Smells like ...

Not too long ago, I was putting myself to bed one night when I caught a whiff of a nasty smell. I stopped, sniffed, and sniffed again. The smell was gone. I sat on the edge of my bed and tried to decide if this was a phantom smell or an actual smell. I suffer from a highly sensitive, yet highly inaccurate, sense of smell.

A trip down memory lane.... When I was six, I was enjoying a lovely afternoon of Barbie playing (undressing, if we're being honest) when a wonderful aroma filled my room. Roasted marshmallows, yum. I sat on my floor, surrounded by teeny-tiny clothes, waiting for my Mom to call me into the kitchen for an afternoon snack of s'mores (this seemed perfectly likely in my six-year-old mind) until I realized that my curtains were ablaze. My nose knew that something was up, but was totally unable to determine that it was my scorched red, gingham curtains and not marshmallows that I was smelling.)

Years later, my nose still behaves in much the same fashion. That evening last week, I sat and smelled ... something. I buried my face in the bedding, I stuck my nose in every corner, I bent close to the toilet in our adjoining bathroom, but could not locate the smell. My husband wandered into the room as I was hyperventilating into our pillow shams. "Do you smell that?" I asked. (Foolish of me, I know. My husband, lovely as he is, can't smell a dirty diaper if it's sitting on him. Hence, all the poopy diapers he avoided for years, until I just starting saying "the baby is poopy, you need to change her.") He shrugged and replied, "maybe, I guess." I did what I could, and scrubbed the toilet before going to bed.

Waking up the next morning, I took a deep breath, and (hallelujah) things smelled fine. I went about my day and thought nothing of it. That evening, I sat on the bed and smelled "it" again. I repeated the whole search process; smelling the bed, smelling the bathroom, looking for dirty diapers (thankfully, didn't find any) and decided that the stench must be coming from the potty chair in our bathroom. The thing had been getting one heck of a work out. (Gotta love potty training!) So, I blasted the thing with Clorox, removed it to the hallway, and then sprayed Lysol around our bathroom. With the pleasant scent of chemicals burning in my nose, I went to bed.

The next day dawned bright, and stinky. I pulled all the linens off the bed and washed them in hot water. ( I never wash in hot water, it hurts my eco-conscience.) I scrubbed garbage cans. I vacuumed. I scoured the toilet (again.) And still, I smelled "it"... at least I thought I did.

I gave up. In the early evening, my darling, oldest girl came downstairs and boldly announced "Mom, your bedroom smells like poo." My sense of validation was enormous.

"I know, I've been trying to figure out what it is for days. I think something must be wrong with the pipes. Maybe there's a dead animal in the walls...." I was a manic, stink-obsessed, conspiracy-theory convinced, crazy woman.

Calmly, my husband challenged our daughter. "I'll give you a dollar if you can figure out what stinks up there."

In less than 3 minutes, she was back with a rotten-milk filled, sippy cup (which had leaked under the trunk at the foot of our bed) demanding her dollar.

And that's reality. There are all sorts of motivating factors in life; good housekeeping, clean air, hygiene, quality of life. But one thing trumps them all... cold, hard cash. After three days of nasal and mental anguish, it all came down to an eight-year-old's desire to earn a buck. Ah, who cares? At least my room doesn't stink anymore.

Moments of Joy

I'll admit to feeling a little "ho-hum" lately, so I thought I'd reflect on some of the things that have made me happy this past week. And so, in no particular order, I present my "moments of joy."


Although I'm not a runner, "Born to Run" makes me wish I was. Christopher McDougall does a fantastic job interweaving the story of "the run" with the back story and research behind endurance running. (I also enjoyed reading it on the Kindle. That's one cool little toy.)

I started watching this Masterpiece Classics version of Emma last Sunday. The setting, costumes, and casting are all delightful. I can't wait to see more tomorrow.

My husband and I joined two other couples for Dinner Club at P712 on Tuesday. The company was fun and the food was amazing. It was particularly cool to have the chance to talk to true food artists, and hear about their philosophy on eating.

We're potty training (again) in our house this week, and nothing makes me happier than hearing the music playing from this little potty. Music = potty success! We've been hearing lots of music, but I've also done a little more laundry than usual. Totally worth it if this means that my diaper changing days are numbered.

I'm trying to drink a little less diet coke. Sniff. So, in the few quiet moments of the day when I normally would crack myself open a silver bullet, lately I've been turning on the kettle and steeping myself a lovely cup of peppermint tea. There is something so civilized about the ritual of tea. Shall I learn to make scones and clotted cream?

I bid farewell to Late Night TV

Without Conan tempting me, I guess I'll be going to bed earlier now. I have a hard time feeling like that's a good thing. The adults in our house will be anxious to see what Mr. O'Brien does next.

Old Hag

The year I turned 30 was a pretty rough year. I discovered I was pregnant with baby #3. Nine months later, after bed rest, IVs, zofran pumps and trying to hold down a full-time job, we had a beautiful, healthy baby girl. Through all that, I got old. Grey hairs started popping out, my skin was completely unrecognizable to me, and (thanks to 3 c-sections) my figure was shot.

That was three years ago, and I still feel old. So, now I'm on a quest to recover my youth. Yes, I'll admit that sounds slightly dramatic. Forgive me.

Luckily, my wonderful sister-in-law is great with hair color --goodbye greys! Our treadmill is getting a good deal more use, so hopefully that will help fix the figure (and my energy levels, while I'm at it.) So, I'm left dealing with that alien skin. Since our move to Utah last summer, I've been vigilant with moisturizer and sunblock. But, I need to repair the damage done by a childhood spent under the tropical Indonesian sun. I got myself a product that promises visible results in 14 days. So, here's a picture of day 1. Let's see how I look in 2 weeks.

No, I don't really have an orange stripe in my hair. Fluorescent lights do strange things....

The Fuss About Food

I made a lovely meal plan for the week on Monday morning. I spent a little extra time considering what I had in the cupboards, and made my plan based on things that I already had on hand. Imagine that. After making my shopping list, I got the kids off to school, packed the youngest into the car, and off we headed to the grocery store (the one with the trucks.) I've decided that the fact that the groceries are slightly more expensive is OK with me because the truck shopping-cart makes my time at the store with an obnoxious almost three year old, slightly easier.

We had an ideal trip. I found everything on my list for a week's worth of dinners and we had no melt-downs. We were out of the store in 30 minutes having only spent $48, and having only purchased things that were on my list.

Oh, it all started so well.

We are now on day three of the week, and so far I have made ONE of my planned meals. And the kids hated it. They ate Cheerios for dinner (and I've been finding those crunched up little buggers all over the house ever since.) I'm so tired of fixing meals that three of us will eat, while the other two have peanut butter on bread.

There we have it, my kids are picky eaters. But, not in any normal way. My oldest loves calamari and broccoli, but would rather DIE than eat corn or a hamburger. My boy adores Chinese food and mujhadra (a middle eastern lentil & rice dish) but refuses to sit at the table if macaroni and cheese (even the awesome homemade stuff) is being served. And then there's that littlest one.... she just doesn't eat. Her entire diet consists of yogurt, ham, pirate's booty, bread (but don't you dare toast it or put butter on it) and water. Sometimes, she'll beg me for an apple (cut up, no peels) and after all that effort will look disparagingly at it, and attempt to throw it in the garbage. She's 27 puny pounds of obstinance.

Every once in a while, the stars will align and I'll create a meal that everyone likes. (The last time it was chicken & broccoli stir fry, but that's no assurance that if I make the exact same thing again anyone will eat it.) Even when that miraculous event occurs, I'll be half way through loading up the dishwasher after dinner and someone will come in and utter my two least favorite words in the English language, "I'm hungry." AAAAAAHHHHHH.

I'll admit that from time to time I'll read the blog of another woman who has young children, and I'll hear about them eating salmon or Swiss chard and how much they LOVE it, and I think, "yeah, right."

So, here's my question to the universe at large. How do you feed your children nutritious meals that all of them will actually eat? And then, to make matters all the more complicated, how do you lose weight while doing so? Inquiring minds want to know.

Am I Back in the Saddle?

Let us just ignore the fact that it has been an age since my last post, shall we? My first year with this little blog has been hit and miss, but I do find a certain sense of comfort in knowing that it is here. A little place for my thoughts to rest. Unfortunately, it seems I haven't had many lately.



With the new year upon us, I am optimistic and hopeful that my tiny little corner of the blogosphere will become a more active place. I know that will make my mother happy. (Hi, Mom.)



Like the rest of you out there, I have been contemplating the multitude of possible New Year's Resolutions that I could make for 2010. How much weight to lose? How many books to read? How much to exercise? How much TV to cut out? How to be a better mom? How to be a better wife?



I've decided that my resolutions all boil down to one mega-resolution. For the year 2010, my resolution is ... to pay attention.



I figure that will cover everything from catching my almost 3 year old BEFORE she scribbles all over the couch with a Sharpie again to feeding my kids less fast-food; from hopefully gaining a little control over my health to gaining a little more control over my happiness.



With this resolution firmly in mind, I'm off to start the dishwasher and put myself to bed early. Starting small.

Mornings

My alarm rang at 6:30 this morning. And then again at 6:38, 6:46, 6:52, 7:00 and 7:08. Then, I dragged my sorry butt out of bed, and went to fake my way through cheerful "good mornings" with my children, who were all about as happy to get out of bed this morning as I was. Unfortunately, this is not a rare occurrence. As a family, we just aren't morning people.



I've had a few good mornings in my life. You know, Christmases and mornings when I'm totally jet-lagged and miraculously wake up at 6 a.m. bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. (Wow, that's a strange expression.) I love those mornings, and the lovely, long days that follow.



Inevitably, no matter how lovely, I just can't sustain mornings. The reality of watery eyes, dry mouth, stuffy nose, sore feet, and general grumpiness sets in. I sleep later than I want, I am short tempered, and then feel perpetually guilty because of it.



All that being said, my own sense of optimism prevails. Every night, I set my alarm, and vow to do better the next day. Maybe one of these days, I will.