Real Life

Previous to this June, I looked forward to "real life".  My husband and I would talk about it like we were dolls playing students in some warped game of "let's get into massive amounts of debt".  I had no idea how much of a financial bubble we lived in.  We didn't have a car payment.  Our "dumb" phones cost close to nothing. Our rent was VERY cheap.  We had no medical, dental, vision or heating bills.  Sometimes, we didn't even pay for groceries.  If you ever want to know the why and how people live off of the government, I am the lady to talk to.  Discount was my forte.  For years, my husband and I looked forward to the day when we would be contributing members of society.  Meanwhile, we paid out of state tuition for one of the most rigorous and expensive architect grad programs in the nation and amassed a ridiculous amount of student loan debt.

Fast forward to now.  We have been out of school for 6 months and have had reality slap us upside the head, and I have found myself wondering WHY on earth we were so eager to do "real life".  We have a new van with payments.  And smartphones.  Our rent has more than doubled.  We are paying for insurance, as well as a slew of bills related to pregnancy (who knew babies were so expensive?!).  I have joined the lovely club of Mormon moms who buy in bulk.  It's called Costco, and the opportunities to overspend are endless.  We have student loan payments.

A month ago, we decided to house shop in hopes of making a home before baby #3's impending arrival.  We found the perfect place.  It had a large yard, and was spacious with a fantastic kitchen.  Our realtor made an offer.  That was when we found out that within the last few months, a law was passed that requires ALL loan agencies to weigh the total student loan debt against your income before you can buy a home.  I won't go into the numbers, but essentially, this means that unless you have a crazy starting salary, you will not be able to buy a home without a co-signer.  Until you have paid off a significant portion of your loans.  Previous to this law, only your MONTHLY student loan payment was taken into account.

We do have some wonderful family members who have agreed to co-sign so we don't spend the next 20 years throwing away our money on rent.  But after much discussion and tightening our budget, we have agreed that all tax refunds, raises, bonuses, etc, will go straight to our student loans (which gather $10,000 of interest per year), in hopes of paying them off ASAP and then looking at "dream houses".  For now, we will be looking for a much cheaper home with the lowest mortgage payment possible.

Why does any of this matter?  Why am I telling you about our finances?  There is absolutely nothing funny about this post.  Kind of the opposite.  In fact, the last month has been one of the hardest on our marriage, and on both of us emotionally.  

I complained.  Why couldn't we have gotten in state tuition (even with him working for a design studio in KC)?  Why did we feel so strongly that KU was where we needed to be?  Why did the laws have to change with house buying?  Why do I have to have expensive c-sections?  Why did our car break down (thus the new van)?  Why can't we justify getting that nice home? Why do we move so often?!
  

Then I saw this:

 And I thought, "What is WRONG with me?!"  Um, hello?  I have been blessed beyond measure, along with most of the people in this great country.  I have clean drinking water.  Hot showers.  A roof over my head.  A family to love and to be loved by.  There hasn't been a day that I have had to worry about our home being bombed.  I have food, electricity, and (gasp!) the great blessing of having doctors who can give my body exactly what it needs to produce and birth my babies!  There are a slew of stores down the road where I can buy all the essentials and more.  Who am I to complain about student loan debt when I was able to get my Bachelors and my husband his Masters?  There are people out there who can't even read.  So what if I don't like the president?  At least I had the right to vote!  What a blessing it is to have a vehicle to make payments on.  What a gift it is to be able to have the ability to call/text anyone from anywhere with my expensive phone!  And passing up that "perfect home"?  At least I know that no matter where we move (be it the dumpiest place in the dumpiest neighborhood), it is more than what many dream of.  My washing machine is constantly full of clothes.  There are people whose entire bedding and clothing wouldn't fill it.  Why do I whine about bills?  At least my husband makes a good enough living that we are able to pay them!  The mess I complain about that my kids make consists of books, toys, blankets and an odd array of snacks- all of which we should thank our lucky stars for.

My point is, most of what I whine about in this "real life" that we are living are privileges that others will never get the opportunity to experience.  When I step back and look my problems, they are minuscule in comparison to what I could be dealing with.  Instead of complaining about the cost of Christmas, this year I want to remember to have a prayer of gratitude in my heart for the blessings and comforts of life that are mine to enjoy.  I am blessed.  You are blessed.  We are all blessed beyond measure.  

      

         

I love you when...

While I would like to say that the following is a typical morning for us, this scenario is typical of anytime we leave the house, be it 8 a.m. or 5 p.m.  I ask my 4-year-old son to get dressed.  If it is the a.m., he is in is p.j.s.  If it is any time after breakfast, he is typically dressed up as a combo of Spiderman, Ironman, Batman, or any number of Marvel/DC comic icons.  I proceed to shower.  And yes, often times, this happens WAY past when it should.  At this point my 3-year-old daughter is naked or wearing her Elsa dress.  

Me telling my son to get dressed is code for my daughter, "You need to be in your birthday suit, stat."  This would be helpful.  Except that a battle of wills ensues about what I want her to wear, vs what Elsa would wear.  Joshua then dumps out every toy bin, in search of that one thing that he HAS to take to (insert store/obligatory place) for fear that it will cease to exist without his holding it.  I use a very authoritative (ahem) tone to remind my son that he needs to get dressed.  My 3-year-old follows me around, whining hysterically that she needs her hair done NOW so that she can be beautiful while I get ready.  

Genevra wanted to do "selfies" with me. So we started with the angry face.  This is not even close to her angry face, but it is her "grumpy" look.

After tripping over my daughter's weeping, naked body at least 5 times and noting that each time I see my son, he is no closer to retiring his cape than before, I yell that if he does not get dressed, I am going to start counting.  15 minutes later, I inevitably start counting at decibels reserved for the command of great military armies being lead to their impending death.  He hates counting.  This  leads to a great wailing and nashing of teeth from all 3 parties involved. 

After my little diva finally has her wish granted of me doing her hair and the boy has found his clothes in a sea of toys, we make our way to the door.  Without fail, one or both kids are hungry and have to pee.  What would have taken a half hour or less if it were just me getting ready has taken 1.5 hours.  We are 10 minutes late.  Pretty sure my Dr (and everyone at church) would not recognize any of us if we arrived on time.  

There is one sweet part about our ridiculous morning.  I am not sure when or why it started but almost daily, my son, the primary victim of my wrath, approaches me while I am wresting his sister's shoes on (I WANT THE PRINCESS ONES!!!!)  He says, "Mommy, I love you even when you are mad."  The past month or so he had changed it up a bit.  "Mommy, I love you even when you are sad."  Or the one that really makes me feel like a chemical exposed, Hulk parent, "I love you even when you are scary."  I am ashamed to say that this last one has become typical.

This cuts me to the core.  I am not the mom I should be.  Really, no kid should have to say that they love their parent even when they are scary.  In my head, it's okay for me to love my kid when they are being a screaming mess of boogers because they are MY mess of boogers, but my kids are too young to return the favor.  If they hate me (as I probably deserve). while I am yanking them by the appendages to get out the door, I am accepting of that.  Most likely, they will love me once more when I am not the human pressure cooker.

Loving people is hard.  Knowing that they are a child of God helps, but even then, I struggle.  Many times, loving my eternal companion is a struggle.  I thought after 6.5 years of marriage, it would all of the sudden be easy.  Not so.  There is a lot of tolerance and forgiveness that happens on both sides.  But my kids continue to demonstrate to me that they have a Christlike love that transcends my yelling and intolerance for their perpetual ignoring of my requests.  This love isn't required for me to love them.  Yet they show that forgiveness and love toward me that I have yet to give to so many others around me.  The scripture from Mosiah 3:19 has sunk deep into my mind of late:

 For the natural man is an enemy to God, and has been from the fall of Adam, and will be, forever and ever, unless he yields to the enticings of the Holy Spirit, and putteth off the natural man and becometh a saint through the atonement of Christ the Lord, and becometh as a child,submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him, even as a child doth submit to his father.

I can't find the words right now to express exactly what I am trying to convey.  I let the natural man rule on SO many occasions.  My children love me, even when I am far removed from showing them the compassion and patience they deserve.  They set a standard of submissiveness, patience, and love in our home that I one day hope to emulate.  

I know why the Lord asks us to become like children.  They demonstrate what we work so hard to become and fall short of everyday: close to Christ and His unconditional love.

3 A.M. Escapades

  

You see that kid with the wild bed hair and the crazed look of a sleep deprived, overtired 4-year-old?  This is my son.  He and my daughter are my sunshines, and I love them very much.  But sometimes I wonder if my kids leave me sleep deprived just so they can take advantage of my delirium.  I am fairly certain that there was a family meeting held consisting of my 4-year-old, my 3-year-old, and the unborn little girl I am carrying.  Though I am not certain how this meeting took place, I am certain that it involved my son manipulating the youngest one into keeping me from sleeping until all hours, and waking me up to pee without the respite of being able to fall back asleep.

Needless to say, the last few days have left me drained and zombie like.  This is a good refresher training for newborn parenting, but makes for awful judgement calls.

At 3 a.m. yesterday morning, I woke to light streaming through our half way open bedroom door.  Upon investigation, I found my son.  Surrounded by coloring pages and some crayons, he was laying sprawled on the carpet, furiously scribbling the face of a character red.  It would have crossed my mind to call the instance a dream and go back to bed, except that my son asked, "What are you going to do with me today, mama?"  I hate that daily question because it suggests that I am obligated to keep this kid entertained and wound up like a battery operated toy.  I wouldn't dream that question.

I responded by asking WHY he was awake.  This was followed by a shrug and, "I didn't want to sleep anymore." And then a repetition of that irritating question.  

It's times like this when I realize the vast difference between my kids and myself.  Who doesn't want to sleep anymore?!  You know that story of Rip Van Winkle, the guy who slept for 100 years?  Since becoming a mother, I have been insanely jealous of him.  And if there were a black market for exchanging body parts for 100 years of pure sleep, you can bet I would be on that deal with a kidney in tow.

"I am going to put you back in bed.  It is not today yet and it's too early to be doing anything besides sleeping."  I tucked the kid back in bed and then did the big-bellied ritual of trying to get comfy so I could get some shut eye.  Fifteen minutes later I was half asleep when I was awakened to my son crawling into bed with me.  

"Mama."

"What?!"

"I need you to open these."     

At this point, things are a little hazy.  But this morning I woke up to find Hershey wrappers in our bed and a boy passed out and drooling between my husband and I.  He had chocolate on his face and judging from the sticky aftertaste in my mouth, he hadn't been the only one to partake.  (So much for letting him "just sleep" with his Halloween booty next to him.)  

I let myself feel guilty for about 10 seconds.  Then I reminded myself that at 3 a.m. with limited sleep the previous nights, I was not in any position to deny my kid, or myself, chocolate.  If we both disappoint the dentist at our next visit, so be it.  Call me a bad mom but if the situation was repeated, I would still wake up with Hershey wrappers surrounding me.

The Cupcake Encounter

Day 1 of my writing-for-a-month challenge:

You know how there are some stories that are just a little too humiliating to laugh at?  Well, I have a ridiculous bunch of those waiting to be told.  If anyone who reads this has the same sadistic humor that I do, you will appreciate the fact that it happened to someone else.

We moved back to Utah in June.  I was an unfamiliar face among the neighbors, and thought I would try and get to know them a bit more by taking over miniature cupcakes.  This was the first time I used our little mini cupcake maker since I bought it on a whim a couple years ago.  They looked perfectly round, and smelled lovely.  I made frosting, and our little family headed out to deliver them to a couple of families I had met in passing. 

Neither my husband nor I had any idea in exactly which townhome one of these families lived.  Only that they were somewhere in our general vicinity.  After spending the last several years in Lawrence, Kansas, I had forgotten that everyone and their dog owns a double stroller.  SO, when we came across a home with two little ride-on toys and a double jogger sitting outside the front door, I just knew we had reached our destination. 

I knocked on the door, confident that I would come face-to-face with the mother of three boys, two of which were my kid’s age.  Instead, a man I didn’t know answered the door.  Four kids came streaming out onto the sidewalk, gazing longingly at the plate of four little cupcakes I was holding. 

“Um… You are not who I thought you were,” I said stupidly.  (Josh was standing behind me, and I think this is the part where he put his hand to his forehead.) 

The guy didn’t say anything, but looked like having someone deliver cupcakes by accident—not enough to feed the family—was worse than opening the door to Jehovah’s Witnesses. 

Since no one was about to dig me out of my own verbal disaster, I handed him the plate.  “We wanted to meet our neighbors.  We are the Kirkmans.” 

“Thanks.  We are the Hansons (name changed here;).”  Awkwardly, we turned on our heels and went home.  Josh had the decency to not say anything… Until I said, “Well I feel stupid.”  He agreed, and then suggested that maybe we look up the address of the people I had intended the cupcakes for.

After delivering the goodies to the right home, I came home and attempted to drown my humiliation in the sweet goodness of confectionary perfection.  Up until this point, my kids had been the only recipients of them.  To my dismay, the bite was mostly goo. 

In my rush to get the treats delivered before bedtime, I didn’t read the instructions.  It makes sense that if it looks done on the outside, it’s done all the way through.  I wanted to bawl.  But my throat was too clogged from cupcake batter to muster up tears.  Instead I texted the mom of 3 boys with a profuse apology. 

This was her response: “Oh really?!  I thought it was crème filled!” 

It was nice of her to think so...or at least nice of her to lie about it.

When I asked, "Why?"

There is a gigantic, green bowl sitting next to me, and a package of saltines next to that.  The saltines are to keep my stomach from getting empty, and the bowl is where I empty my stomach.  No one wants to know those kind of awful details, but this is my blog, and this is the reality I am experiencing right now.
Pregnancy is awful.  It really is.  Anyone who says anything different is either lying or delusional.  From the constant revulsion at all foods that smell or taste stronger than dry flour, to the complete energy suck, building a baby is no fun.  This week was the worst one (for this pregnancy) so far.  I won't go into the details except to say that late Thursday, after not being able to keep anything down (including medication) for what seemed like forever, I felt like I really needed to go to the instacare down the road.  I had no idea that I was burning up with a fever from severe dehydration, but I followed my feelings and came away grateful that I listened.
 I have been prone to ask my Heavenly Father on more than one occasion, "Why?  Isn't it enough that we are taking the leap and bringing another one of your spirit children into our home?  I know I am one of so many countless other women who are made so weak and frail during pregnancy.  WHY does it happen to any of us?"
Josh was at a meeting this evening and I lay on the couch, wondering how on earth I would get my kids to stay in bed, when I got a phone call.  It was my visiting teacher.  This is our church's "assigned friend", who often times blossoms into a real friend.  She checks in on me, and if things are not going so great, she figures out a way to help out.  Since we haven't been here that long, and I have turned into the world's biggest recluse, I don't really know her.  But this woman had heard that I was struggling.  I explained the kind of dread that came with each new day, and she was silent for a moment before relating to me the horrors of her own morning sickness and saying, "I have been there.  It is hard.  I know exactly how you feel, and I am SO sorry."
Those words were my answer.  I had heard them before, but somehow, hearing them from a stranger hit home.  Women are strong.  We build families.  We build homes.  We give our bodies to the growing of children.  We carry burdens that are enormous, and at times, overwhelming to the point of total exhaustion.  Why are we brought so low during pregnancy and in the years of child rearing beyond that?  I think it is so that we can succor each other.  We share in struggles so universal that when another suffers, we immediately empathize.  Women need other women to be the answer to one another's most heartfelt prayers; to be those mortal angels that can relate to one another.  Knowing that my visiting teacher truly understood the kind of struggle I wrestled with gave me the comfort I so desperately needed.

I testify of angels, both the heavenly and the mortal kind.  In doing so I am testifying that God never leaves us alone. never leaves us unaided in the challenges that we face. -Elder Jeffery R. Holland in "The Ministry of Angels"
   

Light at the end of the tunnel.

That's right, folks.  My main man is graduating with his Masters of Architecture in May.  For all the whining I have done about how little our family has seen him, closing this chapter in our lives is going to be one of the hardest things we have ever done.  Lawrence has been more a home to both Josh and I than anywhere we have lived.  Most of the families within our church ward also live far from family, and because of that, there is a deep spirit of unity among them.  I've clung to their friendships during the some  of my darkest days; the ladies in this ward have been my surrogate sisters, mothers and grandmothers to my children.  That said, we will bloom where we are planted;)

Josh and I had absolutely no expectation of moving back to Utah.  Not that we didn't want to be closer to extended family, but Josh's work connections and associations have all been within the Kansas City metro area.  We were close to certain that even with applying for companies in the Salt Lake valley, they would not hire some Joe who had no previous affiliation with the U of U program.

SO Josh interviewed.  And interviewed.  Since February, he has had 8 interviews and 2 more that he is going to cancel, all while continuing his internship at PULSE Design.  We were offered a financially promising spot at nation wide firm in St. Louis that designs primarily airport and factory facilities.  They were going to pay for all expenses incurred with the 4 hour move.

Then Josh had a call from a small company called AJC Architects, in Salt Lake.  They skyped.  And then soon thereafter called with an offer.  It is not quite as lucrative.  BUT the benefits are amazing, and the work they do is varied and based on the opinion of their employees.  This means they design everything from libraries to visitors centers at national parks, to higher education buildings.  ALSO, instead of spending every extra penny on trips back to Utah, we will already be there!

We had a huge decision to make, and after taking it to the One who knows better than us what we need most, we are taking a leap of faith and moving to the Salt Lake valley soon after graduation.  For those of you in Utah, I can't wait to see you.  For those of you here in Lawrence, I can't tell you how desperately I wish there was a way to take everyone I love and pocket them.    

Pictures and updates pending...