Spooky rice krispie treats

Last Friday was a busy day for us. 

Ok, me.

It's my day off... don't get me started on how much I'd rather have my Mondays off instead of Fridays. Which can only mean one thing. 

Work.

Laundry, vacuuming, breaking up fights, feeding children 50 times a day, getting dressed, picking up toys, trying to keep the dog contained, menu planning, grocery shopping, more cooking and feeding, and if we're lucky, doing something fun.

It took all day to get to the "fun" this time though.

After all the normal household chores and trying out a new recipe for dinner, Pearl and I made a batch of ooey-gooey, spooky Halloween rice krispie treats. I was hoping they'd make it to next week when Jeff could take one in his lunch.

I should have known though that magical happens when you combine warm, melted marshmallows, butter, and rice krispie cereal. Drizzled with white chocolate. And sprinkles. How can you forget the sprinkles?

Compare and contrast

There are some big differences between my kids.

Gender. Age. Personalities.

And there are some similarities too.

Whining. Constant "I'm hungry." Sassy. Messy. And cute. 

The other day I pulled out a Target dollar section find (d&!* you Target... walked out with $40 of stuff I never knew I needed) to give the kids a few minutes of creativity and fun.

Let's compare and contrast the activity.

Compare:

Both kids put on their "concentration" faces.

Both kids decided it was more fun to paint on their hands.

Both kids' paint ended up looking like this.

Both kids painted on the paper after they were done with their pumpkins.

Both kids were pretty proud of their finished product.

Contrast:

Cole thought it would be a good idea to eat the paint. Bad idea.

Cole was 10 times more messy than Pearl. 

Cole had to paint the back of his pumpkin. And poke it with his fingers. 

Pearl was the only one to tell me this was fun and thank you.

Project paint pumpkins... success.

The American Dream

{I've delayed posting this for a few days in the hope that things would magically feel better. But they haven't. I don't want to hurt anyone, but I have to release this somehow. So forgive me. It's how I feel.}

 

I posted this picture to Facebook the other day and one of my friends commented that it looked like a scene straight out of "an American Dream" movie. I assume she meant the blonde-haired boy and lab puppy and not the piles of laundry and junk.

I laughed.

While it may appear to some that we're living "the American dream" I assure you, we aren't. At least not all the time. The past few days I've felt all chaos come to one big crashing halt. I warn you that this is not going to be one of those feel-good-I-love-being-a-wife/mother-type posts because we are one big happy, perfect family. To be quite blunt, I sometimes feel my blog is a lie to the outside world from what struggles I go through inside. Oh sure, there are plenty of fun times and running around crazy from one activity to the next because we choose to do so. But the past few days have been screaming in my face that something is wrong. Ironically, on General Conference weekend... again. Seems like every time it rolls around I'm a mess. And rather than feeling spiritually uplifted like so many of my fellow Mormons do during this time, I feel like a wilted, dying flower.

Pearl asked me what was wrong. I told her, "I'm not happy." I meant it to mean that I was crying because I was sad, but then I thought about it some more and it's true. I'm not happy. I feel totally alone. Really alone. Going through the motions of life because I have to get up when the kids want breakfast... I have to get them dressed and to school because that's what is expected... I have to go to work because we have bills to pay... I have to fix dinner, attempt to keep a somewhat clean house, do laundry, go grocery shopping, etc because that's part of the deal with being a mom... I have to take the dog on a walk because I don't want an out of control 100+ lb. dog controlling our lives and eating our house... all these things feel totally out of my control and yet, I have no choice but to keep doing them. Make any sense?

I know life is hard. I get that. I know I probably bring a lot of this on myself. I know people deal with serious trials, health problems, job losses, and far more life-threatening and heartbreaking situations than me. I feel totally selfish for complaining when I stop and think about what others go through.

But I feel totally lost. Completely empty. Emotionally exhausted. Alone. I have given up caring. It costs far too much emotional energy to keep trying and then get my heart crushed by those I love the most. Over and over and over again. And yet there's still a little part of me, the part that's just "me," that can't stop caring and holds on to the guilt of everything that I'm doing wrong or that's going wrong to completely not care.

I feel like everything I treasure most is crumbling. We fight. We yell. We cry. We don't speak kindly to each other. We don't communicate unless it's to yell and fight or discuss surface-level things. We have no patience. I feel like we all just "exist" here but there's not this deeper emotional connection I feel we need (and that I so desperately want). I know I have out-of-control emotions and ridiculous expectations of myself, my marriage, my kids, and my family sometimes but this has been boiling under the surface for a long time. It feels like we start doing better but it's just on the surface and no one wants or cares to want to fix what's broken underneath. There's an emptiness I feel and I don't know how to fix it. 

I am becoming a bitter, old woman. I have serious unresolved issues I've decided. Anger and hurt is always there under the surface and often comes out in the heat of battle with two children who have pushed me to my breaking point. I don't know how to tell people who have hurt me just that... I'm afraid of the consequences. But instead, I feel like I'm the one who is paying the price and to be quite honest, I'm not sure how much more I can take. I feel myself screaming inside to be heard and no one can or wants to listen. I keep thinking if I could just get the house clean - really clean - and if we could just get to work earlier (or even on time) and then leave earlier or if I could just get Blu to be good or if I could just save a little more money or if I could just be a better or if I could just..... blah, blah, blah then things would be better.  

I want to be happy. I want to fill fulfilled. I want my children to make good choices. I want to be a good mom. I want to have a closer relationship with my husband. I want to feel emotionally connected. I want to feel loved. I want to feel valued and listened to and important. I want a stronger testimony. I want to feel like "me" again. But I am completely overwhelmed. I have no idea where to start. And I have no idea if I've got what it takes to make it.

Salsa making frenzy

We're in a salsa making frenzy at our house.

With sink full of green tomatoes on one side and red tomatoes on the other, I knew I'd eventually have to find the time to get those beauties bottled. I kept thinking, tonight I'll get to it. But then I had YW or worked late or had a baby shower to go to or someone was hungry or the dog needed to go on a walk or blah blah blah. Life.

Knowing that if I didn't get to the green salsa tonight, I'd end up with even more ripe, red tomatoes (we like green salsa better), I decided to just go for it. The kids were excited to see the sink full of water and offered to help. Earlier I'd made some comment about "I'll make salsa if I can get the kids and dog to cooperate." What I meant was, leave me alone.

Well, this wasn't exactly my idea of cooperation at the time, but it worked. The kids had fun. The tomatoes were thoroughly washed. And we now have enough salsa to last a year. The only problem is I still have enough tomatoes for at least another three batches of green salsa and who knows how many batches of red salsa.

It never ends.

{The recipe we use for green salsa is fabulous. It's found here. If your tomatoes haven't frozen yet, go pick all the green ones you have left and make this!}

Last ride

Jeff's best friend growing up, he's lovingly called Palmer, invited us to go on a 4 wheeler ride up Willard Peak a couple weeks ago. Since we were going to Logan anyway for USU Homecoming festivities and game and he hardly ever asks us to do stuff anymore, we decided what the heck. It had been years since we'd been up to the top of cold and windy Willard Peak and the kids are always begging to go on one more four wheeler ride.

It went something like this.

I run around chaotic all day doing laundry, packing, going grocery shopping, and making a dinner suitable for an ATV ride. We get there a tad later than had hoped for then scramble to get two kids, coats, food, four wheelers, and the dog situated so we can attempt to catch up to the rest of the group.

It's cold and dinner time so we stop a few times to try and appease the whining children and beg Cole to put his coat on and eat something. The dog and I cruise behind at a whooping 7 miles an hour in an attempt to not throw her out of her basket. We finally convince the kids to wear their coats and then chance it making it to the top before eating our actual dinner. Blu falls out of her basket as I hit a bumpy spot in the trail and I nearly kill her without knowing it. Thank goodness I had a thought to reach back and feel for her otherwise I wouldn't have known she was in trouble. Two miles short of our destination, we decide enough is enough. It's dark, cold, and Cole and Pearl have reached
"ugly hour" and need to eat. We eat a delicious and still hot feast of hot sandwiches. They were just what we needed. Palmer gives up on us making it to the top and the group comes back down looking for us. Which was great because Blu got a ride back with Dan and Megan... keeping them warm and me from taking three hours to get back to the truck.

Everyone survives the whining, crying, and cold. When we get back to the truck, it's all Cole will talk about. Crazy considering he acted like we were torturing him earlier.

One last ride to say goodbye to the season.