, crying and hugging. At one point I expressed concern that her husband may not approve and now may not be the best time to rock the familial waters. But she just looked me in the eye and said, "but it's true, isn't it?"

It is. It really is. I. Am. Happy.