Eat It

Let me tell you about something that has changed my life completely in the last month and a half. Something that has turned a specific time of day from a time of loathing and dread to a time of control and peace (well, as peaceful as you get with your toddler running between your legs).

What is this amazing thing that has made my life so much better?

Meal planning.

Oh, my gosh, why didn't I ever do this before?!??!?!!?? I can't believe how much happier I have been during dinner prep time ever since I finally sat myself down and planned dinner through the following week. I did once attempt to meal plan when I was still single, and I even wrote about it and asked for meal ideas and recipes on this very blog. However, the first week I tried, I was interrupted by an unexpected visitor that threw most of that week out the window, meal-wise, and I never tried again.

Oh, how foolish I was.

For quite some time, I had spent the hour or so preceding dinner-prep completely unprepared. I never had any idea what to make, and so I actually would let myself feel incredibly lazy and think, "I don't want to make dinner!" All because I didn't have a plan. Many days in the week Glen would come home from work to the instant query, "What do you want for dinner?" I was sick of asking, and he was sick of hearing it.

But now! Oh, but now. Now I know what's on the menu, and I have the groceries necessary for it. Now I know when to begin cooking, and I know the effort required. Amazingly, meal planning for ten minutes before grocery shopping has made me less lazy throughout the rest of the week! Because I have a plan set out, and I keep it! Now the only stress I have about making dinner is keeping Isaac out of my hair, rather than constantly wondering how I will possibly motivate myself to look through the cupboards and see what's available.

I haven't necessarily branched out or experimented with a lot of new recipes, but our variety is still good, and I have been especially proud of some efforts, like the first homemade lasagna I ever attempted. (and when i say "attempted", i mean "aced".) I don't know if we're eating healthier, but we're sure eating happier. I still stick mostly to simple stuff, but because I have laid out my dinner life, I am more willing to occasionally make something that is more time/labor-intensive (such as the lasagna . . . man, that made me feel awesome).

 No lasagna soup tonight!

Ah, meal planning. You make me so happy. I will try to never abandon you again.

-Me

"There is a coherent plan in the universe, though I don't know what it's a plan for." -Fred Hoyle

Give Me Hugs, Give Me Smiles

How many times a day does a mother become frustrated by her child/children? Hmm. Well, I’ve only got the one kid so far, and I’ve never been so frustrated in my life!

The frustration and even anger that surfaces in daily life with Isaac is one of the things that I wasn’t at all prepared for as I was expecting him. I wasn’t naive; I knew that I would feel those things. But I didn’t know how abundantly I would feel them. I would go so far as to say that I feel frustrated more than many other mothers do, mainly because I have never been what you might call a calm person and I’ve always let myself boil over too easily, even if the seething has not been outwardly expressed. Who knows? Maybe all mothers are convinced they’re the ones who get mad the most.

And then there are the times that he just makes me laugh, even amidst the frustration. Take yesterday, for example. I was attempting to participate in a Relief Society presidency meeting and not doing very well at it because Isaac spent most of the two and a half hours we were there being in a grouchy mood. I’m the secretary, so I feel it very important to take notes and be organized. That’s hard to do when your sixteen-month-old boy is clamoring for all your attention with that crying, whiny scream that is exactly calculated to annoy you the most it possibly can. The other ladies, being mothers themselves and having experienced this (in addition to the fact that isaac is not theirs), were constantly assuring me that he wasn’t bothering them and that it was all right and they understood. I know they were telling me the truth, and that’s awesome. Doesn’t stop me from feeling mortified and annoyed by my crazy kid. It’s always worse when it’s your own child.

Then came the moment that we were dispersing and I was cleaning up all his toys that had scattered around the house, and suddenly I heard, “Megan, he ate dirt!” And the next thing I knew, Colleen was carrying him over to the kitchen sink and he was just screaming as she was trying to rinse his mouth out. I didn’t laugh out loud, so the other ladies may have thought I was upset, but really . . . I thought it was hilarious. The picture before me was so amusing, I still laugh as I type this right now. Didn’t change the fact that he had been a little bottom-top for the previous few hours, but it was sure funny to watch Colleen try and get that junk out of his mouth.

So I admit it, I get mad at my kid. More than I wish I did. And sometimes I still wish I didn’t have him on my hands, because how much easier would my life be if I didn’t have to run around after him and teach him how to eat with a spoon (but not dirt) and plead with him to say even one word and encourage him to stop hitting us and thinking it’s a game and not freak out when I take my phone away from him and make him play by himself while I’m making dinner . . . Yeah, my life would be a lot easier.

But I wouldn’t give him back. Many women are out there in the world today who desperately want children and can’t have them, for one reason or another. Other women have their children for the barest of moments before those precious souls are called right back out of this world they have just entered. I can’t imagine the heartbreak and ache those women feel, and I hope beyond hope I will never have to endure that kind of pain. So even though I get mad, even though he can annoy and frustrate me to no end, I wouldn’t give Isaac back. I’m too grateful to have him here and healthy in the first place. It is only as I see more and more of the world that I realize what a rare and precious gift that is.

How grateful I am for him. I’m grateful for his smile and laughter. I’m grateful for the milestones he reaches. I’m grateful that he can finally walk and I am not forced to constantly carry his impressive bulk all the time. I’m grateful for his wide eyes and curiosity. I’m grateful for the way he is able to charm complete strangers.

I just hope I can remember that gratitude the next time he’s grating on my last nerve.

 And then you see this and wonder how it's at all possible to get mad at him.

-Me

"Once the bear's hug has got you, it's apt to be for keeps." -Harold MacMillan

Bad Boys, Bad Boys

What is it about fictional "bad boys" that is hard to resist? (i'm not going to get into bad boys in reality . . . finding them irresistible still makes no sense to me.) I feel like these days many people, while not necessarily supporting the bad boys' goals, are still liking villains over heroes.

The argument could be made that heroes are just too boring in comparison to the villains. This was even a problem for poor Anne Shirley when she wrote her story Averil's Atonement during the events of Anne of the Island. After lovingly crafting the tale, she was bewildered by the reactions of Diana Barry and Mr. Harrison when they questioned her decision to kill off the bad guy.

"Anyhow," resumed the merciless Mr. Harrison, "I don't see why Maurice Lennox didn't get her. He was twice the man the other is. He did bad things, but he did them. Perceval hadn't time for anything but mooning." . . .

"Maurice Lennox was the villain," said Anne indignantly. "I don't see why every one likes him better than Perceval."

"Perceval is too good. He's aggravating. Next time you write about a hero put a little spice of human nature in him."

"Averil couldn't have married Maurice. He was bad."

"She'd have reformed him. You can reform a man; you can't reform a jellyfish, of course."

I myself am not immune to this habit of liking villains. I am far more entertained by the evil Angelus than the moody, brooding, redemption-seeking Angel in Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Heck, staying in the Buffy universe, my favorite character is Spike, who makes no bones about being an evil vampire, but is droll and humorous to boot. Even high-minded Anne Shirley in her own life is kind of a sucker for bad boys, no matter her principled horror that the villain she created is the character her audience likes the best. When lamenting that Diana's fiance is "hopelessly good", Marilla asks her if she'd want to marry a wicked man. "Oh, no. I wouldn't want to marry anybody who was wicked, but I think I'd like it if he could be wicked and wouldn't."

This is probably why we've moved to such dark heroes in entertainment these days, in an effort to make them more appealing and flawed. In some ways, okay, sure, they're being made human and they could use the multi-layering. But if you look at Christopher Reeve as Superman, he was not dark and he represented that All-American hero that we find so boring these days, and you know what? He's still plenty fun to watch. I would say he has that "little spice of human nature", as Mr. Harrison puts it, which means that you can have a completely good hero who doesn't have to be dark to be interesting. And if we can have an entertaining, non-dark hero, why would we still root for the villain?

 Yes, he's Superman and technically an alien. But he's got some good human qualities. And a killer grin.

Ladies? Be honest. It's because we do things like cast Tom Hiddleston as Loki. I personally still find Chris Hemsworth's Thor more attractive, but Tom Hiddleston is not someone you'd kick out of the bed for eating crackers. Similar examples: Michael Fassbender as Magneto, Aaron Eckhart as Harvey Dent, Benedict Cumberbatch as Khan . . .

Not bad. Not bad. But still the bad guy.

No wonder there are so many fanfictions out there that have the villain triumphing or getting the girl. Who doesn't want to see those good-looking men come out on top? We're totally willing to overlook any heinous things they've done simply because they are hunky. We like to get these guys reformed because we love the personality and the looks they've given to the villains they portray. Granted, there are instances where a villain's physical appeal is actually relevant to the plot (such as the woeful W's of Austendom, Wickham and Willoughby), but very often the outcome of the story being told doesn't hinge on whether or not the villain is cute.

Thank goodness Anne wises up and realizes that in reality her brooding, could-be-wicked-but-wouldn't, melancholy ideal is actually a total bore. She ends up with Gilbert, who is arguably also "hopelessly" good, but has a personality (and is pretty darn cute, but you rarely see an ugly hero, anyway).

What a cutiepie

Maybe we could all take a lesson from this, that we need to still regard villains as villains, no matter their outward appearance, and that heroes really can be pretty interesting, despite not being tortured souls.

But really, if you want your audience to actually root for Robin Hood to end up with Maid Marian (a legendary couple you would never think to break up), you shouldn't have his rival played by my man Richard.

Yummm.

-Me

"In Hollywood they usually cast me as villains or priests." -Max von Sydow

Working Girl

I'm ready.

Do you hear me, world? I'M READY!!!!

Some day soon I will be going down to part-time work for my company, and I couldn't be more thrilled about it. I thought it would actually happen before the month of February was over, but it just didn't work out that way. I'll be honest; it upset me last week when I realized that I would still be working full-time into March.

I am amazed by the women who work full-time as mothers AND as something else in addition. That's two full-time jobs to me. I can't work two full-time jobs, especially when Isaac is only interested in sharing my keyboard with me if he's in the office at the same time as I am. Fortunately, we are currently in a position that I don't really need to work full time, and I am incredibly grateful. Many women HAVE to work full time in addition to being moms and don't want to be in that position. Heck, even working full time I've been lucky to be able to work at home! That in itself has been a blessing for our family.

But I'm ready for this darn goal-making-for-the-year process to be over so I can officially go down to part-time and not feel like I'm doing half my best at either editing or being a mom.

Of course, once the part-time thing really does happen, I'm probably going to take the plunge and start teaching piano. I've already got requests. But you never know . . . maybe I'll be a terrible teacher. Or a fantastic one. It could go either way.

But for now . . . really. I'm ready.

-Me

"Work is the curse of the drinking classes." -Oscar Wilde

A Nerdy Kind of Love

I would like to talk about a love story.

There was once a young woman who lived with much sorrow in her life, enough so that her chief desire was glory in death. Her life had been pretty hard; her parents died when she was a small girl and the uncle who had taken her in died before her very eyes in battle (yeah, she was totally disguised as a man so she could fight). But in her efforts to protect him, she was freaking awesome and took out the captain of the enemy with the help of a small friend. She nearly died herself (she got better). But even once she was healed in body she was still unhappy.

There was once a young man who had no doubt that his father's favorite child was his brother. But he grew up still being a wise and noble guy, and men followed him gladly. He faced GREAT temptation and totally won against it like it was nothing. In battle, he was badly wounded, and his father almost tried burning him alive. Yikes! Fortunately, he was saved, again with the help of a small friend. The same hand that healed the woman healed him. Although surrounded by the imminent threat of destruction, he was at peace with himself.

This is when they met.

And that's where Peter Jackson freaking left it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yeah, this post is about fictional people. I admit it: I get riled up about how fictional characters are treated. Okay, I am a fan of the LOTR movies. You don't deliberately buy the extended editions if you're not. (except arwen's freaking breathy voice. seriously. galadriel's an elf and she doesn't talk like that. annoying much?) But no matter how much you enjoy the movie, and no matter how much you may understand the necessity of changing things around and excising/combining people, places, and events in movie adaptations, if you're a fan of any book that's been made into a movie, there are parts you wish had been done better or done at all.

I love Eowyn, and Glen will tell you my deep admiration for Faramir (although you'd have to refer to the book to truly understand how awesome he is, but what peter jackson did to him in Two Towers is another rant entirely). But their story is completely cut out of the theatrical release, and in the extended version . . . Really? We're supposed to buy the Faramir/Eowyn story in THREE LINES??? It's more like, "Hey, we're alone here while everyone else is fighting. Hi, Faramir, would you like to be my rebound since Aragorn rejected me and I went to battle hoping for death?" Uh-uh. That's not what actually happened. And that's what you gave us. The people who have seen the movies without reading the books have no idea how cool their love story in the Houses of Healing is! I mean, sure, it's quick and it doesn't take up that many pages (although even a paragraph is more than he dedicated to arwen in the ENTIRE book!), but it's still cool!

I mean, here you've got Faramir, who has been on the brink of death, who will totally fight for his country but is man enough to say that he doesn't actually like war (which is a bigger deal than it sounds since all these people have ever done is fight; thanks, sauron), who let Frodo freaking go on to Mordor without being tempted by the Ring, who is more than ready to accept his post and prepare Minas Tirith for the return of the true king (something his father sure didn't want to do), and who Eowyn sees is a competent, good leader and totally cool dude. And he just hands his heart to her! From the get-go. AND he isn't afraid to tell her, either.

Plus he's wicked observant. I mean, he has one little chat with Merry and totally knows what's been up with Eowyn and the heartache she's gone through, what with stupid evil Wormtongue and her uncle Theoden becoming a living corpse, and then being rejected by Aragorn, etc. He knows what a dark place she's in, even if she doesn't tell him so. Paging Dr. Faramir! Dr. Faramir to the Houses of Healing, please! And he knows exactly why she admired Aragorm. But he also knows that she's into him, even if she tries to change the subject if he broaches it. AND HE CALLS HER ON IT! (are you getting that i love faramir?)

He lays out exactly why he loves her and tells her, no B.S., no flowery language, just straight-up declaration, and then outright asks her, "Do you love me?" I mean, who in the world today does that? Really? Who has the guts to just come out and say exactly what's going on? Boom. Faramir. Awesome. No stupid dating games for him.

And then Eowyn understands herself! And she's brought out of darkness! No more desire for death! Wahoo! Who did that? FARAMIR. Maybe some people get upset that she's going to give up her warrior ways, but come on . . . what was her ultimate goal in going to fight? I said it above: death and glory. That's what matters to her; you've got to know those aren't the purest intentions of fighting for your country. Even after she was first healed, she said she wanted to still fight and die because THEN she would have peace. What a terrible outlook on her life! When she says she's going to put war and fighting behind her and become a healer and glory in things that grow, it's this awesome turn-around! She has a purpose beyond seeking death! And, oh yeah, this awesome guy who loves her. Who's not afraid to kiss her in public, which is exactly what happens when she oh-so-slyly says she no longer desires to be a queen. I LOVE THIS PART!

Who doesn't want to see that? Apparently, Peter Jackson. Apparently Faramir and Eowyn's love story isn't all that special to him, even if they did awesome things. Apparently he'd rather have multiple scenes of Arwen walking around Rivendell, whining that her dad doesn't like her fiance. Oh, no, your hands are cold, Arwen? That's not dying, girl. That's winter; put on a coat.

You want to put a love story into the movie, Peter? Try putting the one in that Tolkien actually deigned to include IN the book itself rather than relegating it to the appendices (which is where you'll find aragorn and arwen).

I know the movie's ten years old; I know I've probably talked about this to several people. But every time I re-read Lord of the Rings, when I reach this part, I get slightly (if slightly means greatly) annoyed with Peter Jackson. So I implore you, read the book. Read about this awesome love story about two wicked-cool people.

I guess this was actually about two love stories: Faramir and Eowyn, AND my intensely nerdy love for them. I wouldn't get so provoked about their movie counterparts if I didn't love them. Because you want the people you love to get respect. Even if they're not real.

-Me

"It's no wonder that truth is stranger than fiction. Fiction has to make sense." -Mark Twain

Every Day I Write the Book

When I was pregnant, I was recommended all kinds of books and websites and other sources to help me along the way to motherhood and beyond. I'll be honest. I skimmed maybe half of one of the books. (i did refer to babycenter.com plenty thanks to their weekly emails . . . and occasionally still do.) Considering how much I love to read, it's kind of strange I didn't take the excuse to read all of those baby books, but oh well.

Despite my lack of book knowledge about parenting, I think I'm doing all right so far, tumble down the stairs notwithstanding. I still get upset with myself for my short temper (i've never been known for being excessively calm), and I do occasionally wonder if I'm doing things right for Isaac, but overall, I feel good about my motherly skills. He's alive, after all, isn't he?

Our little ninja

I'm not saying anything against the people who do read a bunch of parenting books; it just hasn't been the path I've taken. (again, surprising.) But in the end, no matter what you've turned to for advice or tips or knowledge, you take your own way raising these little people. And hope you don't screw them up too badly. Or that you've put enough into savings for their inevitable therapy.

And then there are the times I think that I have absolutely nothing to do with how he's turning out. I didn't know how long I'd take or what efforts I'd go through to get him on a sleeping schedule, but it fell into place on its own. I attempted a couple of times to give him a sippy cup a few months ago, and while he wasn't too keen on it then, when he started consistently using it last month, I didn't do anything beyond leaving it within reaching distance.

He is sure living up to his name (Isaac meaning "he will laugh"). He will be by himself in his crib sometimes (usually during my attempt to get him to sleep in the afternoon. suddenly afternoon napping isn't cool, mom) and just start giggling. He always laughs when I walk in the room, he laughs while we eat, he laughs at my "oink" noises, he laughs when I tickle him . . . all right, so that last one isn't much of a head-scratcher.

He almost looks like he could be reading, right?

So, whether he is turning out his way is because of me or him or a combination of the two, he's definitely fun to have around.

Latest Isaac news:

• He's getting into stacking things. Especially his wooden rings.
• As of this week, we're basically exclusively on a sippy cup.
• He stood by himself for at least five seconds. New record!
• After being naturally apprehensive about the top of the stairs since last month's "incident", he's turning himself around again to go down backwards.
• He'll let us walk him around and quite often appears to enjoy it!
• New bedtime routine as a result of the move to sippy-cup-only: no more bedtime bottle. After less than a week, he might be getting the hang of it.
• The move from formula to milk is over. No more mixing of the two (he didn't love straight milk at the first offering last month). Wish I could allow myself to drink whole milk. Does he know how good he's got it? 

-Me

"I am always ready to learn although I do not always like being taught." -Winston Churchill

A Children's Story by Me

I've never really considered myself a creative person.

Lest you misunderstand me and think I'm out to disparage myself and my talents, let me clarify: I've never really considered myself a creative person in the sense of actually creating something. I don't write my own music, I don't do anything in the way of visual arts, I'm not terribly experimental in the kitchen, etc. For the most part, this is all right with me. I like my talents that I have developed. (although i have been ignoring those a lot lately, but that's another story entirely.)

However, there was a time in my life where I was actively creating . . . and that's when I was younger and convinced I was going to be an author. I started writing stories in 4th grade and even read these stories to my class. (middle-school Megan NEVER would have done such a thing. how brave i was at the age of 10.) I kept this up for a few years before my ambitions turned to other outlets, but this love of writing has always stuck with me, even if it's died down a lot since I churned out my first masterpiece, The King and Queen are Missing! (yes, complete with exclamation point.)

As stated in my parenthetical above, nowadays I would never dream of being so bold as to share anything I've written with others, but I was going through some old school assignments of mine and came across a children's story I wrote my senior year of high school in creative writing class. It's silly, sure, but I'm still reasonably pleased with the results and thought I'd share. It's been manymanymany years since I wrote it, anyway, and any embarrassment about sharing it is quite minimal.

(One line in particular is very autobiographical and my parents . . . and maybe my siblings? . . . will be able to spot what it is, but you can guess what it might be.)

Without further ado, I present . . . What You Can Find Under the Bed.

The other day I came across a Shrink-o-matic machine.

It had blue and orange polka dots, and the buttons were bright green.

On two of the small knobs, I found instructions there.

One said, "Shrink to the size of a pea," another, "Grow to the size of a bear."

Now, seeing as how I am the curious kind,

I decided to try it out and see if I would mind

Being teeny or being huge, or if I preferred

Being somewhere in between, the size of a chirpy bluebird.

So I pressed the button that said, "Shrink to the size of a pea,"

And waited for an hour, till it was a quarter after three.

Nothing happened still, so I retired to my room

And lay down on my bed, mumbling and grumbling . . . then BOOM!!!

I was no longer the size that I before had been.

I was half an inch tall, instead of my normal 4'10"!

Inching off my pillow, I peeked down to the floor,

Noticing if I fell, then I would be no more.

The distance that I saw was such an astonishing height,

I sat down with a plop and considered my plight.

After much deliberation, I decided to pick up my feet

And slid to the floor riding along my purple bed sheet.

Underneath the bed, something caught my eye.

I walked into the darkness to try and figure out why

The shimmering golden ring looked so darn familiar.

Oh! Now I know why! It slipped off my mom's finger

When she tucked me into bed and kissed me good night

Two days ago, to be exact, 8:30, Tuesday night.

I walked a little further, and what did I see?
A G.I. Joe that belonged to my brother and my little sister's Barbie.

Upon exploring a very deep dark corner,

I found Susie's book of rhymes that included "Little Jack Horner".

There was also a bag of chips that I had consumed

And stuffed under the mattress last week while my dad vacuumed.

An empty plate, a striped sock, and a baby doll's head

Were other little assortments I found under my bed.

But then, I glanced toward the light in my room,

And saw, "Oh, horror of horrors!" a sure sign of doom.

What I had found so far was only just a part

Of the mess under my bed that broke my mother's heart.

Books, toys, crayons, and ribbons were all in my view

And some other items I won't mention that made me cry, "Pee-yew!"

In fact, under my entire bed there wasn't any place

That I could find to try and fill any empty space.

I cursed and cursed that Shrink-o-matic machine,

with its blue and orange polka dots and buttons of bright green,

For it had made me see the destruction under my bed

That made me go absolutely out of my head.

I shot through my room and down the stairs,

And after three hours, I reached the chair

In the living room where I'd left that machine

With the infernal polka dots and buttons of bright green!

I stomped on the button that read, "Grow to the size of a bear,"

And after an hour, I sat in the chair;

Only now I was back to my normal size.

So I cleaned up my room, which turned out to be wise,

Because Mom came home at exactly seven,

And extended my curfew till eight before eleven.

She did this just because I cleaned my room --

Picked up clothes, dusted, and even vacuumed!

And why, you may ask, do I tell you this scene?

Because, if you ever come across a Shrink-o-matic machine

That has two knobs with instructions there

That say, "Shrink to the size of a pea" and "Grow to the size of a bear,"

With the blue and orange polka dots and buttons of bright green,

If you want my advice . . .

DESTROY THE SHRINK-O-MATIC MACHINE!!!

-Megan