My Own Kind of Nesting

I always felt abnormal when it came to the final weeks before delivering my babies. Not being a neat-freak at any time, I certainly didn't turn into one to prepare for a newborn's arrival. Even the word made me feel uncomfortable.

Nesting.

It might be that I think birds are a little freaky (especially the one right outside your front door, Libby!) but, I never, ever felt compelled to fold clean newborn clothes in neat stacks, set out diapers and stock little baskets with fingernail clippers placed conveniently around the house (you never know when you'll get a minute to clip those tiny weapons).

In spite of my non-maternal nature, I always managed to find diapers, dress my boys and trim their nails to an acceptable level.

As most of you know, we have been renting for over two years now. One of those years was in Utah, where there really wasn't an option to buy, but I never imagined once med school/residency/fellowship was over, that it would take so long to get into a house of our own. I never imagined paying someone else's mortgage and cleaning someone else's bathrooms and parking in someone else's garage when Jay was a full-fledged practicing physician. Believe me, there is plenty of time during all that training to do lots and lots and even more dreaming about the kind of home that awaits in the future.

The rental years haven't been all bad, however. As what I'm assuming must be the case with most people who live where I live, my standards, but more importantly, my tastes have changed. I would have been unhappy in about 99% percent of the homes had we chosen immediate occupency. Now, as I've acclimated to my environment, only about 75% percent of the homes make me shudder. That leaves a much larger window of opportunity.

Even though we're still not ready (unless) and the kids are in school and neither of us want to move them in the middle of it (for sure), I have still indulged my need to know my future by meeting with a Realtor to look at homes the last two months. Many homes have been exactly the disappointment I've come to expect. BUT. I've been pleasantly surprised by a few. This is progress people!

I went to look at two today and I really felt like I could live in either. They were both in-town, which is a major plus in my playbook of how to be a happy mother, and they were both older homes that had been remodeled, but then the similarities stopped. Here are some pictures:

House #1 - same school my boys are in now. In a cul-de-sac, 3 bedrooms 2 1/2 baths. Significantly less expensive than other homes I've liked.

Not a ton of curb appeal right now, but loads of potential, yes?

A yard! With a fence! Can I get an "Amen!"?

Big kitchen. I don't know if we could put an island or something in it because it's quite vacuous. Like, I could workout in there. Or add a laundry room as the current set-up has the washer/dryer in the garage.

A nice big dining room. Huge plus!

Don't love all the tile, but figure a large area rug could help out. Also don't love all the green stucco, but it's so much less money than I thought a house I'd enjoy would cost. Plus, I'd want a mantle.

This is the basement. A one room rec-room kind of setup. I'd warm it up with carpet because it was quite echo-y. Still...a basement! Squee!

Home #2. 4 bedroom, 3 bath on a dead-end street right in town. Like...RIGHT in town. Maybe too much in town. Also, significantly more than the other house. Significantly.

Loads of curb appeal. I just want to sit on that porch and read already.

This is the living room taken from the right-next door parlor (with fireplace).

Not a great shot of the whole kitchen, but that is a pretty fancy range you see right there. Other perks not found in a lot of homes here...a walk in pantry. Mmmmmmm.

The backyard is simply stunning. There is a huge tree that shades most of the yard. The garage is detached but it's also a three-car size, which is really unheard of on an in-town home. And a lot of rural homes. Apparently, the trend of three hasn't reached D-town. And, yes, that is Walgreens in the not-very-far-away distance.

The off-the kitchen family room. That's three living spaces on one floor! There was also a really charming play place (no windows, no closets) play room between the two upstairs bedrooms. It's only 400 square feet larger than the first home, but it felt a lot bigger.

I'm not saying either of these homes is "the one" but it's been calming to me to take a more active role in our housing future. Maybe I'm finally experiencing what it feels like to nest.

Book Review - Classic #1 - I Capture the Castle

From its first paragraph, I was completely enchanted with Dodie Smith's precocious narrator. An eighteen year-old aspiring writer sits in her dilapidated castle kitchen, and writes by candlelight with her feet in the sink (or at least what I pictured as a sink) and begins what she calls and experiment in speed writing. She is mindful to include all sorts of details so you can imagine the determination she applied when describing her mood, her environment, and herself. I was so excited to continue reading.

While she, Cassandra Mortmain, remained charming, I will admit that I finished a little disappointed with the overall scope of the novel, only because everything did not turn out the way I wanted it to. I'm not sure what I expected as the novel reveals early on that it's not a run of the mill coming of age story. The characters are all so, so beautifully flawed and eccentric. All are capable of good and bad behavior and all are enjoyed all the more for it. Rose, her older sister, is beyond inept and at 21 solely relies on her beauty to step away from her family's poverty that she loathes. Her father, a famous author of a one-hit wonder now suffering from a severe case of writer's block, cloisters himself away in a part of the castle where he spends his days doing crosswords or reading mystery novels, but absolutely nothing to provide income, food, or clothing to his wife and three children. This is done without malice, mind you. The children aren't prisoners or locked away in an attic a la a V.C. Andrew novel, but rather, they seem to somewhat accept their fall from grace (they were once quite wealthy after the success of their father's novel)in fine form. His wife, the exotically beautiful Topaz, is not the children's mother but rather their step-mother, and frequently communes with nature in nothing but tall black boots and earned fame earlier in her life as a portrait model. Even stiff Stephen, their handsome servant who works for nothing, is utterly believable as a devoted, but not very interesting beautiful person. I loved all of them.

When two brothers from America inherit the estate and become the Mortmains new landlords, the escapades begins. All events are captured by Cassandra in her journal and her voice somehow combines the genteel English sensibility of a Jane Austen romance with the comic misunderstandings of the TV sitcom Three's Company. Together, the reader is provided with surprising twists, laugh out loud moments and plenty of fodder for frustration.

I'm not sure it counts as important, or groundbreaking, as some classics do, but I Capture the Castle is full of characters who deserve to stick around for years and years. I'm glad I read it.

Ouch, Charlie!

This has become a cult classic throughout the world, but especially in my house. Last week, Jay came home and immediately looked up this video after listening to Dan Patrick talk about it on his podcast. Soon, we were all gathered around the computer, laughing at Charlie and adorable giggle, but especially the proper outrage of his older brother.

Now, all the boys take turns biting each others' fingers (softly, of course) and saying, "Charlie bit my finger!" with their fake British accents. It's pretty fun. And something I want to remember.

If you haven't seen it, enjoy! Nothing fancy but somehow it captures something essential about being human.

All's Well That Ends Well

{Warning: Everything written below happened with this greasy hair, stretchy pants, a workout shirt that I kept having to pull up to stay modest and tennis shoes. I never imagined when I left the house in the morning that I would look like I did then for the rest of the day}

It's been a day.

It didn't help that I only had about four hours of sleep thanks to a cough, an evening can of Diet Dr. Pepper and the song "To Where You Are" by Josh Groban playing on a repeat loop in my head (I'm singing this song at a funeral on Friday and needed to learn the melody so I purchased it on itunes and sang along about six times. It is not an easy song to sing! Especially with a cough. It's also not an easy song to get out of your head).

Anyways, the bad night contributed to a bad morning when I didn't wake up at my recently established regular time of 6:00. Instead it was 6:50 and that is too late when I need to get boys out of the house dressed, fed and packed by 7:20.

My point is...there may have been some strong words.

And tears.

It's like they plan ahead to make it extra hard, you know?

It could have ended right then. Kids off to school and a chance for a do over, but it wasn't meant to be. Because my car wouldn't start.

I mentioned about two weeks ago about my car not starting after football practice. Well, I've had a dead battery a couple of times since, but Jay's always been around to give me a jump. This morning, however, he had already left for work, which happened to be in another town. Instead, my sweet friend, Lori, swooped in to save the day and take my kids to school and a towing company came to jump start my car. And include some free advice about cleaning the little copper things with some baking soda. FYI.

An hour later, I was off to the mechanics to get a new battery, my brakes worked on, my oil changed and four new tires. Because, oh yeah, I also had a flat tire the night before.

So, I'm driving down the road that has become the bane of my existence, Florida Rd (pronounced Flo-ree-duh 'cause we have our own way of doing things around here) on my tiny little doughnut spare tire, going ten miles under the speed limit with an irate trail of a half-dozen cars behind me (Yes. They were tailgating me close enough for me to interpret their body language) and I had an epiphany. Maybe, just maybe, all those people I am constantly stuck behind, who drive five or ten or fifteen miles an hour under the speed limit, are all on their way to a mechanic's shop, driving around on their little, unstable doughnut spare tires! Ah-ha! A trial to teach me patience and empathy! O.K. I'm going to become more kind and stop shouting at people from inside my car. Certainly the day would get better now that I had acquired my new and improved attitude.

Shockingly enough, it didn't. I had more to learn.

I'll truncate and refrain from including every single detail, but after my sister-in-law graciously took me to my mother-in-law's to borrow her car (local family. SUCH a blessing!) my day included a whole lot of driving, a whole lot of money leaving my possession, breaking lightbulbs at Wal-Mart (not me. I'll leave the guilty party nameless), piano lessons, a bloody nose and bloody lip, McDonald's for dinner, a call that he would be late, homework help in the car, football practice in the rain, a RS presidency meeting at the church with boys in tow and being last mother to pick up her son after practice.

Like I said....it was a day.

I've found that when I'm at the bottom, on empty, ready to fold, I'm always given just a little something that keeps me afloat. It might be a phone call from a sister, or a kind word from my husband or even just something that makes me laugh, but today it came in the form of a boy named Seth.

Even though he was the last kid to get picked up, and had to play in the rain and wind (he doesn't do cold well), he got in the car with a big smile on his face and said, "Mom, I had a great practice tonight! I caught two passes in our scrimmage and took someone out with a block!" (these were his first ever catches in a scrimmage. He's caught a few during drills and has dropped two poorly thrown balls in games (Look at me. Not at all biased). Most days he is considered a warm body out there at the end of the offensive line of scrimmage, contentedly loping around trying to block somebody for the boys who actually do touch the balls).

Suddenly, my day made sense. My son was happy. He had a good practice. The entire dismal day was worth it.

We got home. The boys had a bowl of Frosted Mini Spooners, we read a story, had prayers and every one said goodnight with a smile on their face. Amazing.

It really is. This thing called Life.

Go, Boys, Go!

What we did on Saturday.

Rumors

About a month ago, while talking to someone about how busy I was feeling, I mentioned how my calling was feeling particularly burdensome and she responded, "Oh, yeah, so and so reads your blog and told me how funny she thought it was that you hated your calling."

I think I responded, "I don't hate my calling." At least I hope that's how I responded.

She then proceeded to explain how she would never read my blog, as she is not a blog reader (I guess those of us who do are a type) but so and so fills her in every now and then about what I write.

I stopped listening at this point because my brain was too busy registering the fact that someone was talking to someone else about my blog and GETTING IT WRONG!

I am a pretty open person. I try to be as real as I can be, sharing the good and the bad, the flattering and the embarrassing. You know? There is usually little need to infer. I'll tell you how I feel.

Take today for instance. It's been a pretty crappy day...literally. I got a call from Seth's school telling me that he had been sick at school and could I come and bring him home and bring a change of clothes? Because he was a mess. He had diarrhea and didn't make it to the bathroom in time and that's never pleasant. But it's especially unpleasant when you are in fourth grade. Of course I went to the school as fast as I could, to find him in the nurses bathroom, undressed and shivering and humiliated. And I felt humiliated for him. I wondered, "Can we move before Monday so he doesn't have to come back to this school?" I know that's what I wanted to do when my own mother had to bring me a change of clothes my freshman year of high school after an unexpected period made every girl's nightmare my reality. Yes, it's possible that I may have some PTSD.

See? I share. Probably...o.k....definitely, more than I should. So, believe me when I tell you that I don't hate my calling. I enjoy the women I serve with, I enjoy studying about the Prophet Joseph Smith and I enjoy the unity that can sometimes be felt after a particularly spiritual Relief Society.

In spite of all of the time, headaches and stress this week's enrichment caused, I can still honestly say I enjoyed the evening. I enjoyed the pictionary game we played depicting different things visiting teachers do. I enjoyed playing the game, "Do you love your visiting teacher?" and seeing women sprint across the room finding a different chair. I enjoyed hearing others' memories of service a visiting teacher has provided and I enjoyed spotlighting a few women I didn't know very well.

I enjoyed the carnival-themed decorations and treats (laffy taffy, licorice, nachos, popcorn and lemonade). I enjoyed the perfectly expressed message given by a member of the stake relief society presidency at the end. I enjoyed the respectable turnout of 23. I enjoyed the many people who stayed to help clean it all up afterwards. I am surrounded by really good people.

{Rolling a ball of yarn around to connect us as we shared service done on our behalf by visiting teachers.}

{The absolute darling popcorn machine my friend, Michelle, let me borrow for the evening.}

To be fair, I don't enjoy planning enrichment events. It's impossible to please everyone, or even most. I don't enjoy feeling like a hypocrite touting the great blessing of visiting teaching when I have only had 100% visits one month this entire year. I specifically didn't enjoy making 70 caramel apple kits, because I don't find tying bows very satisfying, but know that some women do enjoy those things and that was reason enough to do it.

I hope that clears things up. For the record, I do not hate my calling.

I just think it's the worst calling I have ever had.

Please be accurate.

It Could Have Been Worse...

but not by much.

Church was bad today.

(stopping to see if any lightning is nearby).

Not all bad. Just some pretty big moments. Like....

me playing prelude until the sole bishopric member in town (which may or may not be someone I live with) stood up to begin the meeting, then switching out with our actual organist who is still figuring things out with her newborn.

me realizing there was no chorister so just staying on the stand to lead the music.

me making eye contact with a woman who started lipping, "Are you leading the music?" coupled with some helpful arm-waving actions in case I didn't understand, with me lipping back, "I guess." With her, "Do you want me to?" My reply, "Were you supposed to?" Then she, "I was asked." With me thinking "then why aren't you up here?" but lipping, "I'll just do it." All very incognito, of course (or not). Luckily my mother-in-law had offered to sit with my boys, even though she is not in my ward. Angel woman.

the sweet, older blind man who bore his testimony, covering such topics as never going to our local hospital because they will try to kill you,the risks of smoking, being like Job, having Heavenly Father strike his friends dumb to prove his faith, and prayer.

the blind man, who was still going strong twenty minutes later when the meeting was due to end, so that a member of the bishopric, who may or may not be someone I live with, had to stand up and whisper in his ear that his time was up.

me looking like a Japanese tourist through the next hour trying to find and pull women out of meetings so that I can get their pictures taken and printed for Wednesday night's enrichment. I'm such a procrastinator!

our relief society lesson which included role playing. Young women played the mothers and women played the daughters and our very own member of our ward who is an actual policeman came in as...a policeman (not in uniform though). The situations included daughters who said they were going to a movie with friends missing hours later, daughters who said they were going to hang out at a friends house being busted for underage alcohol consumption and a daughter who jumped off a bridge into the river, and, was injured. Throw in a few comments about being legally liable for someone who passes out from being drunk and never waking up to needing cell phones in case your child calls you somewhere from a forest, drunk and only in his/her underwear and you've got all the ingredients for being spiritually fed.

It was just one of those weeks. You know?

So, I'll just restate what a member of our bishopric said at the end of fast and testimony meeting, who may or may not be someone I live with.

The church is true.

Heavenly Father loves us.

We are all His children.

To lift my spirits, I tried to take pictures of my boys after church. They weren't very cooperative, but they sure are cute!

Twenty Classics In One Year

Here they are. I'd give an order, but I'm allowing myself the flexibility to read these in whatever order I fancy. I can already feel a few of them skipping to the head of the line, knowing they'll be loved and others doggedly standing in back, fully aware that I forced myself to choose them.

1. Alice In Wonderland by Lewis Carroll
2. Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand
3. Brave New World by Adolf Huxley
4. Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky
5. Common Sense by Thomas Paine
6. Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
7. Green Mansions by William Henry Hudson
8. Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad
9. I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith
10. Jesus The Christ by James Talmage
11. Les Miserables by Victor Hugo
12. Mere Christianity C.S. Lewis
13. Prince of Tides by Pat Conroy
14. Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare
15. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
16. The Awakening by Kate Chopin
17. The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas
18. The Iliad by Homer
19. The Power of One by Bryce Courtenay
20. Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

Here are twelve other books I considered. Obviously, I want to read them sometime, and if it's this year then huzzah to me! FYI, I have already read Tess of d'Ubervilles and Jane Eyre, which is why they aren't on either list.

David Copperfield by Charles Dickens
Farenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury
Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
John Adams by David McCullough
My Antonia by Willa Cather
Persuasion by Jane Austen
The Agony and the Ecstasy by Irvine Stone
The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom
The Last of the Mohicans by James Fennimore Cooper
The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli
Ulysses by James Joyce
Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe

What do you think? Is my list unreasonable? A lot of those books seem really difficult. Is it possible to actually read them without being in a literature class to motivate and explain everything?

Here's to self education.

Thursday Thoughts

1. My goal this year was to coordinate my days better than last year, when I felt like I had one thing everyday which wasn't a very efficient use of my time. Thus far, I have Seth's football practice on Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings, piano lessons on Wednesdays after school, Henry's speech on Monday mornings, Relief society meetings Tuesday evenings, and now Sam's soccer practices on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. Awesomely un-efficient.

2. I thought I had my twenty classics chosen, but I got a few more comments today that are making me rethink my selections. I want the year to be balanced, with no genre or time period getting more emphasis than another. Except that I'm drawn to the victorian/british classics and could easily fill up all twenty with Wharton, Austen, Chopin, Bronte, Dickens, Hardy, and Elliot. I'm so grateful for your suggestions and am really looking forward to this year's challenge. There's only one book that is making me feel stressed. I told my capitalist/libertarian friend that I'd read Atlas Shrugged. Have you seen that book? The paperback is still huge and has the tiniest print with over 1,000 pages. It's already intimidating me! I think it's the title. And the fact that I can't pronounce the author's first name. But, I'm going to read it! Oh, yes, I am!

3. I joined Weight Watchers today. I hesitate mentioning this because I have always, always wanted to stealthily lose weight. No big announcements. No particular focusing on that area of my life. Just, you know, the next time you see me you realize, "My goodness. Isn't she svelte?" However, I am no good at keeping anything inside, so - now you know. I wish I liked going to meetings more. The check in is so inefficient! I don't think they've updated one thing about it since the 70s. Same old bulky credit card imprinter. Everything handwritten. Long lines. Checking in is about as fun as going to the post office. I know I'm making it sound so, so great but, I am hoping the accountability will help keep my eating in check.

4. I've been so annoyed at our property managers because, for the last week, they have had the slowest painters working on re-staining the outside of the house we are living in. I'm not kidding, they've been prepping for over a week now and I feel like I live in a bubble because my windows all have plastic taped over them. Whether it needed re staining or not is debatable but it is not what this house needed fixed the most. For the last year, they have repeatedly ignored my requests to fix the tile in the kitchen which continues to get worse. Today (Jen, you would be so proud of me), I went to their office and demanded a month to month lease if they were not going to fix the tile. I wasn't angry or anything, I just said that I had no desire to live in a house where the kitchen grout is constantly coming loose and subsequently being stepped on. Not to mention how futile it makes sweeping. The owner of the company happened to be there, and she claims the tile guy just finished a job and our kitchen tile is next on his queue. We'll see. It has been 15 months since my initial complaint. Between dealing with the property managers and going to weight watchers, I feel like I'm being given a taste as to how socialism will feel.

5. Sigh. Another post without pictures. Even I am sick of my text, and I'm rarely sick of my text!:) I find the larger camera is less convenient for post illustrations. Like, only beautiful, big moments are worthy of getting the camera out of its bag. I'll remedy the situation. Expect a picture post next.

6. I'm starting to feel more like a local. Everyday I've walked on the river trail this week, I've seen people I know. From the school, from the neighborhood, from church...it's kind of fun. What's not fun is how busy it is. I rarely feel "in the clear" to make an adjustment, if you know what I mean. There's always someone around - heading towards me in the opposite direction or moving along behind me. Today, right as I was passing an elderly couple, I felt my underwear shifting into an uncomfortable position. I didn't know which was worse: to continue walking knowing they could probably tell something was askew, or adjust - which is always awkward to observe. I left everything as it was and mentally noted to wear a sweatshirt around my waist next time.

7. I am so proud of Seth! He really struggled with writing last year and had developed a significant mental block about any and all projects that required very much handwriting. Last Friday, he came home upset about the subject he was assigned for a social studies project. For some reason, he really wanted the state gem for his project. Yeah...no idea. He didn't get his first, second, third, fourth or fifth choice. He got his sixth, which was the state animal: the Rocky Mountain Bighorn Sheep. We did some home research and he went back to school on Monday pretty excited about his subject.

All week, he has worked on his assignment at home. He hand-sketched some illustrations and wrote a two-page paper using most of his bulleted facts. I loved his sentences and especially loved his get-it-done attitude which is so different from last year. Today, he got in the car after school and pulled out a Golden Eagle (a very sought after reward for good behavior. When you accumulate ten, you get a principal pride award) that he earned for his A+ report! His project was the only one given a golden eagle. I know I sound like I'm bragging about my kid (which I totally am) but I just wasn't expecting him to be recognized for his writing. Math, reading comprehension, science - yes, but writing is his Achilles heel. It's such a positive start for him in fourth grade!

7. Too much information? I know, I'm feeling a bit uncomfortable myself. But, what's a blog for if not for sharing?

Help!

My car wouldn't start tonight.

I knew exactly why it wouldn't - I left my battery running during almost all of Seth's two hour football practice. I had recently made a fantastic mix CD for my sister, Sarah, and, as I had not yet mailed it, was enjoying the fruits of my labor. There was rain for at least an hour of practice and everyone was in their cars. Everyone was probably not also listening to a fantastic mix CD they had just burned earlier that day, but it didn't cross my mind once that perhaps I should start my car, or turn off the battery. Not once.

After practice, when parents and boys were hurrying out of the parking lot (7:30 is feeling later and later as the sun is setting earlier and earlier), I turned my key and my car went, "Click, click, click." I knew my battery was dead.

Jay had happened to leave his cell phone at home today and I knew he was running and unavailable anyways, so I didn't even try to get a hold of him anywhere. I sat there, looking around at all the dads and trucks and possible jumper cables lying around and I suddenly felt very anxious. Uncomfortable even. Definitely embarrassed. After all, the dead battery was a direct result of my behavior. That knowledge somehow made the whole situation worse for me.

I had all three of my boys in the van and assured them that we would not be stuck there all night; that I had roadside assistance and I would call Geico and have someone come and jump start the van.

A voice in my head told me, "Ask someone for help. They will be glad to do it. It will be quicker and easier and you can get your boys home earlier." But I couldn't. I really couldn't.

I sat there for a few minutes, watching all the other vehicles effortlessly start and drive away. A wave of frustration crashed into me making me feel picked on and tired, burned out on problem solving and wishing my situation away. Then, I do what I usually do when I need help. I called a professional - someone I knew I wasn't inconveniencing or burdening or imposing upon - and reported my problem.

While I was on hold, one of the football coaches, a man in my ward and father of my son's friend, tapped on my window and asked if I was alright.

I told him, "I'm fine."

He asked if my car was o.k. and I told him that, no, it wouldn't start but help was already on its way and I would be fine. By then, two other coaches came around to my side of the car and asked me to try starting it. It made its "click, click, click" sound and the three of them agreed that my starter was bad.

I have no knowledge of cars besides what makes and models look like. But I knew that it wasn't my starter. My battery has died a handful of times and each time it has, it makes that same clicking sound. I did not debate with them, however.

Before I could really do or say anything, they were putting my car in neutral and pushing it away from the curb, finding hammers and getting underneath my car. Their help made me feel so needy and uncomfortable. I said, at least twice, "I know you guys are busy and eager to get home. I'm really o.k. Someone is coming to help. I'm fine." But they just kept helping!

Eventually, unable to find the starter and knowing the tow truck was on its way, the three of them decide just to try using jumper cables. One coach moves his car closer, another finds his cables and as soon as they had them in place and turned my key, my car started. A dead battery indeed.

They congratulated themselves and made fun of their misdiagnosis and I smiled and thanked profusely and hurriedly drove away. The whole episode was tiring and awkward. I was grateful but also so unsettled. Should I bring them cookies tomorrow? I'm never at ease knowing I'm in some one's debt.

As I drove home, I thought about all the areas of my life that would probably improve if I wasn't so intent on going it alone. Both my mother-in-law and a friend came to my aid already this week, the former lending me freezer space after some overzealous berry ordering and the latter getting me started on a creative hand-out for an enrichment event next week. They were both so helpful. Their help made my life easier. But I still wish I could have avoided asking either of them for the favors.

I know its pride. With me, it's always pride. Needing help seems like a weakness to me, and that's not something I ever want to be.

I need help asking for help.