Biggest Loser Sisters

Have any of you ever gone around satisfied that you appear a certain way but then look at a recent picture and realize that your appearance is unhappily not as you thought? Such was the experience of my sister Kelly yesterday. She is is not chubby at all but has gained a few pounds since summer. The above picture was taken yesterday at the YMCA before we did step aerobics at the pre-Thanksgiving pigout morning workout. By the way nobody was there. When Kelly and I went in and entered the raffle, ours were the only names in the container. I won a nice jacket and Kelly won a HUGE t-shirt and plastic water bottle. Hooray!

We took the picture hoping to post it on Facebook to illustrate both how fabulous we look and how dedicated to physical fitness, even on Thanksgiving. Unfortunately, Kelly made an unflattering pose and later when she viewed the picture, she decided her right arm was as large as her ex boyfriend's and her neck was the size of a Redwood tree trunk.

I thought maybe we could still use the picture because I learned about the liquefy tool in Photoshop at my last enrichment night. I liquefied Kelly's arm, neck, and waist but it just came out weirdly proportioned because I didn't know how to do it right. We laughed so hard. I couldn't get off the floor. It's the laugh where your jaws hurt and tears stream down your face. I guess you'd have to be there.

Bad angles aside, we decided it wouldn't hurt either of us to lose 10 to 15 pounds by January 30th, Kelly's birthday. So on Monday we start the biggest loser sister challenge. The only rule is we must eat healthy. No eating disorders must emerge! Wish us luck.

Bedtime Chart

The above picture gives a visual of Nicky's latest bedtime chart. I've decided bed time is the beast of childhood for all involved. Before the chart came into play I was telling 20 minute bedtime stories that were, "too short" and hanging out on the couch biting my nails while listening to maniacal yelling and screaming from three year old's room. I've never visited the psych ward at the hospital myself but I felt strangely as if I was living in one between the hours of 6 and 8 p.m.

Jeff was just about to buy a lock for the bedroom door when I thought to re institute the chart. I never had one of these myself as I was the 5th of 6th children and my parents were entering their 40s by the time I was three. They were tired. They did resort to the lock on the door. I don't really blame them. I think I just have to try something else before I go that far.

The chart has helped as has the alarm clock on my cell phone. Nicky's stories had to be LONG before and it was all subjective to her definition of long. My throat was actually getting sore from story telling. Like I said these sagas could stretch 20 to 30 minutes and were taxing my imagination. How many entertaining scenarios that involve the neighborhood dogs and Nicky are there? Then, after all the effort, she bellers that the story was too short. No amount of arguing could convince her otherwise. A couple of days ago I told her we were setting an alarm to make sure I didn't get away with telling a short story like I'd been doing in the past. She bought it. At 5 minutes the alarm goes off and if I haven't finished, she thinks the extra storytelling minute to end the story makes the story even longer than longer. Santa Claus has also been helpful. The last item on her chart is, "go to sleep without crying." I told her Santa is watching and if she fills her chart with stickers, he will bring all the gifts he has for her. It's working so far. But what happens after Christmas? I also have to leave the lights on and the door open because monsters seem to be in the room when I turn the lights out. The drama.

Andy only goes to bed if I'm laying by him now but it only takes five minutes and I can transfer him to bed for the night. I kind of enjoy it. He is so snuggly. Somehow I know it is not a good idea for long term but I am tired of fighting everything. What is it with kids and going to bed? My mom always said I was a bedtime beast myself so I suppose its payback.

P.S. My sister Kelly is here and says that the lines on my chart make her feel her OCD coming on. She wants to re-do the lines. Funny how I was just in a hurry to get something up. No ruler was involved. I didn't even notice the chart's horrendousness.

My Hero -- The Garbage Man

I forgot to take out the garbage last week when Jeff was gone for work. Our garbage can is stored in the garage which is directly connected to the house. I can't tell you whether we are more thankful around here for a Thanksgiving holiday or that garbage day is tomorrow. Andy's poopy diapers are putrid when they are fresh. You can imagine the toxicity of those vile things when they are two weeks old.

This brings me to an interesting thought. Growing up I always thought the most contemptible job was that of a garbage man. In the 80s they didn't have the nice standardized trash cans with the serial numbers. We had three short 35 gallon metal garbage cans. On garbage day the trash cans, beaten and bent, forlornly sat at the end of the drive way filled to capacity with two or three more bags piled on top. The garbage truck would come by with two filthy men hanging like monkeys on the sides. The truck would stop in front of my house. The workers would jump off the truck and manually lift the trash and pour the cans into the truck's giant trash receptacle. In my childish pride, I wouldn't dare look at the truck and the workers because I thought the whole scene was so disgusting and pitiable.

Now I almost get tears in my eyes thinking of what my world and everyone else's would be like if the garbage man and his truck didn't come to take away my refuse every week. In my world, my junk disappears weekly and I have the luxury of not even knowing the whereabouts of the dump.

I've been thinking of this for awhile. How do I express my gratitude? Should I leave cookies or a note atop the garbage can? I'm afraid it might get mistaken for trash. Should I run out Wednesday mornings in my pajamas with tears in my eyes when I hear the beeping and crashing? Would the poor guy think I am insane and be afraid?
There's one guy around here that idolizes the garbage truck. For Andy, the man that gets to drive that impressive piece of machinery is right up there with train conductors and airline pilots. Wednesdays are the days the blinds must be open so he can watch the miracle unfold outside.

On a different note, Andy smiles. Who knew? Since he turned two he's shed his serious exterior and laughs like a maniac when someone pretends to be a cookie monster. So for Thanksgiving I have to say I'm thankful for the garbage removal program and also for Andy's smiles. Life is pretty good to me.

Condo for Sale

We've pretty much talked about selling our condo for 2 of the 3 years we've lived here. Since the condo is 2 bedroom/ 1 bath and 800 square feet, we knew we would eventually want a house. The house, neighborhood, and friends around us have been perfect for three years. We bought our condo through a San Diego Housing Commission's plan. This means we bought it for a majorly discounted rate. Basically we have a really cheap mortgage and we live in one of the most expensive areas of San Diego.

When we decided to buy this condo owning a home in California, anywhere, was impossible. Now with foreclosures popping up in every area we're hopeful we can have a home of our own sometime in the next year. We decided to put our condo up for sale the other day. The paperwork that must go on to sell this place is enormous so even if the lady that is coming to look at our house today decides to buy, we wouldn't be out until February.

I've noticed cleaning is already a pain. Like yesterday I had to clean all the closets and organize the cupboards in addition to regular cleaning. Plus we have two kids running around undoing everything that has already been done.

Another condo is competing with us for buyers. Remember our neighbor who killed herself? Is it bad if we tell prospective buyers who are looking at both our places that someone died of unnatural causes in the other unit?

Gentle

I had a strange experience last Thursday that I attribute to having a little girl that resembles me. I don't see the resemblance very often because most the time I think Nicky looks like her daddy or has her own looks. On Thursday Nicky was at gymnastics. She was wearing her pink and black leotard that comes down mid thigh. The leotard's shape isn't the most flattering on my girl because she is slightly bigger than the rest of the girls and still has some baby rolls on her thighs. Nicky is not instructor Diane's future Olympian in the class. She is awesome at following directions but has trouble rolling her body from the head to the toes on the somersault. She usually ends up landing to the side instead of in a straight line.

Watching Nicky with her body type and athletic aptitude on Thursday was like traveling through time and watching myself. I remembered my awkwardness in ballet, my lack of flexibility, my tendency for injury and accidents, and how my sisters were always the cheerleaders and dancers. I remembered the 4th grade production of The Wizard of Oz. I was cast in a dance ensemble but was removed and sent to the chorus because I couldn't do a cartwheel. I remember the years stretching from elementary school to junior high where I was chosen last for teams and yelled out for missing the ball and losing the game point in volleyball. Of course in high school the popular girls were the cheerleaders, drill team members, and basketball stars.

Of course the message to myself was since I wasn't athletic like others, I wasn't as good, worthy, and lovable. All these years later intellectually I know the message wasn't true, but the powerful feelings of inadequacy never quite died. I think all those years of not measuring up in different ways gave birth to my critical inner voice. You'd think I'd have grown out of my insecurities but my inner critic still exists. For example, last night I ate three chocolate cookies and I actually heard my critic say, "you are so gross." Seriously? Did I really say that to myself? Would I ever even say that to my worst enemy?

Watching Nicky was healing. Here is she is three years old and having the time of her life being the worst student in the class. She never looks to the sides to compare herself with how the other girls are doing. She giggles when she doesn't quite make her somersaults and runs on to the next activity. Of course she is my daughter so I don't care how athletic she is as long as she is having fun. She runs around the obstacle course and doesn't even know she is carrying my heart outside my body right around with her. I could never tell her she is gross or unworthy of love because she can't complete her half cartwheels and somersaults. Obviously she was born with talents for some things and not others. Could I be unhappy with her for being born a certain way? We are of the same mold. So I thought, If I can love her so much without judging, why can't I love myself with the same fervor. It's something I need to work on.

Many, many years ago I turned 18. I attended relief society in my Lehi home ward for a couple months before heading off to college. I never felt like I fit in being so young and sitting with the mothers and older ladies. One day I had an experience I'll never forget. There was a mother in the ward with 6 or 7 little children. By this I mean they were all a year apart and they were all under eight. She was a homely woman with crooked teeth and disheveled hair. I don't normally remember others' looks but I remember her because one day in relief society she sang and her voice was everything her looks were not. She sang Michael McLaine's "Gentle." Her voice was an alto and the music flowed out of her as if she were an angel. She didn't just sing the words beautifully but she seemed to really feel them and made me feel them. I'd never been so struck by the honesty and message of a song. Watching Nicky reminded me of that song and how it is not only important for me to love and accept Nicky, but to do the same for myself.

Like a gentle wind can blow the clouds from the sky,

Like a gentle touch can ease the pain of goodbye,

Like a gentle smile embraces empty souls in lonely places,

We should be more gentle with ourselves.

Like the friend who gently builds us up when we’re down,

Like a gentle kiss can turn our world all around,

We’ve been hurt by others often, we’ve forgiven and forgotten,

We should be as gentle with ourselves.

Life can hard, but we need not be so hard on ourselves,

if we will see…
Like the shepherd leads his flock with gentle commands.

With his gentle voice that only hearts understand.

One thing we can know for certain,

He has borne the awful burdens

So we can be gentle with ourselves.
One thing that I know for certain,

He will bear my every burden

So I can be gentle with myself.

Husband Tag

I stole this husband tag from my old Snow College roommate and friend Lindsay. I need something uplifting to shuffle down that sad post. I couldn't find the picture of my first official date with Jeff. He invited me to one of those murder mystery dinners hosted by his boss. I remember I had to dress as a western saloon girl, so slutty. Luckily I couldn't find that picture. However, I did find this humorous one of us dressed up in Star Wars garb. My old roommate Clarrisa's boyfriend, Justin was obsessed with Star Wars. While Jeff and I were engaged, one of those newer Star Wars movies came out and Justin had a big party on the premier day. We all had to dress up as a Star Wars character. Jeff was Hans Solo and I was Princess Leia. You might not recognize me in the dark bun wig. The funny thing is that Jeff HATES dressing up. He was so embarrassed to go the movie theater dressed like Hans and wielding a light saber. To top it off, some kids wanted to get their picture taken with our group after the movie because we looked so authentic. It just makes me laugh remembering how awkward Jeff felt but also obligated to act like it was fun because Justin was so excited.

Anyway, here is the tag.

What is his name? Jeffrey Aaron Camacho
How long have you been married? 6 years
How long did you date? Friends for a year, dating and engaged for 1 1/2 years
Who eats more sweets? Me
Who said I love you first? I did and he didn't say it back.
Who is taller? Jeff
Who is smarter? Probably Jeff. He's the one who got all the scholarships and I'm the one that had student loans.
Who does the laundry? He does and I fold, sort, and put away.
Who does the dishes? Both of us.
Who pays the bills? Automatic withdrawal does. But if a bill comes in the mail, he's always quick to pay it.
His guilty pleasure? Pumpkin pie with lots of of whip cream.
Who sleeps on the right side of the bed? Me
Who has more friends? Probably Jeff
Who cooks dinner? Me
Who is more stubborn? a draw
Who kissed who first? How embarrassing. I kissed him first and it was awkward. We were in the car outside of the Food 4 Less in Provo and it was snowing. Luckily the second time around it was his idea and it was a lot better.
Who proposed? Jeff proposed outside the Mt. Timpanogas temple. I knew what we were doing so the only thing he could do to make it interesting was pretend he had lost the ring in the bushes. Once the ring was recovered, I remember Jeff was nervous but super sweet and sincere. Of course I said Yes.

Jeff is my favorite person to spend time with and I love him.

Parental Declines

My mom had a seizure last week. My niece Jackie heard a thud from her room upstairs and ran into the family room to find my mom on the floor convulsing. My brother Gregg was home luckily. The paramedics were called. Mom was choking on her saliva so my brother turned her on her side and that preserved her until the ambulance came. He was pretty shaken up and said that he felt like he was watching my mom die. Mom had a CT scan at the hospital and there are no brain tumors. They say they are not always sure why people have seizures it just has to do with increased brain activity. Ever since her seizure, my mom has lost control of her bladder functions so she is in diapers now.

Gregg called me last night and we talked about rest homes. It seems like a good idea for my mom to go since there would be more care and more activities available for her. At the same time it feels surreal to watch her decline. Only four years ago she was living on her own and writing intelligibly in her journal. She wasn't herself, but she was so far from the mumbling, staring, shuffler she has become.

Oddly, I feel removed from it all like I'm watching a movie about a woman with Alzheimer's instead of watching my mother. Maybe it's because I live in San Diego and she lives in Lindon. Accounts of a seizure over the phone are a lot easier to deal with than physically watching my mother have a seizure. Maybe I feel removed because I've been losing her by inches for years. I've already cried a million times. Am I supposed to cry at every decline milestone? It gets exhausting. People ask how I am and I have to admit I don't even cry I just feel numb.

Numbness doesn't seem like the right word either because I do have intense emotions about it sometimes. For example, I was at church on Sunday and the Bishop's daughter was visiting. It's obvious that the Bishop's wife and daughter have one of those ideal relationships that ever mother would wish for with her daughter. The Bishops wife is beautiful, friendly, alive, and available. Then it hits me that not everyone has to live like me and I feel that familiar pit in my stomach. Or, I'll be listening to a Relief Society lesson and I'll try to remember if I ever went to one of my mom's lessons. I'll try to think harder and really remember what she sounded like and what made her such a fabulous teacher. Everyone always loved and complimented her lessons. When I can't remember I feel like screaming and I hate my memory for not giving me access to my mother. I'm not feeling sorry for myself as I know that everyone lives with different empty places and lost dreams. I have friends that have moms that are alive and in good physical health but they aren't emotionally checked in with their daughters. I would imagine they feel the same as I do.

My dad has also been in the hospital. I feel pretty numb to that too. This will sound strange but it would be a blessing in many ways for both the parents to move on to greener pastures. Their bodies and minds have not been doing well for a long time. I feel like I've lost both of them so many times in so many different ways that the very final loss might feel like closure or a relief. I don't expect anyone to understand because I know these feelings sound odd.

Andy's Monsters

Andy is terrified of monsters. For example, if he's in his room playing on the train table and hears neighbor stomp noises from upstairs, he'll yell, "monsters come" and run in to find me with eyes wide and terrified. To alleviate Andy's terror, we just tell Nicky to scare the monsters away. She runs into the back room and from her gullet releases a scream that couldn't be more frightening if it came from the Banshee ghost herself. Andy, satisfied, then saunters back in and continues with whatever he was doing.

On a side note, what really makes Jeff laugh is when Andy makes a screaming attempt to scare monsters. He is such a mild and soft spoken boy and is scream reflects his manner. When compared with his sister, the whispered, "ahhahah" he conjures is hilarious.

This might qualify me for child abuser status, but I've played the monster card to get Andy to lay down by me for story time at night. If he is acting fussy and doesn't want to go to bed, I tell him I hear monsters. He quickly cuddles up, holds still, and soon becomes tired enough to go to bed. I really shouldn't admit that. I sound horrible. Ok, I'll stop doing it.

Yesterday, a baby growled in Sacrament meeting. Andy decided it sounded enough like a monster to warrant dropping his Cheerios and yelling out whilst climbing in my lap, "Momma hold you!"

I've asked myself how Andy found out about monsters. It's not something I've ever discussed with him. I went looking through our literature and came across the culprit.


To me these cartoon creatures look innocuous enough. Though to Andy, I imagine on some level he realized those claws aren't meant for picking apples. And what's with those devilish horns? I can see how this book might be very scary to a little guy.

We may have to lay off reading about wild things for awhile even though it is one of Andy's favorites. On the plus side, Andy has a big sister that doesn't mind scaring monsters away and protecting him in the dark as long as her lava glitter night light is on.

Strangerly Acts of Kindness

It's interesting how a small act of kindness can lift the spirits. This evening Jeff needed a trip to the barbershop so I took the kids next door to Rite Aid to get ice cream and wait. Nicky chose a big purple and pink nasty looking scoop of cotton candy for herself and Andy. I got a scoop of Cookies and Cream for myself (yes both my parents have been in the hospital this week so all diets are off). We were waiting a long time to buy our ice cream because the old guy at the register couldn't make up his mind on which brand of cigarettes to buy. Andy busily picked up mounds of jelly beans and candy bars on the side shelves probably imagining that if he screamed hard enough, I'd end up buying it all for him. While messing around, he and his load fell to the floor. If the loud clanking of Andy and the candy hitting the floor wasn't enough to make a scene, the ice cream and cone separating and smashing to the floor while I stooped to get him was. The teenager waiting behind me smiled sheepishly as I picked up the large wad of wet and melting cookies and cream off the floor.

Then from behind me, a sweet baby faced teenage Rite Aid employee came and took the melting mess from my hands. After washing his hands, he made me a brand new ice cream cone. I moved toward the register to wait again to purchase but he simply said that both ice creams were on him. For some reason when a stranger is nice and they don't have to be and I'm having a hard day, it means everything.

Traditional Prevails

The victory was bittersweet. On the one hand I woke up relieved that I don't have to homeschool my kids for a couple more years. On the other hand I felt sadness and love for those who were offended and disappointed by Proposition 8's success. In all our diversity, I know those in the human family have at least one thing in common; the need for acceptance and love. I know there are many who are not feeling that tonight. I sympathize with those who feel slighted.

I was astounded by the efficiency and order by which my church carried out their goals toward this campaign. Literal armies were established every weekend and every house in the neighborhood was hit either in person or by phone. The shy and confident worked equally hard. Last Saturday I pushed my double stroller down the middle of the street in the heat while yelling house numbers to a husband and wife who were depositing door hanger reminders. Even with the little I could do, I felt like a warrior. I was a warrior fighting for traditional families and religious freedom. Holding Prop 8 signs on the corner of Carmel Mountain and Black Mountain was a new experience. Choice symbols emerged from car windows quite often. I heard some pretty talk such as, "f*** the Bible." On the brighter side, there was a symphony of honks in agreement for our cause. In my small way I showed my support for my beloved President Monson and my faith in his council even though it took time for me to understand.

This picture shows individuals from my ward on the night before election day. There were huge groups on all four corners.

During the last few months, it occurs to me there are many facets to what I'm fighting for in traditional marriage. Below are pictures from some of the most powerful moments of my life. During these experiences I profoundly felt that my existence and all the vast goodness that must be heaven fused together for a short time to make joyful moments that transcend all the rest of life's occurrences. Unfortunately for many, but quite simply true, in my mind these events could never be possible in the same way for a same sex union.

Turquoise Temptation

We went to the mall last night. Sometimes I like to walk through Nordstroms. I like to look at how much the ritzy neighbors are paying for their clothes and make silent gasps to myself. $120 for a workout outfit! Really? I haven't owned anything from Nordstroms since 1992. That was the year my mom bought me some of those stylish brown lace up dress shoes we all wore in Utah County back then. Even Express and Limited fell off my shopping radar after I married Mr. Frugal. I hate to admit but it's been Old Navy and Target ever since.

I had to run to the bathroom and that's how I ended up in Nordstroms. Suddenly, as I strolled toward the lounge, some finery caught my eye. I'm normally not easily tempted, but this blouse was more richly turquoise and shimmery than the clear aquamarine waters I encountered in Thailand's tropical waters. It also reminded me of something someone in my ward that is very rich and stylish would wear. It a moment of insanity, I wanted to be her. Even though our stocks have fallen in half in the last few weeks and the world is in recession, I made Jeff get out his American Express and pay $86 for this Karen Kane number that the label actually calls Turquoise Temptations.
The funniest part is when I actually tried wearing it to church today. First off, I couldn't get the bow quite the way the sales lady with the beautiful manicure had shown me in the dressing room. I messed with it for 15 minutes and made us late for church. When I picked up Andy to take him out the door, he wiped his nose on the sleeve. Luckily he doesn't have a cold but geesh, can't he see this is nicer than my usual t-shirt? While we were hustling into Sacrament meeting, Nicky noticed I had a hole in the toe of my black tights and I was wearing open toed heels. I quickly tried to pull the toe portion of tights into the bottom of my shoe to hide the hole. The bow that I spent so much time trying to get right came undone twice while I was trying to pick cheerios off the chapel floor. Suddenly I got the feeling that I was half dressed in a costume with the bottom half being me and the top half being some rich person that I'm not.

I came home thinking I'm going to try and take it back and get something less high maintenance and more me. Looking at the picture tonight I get the idea I look like I'm wrapped up for Christmas. Probably not my best look!

Halloween Times

Jeff rolled back into town just in time to carve our pumpkin with the kids the night before Halloween. Nicky enjoyed cleaning the pumpkin.
Andy seemed bored at first, but quickly found something more interesting to do.
Here's a look at the finished product. Jeff makes a fine Jack O' Lantern. I'm not sure why Andy gradually lost all his clothes throughout the night. At least his diaper is in place. He knows how to take that off too now.

There was no shivering to be had in San Diego as I had growing up in Utah. I think this October has been the warmest month of the year. Some kids have it easy. Andy was funny trick or treating. He had a tantrum at our neighbor's candy bowl because he didn't understand why he couldn't take as much as he wanted. Then he tried to eat everything he retrieved from one house before going to the next. He quickly realized it wasn't possible. His costume has a big pocket between the Thomas head and his body. He filled it with so much candy that his walking became unstable and he took a plunge off of some steps into the bushes. Once he got the trick or treating idea, he had so much fun and would say, "next house" after collecting his candy.

Nicky had it all down this year. She wouldn't let me relieve her of any of her candy burden while walking but politely told me, "it is a good heavy." If' you'll look closely, you'll also notice her carrying Brr Annie whom she said, "needed to come to spend special time with Nicky." Nicky said, "Happy Halloween" so cute that everyone that answered the door smiled or laughed.

When we returned home, the spoils were emptied out on the floor the kids went for the smarties and suckers. Why do they choose the gross stuff? Nicky is afraid I'm going to throw all the candy out and reminded me that we don't have to eat it all at once and get sick. She said, "we can have a little each day." Still, I need to get rid of all these tempting mini packets of chocolate.

Andy's body hasn't handled the candy smorgasbord well. He woke up at 1 a.m. and we've been up ever since. Hence, the 4 a.m. blog on Halloween.