O Farewell My Pride, I Shall Miss Thee

[Alternate title: If the shoe fits wear it, if you can find it, because the mighty uncomfortable road to hell is paved with good intentions.}

As you might imagine, getting six kids ready for church every week is a stressful event under the best of circumstances. During our weekly public presentation of the La Family, it's nice if everyone is wearing underwear and has been bathed in the last month. People are looking. Really they are. Every time I convince myself that no one cares what we look like, someone blows a hole in my delusion with a well placed comment. Or by an entire ad lib addition to a talk.

This week we had underwear, everyone was freshly bathed, and we even had clean church attire. And we were on track for a timely arrival. I was feeling good. Right up until shoe-time. Those shoes—those blasted, infuriating shoes—were our dilemma this week.

We do have a central location where the shoes belong. It is just not working out as well as I had hoped it would, not normally a big deal. I hardly ever wear shoes. I live in California. It's comfy to go shoeless.

Anyhow four of us had shoe crisises yesterday. Three of us experienced a happy ending to our crisis. Alas not I: I went to church barefoot this week. After thirty minutes looking for a pair of my own shoes that matched, I gave up. I found a dozen single shoes, and not a pair among them. What are the chances? Pretty high around here actually.

My teen and I wear the same size shoes so there are our two black holes bedrooms that swallow unwary soles. The baby loves shoes too. She carries them hither and yon, dropping one yon, the other hither. Sometimes I find my shoes in the toy sty box, sometimes outside, sometimes in the towel cabinet. Not this time.

This time I gave up looking for the shoes, bit the bullet and went to church shoeless. Attending church is more important than my pride. Right? Jesus would rather have me at church barefoot than blogging at home barefoot. Right? I need to go to church. Right? I can be reverent and barefoot. I can sit with my feet under my chair and no one will notice. Right? Right?

We came in twenty-five minutes late and sat in the very last row. The children immediately scattered to the far winds. Tithing slips. Bathroom. Drinks. In vain did I motion for them to return. So I took a couple deep cleansing breaths and settled down to hear the pleasing word of God, tucking my feet discretely beneath my chair.

The Stake President arose, began to praise punctuality for and reverence during Sacrament Meeting, wearing one's best in church, polishing one's shoes, etcetera. Um, I polished my feet with one of those little pedi-egg things on Saturday. I was wearing the best clean dress I owned. I intended to be on time. Surely, surely that counts.

I was squirming and thinking of the bad luck of my shoes going AWOL on our annual reverence Sunday. And then...and then...he said that he had gone on long enough and that he needed to move on to the talk he had written. ARG! This wasn't a planned talk. It was ad lib, ad hoc, directed right ad me.

I fought the urge to run home. I bit the bullet harder, held my head up high, and walked carefully through the crowded halls to Sunday School. The closest available seat was a couple of feet away from the Stake President. I sat.

Oh well. It really is more important to be at church than to have shoes on. Still, I think I'll find my shoes on Saturday next week.

Did You Know?

The Dollar Tree sells pregnancy tests. A buck apiece. They work too. Due my never-ending paranoia, I test regularly, at least once a month, sometimes more. So last night I picked up three while I was in the Dollar Tree neighborhood. I'm a big girl now, so I didn't buy twenty other items to hide the three boxes, though my inner teen begged me to shield her from the shame. Sometimes I should listen to my inner teen.

The checkout clerk chatted me up. About pregnancy tests. With my fourteen year-old son standing there.

Her: Oh, three? Ha-ha.
Me: Uh...
Her: Just want to be sure, huh? Ha-ha.
Me: Um, I just like to have them on hand.
Her: Yeah, I do that too. Ha-ha. Do you have a goal here?
Me: Um...yeah. I have six kids and I'm wanting to keep it that way.
Her: Ha-ha. Good luck with that. Ha-ha.
Me: Uh...thanks.
Her: Huh-ha-huh-ha! Credit or debit?

What is the world coming to? Next strangers will be asking about how Aunt Flo's visit is going this month. I swear the next time someone does this to me I am going to treat them to the full-on conception to birth story of my latest, the line behind me be damned.

This Time I'm Really Going to Do It

Wednesday night I had a dream. OK, this one doesn't require a degree in psychology, but here it is: I dreamed it was New Year's Day and I was at a party. I was gorging on cookies, apologizing to one and all, lamenting my enormous size, and declaring that soon, very, very soon I'd be going on a diet.

Upon awakening, I realized the day had come. Time to bite the bullet and stop chewing the fat. Time for the diet to end all diets.

Day 1.

7 AM--Large glass of water.

{I am never going to eat again. Nothing but water!}
[You can't do that. You'll die. Your body needs protein or it will consume muscle for its needs. The heart is a muscle.]

7:05 AM--Mix unsweetened protein goo, gag it back fast. 100 calories. 20 grams of protein.

[OK, NOW nothing but water until lunch!]
{Man, look at all this zucchini. J-Teen says there's nothing to eat? I'll make him some yummy zucchini. Italian seasoning. Zucchini. Butter. Mm! WHAT!?! It does not taste gross! It's delish! EAT IT!}

7:45 AM--1 cup of sautéed zucchini

[OK, vegetables are good. But no fruit or sugar. Or starches. You can still put yourself in ketosis with a small quantity of veggies.]

8:00 AM--Grocery shopping.
8:40 AM--20 oz. Diet Coke

[Do not eat the bagels. Do not eat the bagels. Do not...OK, you can eat the apple. An apple is OK. Only 80 calories. Lots of fiber.]

8:45 AM--1 small apple

[A bagel wouldn't be that bad. They're pretty low in fats.]
{And cream cheese: a source of calcium. Not a lot of calcium. Better put it on pretty thick.}

9:15--1 bagel, 3 T cream cheese, large glass of water
10:15 am--1 bagel, 3 T cream cheese

[Oh E-Teen is giving you half a buttered bagel. How sweet! Don't offend her. She's going through a sensitive stage.]

10:45--1/2 a buttered bagel
11:00 am--a big glass of water.
12:00 am--1 bagel, 3T cream cheese

[Who are you kidding? Cream cheese is a lousy source of calcium.]

12:15 am--2 cups 100% natural, full fat cream on top maple syrup sweetened yogurt.

[Probiotics are good. You've not had any for quite a while.]

12:20 am--1/2 cup maple yogurt
2:00 pm--1 full-sized bag of Trader Joe's kettle corn

[What?! The kettle corn. That was supposed to be for...]
{Shut up! It's fiber.}
[Well, drink some water. At least you're hydrated. And the caffeine hasn't been too bad.]

2:30 pm Huge glass of water

{Man, I am stinkin' tired. I'm never going to be able to make it.}
[Whu-? Don't you dare!]
{Mind your own business.}

3:30 pm Triple-sized Pomegranate RockStar

{Antioxidants. Do not mess with me. I'll take you down.}
[Fine. Wallow in it, babe. I'm done.]
{Fine.}
[Fine.]
{Whatever.}

4:00 pm 1 1/2 cups pretend cookie dough
{peanut butter = protein; flour = grain; oats = whole grain}
5:00 pm 1 bagel, 3 T cream cheese, 1 large glass skim milk

{How many bagels is this? Eh, whatever.}
{Hm...I'm kind of full.}
{Geesh. My stomach hurts.}

8:00 pm 1 box of black licorice

{Real licorice is so soothing for owie stomachs. I am so glad I know about herbal heath options.}

10:00 pm 1 large glass Hot Chocolate

The thing is...I had the same dream Thursday night, only this time I was taking the cookies out of people's hands and stuffing them in my mouth. Weird, huh? Do you think it could have been the hot chocolate so close to bedtime?

Three Items of Interest

I'll color-code it because I'm fun like that.

First: Seth and Teresa broke up. Time to move in for the kill Sister Cordy. (Didn't I ever mention that I love a good hopeless romance from time to time? Consider it mentioned.)

Second: [Cue the applause] I got my first blogging award. CTD from The Crash Test Dummy Diaries who said, "I think I would pick Jami at Superfluous Micsellany because I don't know what those words mean and I never understand what she's saying, Plus there's something bold and brave and sweet about Jami." I sound a bit like a barbecue sauce, but I am never one to pass up a compliment. Thank you, my dear.

Now for the hard part, choosing six people who won't roll their eyes too much at getting an award, who haven't already received it, and who are truly kreativ.

• OK, Blogger #1: Elastic Waistband Lady at The Smiling Infidel. She is one of my all-time favorites for looking at the world in brand-new and somewhat freakish ways. Here's one of my favorite posts from EWL.
• I love Tracy M and Mo Mommy, but they are both a tad busy right now, so I'll just say, they're mighty fine, talented, fun ladies. We can save the pyramid scheme-type flattery for another day.
• Blogger #2: Sue. I know she'll roll her eyes and not have time to do anything about it, but she breathes kreatively. By turns her blog is silly, heart-wrenching, fun, and profound. I never miss a post. Those of you who have been around for a while will remember this poem, posted in her honor.
• Blogger #3: Ray whose spiritual musings at his blog Things of My Soul and comments throughout the bloggernacle have earned him a favored spot on my must-read list. I know he's not a mommy blogger, but he is married to one. Ray, please feel free to pass this on to BCC and T&S, etc. That would be kinda funny.
• Blogger #4 Jo over at Tangled Me. Because I really like her. And because she used to be a midwife. And because she takes beautiful pictures. And because she calls her husband "Bald Man."
• Blogger #5 Heidi Ashworth at Dunhaven Place will single-handedly bring clean, fun Regency Romances back into fashion. And that, my friends, is a very, very good thing.
• Blogger #6: You. That's right. You. The person who is reading this list hoping that I will type your name. Consider it typed. There are so many blogs I read and love. I can't stand leaving anyone out.

Third: I HATE TO SHOUT BUT I NEED A FOURTEENTH FOLLOWER BECAUSE I AM RIDICULOUSLY NERVOUS ABOUT THE NUMBER THIRTE-you know which number I mean. Anybody? Anybody?

OK...

which one of you narked me out to the bishop? I got called into the principal's bishop's office on Sunday. About this. He was a bit worried about me and thought a testimony check was in order.

Testimony? Check!

I am seriously so blessed that my bishop is one of the nicest men I've ever known. And even more blessed because he's fairly shock-proof due to his marvelously outspoken wife. So, my dearest narking friend, now that you know the bishop is reading you don't have to forward him my posts. He'll catch them on his own.

If you become concerned, you can just talk to me personally. If it's just too scary to talk to me, rest assured that I love my husband and my children. I believe that the gospel has been restored in its fullness. I know that Joseph was a prophet, that President Monson is a prophet as well. The Bible and Book of Mormon are the word of God. I know that God is my Father and loves me. You too, as a matter of fact. Jesus is the Christ, my Savior. Yours too, as a matter of fact. Even though I blog, I am still praying, reading my scriptures, and seeking to increase the influence of the Spirit in my life.

In short, I'm OK, but please don't do that again. Love ya!

My Sacrament Meeting Strike and the Tender Mercies of the Lord

I've been on strike for about two months now--no sacrament meeting (our worship service) for me, V-girl or C-Baby. Here's how it started.

About a year ago, a Relief Society (women's meeting) lesson on inviting the Spirit through music, quickly turned to the shameful lack of reverence (silence) during sacrament meeting. Mothers were failing in their duty to keep their children reverent (silent). Children were walking up and down the aisles during church. (Um, ow, mine's the only one who does that.) The constant din of babies and small children was ridiculous. No excuse for that kind of disrespect!

A few kind souls offered up the suggestion that perhaps the mothers were doing their best, that perhaps we could offer to help rather than stew in irritation. They and their kind suggestions were promptly shot down. (Pow. Pow. Ka-POW!)

The next week the lesson was actually on reverence and we (the moms of young children and their sympathizers) were toast. (Ka-POW! Ka-ka-ka-POW!) I left. Fast.

Then our meeting moved to the 1 pm time slot. My baby's nap time. Misery. Pain. Suffering. Every week.

So there I was a few months back, sitting in the foyer (as always) with two children on my lap, both hitting me, pinching me, bashing their heads against me and full-on shrieking.

"Let go! You're hurting me! I hate you," screamed the older one. "AHHHHHH! -et -o, hurt," echoed the younger. "I am a Child of God," sang the mommy.

Meanwhile all four of my other children were wandering through the halls aimlessly, in spite of the fact that I had asked them to stay in their seats while I helped the littles calm down and be reverent. My husband, the sleep-deprived chorister was sitting in a daze on the stand. Something had to change. I was going to snap.

On the way to church the next week, I reviewed our sacrament meeting expectations. Because we had (once again) played church reverently with stuffed animals, the kids were able to spout the right answers as I quizzed them. Do we walk around and visit with friends during the meeting? (No.) Why are we quiet during church? (So we can hear. To show God we love him.) How can we help each other pay attention? (Not fight.) Remember we have a yummy treat at home if everybody behaves reverently. (YAY!) So far, so good.

We walked into sacrament meeting. The baby began crying the moment we walked into the chapel. (She's no dummy. She knows how to get out of there.) We sat down and the middle kids began poking and picking at each other. (Ouch. Moooooom! He...) That was it: I was done. I filed the children out of the meeting, into the van and went home. I ate all the yummy treat by myself.

That afternoon I informed my barely-conscious husband that I was on strike. No more sacrament meetings for me, V-girl or C-baby. I showed him the bruises on my arms from last week's torture. He cocked his head, said "hm," and went to bed.

And so for months now, the bigs have been getting up and going to church with dad then the littles and I would come later, if the baby didn't fall asleep. I was completely unrepentant. I wasn't a wimp. Any sane person would have made the same decision. Even N-girl's sweet worry about my absences failed to move me.

Last week, however, I had a kid break, a math epiphany, and my spirit began to heal. I told God on my way back to my real life that I was ready to go back, to do it again. I told my family when I got home. N-Girl was overjoyed. My husband said, "Hm," and went to bed (got to love night work).

Dutifully, with a vague sense of dread, I went to sacrament meeting on Sunday. Unfortunately, I was unprepared when the baby had a horrifying diaper, so I missed the majority of the meeting taking care of the mess. I missed the announcement that our meeting time was moving, four months ahead of schedule, to the delightful 11 am time slot. Never, in the twenty-five years I have been a member, have I seen a mid-year time change that didn't involve a re-organization of some sort.

So to recap-Jami snaps; Jami rebels; Jami stubbornly persists in her rebellion; Jami feels the Spirit; Jami repents; Jami does the right thing; Jami blinks in disbelief because something just got easier; Jami blinks back tears.

Tender mercies? For me? Oh, thank you, God!

Most Embarrassing Combo Purchases

The previous champions were a pharmacy combo: birth control pills, migraine meds & anti-depressants. (No really, Ms. Pharmacy Tech, I am perfectly normal. It's all under control, really. Stop LOOKING AT ME!)

Yesterday's contender: the mega pack of toilet paper, antidiarrheal medication & saltines. (I chose the self check out, but I still think the person behind me in line might have been looking at me.)

And you? What have your red-faced purchases been?