Who Doesn't Matter?

"Those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind." -- Bernard Baruch

I really hate this quote. It sounds all fine and "I'm above caring what other people think." That sort of thing, but I really hate it. I hate it because everyone matters. Everyone. Everyone is trying, with varying degrees of effort, to be a good person or live a happy life, or get recognition or money, or just be noticed by one person. Or just to get through the day without bursting into tears or crawling back into bed hours before bedtime. Everyone is trying. It's part of being human that we try. I also hate this quote because aren't we all, at some time in our lives, the one who doesn't matter? Sometimes we're just plain clumsy. Sometimes we are intentionally catty. Sometimes we are judgmental with limited information. Sometimes we're judgmental with all the information. Sometimes we are just trying so hard and struggling with our own lives that we unintentionally hurt those around us...and thus become someone who doesn't matter to someone else. (Here's a quick disclaimer: This sounds all righteous and loving and charitable, but believe me -- I'm not always like this. Case in point: I almost rammed my car into the back of another last week while in a flaming bad mood. I didn't like his bumper sticker. It simply read: "boobies." Give me a break -- I'm trying too. :))

I guess this has all come on as a result of hearing that one of my amazing and wonderful friends feels like she has hurt one of her close friends beyond repair. That hurts me because maybe now she has become the one that doesn't matter to that friend. If that's the case, I don't matter to a lot of people. Don't even get me started on my high school friends who had to put up with my erratic mood swings, the odd and unbalanced behavior of my manic-depression surfacing, the petty judgements I made of them because I was young and naive -- you get the picture. And then my college years when I was fighting taking responsibility for myself and growing up. Or my early married years when I was trying to figure out life as one-half of J&E Judd, life as a new mom to a very opinionated baby, or even now, when I might be obsessed with running and just keeping my head above water.

All of that out, I am so grateful beyond words for the Atonement. I am thankful that I get to be clumsy or catty, judgmental or just trying, and still can come back from hurting friends, loved ones, passing acquaintances, or strangers because Christ took on their pains because of my actions, and he took on my pains because of immaturity and clumsiness. I hope that I can have patience with myself and patience with others. I hope those from my past will forgive me any arrogance I've shown them. I pray every day for humility. I hope those in my present and future will know that I mean them no harm, even if I hurt them unintentionally.  I hope that I can remember about those around me (even the guy with the unnecessary and vulgar bumper sticker), and that those around me can remember about me that everyone matters. I hope we can give each other the benefit of the doubt, be compassionate, and find ways to help each other when we are hurt.

Skeletons...

(or I Hope Ruby Will Still Love Me after Reading This Post or Maybe She'll Love Me More)

Today I thought it was time to show my 5-year old some of the demons from my past. It's time he knew truly where his mother came from and what she's made of. This decision was prompted by my response to my 7-year old's declaration, "I'm a cowboy!" What else could I do but scream/sing, "On a steel horse I ride. I'm wanted (wanted) dead or alive!" (J, on the other hand, always thinks of "I want to be a Cowboy! Baby!" Yes, Kid Rock. How we ended up together is still a mystery to me.) It was time to find Bon Jovi's album Cross Road (Thank you, Rhapsody!) and listen with H to the whole thing while we played with homemade, vanilla-scented play-dough.

For those of you who don't know, I was born and raised in New Jersey. I am a Jersey Girl. Maybe not what you think of when you think "Jersey Girl," but I am a product of the Garden State nonetheless. Is it only natural that we would be listening to Bon Jovi, this fine snowy, sunny day? It is not. Believe it or not, I did not like Bon Jovi for oh, about the first 33.95 years of my life. I didn't grow up liking them; I never owned an album; always changed the station when they came on the radio. I spent most of my youth listening to They Might Be Giants, classical music, and whatever music filtered out of my brother's room (which did not include Bon Jovi, at least that I remember).

Today, however, something changed. It changed somewhere in the first verse of "Livin On a Prayer." And (this is embarrassing) it brought tears to my eyes. I mean really, "...hold on to what we've got cause it doesn't make a difference if we make it or not. We've got each other and that's a lot for love. We'll give it a shot...We're halfway there. Livin' on a prayer. Take my hand and we'll make it I swear." (By the way, that's how the Kid Rock hearer and the Korean-American, NJ-born, Bon Jovi hearer make it together.) We won't talk about that abrupt and less-than-inspired key change in the middle of it. Anyway, them's some powerful hormones wacking out my body (very possible), or there's some truth in Bon Jovi that's resonating within me (also possible). Not fading, as a bell tolls, but getting louder and louder, reminding me of my roots.

And how's that for a random post? I'm not sure when this blog turned from updating about life with kids to my own personal sounding board, but I'm okay with what it is now. I hope you are too. I'll bring back the journaling about the monkeys, but for me, this is all about life. Life as a stay-at-home mom of three boys. Birthdays; holidays; school events; feelings of inadequacy; feelings of love and joy; kids' triumphs; my own triumphs as I learn and grow into being a better person, wife, mother; faith growing; manic-depression ebbing and flowing; managing; balancing; all that stuff.

From the Mouth of Babes...

Another H-ism:

This is a conversation we had while he was idly patting my belly fat this morning...

H: "You have a big belly, Mom."
Me: "It's squishy and jiggly, isn't it? Do you like it?"
H: "Yeah. It's soft. But those," here he points to my diminutive chest "you just put those on in the morning."
Me: "Yes, you're right about that, Son!"

To get ready for the day, some people their 'outfit' on and their 'look' together by getting dressed. Some people put their 'face' on by putting on makeup. Me? I put my boobs on when I put on my bra.


And can I just say, there is no shame in shopping in the little girls' section for clothes, but there is no dignity buying bras from the little girls' bra section. Do I really need ice cream cones or rainbows printed all over my bras? I don't think so.

OCD Much?

Dearly Beloved Husband, who is yet again out of town, this one is for you:

The Lego blocks that were scattered about my playroom like this...


...now look like this:


J always laughs at me when I put the blocks away like this. I can't help it. And what's more, I enjoy it. It helps me put my head in order and gives me satisfaction to see them organized by color, size, shape -- you get the picture. So, I refer you again to the title of this post. Crazy I may be, but I am an organized, happy crazy!

We're Gonna Be Rich

J and I have just figured out The Next Big Thing. Forget P90X. Forget the Bowflex. Forget exercise balls, the Thighmaster, that thing that electrocutes your muscles into firmness while you lay on the couch watching tv. We have the perfect idea for total abdominal fitness. You'll see it soon on late-night infomercials.

Here it is: One simple inhaler. Just a puff or two every day that injects germs or an irritant of your choice into your lungs. Then just cough your way to rock-solid abs! You'll see results in just one week. That's right -- just one week! A flabby belly preventing you from fitting into that one sleek dress? Jeans a little too tight? A weekend of beach-volleyball coming up that you're not quite ready for? Just a puff or two a day and you'll have a 6-pack that is the envy of all who look at you!

After 10 days of coughing non-stop, J's abs are almost to their former glory. That core, 10 years ago, was a sight to behold. It went into hibernation under some squishy layers, but -- boy is it back! Who needs exercise when you can just get sick and cough your way back into that perfect body?!

Today Is The Best Day of My Life

Yesterday in Relief Society (the women's meeting of our 3-hour block), someone told of a woman in our ward (congregation) whose daily saying was, "Today is the best day of my life!" She said it to herself everyday of her life up until, and including, the day she died. Something about that really resonated with me. I've decided to make it my mantra. I think I want my awesome friend Brooke to put it in vinyl for every room of my house. This morning I wrote it in my journal three times in a row. S read it and asked why I wrote it three times. I told him that it would help me remember it and make today the best day of my life. Cynical S muttered, "So far." Maybe it needs to become our family motto.

I just love all that that simple sentence says. I love that it can lift my spirit, change my perspective, and alter my attitude as I strive to make every day the best day of my life. It encourages me to make the most of each day by working my tail off for my family, smiling at the kids -- especially when it's hard to, reading my scriptures and actively striving to feel Heavenly Father in all that I do. I'm excited to begin this lifelong experiment of trying to make each day "the best day of my life."

Alone Again

J left this afternoon for Idaho where he'll be until Friday night. It broke my heart to have H writhing in my arms, screaming for Daddy while J drove away. He has been gone A LOT. When he left I thought I was going to go crazy. The Monkeys all decided to switch their volumes to VERY LOUD and fight through dinner. Aaahhhh!!!

But then, dinner was over. H went to bed. S, O, and I had a brief Family Home Evening. O went to bed. S went to bed. Quiet reigns, sanity is restored. O blessed bedtime!

In the immortal words of Dr. Seuss:

Today is gone. Today was fun.
Tomorrow is another one.

I'm thankful for "another one" with my little monkeys. My heart is full of love for these boys. And their dad? Well, before I can really miss him, he'll be home again too.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving at our home was a nice relaxing day.

J went shooting in the morning with Grandpa Lundgren and various males from that side of the family. He came home fairly oozing testosterone. He's a really good shot.

While he was gone we made pies, played, and sat and looked at the Christmas tree that I had set up the night before. When he came home I went for a 5-mile run in gorgeous weather. I haven't run that far since the last week in September (I know -- pitiful), so it was hard at first! It got easier after about 3 1/2 miles, though, so I felt pretty good by the time I got home. Just in time to shower and go to Grandpa and Grandma Lundgren's to put back all the calories I had just burned off. So worth it, though.

Dinner was so good. We also were able to go outside and watch the Atlantis and the space station meet up. That was really cool.

Thanksgiving weekend passed by very well. The best part of it is that I've rediscovered UNO. S and O are both old enough to understand and play with me, and even J played a couple hands of it with me before we went to bed last night. It's the best card game ever invented. I'm thankful for UNO.

More seriously, I'm grateful for all of my blessings. I'm awed and humbled by how much the Lord has given me -- J, the boys, the Gospel, great health, family, stable employment, incredible friends, my right to choose for myself the way I want my life to go. I'm excited for Christmas, which for me is just an expansion and continuation of Thanksgiving. It's truly the best time of year to be thankful and to show gratitude through love and service. Woo hoo! Holidays, here we come!

Whenever, Right?

So, you may have noticed that I haven't been posting much lately. Ah well. Sooner or later (probably later) you will get updates on S's project, my trip to Bismarck, J's numerous business trips here and there, and our life in general.

Later.

Still Running

Two weeks ago I ran 10 miles. By ran I mean that I ran about 8.5 miles, stopped and almost puked, walked, tried to run, walked again, stuck my head under somebody's sprinklers, and then ran home (because my neighbor was out in her front yard and I couldn't be seen walking by people I know!) As was to be expected, I was pretty much useless for the rest of the day.

The next week I got back into my schedule of running every other day, so the 11-mile run last Friday wasn't too bad. Tomorrow I have a 12-mile run and I am admittedly a little nervous. I generally eat pretty well, but I'm thinking Chewy Sprees, Flamin' Hot Cheetos, and homemade chocolate ice cream aren't exactly the best fuel for keeping me going on a long run. Weird monthy cravings...

So why am I running so much? My awesome amazing friend and neighbor Crystal is running the St. George Marathon in October and I told her I'd train with her for it, even though I'm not doing it. What was I thinking?!?! I must be crazy, but I feel sane because the jarring of running is killing my brain cells. That must be it.

Actually, I am finally starting to have more energy. I like the way my body looks and the way J looks at my body. Besides the hours of time running still seems to take, the perks are pretty good.

Binge

I am a comfort/binge/escapist reader. I love to read. A whole long wall in our house is bookshelves, and all of those shelves are full. I'm not saying it's necessarily a good thing. When I read, especially when I read something interesting, something that grabs my attention, I succumb to it and let it take all of my attention. Laundry piles up, the dishes do too. Dinner, if made at all is made one-handed. If anyone wants to talk to me, they get the half-glazed look from me because my eyes are unfocused from reading.

My latest reading binge has come in the form of "The Little House Books." Girls, you know which ones I'm talking about. "Little House in the Big Woods" to "By the Shores of Silver Lake" to "These Happy Golden Years" and beyond. When my sister and I were young we read those books to pieces. She has since bought her own collection, and I need to do the same. I love all of the books in that series, but my favorite are "Farmer Boy," "Little Town on the Prairie" (who cannot love it when Almanzo Wilder first touches Laura's elbow and asks,"May I see you home?"), and "These Happy Golden Years." It's gotten me thinking about so many things:

• They worked so hard from dawn to dusk. I make my kids do chores in the morning and then they're done. Do I need to plant a bigger garden and throw bins of toys away to build character in my sons?
• So many times Laura talked about biting back words, breathing and thinking before she spoke. I know I could benefit from practicing that!
• They ate the same simple meals over and over and over again. I feel so spoiled and feel like I am spoiling my kids with all the choices we have for meals.
• It just feels like we have too much.

I've talked over this last one with J quite often. Sometimes it feels like I must be crazy because I don't know that other people feel the same way I do. I think that we have too much. Too many clothes, too many books and toys, too many choices, too many conveniences to help ease our way. Now, I know that I could go live in a yurt in the middle of nowhere. I'm nutty like that. I could be Amish if they let me. But I don't think that's the answer. We're counseled to "be in the world, not of the world," but where's the balance? I don't want to shelter my kids so much that they can't handle all that is out there once they're thrust into the world, but I don't want it to influence them too much growing up. Always fighting, fighting for balance. Any insight?

R-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-n-n-n-n-n-n-n

Today I ran 11.5 miles from 2000 North in Orem into American Fork by the temple and back. It was beautiful, so I went extra slow so I could enjoy the scenery. No, actually, I went extra slow because that's how I run. I ran with two friends who, after 30 minutes, plugged themselves into their ipods and left me behind. It got me thinking: should I be listening to music when I run? Most of the team members for the Ragnar are getting their playlists together. My own J prefers techno because it keeps him going. I haven't even thought about music for the relay. It's funny because music used to be my life. I majored in music in college, and always loved to have it playing. I still really appreciate good music, of course, but with three little monkeys whose volume controls are sleeping, loud, or very loud, I have come to love and appreciate silence. Music playing in the car or at home when the monkeys are present just adds to the cacophony. With three little ones and a big one who want to talk to me, plus the noise of the sink/dishwasher/dinner cooking/plates/you name it, music in the background just adds to the noise.
I suppose, for the sake of the race, I'd better find some music that will keep me going. Do you have any suggestions?

One of THOSE Days

It is 7:16 PM. All the monkeys are in bed, and two-thirds of them are asleep. The last one I'm not sure about, but right now I don't care. He's quiet -- that's all that matters. It has been one of those days. And really, I'm worried. School has been out for only 2 days (not including Memorial Day since J was around all day) and I'm feeling crazy!?! Will I survive the summer? It remains to be seen.

Our summer days schedule goes something like this: Before breakfast beds must be made and all things picked up off the floor of their rooms. Has gone well so far. After breakfast we transform into "The Weed Warriors" and go to battle on behalf of our helpless tomato, pepper, cucumber, and corn plants for at least 30 minutes. Then we play. Today I was starving at 11 so I made myself a sandwich. The monkeys munched on homemade granola bars (so yummy, by the way. If you want the recipe, email me). When it came time to feed J, who was working from home, the monkeys weren't hungry, so I forgot to feed them lunch until 3:30. Big mistake. That may have been the beginning of the end of my patience. I also had gone and donated blood at 1 and should've nourished myself better upon returning home, but forgot. Why do I forget how eating well makes everyone a little happier? After their late lunch we cleaned the playroom. That room almost never gets clean, and it drives me insane!!!! Today we tackled it. The complaining and throwing of toys into brothers as opposed to the toy box further depleted my patience. Every whine, cry, scream, unpleasant noise issuing forth from a son of mine dipped into the patience reserve. By the time we ate dinner (hot dogs. Yeah, I know -- eating crap doesn't help, but it did make me feel a little better) I was longingly looking forward to bedtime. Then the clincher: J and I came inside with some dishes (after all, how can you not eat hot dogs outside on a lovely day?), we hear H scream and look out the window to see S and O stalking towards a supine H. They arrive at his body and O promptly stomps on his back. Cue mom to SNAP! I go outside, grab O by the wrist and say,"Jammies, brush your teeth. You are going to bed." Then the pointing finger makes its move (because, after all, if you know S, it was definitely him egging O on to tread upon H),"S, you too. Jammies and brush your teeth. Everybody is going to bed early today!" Scoop up H (who is perfectly fine, of course) and march him up the stairs to his room to get him ready for bed. S is screaming about the sudden change of plans, O is resigned, and H is happy because he loves to brush his teeth and have his by-nah-nin (translation: vitamin). O goes to bed, gladly, I imagine, since he's worn out. H, not understanding the thin wire mommy's treading forfeits his stories just by being 2. S, in bed 1 1/2 hours before his accustomed bedtime, is doing his best to earn the privilege of going to a friend's birthday party tomorrow.
The funny thing is, once O and H were asleep, my well of patience became as deep as the sea. Calmly, no anger, just stating the facts, I laid out the game plan for S and how he could go to the birthday party. Then we lovingly discussed the need for him to be a great example for his brothers who think he's so cool ("Because you are, S!"). He went upstairs, with one look askance at the clock, and has been quiet in bed ever since.
It's funny what the quiet of bedtime will do for my perspective. (That and a bowl of ice cream) I'm really looking forward to this summer and the time with all my monkeys at home. They are fun, fantastic boys. Anyway, that's how I feel until the "Another One of THOSE Days" post.

The Cupcake Lady

There is a lady in my head that I call the cupcake lady. She is the humanization of my oratorical abilities. Here is what she looks like...

The cupcake lady wears heels and a knee-length straight skirt. She has on a pretty coordinating blouse, a tasteful necklace with matching earrings, and her hair is always done -- not a stray hair anywhere. For some reason she is Caucasian, sometimes blond, sometimes brunette -- go figure that one out, shrinks! The cupcake lady lives in a sunny home with wood floors and a big beautiful kitchen, complete with an island where she prepares her cupcakes. It's almost always 10 o'clock in the morning in her world. She has beautifully prepared cupcakes all ready to go bless someone else's life. Not just out-of-the box with frosting out-of-the can smeared on top cupcakes. No, these cupcakes are beauties: Elegantly piped frosting, delicate flowers, cutesy animals, works of art! She must have labored over them for hours preparing them, adding details and, of course, love. The cupcakes are arranged, sometimes on a hand painted ceramic plate, sometimes in a big rectangular Tupperware cupcake container. The cupcake lady, designer bag on her arm, sunglasses perched on her perfect 'do, keys in hand picks up the plate/container/etc and gracefully makes her way down the hallway, opens the front door, and BAM! trips on the thresh hold. Cupcakes everywhere! On her clothes, on the porch, on her nose, the neighbor's cat! Ceramic plate in pieces, scattered on the sidewalk -- BIG HUGE MESS!!

This is how I feel when I talk. My words are the cupcakes (sometimes it's just a cake on a metal/crystal cake stand but most often cupcakes). Coherent sentences just waiting to happen. Years of vocabulary lists standing attentively, eager for the opportunity to share themselves. A heartfelt message just wanting to be shared with others, to bless their lives. Then they reach the door of my mouth, trip on the thresh hold of my tongue, and just collapse out of me and hit the ears of whoever is listening in a jumbled mess.

Is it because I had to teach Sunday School and Relief Society (Women's' organization in my Church) today that the cupcake lady is dancing in and out of my vision? Must be.