Labor Pains

Writing a book is--seriously--like having a baby.

It takes a long time to cook up and there's really a lot of puking involved in the process (though it's vomiting of words as opposed to food). When you finally get it out you think the hard part is over.

But it's not. Not even close.

Then there's all the molding and refining. And back talk. My manuscript was almost as sassy--not in a good way--as my eleven year old. "Why would you even write that?" was it's favorite catch phrase, followed by, "Stop it. Just stop it."

You know what would have made the whole book writing thing easier? A Plan. I mean, A Better Plan. One that I actually stuck to. But that's not really how I operate when it comes to doing things for the first time. I kinda just do it really poorly and painfully, then decide to listen to the advice of more experienced people my second go around.

Like the first time I gave birth. I went into it with no more plan than thinking  I'll give that natural childbirth thing a try and see how it works out.

Four days and one C-section later I had learned my lesson. Make a plan and get a doula.

Like my friend Mama M who can garden, recycle, and not buy things like nobody's business. She already has her Birth Plan typed up and ready to go. And she's not due til August. August people! I haven't even planned what I'm going to wear today (though I think we've all got a pretty good idea).

But you've got to read this thing because it is hilarious.

Mama M.’s Birth Preferences
Below are my wishes for delivering an organic, all-natural, locally-made baby
(thanks in advance for helping me create the Patchouli Fest I’ve been dreaming of)

Mother: Mama M (blood type: O-negative)
Father: Mr. M.
Doula: Hattie Engel

1. Nurse Preference: I’d love to work with a nurse who has a positive attitude towards natural childbirth or at least one who thinks I’m cute.
2. Medical Procedures: I’d like to avoid any medical intervention where possible (including, but not limited to, Pitocin, IV, and epidural, but excluding liposuction and boob jobs – let me stress that these two are welcome procedures: C-cup and perky please). If medical intervention becomes necessary, I’d like to talk about alternatives and consequences and have some private time for discussion with my husband and doula.
3. Induction: If induction becomes necessary, I’d like to start with non-medical methods (i.e. changing positions, walking, squatting, nipple stimulation, aerobics videos with Richard Simmons, etc.) and only use Pitocin if these don’t work.
4. Monitoring:  I’d like to avoid any non-critical monitoring and also to avoid non-critical vaginal exams (if you do examine my vagina, please don’t criticize it).
5. Free Movement: During labor, I’d like the ability to walk freely, use the shower, squat, kneel, or engage in interpretive dance to align my chakras.  
6. Liquid and food:  For hydration and strength, I’d like access to clear liquids and small snacks that I’ve brought with me with the exception of vodka gimlets – don’t give me access to those.
7. Quiet time: I’d like staff to be quiet and calm for maximum relaxation.  I want to be the only one screaming.
8. Umbilical chord: I’d like to let it stay attached until the pulsing is complete.
9. Baby on chest: I’d like the baby to be placed on my chest asap after birth and medical procedures on baby to wait until I say I’m ready for them.
10. Circumcision: I’d like the baby circumcised if it’s a boy.  If it’s a girl, can you come up with some other form of retribution for the trouble she put me through?

Note for treats: Please also enjoy these organic vegan brownies (they are organic except for the Betty Crocker brownie mix and vegan except for the eggs and 2 cups of butter).

See what I mean? I did not think of any of these things the first time around. But let me tell you, I learned from experience--which sadly seems to be the only way I learn. With Baby #2 I had my best friend/doula by my side (who also happens to by Mama M's sister), my husband, a better doctor and a plan.

And four hours plus one epidural later, boom, I had myself a baby. So. Much. Easier.*

So my advice, whether writing, birthing, or what ever...

Make a plan, man.

Make. A. Plan.

* The fact that Girl 1 will pretty much say no to anything unless she's given a detailed plan and plenty of warning while Girl 2 pretty much just goes with the flow and is up for anything may also have had something to do with the amount of hell they put me through to get here.  And the amount of hell they currently put me through.

Bad, Good and Awesome News

Good news friends. My pitch outfit--with some help from my pedicure--totally worked. The senior editor of the publisher I want to publish with wants my full manuscript. The WHOLE thing.
Doesn't mean it's going to actually get published, but apparently those sort of requests don't happen very often.

The bad news is he wants it in two weeks. Two weeks from last Friday. Which is actually less than two weeks now. Which wouldn't be a big deal except for the fact my manuscript is about an eternity away from being submittable. Sadly this means my blog will be on hiatus while I do some major editing.

Other things on hiatus during the next two weeks: house cleaning, responsible parenting, and my life.

But in some awesome news, my husband swept, mopped, AND polished the floor while I was gone, thereby eliminating any need for socks ever again.

Or at least for the next two weeks. Because I'm pretty sure by the end of my hiatus from everything that doesn't involve me scowling at my laptop, we're going to need socks all over our whole bodies to create a barrier from the dirt.

Writing, Pedicures, Mullets, Missionaries and Regret

I've been pretty busy getting ready for a writer's conference I'm attending this week, so my blog has suffered from some neglect. As have my children.

But there's a lotta stuff that's gotta get done before you can jet off to spend three days with a bunch of authors: some famous, some not. Stuff like cleaning the house--but still not the floor because what would we do with all of our socks if we didn't use them to keep our feet clean while walking across dirty floors?

And then there was the pedicure and eyebrow shaping (which is a fancy way of saying "fixing my monobrow") that had to happen. Plus the outfits to be picked out, including the one I'm going to wear to pitch my book I would like to be published. Hopefully my clothes alone will convince him to read the manuscript, because I haven't really prepared the pitching part of my pitch.

I also had to spend some time going through the syllabus and picking out which classes I want to attend. Even though I'll probably change my mind once I get there.

Then there was the episode of Who Do You Think You Are? that I had to catch up on. Because I love to see famous peoples' hearts turned to their fathers. Especially when they are famous people like Rob Lowe who is nice to look at. But I'm sure I would have been just as moved watching an ugly man hop on a plane to both Washington D.C. and Germany to do a little family history research that could have just as easily been done online.

And maybe there was some writing that had to get done to take with me to boot camp. Which, contrary to what I first thought, is not an exercise class that makes your body hurt but an exercise class that rips apart your writing so it can be better. And maybe if I had done the writing before the painting of my toenails, I wouldn't have been quite so stressed out the last few days.

But this color on these toes has put a smile on my face. Sometimes you gotta go for inspiration before perspiration.

And no. The dirty floor under my feet is not my own but that of the Salt Lake airport where I am waiting for one of the famous authors, Melanie Jacobson, who is on a later flight than mine. Which gives me an hour and a half to blog. And also to people watch.

So far I've seen one mullet and two missionaries being welcomed home. I mean the missionaries, not the mullet. Because no mullet should be welcomed in any way.

But missionaries definitely should be. Which is why I love flying into SLC on a Wednesday night. The two tonight came home from Tonga in their white shirts and ties and those skirt things that Polynesian people wear  that I don't know the name of. And flip-flops.

That's my kinda mission.

And the blonde missionary and his family keep standing here reunionizing. Like maybe they're not going to see each other again for another two years. But it's pretty fun to watch because other people--Polynesians mostly--keep coming up to him and asking him about his mission. One lady asked him if he had come home from Hawaii because that's where her daughter is serving.

And I wanted to yell to her that I know the mission president in Hawaii because his daughter is one of my best friends. Then we would have had a nice chat where I would tell her what great people the mission president and his wife are and how they have one heck of a great daughter.

But I didn't. Because I'm blogging. Which I haven't done in a while, but it probably shouldn't be an excuse not to tell a mother who misses her daughter that she's in good hands.

Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda.

Pictures I should have taken on our seven hour drive to Vegas that usually takes four...

1. The decrepit water park in Newberry Springs. When it was built on the side of the trash strewn highway outside of the hellhole that is Barstow, California, hubby and I thought it was a stupid idea.

We were right.

It closed within a year.

And every time we drive past it now it looks more and more like something from a Scooby Doo episode. I would live for the gang to solve the mystery behind who the numbskull is that thought that was a good idea.

I can't help but envy the optimism it took though.


2. The World's Tallest Thermometer at the Big Boy in the pit stop (I really wanted to call it another kind of stop that rhymes with pit, but this is a family blog. As in, my 11 year old reads it) that is Baker, California. It used to be an interesting landmark that told us just how hot or cold it can get in the desert.

Now it's The World's Tallest Tower of Broken Lightbulbs and Dreams. And a preview of what the world will look like after the Zombie appocalypse.

3. The man on the side of the road standing next to his Delorean with the doors up. The. Doors. Up.

Because if you drive a Delorean, there is no other way to stand outside it than with the doors up.

I can only assume with all the upheaval in Libya, his plutonium delivery was delayed, thereby leaving him stranded by the side of the road.

In My Day...

You know what I missed out on in fifth grade?

Mean girls.

Sure I had some tiffs with friends and there was one girl we didn't always include (I'm sorry, Heidi. It's one of my bigger regrets in life).

But I don't remember any girls who were mean just to be mean.

I do remember the Day of the Great Cow Slaughter.

My brother remembers it too. He would have been six or seven at the time.

Kids stood three deep watching through the chain link fence that separated the school playground from the neighbor's cow pasture. Mr. Neighbor Man accomodated our curiosity by doing the whole thing a mere two feet away from us, ignoring that other half acre of pasture he had with its hidden corners.

He shot the cow in the head. I remember it was with a rifle, but I could be wrong. Whatever he used it was quick. One minute the cow was standing, the next minute it was down.

I didn't see it again (I was short even then and did not have a prime spot at the fence) until after much cranking of the pulley in the back of Neighbor Man's truck, the cow hung by it's back hooves on a giant hook. Which has a name that I would know had I achieved my dream of being a cowgirl. But I didn't, so I don't.

I watched as the neighbor split the cow open. My only thought was, "I wonder if it's true cows have five stomachs" then being disappointed that the guts fell out in a giant, gray fleshy ball covered in wet grass. It was a little like watching my dad dump the grass out of the lawn mower bag. If the grass were covered in cow cud.

There may have been blood. But I don't think so. I'm the girl who gets grossed out by band-aids, so I think I'd remember blood.

In fact, the whole thing is just a funny little grade school memory to me. A product of my childhood in Idaho. Made even more curious by the fact this took place while we lived in Boise--the capitol of that fair state--and not in the farm town we'd later move to.

Because, really, how many kids get to watch a cow slaughtering in between playing handball and crack the whip?

Not my kids They still play crack the whip and handball, but I can't even imagine the uproar if the kids at their school were exposed to a real life lesson on Where Your Hamburger Comes From.

They can listen to Katy Perry, wear daisy dukes, read books about kids fighting each other to the death, then see the big screen depiction of it. Their parents will let them dress like adults, talk like adults, and think they're adults.

What they won't do is give them responsibilities or make them take any.

And you know what?

If I had my druthers, I'd let my kids view a backyard cow slaughtering over being exposed to these kids any day.

Because those coddled kids are mean.

Especially the girls.

The World's Cutest Dog and My New Best Friend

So, good news...

This dog I've never heard of but has four million followers and a book deal is still alive.
http://ac360.blogs.cnn.com/2012/04/12/ridiculist-boo-the-worlds-cutest-dog-is-alive/?hpt=ac_t2

Wish I could have posted the actual video, but I don't know how to do that. Even after wasting an hour trying to figure it out. And that's after I spent an hour trying to figure out how to download an audio book to my iphone or Kindle.

Failed there too.

But other good things have happened this week. Like this...

I was standing in a really long line waiting to turn in some paperwork--which it turns out, I didn't have all of so I will be doing the same thing again-- and the lady who was collecting it said to me, "You look really familiar. Do I know you?"

Me: shrug
Her: "You probably get that all the time, don't you? People think you look like a movie star."
Me: "You are my new best friend."

Made my whole week. Also made me think I should not wear sweats more often.

And I'm pretending that there's no possibility she was thinking I look like Sarah Jessica Parker. Who I'm currently watching in a movie instead of sweeping/vacuuming my floors. But I'm not wasting time, I'm doing research. I'm learning how to do everything from I Don't Know How She Does It.

And I think it's working because I'm watching and blogging at the same time, which seems to be going really well.

Or not.

But also it's raining outside, thereby negating any motivation I may have had to do anything besides watch a movie.

And my kids are gone so I don't have to be responsible today.

I will have to keep wearing shoes to walk across my floor however. Because dirt on the bottom of your feet just feels gross.

LDS Blogfest: Only Upon the Principles of Righteousness

Oooh, I'm totally late posting this. My only excuse is that it is Spring Break and clearly my brain knows it.

So I'm participating in this LDS Writer Blogfest which means I'll be writing another post about our General Conference. Sorry if you're conferenced out, but read on.

When I was twenty-three, just after my husband and I graduated from the BYU, we found out I was pregnant. We were very excited because this fit in nicely with our plans of when we wanted to start a family. My husband was about to start law school in Cleveland, Ohio, which meant a move across the country, but no big deal. I had a teaching degree so I knew it would be super easy to find a job in another state. And then once the baby came, well...

We didn't really think that far ahead to consider what we'd do.

Sadly, we didn't have to because I miscarried a few weeks later before we even moved to Cleveland.

And then I miscarried again a year and a half later.

And again a couple years later after we'd moved to California.

But then we finally did have a successful pregnancy. And by successful I mean one in which I threw up at least three times a day for six months, yet still managed to balloon to the size of a blimp before going through four days of induced labor until my doctor finally performed a C-section.

It's not really how I had imagined things would go before I got pregnant. But when I held my daughter  for the first time, I decided to stop being mad at God for the miscarriages and start being grateful he knew better than me when I should actually have children.

Letting go of control is a lesson I have to learn over and over. I'm kinda slow when it comes to that one. Which is why Heavenly Father sent me that first baby and why he made me wait for her.

She doesn't like to be told what to do. I remember trying to nurse her one day thinking I knew for sure she needed to eat. But she wouldn't do it. I was so frustrated with her until I got the very clear impression that I would not be able to control this child Heavenly Father had sent me.

I have to remind myself of that moment A LOT. Especially now that baby is eleven and almost as big as me. I can't pick her up and put her in time out or back in bed or anywhere else I want her to go. I can't force her out the door to school, I can't threaten to spank her if she's naughty.

I don't have control over her. I can give her a consequence if she breaks a rule, but I can't make her follow the rules.

Which is a real struggle for me. So Elder Wilson's talk Only Upon the Principles of Righteousness was a good reminder of that first moment of inspiration I had eleven years ago as I tried to make my too full daughter eat. Especially this part:

This scripture says we must lead by “principles of righteousness.” Such principles apply to all leaders in the Church as well as to all fathers and mothers in their homes.³ We lose our right to the Lord’s Spirit and to whatever authority we have from God when we exercise control over another person in an unrighteous manner.⁴ We may think such methods are for the good of the one being “controlled.” But anytime we try to compel someone to righteousness who can and should be exercising his or her own moral agency, we are acting unrighteously. When setting firm limits for another person is in order, those limits should always be administered with loving patience and in a way that teaches eternal principles.

We simply cannot force others to do the right thing. The scriptures make it clear that this is not God’s way. Compulsion builds resentment. It conveys mistrust, and it makes people feel incompetent. Learning opportunities are lost when controlling persons pridefully assume they have all the right answers for others. The scriptures say that “it is the nature and disposition of almost all men” to engage in this “unrighteous dominion,”⁵ so we should be aware that it’s an easy trap to fall into. Women too may exercise unrighteous dominion, though the scriptures identify the problem especially with men.

Unrighteous dominion is often accompanied by constant criticism and the withholding of approval or love. Those on the receiving end feel they can never please such leaders or parents and that they always fall short. Wise parents must weigh when children are ready to begin exercising their own agency in a particular area of their lives. But if parents hold on to all decision-making power and see it as their “right,” they severely limit the growth and development of their children.

Yep. That's what I'll be working on.

Here are a few more blogs to hop to if you want some other Conference insights.

Amanda Sowards

Angie Lofthouse

Ben Spendlove

Cami Checketts

Charity Bradford

Danyelle Ferguson

Giselle Abreu

Julia Keanini

Julie Coulter Bellon

Kasey Tross

Kayeleen Hamblin

Kelly Bryson

Krista Van Dolzer

Laura Johnston

Melanie Standford

Rachelle Christensen

Rebecca Belliston

Sierra Gardner

Stephanie Worlton