The Lo Down

The Breakup

2010-01-12T21:27:00.003-07:00

Dear Blog,

I have found someone else.

It's not you, it's me.

I just can't invest this much time into a relationship right now.

I don't think I'm ready for commitment.

You deserve someone better.

We need a break from each other.

Maybe we can just be friends

We can try again later.

I Need You

2008-10-24T15:05:00.013-06:00

Click here to vote at Studio 5.

You’ve had time to examine the issues. You’ve had a good look at your candidates.

You’ve learned that makeup, hairspray and an outfit are critical parts of making a Vice Presidential candidate.

Now you have the chance to let your voice be heard. The polls are open now until Sunday at midnight. The results will be announced Monday on Studio 5.

Remember…every computer and handheld device counts!

Decision ’08—Gettin to Know Your Candidate

2008-10-23T11:16:00.006-06:00

In a couple a days you get to go to the polls at Studio 5 and vote. I feel it’s important to know somethin about the people you vote for. So in the interest of a more informed public, here are my answers to some FAQs.

Q: Why did you decide to run?

A: Well really I didn’t. My darling husband got me on the ballot. I’m just an outsider but now that I’m in the race, I’ve decided it’s important to win. After all, winnin is everything and anyone who says differently obviously hasn’t ever won anything.

Q: What will be your first action if you win?

A: First I just want to say that I’m really honored to be a part of this. This has been a crazy couple a days and I’m havin so much fun. I’m lookin down the road and if I win I’m thinking a win will really shore up my economy. Me an Guy, we’re just a couple a mavericks and we’ll be goin to the Market Street Grill for dinner. And who knows, if you vote for me we might take you with us.

Q: Are you really that cute?

A: Oh come on now. That’s just crazy talkin. A picture is worth a thousand words.

Q: What does a Vice President do?

A: My experience as Senior Vice President of Provo High Class of ’90 (Go Bulldogs!) has given me the background needed to answer this question. A Vice President works with Senators makin posters announcin all the important issues, like the next big game or date dance. I’m not talkin about wishin for, or hopin for somethin to happen, I’m talkin about takin action and plannin events like prom or reunions. And also too Vice Presidents can also make a political party’s ticket more attractive.

Q: How do you think we should deal with terrorists?

A: I’m gonna have to get back to you on that one.

Q: Do you really kill animals?

A: I’m a maverick. At one point in my life I had an extensive insect collection. And once I stepped on a mouse. The poor little guy was just flippin around there on the floor. And also too I cut off the head of a frog in college physiology. But I always feel bad or at least grossed out about it. I take a pro-life approach to life.

Q: What morning shows do you watch?

A: All of them. Any of them. Anything that flips across the TV. In the morning I’m just flippin the channels and watchin anything that will help me be a better mom. You know, being a mom doesn’t mean you’re completely cut off from the rest of the world. Moms are just as American as the rest of Americans. Oh, and I’m really enjoyin Studio 5. *wink*

I Can See Russia From My House

2008-10-22T08:00:00.004-06:00

Coming up very soon you have an important opportunity. An opportunity to let your voice be heard. Every voice matters and what you do does make a difference. That's right, you need to vote. For me.

This Friday I'll be on Studio 5 as one of 5 Sarah Palin look-alike finalists. After the show you'll go to their website and vote for your favorite candidate (me of course). I believe the winner will be announced on Monday. I'll post a link when they put up the photos.

So tune in Friday at 11:00 and watch me experience my 15 seconds of fame. Then Rock the Vote!

And also too I'd like to give a shout out to Sara L. and Ren W. who have been calling me "Tina" for years. And also too the great Guy Francis.

Do you think there will be a talent portion?

Who'll Start the Bidding?

2008-08-27T22:45:00.003-06:00

What the? It's been March since my last post? Sheesh. I guess it takes a good cause to get me off my keester and blogging. Well, I found one. Or rather, it found me.

The hubby and I are participating in Designmom's fundraising efforts for Stephanie Nielson (NieNie) and auctioning off a few of his little sketch paintings. I think they're awesome, and we've found they look even awesomer when they are all framed up. I'm certain you need one for your wall. Plus, you will be donating to some wonderful people who have found themselves in a difficult situation (to put it lightly). I've posted the paintings we're auctioning below. You can go to his blog to link to his eBay auction.

To learn more about Stephanie and her family, you can go to Stephanie's blog and find updates at her sister's blog.

Lunch Conversations

2008-03-31T13:17:00.002-06:00

5-year old: Mom? When you were little did you have electricity?

Mom: (choking on drink) Yes.

-pause-

5-year old: Oh. I didn't think you would.

It's Come to This

2007-12-05T10:01:00.000-07:00

Last night I passed a new mile post in my life. I put Bill Cosby's "Mother's Curse" on my children.

"I Hope! That Someday! You Have Children! Who Act! The Same Way That You Act!"

And a variation on the same theme:

"I Hope! That Someday! You Have Children! Who Hate The Food! That You Cook!"

Chili, anyone?

By Bread Alone

2007-11-12T08:39:00.000-07:00

I was pondering one of those deep, life altering questions this morning during breakfast:

How do I eat my bread?

So I observed myself. I know that this is a very qualitative study with an n of 1, and that the data are skewed because the subject was aware she was being observed, and at the same doing the observing, but stay with me here.

When eating toast with raspberry jam, I first bite into the top crust, usually on the right-hand side of the bread (when looking at the bread in upright position, straight on) and then procede to eat around the bread in a counter-clockwise direction. I eat with a "save the best for last" philosophy. I eat around the bread, consuming crust and middle, until the last bite is some middle attached to that squishy bit right between the top and the sides of the loaf. That squishy bit is the filet, my friends. The very best part of the bread. Unless it's another kind of bread. Eating methods may need be altered depending on the type of bread. If it's banana bread, the top crust must be eaten last.

So I challenge you to self evaluate. Delve in and ask yourself the deep, life altering question: How do you eat your bread?

Potionism

2007-11-05T10:44:00.000-07:00

A conversation with my almost-5-year-old son this morning:

"Mom, I wonder how Jesus made the world."

"Me too."

"Do you know how he made the world?"

"No, I don't."

"Well, Mom. Maybe when we die we should ask him."

"Yep. I think that's a great idea. That's the first thing I want to ask when I die."

"Well, I think he used a ginormous potion."

For those of you that know me well, you will see my delight in this conversation. Just last night I had a discussion with a friend about science and evolution. You don't even want to get me started. But I really do plan on signing up for Creation 101 first thing when I hit the other side. Are there prerequisites, I wonder? Anyway, I'm thrilled that my almost-5-year-old son wonders how this world came to be. And I'm equally thrilled that his sense of fantasy and imagination makes a potion creation completely plausible.

Then a few moments later:

"Mom. Will you get me a potionmaker with a dog on the box for my birthday?"

"Why do you want a potion with a dog on it?"

"Well, Mom. Just go to a store that you can see a potion and get it for me for my birthday, okay Mom?"

Do you get the feeling he's got an ulterior motive?

Moth and Rust

2007-09-10T09:28:00.000-06:00

and Clorox Clean Up doth corrupt.

We've had these classy yet casual, contemporary yet timeless, brown leather sofas for close to 10 years now. I hadn't realized they were that old until just tonight when I started thinking about it. They have survived jumping and climbing kids, gum, drool, spit-up, vomit and urine. And with an occasional cleaning and conditioning, have survived it all pretty well. Until Saturday night.

Word to the wise: make sure your kids put the Clorox Clean Up away, not on the sofa, when they are done cleaning toilets. The stuff eats holes in leather. I mopped up the bleach, cleaned and contitioned it the spot, and now I'm left with a blotchy thing about the size of a quarter in the middle of one cushion. It looks like the cow had some sort of flesh-eating bacteria before it graciously became my sofa.

It's true, it wasn't as bad as Kacy's experience (right now, this is just a teaser...I'm still looking for the link), but sad still the same.

And yeay me: I only said "What the h-e-double-hockeysticks?" once and I didn't even go off on the kids when I found it laying there. I must be getting more mature.

In other news, I'm gonna need that maturity. Just got a new church assignment. Primary: look out!

My Spiritual Daughter

2007-08-29T10:27:00.001-06:00

I think you should go read my good friend pflower's account of my daughter's wonderful, spiritual influence in the neighborhood. You never know how your children are going to reach out to others and share what is inside of them.

Whales Ahoy!

2007-08-07T09:29:00.000-06:00

Next stop: Juneau
Population: approx 30,000
Temperate Rainforest

In this port we went whale watching. We were fortunate enough to see a pod of about 12 or 13 humpback whales bubble-net feeding. This behavior has only been observed in humpback whales in a few places in the world, and south-east Alaska is one of those places. It was amazing. The whales go down and blow bubbles in a circle, which traps the krill and other little critters they eat, and then, all at once, they come up with their huge mouths open and come out of the water to about their eyeballs. You could see their baleen and their stretchy under-throat things full of water. And one whale even breeched (jumped all the way out of the water). It was one of the most exhilarating things I've ever seen.

On the bus ride to our whale-watching boat we passed Mendenhall glacier. I wish we'd had a bit more time in Juneau so we could have taken a tour up closer to the glacier.

After whale watching we had a little more time to walk around the tourist trap shops in Juneau. It's a neat city and we met up with a neighbor and friend of ours. Just before we got back on the boat we had a huge Alaskan King Crab leg at a little crab shack. Mmmm-mmmm-mmmm. Divine. Then back to the ship and on to the third and final stop.

Dude. You Don't Even Know.

2007-08-03T14:04:00.000-06:00

My grandparents rounded up their kids and grandkids (that means NOT my kids) and took us--21 in all--on an Alaskan cruise. It was sublime. Here are a few photos and highlights from the trip.

On the ship in Vancouver, Canada just before leaving port

At the mandatory safety-and-where-to-go-if-the-ship-is-sinking meeting

My cute parents on the observation deck as we were leaving Vancouver

My 2 brothers and me

We played on the boat for a day while we cruised the inside passage up to our first stop.

Sting Pong.

Dallas: 13, Lewis: 2

First stop: Ketchikan
Population: approx 8,000
Temperate Rainforest (alder, spruce, hemlock)
annual rainfall: 13 feet--yes, FEET!
airports: 1
access: airplane, boat, birthcanal

Who knew there were rainforests in Alaska? I'm embarrassed to say I didn't. Ketchikan is beautiful. The little town has about 40 miles of road, and then nothing but wilderness from there on. We went out of town about 15 miles and went sea kyaking.

This is the group who went kyaking: Guy and I, Monica (my sister) and her hubby Jeff, and my darling cousins Brett and Andi. Bald eagles were everywhere and the kyaking was lovely.

The old red-light district in Ketchikan (now little tourist shops)

The weather was cool and beautiful and due to the humidity, my skin has never felt better. There was, however, one really big, pus-filled zit on the face of the trip. Grandma's Meniere's disease acted up and she got really sick and so she and Grandpa had to get off the ship at Ketchikan. How sad is that? And to add to the disappointment, my aunt Jeannine and Dan had to go with them to help them get home. Jeannine was the one who had done all the leg-work putting the cruise together--all the way from coordinating the dates we could all go to arranging flights and cruise stuff. So that really sucked. We had fun anyway, which is what Grandma and Grandpa wanted, but it was such a bummer that they weren't there to enjoy it with us.

I've got more to report on, but it will have to wait for another post. Until then, enjoy this sunset.

More From My Kids

2007-05-20T09:24:00.000-06:00

On Mother's Day my 6-year old daughter told me I had a beard and pointed to my upper lip. Thanks.

Today my 4-year old son asked if he could use gel to spike his hair. He wants the very edge fringe of his bangs to point directly forward--and don't touch it or you might mess it up! You have to understand that there are no precedents for males in this household using gel--Dad hardly has enough hair (in length, honey!) to hold any gel in, and my 12-year old son's idea of doing his hair is smashing it forward with his hand. At age 4 I already sense teenage issues coming...

And 2 questions in rapid succession from my 9-year old daughter...

"Mom, why do people itch?"
"Because they need to scratch." (Hey, I was busy doing Su Doku, okay?)
Sarcastically, "Oh. That was really helpful. I'm gonna go write that down."

"Mom, is it really true that farts are flammable?"
"Mmm hmmm." (Still doing Su Doku)
"So if you farted by a match, your bum would catch on fire?"
"Yep. That's called a blue dart."
"Wow. That's really weird."

Makin Mom Proud

2007-05-10T07:49:00.000-06:00

Yesterday

Six-year old daughter: "Guess what! I can pick my nose and ride my bike all at the same time!"

At breakfast today

Twelve-year old son: "I'm oblivious!"
Nine-year old daughter: "What the heck does oblivious mean?"
Twelve-year old son: "I have no idea."

Calling All Gardeners

2007-04-13T12:36:00.000-06:00

Do you want Shasta Daisies for your flower garden?

And I don't mean a few. I just separated a couple of plants and I have GALLONS of plants waiting here for you. They are beautiful flowers that bloom mid-summer, grow about 2-3 feet tall with the right water, and out-compete weeds. The clump spreads and needs to be thinned out every couple of years, but it's a nice no-brainer perrenial. They want full sun and will fall over if a sprinkler hits them once the blooms come out, but caging them early in the spring seems to hold them up pretty well.

They need a home or the city compost pile will get them come next Tuesday. If you want them, they're yours. Free of charge. Only tell me that you love me. Or you can bring me a start of your favorite flower if you want. Come get all or just a few of them. Email if you need my address. lorien@guyfrancis.com

Happy Gardening! (I just found some of my dirt under a bunch of weeds--I was wondering if it was still there!)

Busted

2007-03-13T08:58:00.000-06:00

One of my dear friends recently developed mastitis. The poor thing. I've never had the condition, but I know it is just miserable. Fever, chills, aches and feeling just wiped out generally. All this on top of trying to care for a little one. Ugh. When I found out she was sick, I thought I'd take something to her. She refused dinner or any other help, so while I was out and about with my pfriend, we just decided we'd pick something up and deliver it, whether she wanted it or not. While we were at the grocery store, p mused, "I wonder if there is anything here that represents breasts." Well, how could there NOT be? The creative juices flowed as we wandered around and finally found powdered donuts, peach-o's and gumdrops. They would assemble very nicely into a representation of our friend's affliction. They were so cute I just had to take a photo with my phone. And my darling friend was delighted with the delectable teats...er, I mean...treats.

A few days later my hubby and I were out on a date and our son was babysitting. I got a call from my boy who said, "I've got a problem."
Suppressing alarm I asked, "What's the problem?"
"The handle on the sink just broke off. I'm holding it in my hand."
Relief...wait...
"Is the water still running?"
"No."
Relief confirmed.
"Okay. Don't worry about it. Dad will fix it when we get home."

Great. My house seems to be falling apart. It must have hit the 30-year-hardware-all-breaks mark because just a few weeks earlier my front door handle broke too. Except that the sink faucet was only a few years old and I don't think the front door handle was original to the home either. Go figure. The house must just have bad breaking vibes right now. Anyway, this faucet project needed immediate attention. So we got home from our date (Saturday night of course), picked up the broken faucet handle and left again, this time heading for Lowe's.

We found out that Moen has really great customer service and that they would replace the broken part free of charge. We just had to be patient enough to use pliers as the sink handle until the new part arrived. Fine. I figured that's better than spending a couple hundred bucks on a new faucet at this point. So we looked at front door handles instead. We quickly picked out a handle that would match our other doorknobs we just replaced last summer (because the old ones broke, of course).

The next morning my fabulous fix-it man hubby installed the new door handle. It was only then--a few hours later, actually--that I realized the new doorknob didn't match the other recently-replaced doorknobs like I thought they did. Now this might sound picky, but come on! If I'm going to spend the dough to put on a new doorknob, it ought to be one I like, right? So off came the doorknob and back to Lowe's I went to exchange for one I liked. But this time I was smart. This time I came prepared. This time I tapped into my tech-savvy self and took a photo with my phone so I could find the perfect match for our doorknobs.

At the store I found our very doorknobs I was trying to match. Unfortunately Lowe's just didn't seem to have anything like them in the front door variety. I looked and looked, comparing my cell phone picture to the displays, and finally asked the young doorknob specialist for help. I thought I'd show him the picture of the handle I wanted to match so he'd know what I was talking about. I put my phone out for him to see, and apparently I'd pushed a button inadvertently, because this is what popped up instead.
Busted.

it's here! it's here!

2007-03-06T12:16:00.000-07:00

Spring has sprung! My little crocuses look happy to see me and it is therefore time to shake off the shoes and bring the toenails out of hibernation. A pedicure with my pfriend was just the thing. Thanks p! Now I know it will (not might but will) snow again before May. But that's okay because there is hope of sunshine and warm sidewalks and that makes me happy. So here's a call to all you ladies--if you haven't already, break out the OPI and get on it.

And if you still doubt that there is hope on the horizon, even after seeing my fab toes, just ask this bee.

And what's with my fall banner? What happened to Halloween, Christmas and Valentines? Where's my blog administrator? Don't I get a cute springy banner?

Sunday In the Kitchen With Lorien

2007-03-04T22:50:00.000-07:00

Any time you want to come over for dinner, just holler and I'll whip up a little something.

Mmmm. What a cook.

it's my birthday

2007-02-16T09:15:00.000-07:00

and I'll eat sushi if I want to!

It's official. Or at least it will be by the end of this month. I won't be early-thirty-something anymore. Mid-thirties it is. So to embrace and celebrate this next phase of my life, I am inviting you to come eat sushi with me! Now who could pass that up?

When?
Thursday, Feb 22, straight-up noon

Where?
Asuka Japanese Sushi & Steak House
2244 N. University Parkway, Provo
(across the parkinglot from Olive Garden)

What?
A most delish all-you-can-eat sushi bar--everyone picks 3 rolls and we all share, eat, chat, order some more, eat some more and chat some more till we're done.

Who?
All you bloggers and anyone else I feel like inviting.

Why?
You'd eat sushi, too, if it happened to you!

Morning Conversations

2007-01-17T10:53:00.000-07:00

This morning my 4-year old son said "Mom. My spit tastes like metal. Echh."

And my 9-year old daughter said, as she was rubbing the crusties out of her sleepy eyes, "I had such a strange dream. I dreamed I was selling those 'no soliciting' signs door to door. That's so weird." I love that my daughter understands irony at the age of 9.

LEFT!

2007-01-12T21:16:00.000-07:00

Please indulge me. It's time for a rant.

In the cold, polluted, or icy-sidewalk weather we've been having lately, my 2 sister-in-laws and I go to the Smith Fieldhouse to run on the indoor track. In case you've never been there, let me take a minute to describe it. It's a 4-lane track that is .2 miles per lap--you have to run 5 to get a mile vs. the standard (?) 4 laps per mile on outdoor tracks. The track was just re-done and is a lovely BYU blue. Really, I don't care for the blue that much, but I guess if you have to pick a color, blue works if you're the Y. Anyway, on the inside of the track is an enclosed basketball court (so you can't see across to the other side of the track), and on one end is a big open area where they chuck discuses, pole-vault, lift weights and the army guys can do drills and twirl guns and stuff.

The track is small and it can get very crowded, especially on inclimate days. The supervisors of the track probably recognized this and posted information to help with movement on the track. On not one, but two sides of the track there are signs--over-the-freeway-style-so-you-run-under-it--posted. One of them has 2 clocks. BOTH of them state "WALKING AND JOGGING IN OUTSIDE TWO LANES. INSIDE LANES FOR SPRINTING ONLY." For the purposes of this rant, let's number the lanes, 1 being the inner lane and 4 being the outer lane. Now what do you suppose this sign means? Take a minute. Formulate your answer. Good. Now, did you answer that if you are walking or jogging you should be doing so in lanes 3 or 4? Did you answer that you should stay out of the inside two lanes (1 and 2) unless you are running faster than most of the other people in the building? Great job! Now, could you please explain this difficult principle to the chick that walks and gabs with her two friends three abreast, in lanes 4, 3, and 2? And I'm not talking a skimpy lane 2, you know, squeezing over to fit as close to lane 3 as possible. I'm talking a generous lane 2, sometimes veering into lane 1. Now I'll admit, lane-violater chick and friends do walk quickly. But they aren't running and they never even budge to skinny up the space they take up. Not once have I seen that happen. On Monday my SIL and I were trying to pass the three of them when I heard a pack of army guys approaching from behind. Their 3 and our 2 made 5, plus these other 3 guys moving up quick on the inside. I finally hollered "Left!" and passed. She didn't budge.

I used to run with a friend who would yell "Left!" and then just plow into people if they didn't move to an outer lane. I used to be horrified and so embarrassed when she did this, but now I understand. She must have shared a track with lane-violater chick and had had enough. I'm about ready to try my friend's shoulder bumping technique and see if it does any good. I don't know if she'd get it, though. Once I watched them stop dead in the middle of the track by the door (after THEY were done with their workout, of course) to talk to 2 more of their friends. A big ole group of five self absorbed women chatting in the middle of the track. Nevermind that we have to dodge and run around them every time we want to pass them while they are walking, but now they need to have a conversation and lanes 2, 3 and 4 are just the place it needs to happen. The foyer of the building 7 feet away just isn't good enough.

Maybe lane-violater chick will come across my blog. If so, this is a plea. Please walk in the outer 2 lanes as the oh-so-clear sign suggests. Bertha (my affectionately named behind) and I have a tough enough time just keeping the feet moving, let alone the extra effort it takes to move around people. But I always check my blind spot, pass, and then move directly back into at least lane 3 and you can too. You can walk directly behind your friend in lane 4. I know she'd still be able to hear what you are saying. I always can.

Anyone want to make a bet? Think lane-violater chick will ever get it?

A Moment of Silence

2007-01-11T20:52:00.000-07:00

Day before yesterday was a dark day. My 12 inch PowerBook G4 baby was in chronic hard drive failure. It hit on a day when my hubby had a date with fame (presenting at a local elementary school). Presentations were deleted, un-sequenced, deleted again, and then un-sequenced again. We were incredibly lucky we were able to pull the slides back together in time for the presentation, but we did and Mr. Illustrator did just fine. But then a stint installation--iLife06--in an attempt to fix the problem merely exacerbated the condition. It must have been too much strain because that evening the poor dear went into harddrive arrest. A last-ditch restart allowed me to recover my files and then we sent the machine to the mac hospital. After a drive transplant and some time in recovery I am happy to announce my baby is coming along quite well. If anyone wants to send "wishing you a speedy recovery" flowers or chocolates, I'd be happy to give you my address. Email privately.

Choices

2006-12-15T08:05:00.000-07:00

Tough ones. Important ones. Like creamy cauliflower or tomato basil at Zupas? Or just skip Zupas and go get hot and sour soup at Shoots? (Shoots is the most recent recipient of the five star Lorien Recommendation, by the way!) Scrubs re-runs (I just found the show and have a lot of catching up to do) or one or two episodes of last season's 24 (YOWZA! 4 episodes in and I'm sunk!)? A mug of Stephen's Gourmet Hot Cocoa--Chocolate Cinnamon or Dulce de Leche Caramel? Be money wise and scrimp and save or spoil the kids just a bit at Christmas? Girl's Night Out or Hogi Yogi ice cream cookie sandwiches after the Christmas concert at Provo Tabernacle with my hubby and 2 oldest kids? What do you do when there are 2 things you want, but only time for 1? Usually I do my best to squeeze them both in anyway somehow, but sometimes it just doesn't work out. So I end up choosing one kind of hot chocolate or soup or entertainment, wondering if the other kind is better or what I am missing the whole time I should be enjoying the one I chose. These are the quandaries of life. *Sigh* I need a clone of me.

Money Matters with Max

2006-12-06T18:29:00.000-07:00

(my 4 year old)

"Mom, how much dollars could buy a new house?"

"Mmm. Lots."

"Like a million?"

"Like two hundred thousand. Or more."

"Crack-a-doodle! [pause] Mom, do you know how much dollars could buy a light switch?"

"Like, one?"

"No. Three."

On the Making of Beef for an Arby's Roast Beef Sandwich

2006-12-03T22:28:00.000-07:00

By my 6-year-old daughter--over dinner, of course:

"You peel off the skin and squeeze out the blood and cut off the butt and the little thingies that squirt out the milk and, of course, cut off the hooves."

Mom Pockets

2006-11-28T18:22:00.000-07:00

I'm sure most of you, my lady friends, have a pair of mom jeans lurking somewhere in your closet. Except for my sister-in-law Anne. She probably doesn't own any mom jeans. But she's not a mom yet, so I'll give her time. I have a pair of mom jeans I try to only wear around the house, although occasionally they may venture out on an errand with me when I'm behind (pun intended) on the laundry. They aren't attractive, but really, how many people am I trying to impress while I wash toilets, do laundry and vaccuum?

But this is about mom pockets, not mom jeans. At the end of the day as I crawl out of my clothes (mom jeans or no), I empty out my pockets. I am often surprised at what I find. Crayons, legos and other small toys, hair elastics, and pieces of garbage are not uncommon. Today I thought I'd report the contents of my mom pockets.

3 used dryer sheets (finishing up Monday laundry day on Tuesday)
2 hair elastics, black (I'm surprised this count was so low--sometimes it's as many as 5 or 6)
1 piece of halloween bubble gum--unchewed (confiscated after trying to clean gum off the sofa today and now being chewed by me while blogging)
1 chapstick (I actually started out the day with this and it's going back into the pocket)
1 office clip, black
1 wadded 1/3 sheet (canary) note from school about the lights-on ceremony last night (and what a ceremony it turned out to be)
1 kleenex (partially used and going back into my pocket with the chapstick)
2 bobby pins, black
2 more hair elastics I didn't see before, brown and fuschia (that's more like it)
1 piece of pocket lint string
2 ripped out ads from today's K-mart mailing (Christmas gift ideas)
no money (paper nor coin)

I am sometimes very surprised at what I pull out of my pockets. I almost don't remember putting some of it in there in the first place. When I sort through these treasures, I start feeling like some kind of traveling trash can or storage system. There are days when they are downright bulky. Heaven only knows my pants don't need more bulk. Maybe I should start tucking things into my pockets in a more systematic way--trash in the left front pocket, chapstick and tissue in the right front, and the other various items in the back pockets. Then the pockets in the jacket I wear around in the cool seasons will need their own organizational strategy, too. But knowing me, I'll forget which pocket is for what stuff. Do I label them? Mom jeans with pocket labels. Now there's something. Motherhood is so glam.

One of the People I Missed this Thanksgiving

2006-11-26T21:11:00.000-07:00

Even if he is an evil little brother. Missing you, Dally. And we really would have scooted to make a spot for you if you had been here. Party on.

Velcome to My Haus

2006-10-23T14:41:00.000-06:00

Yes my darlink, it's the most vonderful time of the year and the Gallery of Terror, featuring the artwork of renowned artist Guy Francis, is now open for your viewing pleasure. So, my pretties, please feel free to stop by....if you dare!

If you can't make it over, you can swing by his website to see what's hanging.

All In a Day

2006-09-08T15:52:00.000-06:00

Wonder what my 3-year-old has been up to? Here's a photo from yesterday.

The bang trim was after he'd spent some time in his room earlier that day. Why did he do time? Because as he had come out of the bathroom, he had announced "Mattie was being mean, so I peed on her shoes." (Well, they were in the bathroom...what would you do?)

Last week I was just thinking how grateful I am that, unlike last summer, this year I've been fortunate enough to have a pretty excrement-free summer. I guess I was a little too grateful a little too soon.

VICTORY!

2006-08-28T21:01:00.000-06:00

And just in time for HFL (Hamley Flome Leaveleem).

My Awesome 8-Year-Old

2006-08-16T17:47:00.000-06:00

She catches bugs, wears and loves her brother's hand-me-down shorts, dons 4 different bracelets most of the time, sings BNL's "Canada's Really Big" without missing a word, makes castles (complete with drawbridge) using only paper, scissors and tape, and writes about most anything you can think of.

Today she decided to make cookies. She asked permission, I said yes and told her which recipe to use and then she went to work without another question. She worked diligently for about an hour and in the meantime I ran to Macey's to grab a chicken dinner for a sick family (because I forgot to fix the casserole). When I got back, the cookies had just gone into the oven. I looked into the mixing bowl to get a little snitch of the dough and immediately recognized there might be a problem. I ate some of the dough-batter anyway and somehow found myself smeared with Crisco. Approximately 8 minutes and several hand washings later, I helped her pull the pans out of the oven.

Discouragement. Frustration. And the realization that the recipe said "2 1/4 c. flour" not "1/4 c. flour."

Her little brother loved them.

I'm still working on the Crisco Abatement Plan.

Rows

2006-08-09T16:20:00.000-06:00

I thought I'd have a go at braiding and beading. I think I did alright, considering I had no idea what I was doing.

A Plea

2006-08-03T11:42:00.000-06:00

Dear Mr. Comcast Technician Man,

Please come and fix my phone.

I know you are busy. I know you have a good chunk of Provo to fix. But why wouldn't you come over and fix mine while you were here fixing George's next door?

Lots of my neighbors have phones that work.

I'll give you a coke and I'll buy you a pizza.

Really, I am a nice person and I really need my phone.

We don't have a cell phone as a back-up.

I've been really really patient, pleasant and understanding and even made some pretty good jokes when I have called (on my neighbors' phones, of course) trying to get my phone, internet and cable fixed.

I'm a good customer and always pay my bill.

Please?!?

Your mother would be proud of you.

I'll be your best friend.

We can keep it a secret between the two of us.

It will only take a minute.

Tomorrow is just too far away.

Your best customer,
Lorien

Stars

2006-07-31T10:51:00.000-06:00

Guy and I watched Amelie the other night. It was at this happinin birthday party out in a yard under the stars. I love yard movies and I love sitting out under the stars. I wish I had a snazzy projector and I'd have yard movies all the time! Anyway, Amelie was great. It was really artsy and I don't mind reading subtitles. The company was wonderful and I even got to see an old student of mine. Cute kid. But not so much kid anymore. And the candy, soda and sugar was delish. Too bad I missed Carina's meat pies, but that's what happens when you're late to the party because you had your own bbq in your own yard with your husband's mission companion from Canada and their five kids (very fun people, by the way...too bad they live in another country).

After Amelie I sat up and rubbed my left calf. Something slimy and smushy rolled up under my finger. Ewww. I went over to the light by the house to confirm my suspicion. Sure enough...

When I was up at the Homestead a few weeks ago doing a workshop we stopped in at Snake Creek Grill. No, Compulsive, I didn't have the sea bass. We were just checking on menus to see if we could bring our group of teachers to dinner (turned out a little over our meal budget so we ended up somewhere else, darnit). As we walked up to the door, I passed and smiled at this fellow who was awfully familiar--and yummy. I kept trying to think where I knew the guy from. Then I decided he was just better looking than most of the people I encounter during my regular daily activities, and that he must be someone famous. Great smile and eyes, nice dimples, and rather short. He looked like this:

Once inside the restaurant, I not-so-subtly asked the waiter if there was a famous guy out there (real classy, Lorien) and he told me who the fellow was. That was my star sighting. Only one ever, I think.

Hotch Hotcher Bee Watcher

2006-07-26T09:14:00.000-06:00

This morning as I was considering doing my desperately needed housework, I began thinking how lucky I am because I have so many AWESOME friends. So I forgot about the housework and sat down to blog (wouldn't you?). How cool are all of you? And how lucky am I that I feel I can consider you my friends? Last night I got to pick up my good friend Compulsive and we went to meet Bek and see her three yummy children. I got to see Marie-in-Chick-filet ala Lisa V. I got to love Luckyred's camera and eat some of Carina's real food (oh yum). I got to hug ~j and admire her joy in carrying a child. I saw old friends and made new ones. I laughed till my face and gut hurt. These are the times in life I love. I came home refreshed, ready to love my family more and give the mundane another go. Thank you, friends, for being wonderful. I love you!

Did I ever tell you how lucky you are? When I was quite young and quite small for my size, I met an old man in the desert of Dryz. He sat in a very prickly place, yet he sang with a sunny, sweet smile on his face. He sang me a song I will never forget. At least, well, I haven't forgotten it yet. He said to me, Ducky, when you feel sour and blue, when you start to feel sad you should do what I do. You should say to yourself 'Ducky, you're really quite lucky. Some people are muchly, oh ever so muchly, so muchly much much more unlucky than you.' ...Think you're unlucky? Think of poor Ollie Sard. He has to mow grass in his uncle's backyard. And it's quick-growing grass, so it grows as he mows it. The faster he mows it, the faster he grows it. And all that his stingy old uncle will pay for shoving that mower around in that hay is the piffelous pay of two dukles a day and Ollie can't live on such piffelous pay, so he has to paint flagpoles on Sundays in Gruze. Now aren't you glad you don't live in his shoes? -Quoted as I remember it from Dr. Seuss' Did I Ever Tell You How Lucky You Are?

Where Do They Get Their Good Looks?

2006-07-23T14:37:00.000-06:00

I've made a goal to take the blogfiber Julie recommended and become more regular. I'm going to try to make an entry at least once a week. We'll see how it goes.

So I was trying to think of something to blog about, and thought my photo album might be a good place to start. I ran across this photo of my kids. It's a picture we took for Grandma on her birthday. Grandmas can be hard to do gifts for because at that time in their lives, they either already have everyhing they want, or if they don't, they go out and buy it. But I came up with a good one this time. I took these great photos of the kids and we made button fridge magnets (a neighbor has a pin-button maker) with this and a couple of other photos. Darling children, aren't they?

Last night I had a dream that it was Halloween morning and my kids didn't have costumes. Now that's scary. (Around our house, that's almost as bad as Christmas without presents.) So I guess it's time to start thinking about costumes. I have yards and yards of bright pink felt (formerly a wedding aisle). I'm thinking energizer bunny and pepto bismol. How many costumes can you think of to use up the felt? C'mon. Think pink.

Summah Summah Summah

2006-07-20T17:12:00.000-06:00

It turns everything upside down--schedules, eating habits, sleeping habits, housework, yardwork, and blogging. (Not that I've been regular for some time anyway, but still) But there are some great things about summer, and I thought I'd list a few.

1. Kids can wear whatever they want. And 99% of the time, I don't even care.

2. My yard is lookin good. I love good lookin yards. I got mine ready for a wedding, and it's just lovely (yes, that was a bright pink aisle and no, they didn't rappel from the treehouse). I should have a party. Would you come if I did? We could even have a pool party (see #5).

3. Toenail polish. Three letters, ladies: O-P-I ! This is the most amazing brand of toenail polish I've ever experienced in my thirty-some-odd summers. The stuff survives scuffs on swimmingpool bottoms, it wears for about a month, and the colors have great names. Right now I'm wearing "Charged-Up Cherry." I also picked up "Red Red Rhine" for 60% off. The first color I tried was "My Chihuahua Bites!" It was a great color, but a bit on the orange side for me. The only thing I've found that messes it up is if I hit it with my summer scent, Deep Woods Off. That kinda mucks it up and takes off the shine. So tuck the toes when scenting up for the evening. And yes, I call it TOEnail polish because I can't stand the stuff on my fingernails. Anyway, some of you may already know about O.P.I. Shame on you. How you could keep this a secret and not shout it from the rooftops, I'll never know. So now I have a new mission preachin the good word about O.P.I. Nail Laquer. If you don't have any, run (don't walk) to the nearest beauty store and getcha some sweet color for your toeseys.

4. Garden produce. Just made my first batch of zucchini bread. Mm-mm! And I love my yellow squash. And I have 2 cherry tomatoes that are orange, and have eaten one cucumber. None of the regular tomatoes are ripe yet, but my bushes are 100% better than last year (if any of you remember my last year's lament). Almost as good as my 90-year-old neighbor's.

5. Swimming. Got me one of those poor-man-swimmingpools. You know the ones. Big vinyl things with a blown-up ring to keep the top edge up. The company tries to make you feel really fancy by including a filter pump and you can even put in chemicals. We'll see how it goes, but I thought why not, since my kids are all tall enough now to reach the bottom--although I'm still fairly paranoid about kids and water. It was actually one of those keep-up-with-the-joneses purchases. I wasn't about to let my friend Neighborhood Watch have the corner on the pool market on our street. (I got the one the next size up) Plus it was on clearance.

6. Tan feet. They just look better that way.

7. Tan bodies. They look better that way, too.

8. Bedtime? What's that?

9. Bathtime? See #5.

10. Getting lost in a great book. I have always loved curling up in a chair and reading, reading, reading. The rest of the world can all just go to h___ when I'm reading (and my house usually does). I'm a shameless Harry Potter fan, and reading a HP book just seems like a summery thing to do, so since we all still have a while to wait for the final book, I took a day and a half and read #6 again. ***SPOILER WARNING*** (although if you haven't read it by now I'm guessing you just wont, which is fine) I read carefully this time through, and I think our double agent Snape will end up a good guy in #7 (Dumbledore knew about his unbreakable vow and plead for Snape to kill him, not for mercy) and Dumbledore is really and will stay dead, though his influence will still be there via his portrait in the headmaster's office and perhaps the penseive. I do wonder about all the phoenix imagery, though...***SPOILING FINISHED*** You may not be a Potter fan, but whatever your genre, I think summer is definitely the time to lose yourself in a book.

Well, there are loads of other great things about summer, but these are just the ones I've noticed in the last couple of days. Gotta go help my kid get packed for scout camp. Maybe that's #11.

Why Writing Tests Isn't Such a Bad Gig After All

2006-05-31T20:23:00.000-06:00

Here’s to all those conversations I’ve killed. Killed by talking about my jobs editing test items. Why the shout-out? Because right now I’m in Portsmouth, New Hampshire editing test items. I was invited to review test questions for a company that writes CRTs (standardized tests) that some states use. They flew several of us out here, paid us for a good day’s work, and now I get to see the sights. A friend and I have had a great time wandering around. Last night, after a bumpy flight, a less-than-perfect landing, a very long bus ride (accident on Route 1 so we wound through some neighborhoods or something for 2 hours), and a pleasantly brief cab ride, we ate at a fabulous place called The Oar House (the boullibaisse was amazing). Tonight we walked around, shopped, and walked across Piscataqua River to Kittery, Maine (which I hear has amazing shopping, but it was getting late). Tomorrow morning I’ll go to Strawbery Banke before catching a bus to the Boston airport. I did the tourist thing and pulled out the camera (which I absolutely hate doing, but I did for the sake of entertaining my husband and children), so I’ll have a few pictures to post when I get home.

And book group girls…have a good time without me. Sorry I had to miss it.

Diagnosis: Contact Dermatitis

2006-05-07T17:18:00.000-06:00

Since Tuesday of this week I’ve spent hours scratching. Scratching my horridly itchy legs—hip to ankle. And not just a little scritch here or a nice scrub there. We’re talking SCRATCHIN. The kind where you make little bruises and draw blood in a few places. The kind where you sit and groan as you dig your skin into red swollen bumpiness. So I finally went to the doctor. He confirmed it…I have…(dum dum duuum!) a rash.

Odd that it’s only on my legs, don’t you think? At the doctor’s office we went through the list of what might have caused this tragic condition:

New clothes or underclothes worn before washing?

No. Except the viral blog shirt and that was long ago. And also not worn on my legs.

New laundry detergent (Tide or Downy)?

Nope. Still the same institutional-sized bucket of Costco laundry soap I’ve been using for months.

New soap?

Uh-uh. Been using Dove for years. It has 1/4 moisturizer, you know.

Shampoo?

No, and besides, that would give me a rash on my head, right?

New lotions or creams?

No…

Wait…I did pull out the sunless tanning cream to tone down winter’s blue glaze the other week. I used it once or twice, waited a week, then used it again Sunday and Monday, just before the break-out. But not on my whole body. Only on MY LEGS.

That’s pretty conclusive evidence, I think. Jack Bauer invaded the Chinese Embassy on less evidence than that. We’re watching last year’s 24 right now. Love that show. We used to be junkies, but then other stuff made it too hard to watch every week, so we quit. So now we just watch the last season on DVD, and I think I like that even better. We can watch 2 episodes a night after the kids are in bed, and each episode only lasts 45 minutes—no commercials to agonize through. The only problem is if you itch. It makes it really hard to enjoy TV if you are always shifting around to get the next itchy spot on the other knee.

But the doctor gave me some allergy medication and some cream to use, and it’s made the rash much better. I really only start itching in the evening, and an oatmeal bath plus some meds usually take the edge off so that I can enjoy Jack and the gang. Did I mention I really like Chloe? She’s so disgruntled and has such a lousy attitude. I love her crabby eyebrows. I haven’t watched any of this season, but I hope she sticks around. So here’s my advice: First, don’t use No-Ad brand Sunless Tanning Cream, especially if it’s last year’s bottle. Spring for the extra 5 or 10 bucks and get a good brand and avoid a week’s worth of itchy agony. Second, if you haven’t ever watched 24, you need to. Rent or buy the first season and get going on it—you’ll love it.

Infected

2006-04-26T19:34:00.000-06:00

The shirt IS true. Thank you, Compulsive Writer.

Guy calls it my Embroidered Garden of Hotness.

Smile Big, Everyone!

2006-04-03T14:25:00.000-06:00

We had this photo of Grandma, Grandpa and all their grandkids taken last fall at their 50th wedding anniversary. A nice evening to bring in the photographer and create some lasting memories. Can you tell which one is my kid?

Here. Maybe you need a little hint.

*Second photo, “Now Show Us the BACK of Your Band-aid”, courtesy of my brother The Dally Llama.

An Experiment in the Kitchen

2006-03-19T16:18:00.000-07:00

Today, folks, I am going to attempt to make flan. I got the recipe from a little lady in our neighborhood named Hortencia. Wish me luck. I'll be starting my adventure around 6:00 today, which means that if all goes well, there might be some good eatin around here by 7:30 or 8:00. Stop by if you wish. The best part about this is that I'm the only one in this house (that I know of) who will eat the stuff, so there should be plenty.

Cheers!

Spring Is In the Air

2006-03-06T14:31:00.000-07:00

You might not think so, but I know it is because my three-year-old son has already peed outside twice in the last week. That I know of. At Grandma’s house the other day, he came moseying on into the house and said casually, “I peed in the flower holder.” I took a slow breath and calmly asked where exactly it was that he peed. He explained that it was in the flower holder (read flower pot) outside on Grandma’s porch. Then he and his dad had a nice man-to-man moment while he showed his dad precisely where. And how. Apparently the pot was just the right height. Then the next day, he came into Grandma’s house again and told us he peed in the bush. Somehow the time-outs and multiple discussions about peeing only in toilets aren’t registering. I’m trying to be calm and not overreact about this, but really! Maybe all you men out there can explain this to me. Why the fascination? Is it because it’s so convenient? Enjoyable? Freeing? Or just because you can? I don’t get it. It’s going to be a long summer around here. And it’s only March.

A few minutes ago he walked into the room and announced that he has hot pee. This is how my 5-year-old daughter has described a bladder infection, so when I asked, “You have hot pee?” I expected to hear more about pain or problems on the potty. Instead he explained that he peed on his finger for a long time and it was hot. Investigating his sister's claims, I suppose. Arrrgh! What am I going to do with my son and his “peanut”? If any of you know how to keep little boys from making their mark on the world, will you please let me know?

Anything I Can Do

2006-01-28T11:44:00.000-07:00

I have a show for you to watch. It’s called “Anything I Can Do” and it’s on PBS. It’s one of those do-it-yourself shows. The hostess is Mag Ruffman and the project today was building a child’s bench. The bench is made from 4 pieces of plywood all glued and screwed together and then decoupaged with little squares of colored fabric. The clever part about the project was that Meg designed it with her eyes shut. You might be thinking, “What? How could someone design a piece of furniture with shut eyes?” Well, you obviously don’t know Mag. She is very free-spirited. She just took a pencil, shut her eyes, and drew out the sides of the bench on a piece of plywood. Then she instructed us in the finer points of a jigsaw, eye and ear protection, and cut away. She assured us it didn’t even matter if the two sides of the bench were different from each other, because they are kind of like the sleeves of a dress—it doesn’t matter if they are different because they aren’t right next to each other so nobody will notice. Brilliant. Plus, she pointed out that one of the great things about designing furniture with your eyes closed is that if it turns out badly, you can always say, “Not bad, considering my eyes were closed.”

One thing I love about Mag is that she uses catchy little phrases throughout her show and she always gives her projects clever titles. This little kiddie bench she called “Glue Me Like You Did Last Summer.” A show about making garden pots she called “Pot and Bothered” and her show on making and wiring lamps she called “Interview with a Lamp Wire.” Now how did she come up with all that?

Mag really speaks to women. As you watch her floundering with glue and falling pieces of plywood, you realize it’s okay to be a girl who has a tough time with stuff. As long as you’re cute and say funny things, no problem, and your fun little projects will turn out just fine regardless. Skill and technique don’t really matter that much. Mag reminds us that “there's nothing like hefting a power tool to tighten important muscle groups.” There’s my new workout! And I think high-waisted, peg-legged pants must be coming back in style if Mag is any indicator.

Mag is in touch with her inner child. It’s not uncommon to watch her running and playing in the big field outside her barn. Or sliding down the pole from her loft, twirling as she descends.

My very most favorite part of the show is when Mag has a reflective moment. We hear Mag’s introspection as she thinks or writes in her journal. She really has a few things going on in her head, and she shares them freely with us. Doing it yourself is a sort of spiritual thing, and you can find yourself in one of Mag’s projects.

If you haven’t ever watched Mag, I think you should. Let me know what you think. You can go here to see more of Mag and her clever ideas: http://www.homeenvy.com/mag_ruffman.html

So Where Have You Been?

2006-01-18T10:04:00.000-07:00

That’s what I think you, reader, might be thinking. Where have I been since my last post? Richfield, Utah. Okay, not the whole time. But I was there for one day, anyway. Occasionally I go out of town without the rest of my family. Yep, just by my lonesome. Sometimes I have a conversation with a friend and the subject of my absence comes up. The conversation goes something like this:

“I can’t do this-or-that tomorrow. I’ll be out of town.”

“Oh? Where are you going?” my friend asks with interest.

“Richfield.”

Pause. “Where’s Richfield?”

Rural Utah towns don’t get a lot of hype. I explain that Richfield is about 2 hours south of Provo, past Scipio and near Aurora. That usually doesn’t help much. The conversation is losing steam.

“Ohhhh. Why are you going to Richfield?”

“I’m teaching at a workshop.”

I gain a little ground and my friend now seems slightly impressed. I even get a little bit of an eyebrow raise, as if I had just announced that I was an architect.

“Oh! A workshop about what?”

I take a deep breath. How do I explain what I do? “About writing tests. Assessment.”

“Mmmm.”

Conversation killed.

Really, the workshop is about much more than writing tests. It’s a workshop that teaches science teachers different ways to find out what their students have learned, and then to adjust their teaching accordingly. To folks in the field, that’s called formative assessment. The title of the workshop is “Using Formative Assessment to Inform Instruction.” But to the lay-person, and even to many teachers, that just sounds like a bunch of mumbo-jumbo. So each time I do this workshop, I try and think of a way I can explain this to my friends in a simple way and make it sound interesting and fun. But the best I can come up with is, “It’s a workshop about testing,” which it really isn’t. Pretty much a guaranteed conversation killer.

I've been doing this type of stuff--either teaching workshops about assessment or working at workshops where we create assessments--for about 6 or 7 years now. And at the end of each workshop, I’m exhausted, worn out, and completely fulfilled. I’ve also experienced a change of scenery and a little get-away, which every mother needs. I find myself in a conversation with my friends and co-teachers Hugh, Janis and Kevin, and hear myself say, “Gosh, that was fun.” And then I step back and go, wha…? This is like major geek fun. Oh well. I’m pretty good at it, I like it, it’s fulfilling, and I get paid. Plus, the two workshops we’ll teach this summer will be in Heber and we’ll stay for 4 days (each workshop) at the Homestead. Not bad accommodations for someone teaching about tests.

King Kong

2005-12-12T10:14:00.000-07:00

You know how sometimes you’ll suddenly notice something that you have been seeing for a long time, but hadn’t really SEEN? Well, this has been around a long time but I wonder how many of you have SEEN it.

So what’s the deal? First of all, I’m not a fan of large inflatable advertising, but some folks must be because there sure is a lot of it. Personally I think a gorilla in shorts and sunglasses is dumb and tacky, but I can understand if the owners of this fine establishment genuinely enjoy large inflatable primates. However, I wonder if the owners of Giant Wireless realize their little gorilla is giving all of Provo the finger every time they drive past.

Since when do we allow this sort of gesture to be displayed at such a grand scale in our quiet town? I thought this was a very conservative community, but I have yet to hear an outcry regarding this unattractive and vulgar balloon. Curious. I suppose I could initiate a movement against tasteless displays atop buildings, but it would take a tremendous amount of time and energy and I’m not sure I’m up to it. Instead I have chosen to do the next best thing. Every now and then when the kids aren’t in the car, I crank up the tunes and with a guttural growl give my big furry friend the double bird right back.

I'm It

2005-12-11T08:27:00.000-07:00

Okay, Okay. Resistance is useless. I'll play along, although it is against my better judgement.

Five little known facts about me:

1. I was Gretel in Hans Brinker and the Silver Skates in our 4th grade play. That was about the extent of my theatrical career.

2. I co-starred with my 4th grade crush, Rick Alexander. That was about the extent of our romantic relationship.

3. I took piano lessons for at least 4 years as a kid, but I can barely pluck out a melody. Go figure.

4. You already know I had headgear, a mullet and a "special" bicycle.

5. Other than my tennis shoes, all of my shoes are black.

Whew. That took some doing. Now I get to tag some friends and they get to either play along or just ignore the game, right? I'll tag Dally, Otto, Lisa, and Christopher.

I Saw It On the Way To Walmart

2005-11-12T23:23:00.000-07:00

I was driving along yesterday, thinking through my shopping strategy, when I saw this frumpy lady raking leaves in her yard. (By the way, this is an observation, not a criticism—who doesn’t look frumpy doing yard work?) She had a wheelbarrow full of leaves and with great effort, she was pushing the wheelbarrow down her sloping lawn toward the road. The edge of her lawn is about 5 or 6 feet above the road, and railroad ties create the wall that hold up her yard. Once she got to the precipice, she carefully tipped the wheelbarrow full of leaves over the edge of her yard and into the weedy strip bordering the road below. Then she began pushing the wheelbarrow back up her lawn to get a new load.

I laughed out loud as I watched this whole process. Not so much that I thought it was funny as I was astonished at the audacity of this lady. She wasn’t dumping the leaves into a vacant, unused field where a compost pile would be unnoticed. No, she was tossing them over the edge of her yard onto a well-traveled road, next door to some homes and parks that have recently been improved and look quite neat and tidy. This would be like me gathering up my leaves and dumping them into my neighbor’s front yard. How rude. I’ve only done that once, but they weren’t my leaves in the first place, and in the second place, it was a really good joke. Anyway, I shook my head and laughed in amazement at this woman, and found myself feeling sorry for the poor blokes that live next to her and thinking how grateful I am that she isn’t my neighbor. On my way back home an hour and a half later, she was still at it, and I laughed again and thought about how much I like my neighbors.

I Had a Mullet

2005-11-05T22:54:00.000-07:00

It’s confession time. I was an ugly kid. I’d like to think I grew out of it, but that wasn’t until at least 9th or 10th grade, and that may be a generous estimation. I look back at old photos and realize this problem began early.

This makes me wonder what my mom was thinking. Shouldn’t a mom try to help her little girl look cute when she’s too young to do it herself? I think she tried. Maybe she was just misguided by the styles of a bad decade. Or maybe she just didn’t have much to work with. When I was a bit older and after a couple of not-quite-successful home permanent waves, she came to all my hair appointments and made decisions about my hairstyles. I distinctly remember my “Annie” cut and perm in fourth grade and how Mom was so thrilled that all I needed was a spray bottle and a pick to do my hair each morning. Why did she allow this? Couldn’t she see that an Annie-do wouldn’t go well with headgear?

Headgear. Twenty-two to 23 hours a day I wore that thing. And it wasn’t the kind that just went around the neck. No, I got the kind that was a helmet. One band down the back of the head, one band around the neck, and one band from in front of one ear, over the top of the head, then down to in front of the other ear. I got it in 4th grade and for a couple of years wore it everywhere I went. I remember I hated it, but I wore it anyway. Remember that I had pom-pom hair to go with it—a nice band down the middle and two fluffs out each side. A lovely picture, isn’t it? So why did I wear it so faithfully? Did I not care how weird I looked? Or did I just not realize how bad it really was?

I had this bike that was a hand-me-down from my aunt (probably from the late 50’s, making it about 20 years old). It was a gold 5-speed. The thing was enormous and weighed more than I did. The front tire was really small—like from a little pre-school sized bike—and the back tire was big—about the size of a pre-teen mountain bike. It had this big banana seat, complete with springs I wasn’t even heavy enough to budge, and the gear-shifter was on the bar in front of the seat. No subtle little gear-shifter, no sir, this thing was huge. And big old fenders and U-shaped handlebars. These days this bike would be awesome—all retro and everything. But in the early eighties, it was nightmarishly ugly. But it was the only bike I had, so, like the headgear, I just went with it. One day I was riding my golden atrocity down the road, sporting, of course, headgear on top of my puffy Annie hair. I passed this lady and she asked me in this sweet, condescending voice, “Oh! Did your mom and dad have that bike made special for you?” I think this was about the time I realized how truly pathetic I was. I didn’t just look a little weird, I looked “special.” That was the last time I rode that bike. And I’m still surprised I didn’t quit wearing the headgear, but maybe I really was “special.” Or I just wanted to have really good teeth.

By about 6th grade I didn’t have to wear the headgear anymore and I started growing out the hair. Gracefully? Not really. And I still had those marvelously silver-banded teeth. Junior High was miserable and is worthy of it’s own blog. I was still working on the hair situation and didn’t have any friends. Once I thought I’d have fun and dress up for Nerd Day. During the Nerd Parade at lunch, somebody asked me if I was dressed up. Apparently my nerdy clothes weren’t significantly different from my regular clothes.

In high school things started getting a little better. I found some friends and I wasn’t quite so self-conscious. I started to figure out who I was and I didn’t care quite so much what some people thought. My eyes went bad and I got glasses. Now I think those specs were horrible, but in the 80s they really were in style as far as glasses went. (Right? They were, weren’t they?)

Luckily, the 80s only lasted about 10 years. The 90s and 00s have been a little more merciful and I think I turned out okay in the end. So perhaps my ugly childhood was character building or something. At any rate, if you have an ugly kid, or if you are an ugly kid, just think…eventually you might pull out of it. You might even be better for it. I don’t know…mullet over.

Quote for the Day

2005-10-28T22:58:00.000-06:00

"This compass sucks. It only points north."

-Daughter, age 7

Pineapple Chunks

2005-10-24T10:29:00.000-06:00

I just wanted to let you all know that my youngest son has joined the ranks of kids who puke when they eat too much. Last night after the chicken, ravioli, pepperige farm goldfish, and creamie, the canned pineapple chunks his cousin Koltan shared with him finally pushed him over the edge. After puking into the sink, he said, "Koltan, I spit out yo food."

Innovation

2005-09-20T15:25:00.000-06:00

It’s potty-learning time at our house. I try to let my kids take the reigns and do this at his/her own speed. My youngest has finally decided he likes the feel of “big-boy pannies” better than a diaper. (Yes, at our house they are “pannies” regardless of gender. And no ‘T’ is pronounced. Deal with it.) Those of you with children know, and those of you without can imagine or perhaps remember, that this journey to potty proficiency is fraught with accidents and setbacks. My son and I experienced his first big setback today. I’m pretty good about staying calm and I certainly don’t punish my child. I just put the kid in the tub and clean up the mess. Sometimes an audible growl and “eeeew, yuck!” do escape my lips, but that’s about it.

The worst part of the whole thing is rinsing the poop out of the pannies in the toilet. Ugh. It’s horrid. You start off so gingerly with thumb and forefinger carefully swishing the soiled underwear around in the bowl, trying not to splash. And you can get really quite good at it with the Flush-and-Swish technique. But in the back of your mind you know that ultimately you have to take the dive. There’s no getting around the final pannie wring. I know of no technique to avoid getting poo water on your hands. I hate it.

How did our ancestors do it? I remember the cloth diapers my mother left sitting in the toilet. At times washing those things out must have been more than she could bear. And she had an automatic washer and dryer. What about another 50 or 100 years before her? What if I’d lived then? How would I have managed? First of all, I don’t think I’d have been such a patient potty coach! And I think instead of a diaper pail I would have had a diaper vat—a diapers-only kettle sitting there to toss the diapers into, then fill with water and boil for a very, VERY long time. And what did they use for plastic pants? Wool I guess? How did they ever manage to keep a baby dry and not leaky all the time? Those folks were either incredibly creative and industrious or horribly smelly. Probably both.

What do I learn from all of this? To be grateful. So thank you, inventors of the disposable diaper, the automatic washer and dryer, Clorox wipes and bleach. Thank you.

Blood Suckers

2005-09-09T19:42:00.000-06:00

Yesterday I gave blood. Yes, kudos to me! I’m on the vampires’ call list, so they call and I go in. No big deal. I figure I can donate blood and there's always more where it came from. It doesn't bother me; I watch them put the needle in every time and I don't get sick or woozy from donating. No problem.

But the part that sucks about donating blood, besides that little owie lancelet prick on my finger, is reading the “What You Need to Know Before Donating Blood” booklet. You have to read it every time you go in. It tells you about all this stuff that could have possibly contaminated your blood. Then you have to answer all these worthiness questions, including the question, “Did you read the ‘What You Need to Know Before Donating Blood’ booklet?” I always feel like I’m going into some big interview, a final judgment of sorts. The thing of it is, I always give myself this pep talk as I drive out to the donation site. “You can just skim the information booklet. You haven’t done anything since your last donation to contaminate your blood.” I mean really, I lead a pretty boring life. I haven’t gone anywhere or done anything or anyone that would compromise the integrity of my blood. My riskiest behavior is my occasional encounter with mosquitoes, but I’m pretty good about wearing my summer scent (Deep Woods Off with DEET) at both dawn and dusk.

So I get to the donation site and sit down with the fateful red booklet ready to skim. Then I have this wave of anxiety and guilt sweep over me. What if one of the questions has changed? What if there is a NEW information sheet in the booklet? I mean, they are in plastic sleeves, so they could be easily updated or changed. What if I have forgotten some important little detail about my conduct since the last time I donated 8 weeks ago? And what am I going to say when they ask me if I read the booklet? So despite my pep talk, I start reading.

I pass my eyes over every word, pausing momentarily but trying not to contemplate too deeply all the new definitions of “sexual contact” they have included. Then here is the part that really sticks in my craw. About 5 minutes after I walk in and begin my soul-searching reading, another lady comes in and starts her reading. Then she finishes her reading another 5 minutes before me and goes back for her worthiness questioning! What the heck? Who does she think she’s fooling? I know she didn’t read the whole thing. I was flyin’ and hadn’t finished mine, and I think I’m a pretty quick reader. And even worse than that, a kid comes in 5 minutes after her, picks up his book, begins perusing, then starts chatting with one of the volunteers. Then he goes back for his interview. WHAT? He hadn’t sat there 5 minutes! I don’t think he even flipped each of the pages. And I'm certain he didn’t check his memory to recall if he had been a dependant of someone in the military since 1980 or if he’d had a family member with Krutchfeld-Jacobs disease. Does he think being an acquaintance of a volunteer gets him off the worthiness hook? And it’s not like he can say he’s been in more recently than I have, because I’m on the vampire call-back list. This isn’t the first time this has happened, either. I had the same thing happen on my last two donations. Some people just aren’t taking this booklet seriously enough. And they got into the donation chair before me. Growl.

I can say that the American Red Cross is speeding up their process. It used to take me about an hour to donate. Now I’m out of there in 35 to 45 minutes. But I still wish they just had one worthiness question for regulars like me, something like, “Have you had any wildly excessive fun or any completely novel experiences or diseases since your last donation?” Then I could just say "no" once and be out of there in 15.

Every Breath You Take

2005-09-07T15:52:00.000-06:00

Neighborhood Watch. I’ve mentioned her before. She’s my neighbor and friend and I love her. But she’s just a little quirky. Her house sits at the end of my street, facing the traffic coming up the road, giving her a clear view of the whole street. Some would put up blinds in a house with this view. Not Neighborhood Watch. No, instead she uses this eagle-eye perch to her advantage and stays busy with everyone’s business. I’ll illustrate.

This June, a group of us were standing around in the road talking when a neighbor of ours ran by. We knew she was training for a marathon, and so as she passed, we wondered aloud how long she had been out running that day. “An hour. I saw her leave an hour ago,” said Neighborhood Watch. Then another neighbor drove past. She hailed him and ran over (with baby on hip) to his Suburban to tell him some important piece of news. During that conversation, the mailman drove his truck down the road. She hollered to him, (calling him by name, of course) to tell him that a certain family wasn’t home, so not to deliver their mail. All of this occurred within 15 minutes.

What a busy life she leads! She calls to alert me of any police or ambulance activity on our street and to warn me of approaching salesmen. On the rare occasion that something obstructs her view, she calls me to get the scoop on the action happening at my end of the road. She watches children walking up and down the sidewalk and calls to let me know when mine are coming home.

One night last summer around 10:00 pm she called and asked me to turn my porch light back on. I was already in bed, so I asked why. She told me it was because our streetlight had burned out and the street was just too dark—she couldn’t see what was going on and it was driving her crazy. Driving HER crazy? Grudgingly, I indulged her. The next day she called the city and somehow managed to get the thing fixed within a few weeks, despite the fact that those city workers were backed up for months with lamppost fixing requests.

A few weeks ago she called me to let me know she was going camping for a week. She was entrusting me with the charge of neighborhood watch. Me? What a burden. I didn’t know if I was up to the task, but I told her I would do my best. The first day I did all right and checked the street a few times. Nothing much seemed to be happening. Then suddenly I realized it was four days later and I had no inkling the whereabouts or activities of any of my neighbors. I had no idea if anyone had had any disputes in their front yards, if any of the teenagers had any questionable guests at their houses, or if anyone had forgotten to pull in their garbage cans. Had George been on his bike ride? I couldn’t tell you. Had the mailman been sick or had a birthday? No clue. I had failed in my calling. What would I tell her when she got back? I would have nothing to report.

Fortunately when she got back she didn’t come ask for a report. She must have had her plate full getting back into the regular watch routine. I didn’t mention the fact that I had been negligent in my duty. All I know is that I’m grateful I don’t have the burden of neighborhood watch. I’m definitely not that busy a body!

A Tribute to Sewer Guys

2005-09-04T10:23:00.000-06:00

Food, water, shelter….and a place to poop. That last is all too often left off the list of basic human needs. Pooping is very important to all of us. If you aren’t sure of this fact, just browse around in this blogging community. Julie’s pen, my tree house, Chris and Lisa’s unfortunate neighbors on the east bench, and Wendysue’s Whitney all testify to it, to name a few. And what really drive this point home are the horrible pictures we’ve seen on the news of our friends in the South. So let’s not take for granted our places to poop. Here’s looking at you, Sewer Guys! May your pipes remain unobstructed and may it always run downhill.

Harvest Plenty

2005-08-22T21:14:00.000-06:00

A few nights ago we enjoyed one of the bounties of our garden: corn-on-the-cob. We started this spring diligently tilling and preparing the garden to plant. Guy put in two rows of corn, planting them a week apart so we could enjoy the ripening crop over a period of time. We put in four rows of potatoes, 2 crookneck squash, and 14 tomato plants. We also planted pumpkins, starting some of them from seed indoors with the kids. We watered, weeded and hoed, involving our children in an attempt to teach them to work, and anticipated when they would enjoy the fruits of their labor.

We enjoyed those fruits the other night, and what a pathetic pile of fruit it was. You can see and count the entire crop—yes, the ENTIRE crop—of corn here. There are a few more ears still remaining on the plants that Guy thought were too small to bother picking—yes, even smaller than the ones pictured here. And the stuff we picked and ate was old. We should have “harvested” at least one week earlier, maybe two.

That’s just the corn. The tomatoes aren’t doing so hot either. We’ve eaten a whole 3 tomatoes from our garden so far this year. Hello! It’s August! Shouldn’t I have tomatoes and to spare by now? The squash has slowed down, too, which is a shame because we love squash. Sautee it in olive oil with a clove of garlic, salt and pepper….mmmm. But they’ve quit producing now. And the potatoes? Well, that remains to be seen, doesn’t it? When does one harvest potatoes, anyway? Before or after first frost? I have no idea.

I know the garden needs some weeding, but still, the thing I don’t get is that I didn’t think I was a horrible gardener. I’ve had successful vegetable gardens before. I actually have quite pretty flower gardens. I pride myself in having a nice yard. Particularly when you recognize that when we moved into this house a few years ago, the yard was lawn and 2 trees. That was basically it. I think we’ve made some pretty good improvements—and we’ve done it ourselves. No landscapers for us, no-siree.

So why is my vegetable garden so lousy?

Take a peek with me over my fence at my neighbor’s garden.
It’s a beautiful veggie garden. His tomato plants are nearly 5 feet tall, and he has rows and rows of corn that look like corn is supposed to look. And this guy is 90 years old. No kidding. Last winter he broke his hip. But that didn’t stop him. No, this whole summer I’ve heard him out shuffling around in his garden, whistling and calling (“hoo hoooo!”) to his cat, Buddy. So why does my stooped-over, 90 year old man neighbor have this lush, productive garden and all I get is 12 tiny ears of sticky corn, a few squash and three pitiful little tomatoes?

The only veggies that are really doing well are the pumpkins. I love growing pumpkins. The kids love them and I love them. They’re so much fun at Halloween! But unless you are Molly-Over-Achieving-Mormon and know how to cook them down into the stuff you make pies out of (which I don’t and won’t), they are pretty much non-utilitarian. I guess I’m only good at growing aesthetic stuff. But I’m not giving up yet. I’ll re-think my garden strategies and try again next year. Maybe a sunnier spot, some mulch and turkey poop…

Midweek Bath

2005-08-11T13:09:00.000-06:00

This morning (Thursday) I looked at my children. Ewww. “Alright kids, time for a bath!”

“What?!? But it’s not Sunday!” they complained. And they looked at me with the pain of injustice in their eyes.

This caused me to reflect for a moment on my domestic practices this summer, particularly the ones pertaining to my children’s hygiene. I realized that this summer I’ve bathed my children about once a week, whether they needed it or not. Of course, occasionally I took them swimming during the week. This accomplished some soaking and deep cleaning. And sometimes I told them to go play in the hose, figuring they’d wash a little of something off of them while they did. But other than these occasional water activities, this summer my children’s hygiene and my attention to cleanliness (my children’s and my house’s) has been deplorable.

I remember talking with another mom last winter and I made some comment like, “Well, if I bathe my kids every other day or maybe even skip two days, I figure that’s okay. It’s not like in the summer when they play outside and get all sweaty and dirty. You just HAVE to bathe them more in the summer.” Who was that woman? Bathe them more in the summer? That’s the great thing about summer. Who cares if your kids are grimy? So what if they look like orphans? Big deal if they stay up till 10 or 11 and don’t get up till 8 or 9. Last spring when I was thinking about the upcoming summer break, I determined I was going to be so diligent and start each day with a routine involving exercise, yard work and chores, limit television time, and have organized activities to do like this or that lesson or park time. I did pretty well with the exercise and yard work, but the rest went down the tube. At first I was worried about not having my kids on a routine, and then I decided to just forget it and go with the flow. I remember that was what I liked about summer as a kid—that you could just veg and play with friends and be a bum. I don’t even know if I owned summer clothes other than my swimsuit and I just played without being “scheduled”. I caught bugs and made mud pottery I dried in the sun. I tried (unsuccessfully) weaving a basket out of long grass weeds and played in the sprinkler. I read books. And it was that sense of no urgency and total relaxation that I remember relishing. So this summer I decided I would try to embrace this and just let my kids relax.

Now don’t get me wrong. There have been things that they have to do. I try to remember to have them make their beds in the morning. They help cook and do the dishes. They help me weed the garden and water the plants. They clean toilets and sinks and my oldest (10) mows the lawn. But I’ve been a little better at just letting them play when they have their things done rather than try to fill up their time by finding more work for them to do.

But I think I can only live with this lack of structure for a while before it starts to get to me. The kids start bickering or teasing when they get bored and I heard myself just the other day telling my youngest two (ages 4 and 2) to go beat each other up in the other room instead of where I was. They did. Boy, did they. (I decided maybe I should have said something like “you need to go work it out niiiiicely.”) I’ve about reached my limit of tolerating my messy house and kids with nothing to do. I’m looking forward to the school year and it will be nice to get back to a schedule. I think I’ll even start bathing the kids more than once a week again.

Tree House Fun

2005-07-29T23:01:00.000-06:00

Two days ago my friend told me she had to ground her son for an afternoon. He had been on the roof with his dad when his dad got down for a minute. When the dad got back on the roof, he found his son peeing down the sewer vent. I had a pretty good laugh as she told me the story. I have long since learned not to be smug about these kinds of things and I was NOT thinking things like, “If you just did a better job teaching your child…” or “Why can’t you control your child?” But I was thinking something like “Tee-hee! At least something like that hasn’t happened to me!” Well Julie, one day later and I can top that.

Yesterday my 4 1/2 yr old daughter came into the house with her head hung low and said to me, “I’m sorry, Mom.”

“Sorry for what?”

“I pooped.”

“What?!”

“I pooped.”

“Aaaar! Where did you poop?”

“Grass.”

At this point I think I yelled something like “I’m going to kill you!” Guy, in an attempt to calm me down and comfort his penitent daughter, intervened by saying things like “Was it an accident?” and “Did you try to come inside and you didn’t make it?” She of course answered “yes” and “uh-huh.” I finally got control of myself and then began asking more questions.

“Where is the poop?”

“Outside.”

Right. I gathered that from the grass answer. I was going to have to be more specific because my daughter was not volunteering anything more than she was asked.

“Okay. Show me”

She took me into the back yard under our big sycamore tree. Sure enough, there sat a little pie on the grass. It was time to learn more details.

“Did you get any on your underwear?”

“No.”

“Did you pull down your pants and sit right here and do it?”

“No.”

“Then how did this get here? Where were you when you pooped?”

“Tree house.”

I looked up. There, sitting on the branched trunk of my tree, were more little pies.

“You were up in the tree house when you did it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Grrrrrr.”

After more of this questioning I finally pieced together that she and her friend Cammie (3 1/2 yrs) were playing house and apparently two of the slats of the tree house floor looked like a toilet. My daughter was playing at using the toilet, and then I guess the urge got to her before she could get down the tree and inside. When nature calls…

After reminding her that we don't pretend to use toilets in tree houses, I sent her inside to get in the tub while I set to cleaning it up. My husband had some remarkable ideas like “Just throw it in the bushes—the cat goes in there” and “just squirt it until it dissolves away.” I reminded him we were talking about human fecal matter and I think I said something like “Just go away if you can’t contribute any useful suggestions.” He went inside and started fixing lunch.

I proceeded with the revolting task of scraping what I could up with paper towels and then hosed the tree house, the trunk and the grass down. I thought of bleaching the whole area, but I wasn’t sure how the tree and lawn would have done with that. As I was finishing up a half an hour later, Guy opened a window and told me to come in. He told me I was going to have to call Cammie’s mom because he wasn’t going to do it. I asked him why I needed to call her. He said that our youngest (2 1/2 yrs) had come to lunch and said “I going to poop on Cammie.”

“What?”

“I going to poop on Cammie.”

Long pause…why would he say this…“Wait a minute. Did Cammie have poop on her?”

Apparently she did, but she had cleaned herself up with a wet-wipe. Great. Now I had to call my neighbor and tell her that my daughter pooped on her daughter and to put her into the tub quick. Nice. And this isn’t just any neighbor. No, this is the neighbor who keeps tabs on everything and everyone on the street and makes sure everyone else has the scoop, too. We call her Neighborhood Watch. (Really, I could write a whole blog just on her. Maybe I will.) Anyway, now Neighborhood Watch knows what my daughter did to her daughter. And you've probably already heard this story by now.

After I got off the phone I started wondering something else, so once again I asked my daughter.

“How did the poop get on Cammie?”

“Fell.”

I guess Cammie wasn’t in the tree house at the time.

I Say Tomato, You Say Tomato

2005-07-12T17:13:00.000-06:00

The other day I thought I’d start keeping track of some of the interesting colloquialisms and pronunciations I hear from my friends and family. Many are particular to Utah, I’m sure, and I think some go back to small towns like Spanish Fork and Lakeshore 50+ years ago. There are some that drive me nuts-o, and some I find charming and funny. And I’m sure there are plenty more I don’t even hear because I’m just so used to them—or because I say them. I’m probably guilty of some humdingers! So let’s have some fun and make a list. I’d love to hear yours. Here’s a start…

Of course, the obvious heck, gosh, dang, darn… Me? Guilty. Heck, I’m from Utah!
Chimbley—just funny.
Asparagrus—kind of annoying.
Pellow and melk, not pillow and milk. Drives me nuts.
I seen Betty down to the Wal-mart. Yaaaahrr! I hear it all the time.
Irregardless—this one is in the dictionary, but it says “used humorously.” I don’t know if they know it’s funny.
Crens (crayons)
Crick (creek)
An (and)—I’m sure I say this one all the time.
Pedistool (pedestal)—this one makes me laugh.
Ping-kwin (penguin)
Roof or roof—I’m not even sure which one is right.
Doesn’t that make a rabbit slap a bear?—what does this mean?
Git (as in “Git down from there! or “Hey! Go on! Git!”)
Wint (went)
Shmorning—you know, like “The shmorning I wint down to Wal-marts to git some melk an asparagrus an guess what? On the way I seen Harold. He was fixin his chimbley.”

Well, that’s all I got fer now. Ahl be lettin’ ya know whin I heer summore.

The Dark Knight

2005-07-07T11:07:00.000-06:00

If you haven’t already, you need to go see Batman Begins. Holy league of shadows, it was fantastic! One of the best movies I’ve seen in a long time. It was all I could do to not stand up and yell a big, guttural “Yaaahhhhhhr!” at the end of the movie. But it isn’t just this movie I loved—I’ll tell you more about that later; I just really like Batman. Here’s why:

1. Batman rocks. I don’t care who you are, you have to love him. I mean, he wears black (sexy, muscley black for the ladies), he has a cape (how cool are capes? Edna Mode was oversensitive), he’s sneaky and stealthy (how does he do that?), and he’s got a ton of cool stuff (c’mon—a batmobile, a batcave, grappling hook guns?…this stuff is great!). And he’s just a regular guy—he doesn’t even need superpowers to be this great.

2. Bruce Wayne is such a compelling character. Tragic, really. Boy does he have issues to deal with. Bats aside, his parents were killed in front of him and consequently he’s riddled with sadness, guilt, anger, and hate. That right there is enough for a pretty good character. Throw in a childhood phobia, martial arts, a mansion, a villain and a butler and voila! A great character!

3. Alfred is fabulous. He’s smart and witty and loves Bruce through all his issues. And doesn’t he embody what we all want? Someone who is loyal, loves us and takes care of us no matter what. (And calls us master, and cleans the mansion, and cooks, and sets out our clean, stylish, pressed clothes…)

4. The villains are pretty cool. You can’t have a great good guy without some really good bad guys.

So Batman is awesome. It’s no wonder he has captivated audiences for years. Now to the new movie (I won’t say anything here that would spoil it). What made this movie great?

1. It was nice to see Bruce’s character developed so well. It helped you understand what motivates him and why he makes the choices he does. You get to see his vulnerabilities as well as his courage, strength and nobility.

2. Batman had some really great new stuff. I'd had some issues with how his cape worked and where he got all his neat-o gadgets that were solved in the movie. (If I read comic books I'm sure those issues would have been solved already, but I just haven't found the time to get into it that deep.)

3. The computer-generated images were done well. Sitting next to an artist in a movie can wreck it for you when the CGI stuff is lousy. Guy will groan or make these little comments if the graphics aren’t up to par and after a while you get an eye for it. They have to be believable or it just isn’t any good. The CGI work in Batman Begins was superb by my book (and Mr. Critical agreed).

4. Scarecrow was so cool. The previews show you what he looks like and he is creepy! He was also believable. I won’t tell you his MO, but it worked for me because it didn’t seem so far out of the realm of reality.

5. The pace and action of the movie was good. I don’t really know movie speak, but you know when a movie has too much action, or not enough? This one was just right. The sound was great, too.

6. The movie was artistic. The whole feel and look of the movie was very epic. There’s nothing quite like seeing Batman’s silhouette while he looks over Gotham City at night. Oooooooh. Chills.

I could probably go on, but I’ll stop there. If you aren’t a Batman fan, maybe this movie will do it for you. Don’t even plan on comparing it to the Batman movies from ’89 and the 90s. The first one was okay—Michael Keaton did a pretty good job and Jack Nicholson had some great moments. But boy did the series go down from there. The one with Schwarzenegger was a real stinker. This new movie blows them all out of the water. So go see it and let me know what you think.

Here’s to you, Batman. May you strike fear in the hearts of villains everywhere!

Concerning Mold and In-laws

2005-07-02T20:33:00.000-06:00

As I was diligently performing my noble domestic labors today (making egg-salad sandwiches for lunch), I noticed a spot of mold on a piece of bread. Instantly I had a dilemma (and microscopic mold spores) on my hands. The question: What to do with the loaf of bread? I am sure there are some who would throw away the loaf. Not me. I searched through the slices of bread, picked off any spots of mold I found, and made sandwiches to feed to my unsuspecting family, operating under the premise “what they don’t know can’t hurt them.”

What a lousy premise. Who thought of that one anyway? People didn’t know that rats were hauling around the Plague and contaminating their food. People didn’t know that leeches were sucking them (not the bad spirits) dry. And look what happened to them. But this hasn’t been the only erroneous logic I’ve used in my parenting. I’ve also heard myself say, “If you do that your face will stay that way!”

Anyway, I’m sure my family will be perfectly healthy after eating the sandwiches. The bread will taste like any other bread. Their only complaint will be that it is wheat, not white. But they are getting used to my new health-conscious answer (“the whiter the bread, the quicker you’re dead!”—perhaps more bad logic), so that doesn’t bother me. The thing that made me pause and reflect was when I heard the voice in my head ask me if I was turning into my father-in-law.

My father-in-law. Larry can take bailing wire, a few screws and pieces of scrap metal and make pretty much anything he needs. He’s really quite clever this way. A greasy Martha Stewart of sorts. But along with his innovative spirit comes a pack rat beyond any I’ve seen. He had enough stuff that a house, a garage, a tool shed and a cabin weren’t enough to hold all his junk. He had a barn, too. He sold the barn a year or two ago and watching him try to part with his stuff was pretty poignant. He managed to pass a few important items on to his sons, though. (Thanks, Dad.)

But that’s just the mechanical stuff. He has the same philosophy when it comes to food. Once I watched him work to get the last little bit of poppy-seed salad dressing out of the bottle. I would have whacked the bottle a few times, and maybe even put it upside-down for a little while to let gravity do its thing. That’s not good enough for Larry. I watched in disbelief as he added water (not a little) to the bottle, shook it up, and poured it on his salad (which probably had been recovered from someone else’s plate about to go to the trash). I saw him do the same thing with a ketchup bottle, too. I try not to be wasteful, but come on.

It’s not just the last bits of dressings in bottles, either. He takes leftovers to a whole new level. Expiration date? They don’t know what they’re talking about. Smell? What smell? If it’s not lumpy, drink it. If it’s not too fuzzy, eat it. And my poor OCD mother-in-law can’t stand anything a mess. Imagine the controversy when she starts to clean out the fridge. She’s learned it’s best to do it while he’s working or out for the day. She has actually brought leftovers to my house to put them down my disposal so he won’t see.

The thing of it is, Larry is healthy as a horse. I don’t know if he’s ever had food poisoning, and I think he’s only had Giardia once (he probably forgot to strain the water through his handkerchief). So maybe what you don’t know doesn’t hurt you after all.

Why Blogger?

2005-06-28T21:54:00.000-06:00

About a year ago I heard about blogs while watching a show called “Screen Savers” on the Tech TV channel with my semi-tech-geekish hubby, Guy. I thought to myself, “Why would anyone want to put a journal online for who-knows-who to read?” A few months passed and I began to realize that for an illustrator (Guy), it could be a handy way to put a sketch or other art up in log-type fashion where people could look at it and make comments, etc, but I still figured it wasn’t for me.

Not too long ago, we started reading blogs of a couple of Guy’s young men. Boy are they clever! And then a strange thing happened. While reading these two boy’s blogs, we stumbled into a whole community of people we know. I’m still trying to work out why a few of our old high school friends know our neighbors the stunningly handsome Nate Perkins and Mat6t, but there was some connection somehow.

Anyway, these are a few things that finally convinced me I’d try blogging:

• One, lurking is rude. I figured if I was going to read other people’s stuff, I ought to be brave enough to be read. Mat6t gently reminded his readers of this.

• Two, if I blogged I could count that as a journal and then not feel guilty on family-history-is-the-topic Sundays. One more thing not to feel guilty about? Hook me up!

• Three, it could be fun. There are quite a few people in this little community I wouldn’t mind keeping up with.

• And four, I was inspired by teenagers.

I love teenagers. I loved being a teenager and I miss teaching teenagers in high school. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to re-live the glory days or anything—I don’t want to be a teenager again! There are things in the past that are best left there. But teenagers know some things that adults sometimes forget. I just had the chance to spend three whole wonderful days with teenagers and these kids reminded me how to do some things I sometimes forget when I’m busy being a grown-up. Like how to live in the moment and have a great time. And how to wrestle. How to jump around, yelling and singing rediculous things and dancing until 1 in the morning. How to tease and laugh (till your sides hurt—remember that?) and not take things too seriously. And how to notice and write about really funny things. I’ll never be the writer Mat6t is. But maybe I can remember a little bit how to see things in the novel way teenagers often do. And that’s fun.

Like asparagrus and chimleys. Maybe I’ll write about those next.

What Did You Stick In Your Nose?

2005-06-21T18:18:00.001-06:00

My fourth child is one of those kind of kids I thought came from parents who don’t monitor their children. I think I was a bit smug when I had only one child. My oldest is pretty tame and easy going. My second is pretty even keeled, too. Numbers 3 and 4 are teaching me humility and tolerance for people who have kids who yell in church and run around the neighborhood naked. So far, I’ve been able to contain naked mostly to the backyard, but as far as I can tell, my family’s got the loudest bench in my aging church congregation.

I’ve known for quite a while that I’ve got my hands full with Number 4, sweet though he is. When he was about 16 months old I put him down to change his diaper. He opened his mouth and I saw a quarter rolling around back there. Rather than jam it down his throat by trying to grab it, I quickly turned him over to try and shake it out or something, and then I heard a big “gulp.” No more quarter. Had this been my first child, we would have gone straight to the doctor’s office. Instead I just called. A nurse told me to watch for it and it should come through in a while, but that it could take a few weeks. Now, what would you do? Well, if you were my husband’s family, you would get out the old metal detector, pin the child to the floor and push the metal detector around on his stomach to see if he really swallowed the quarter. Apparently a mother’s eyewitness account isn’t enough. If you were me, you’d just fish around in each diaper with a stick. Unfortunately, I forgot to mention this to the babysitter a week later, and the quarter may have gone out in the trash undetected. I didn’t retrieve the diaper to double check. At any rate, we never recovered the quarter.

Since then, he has managed to swallow turpentine (we got a visit from the ambulance and fire truck), suck on the Lime-Away bottle, and stuff a pearl, a wad of paper and a button up his nose (not all at the same time). The pearl was during church. My husband popped it out with the insides of a pen (I still wonder if using this technique was wise). I got the wad of paper (snot wad?) out—which I think had been in there over night—by holding his mouth and other nostril shut after he breathed in. He could only hold his breath so long, and the air had to come out somewhere. I know it sounds cruel, but he can’t blow his nose so well and it worked. I repeated this procedure with the button about a month ago and almost had time to grab the camera while it was still stuck halfway in his nostril.

He is 2 1/2 now and lately he spends a lot of time throwing, shooting and hitting stuff. The back door on our Tahoe now has a bunch of little dents where he whacked it with a metal hand-me-down popgun. I’m giving the popgun back to my brother-in-law. All the bedroom doors in the house have chipped paint where he has attempted to pound the doors in when the older sibs shut him out. I took away the toy hammer. Just 15 minutes ago he chucked a rock at my beautiful new laptop and marred two of my shiny new keys and scratched the screen. I threw away his rock. I guess I need to get some squishy toys for him to throw around and release some of his energy or something. But is throwing squishy stuff as rewarding as throwing hard things or breaking stuff? Probably not. I guess you just have to accept the fact that if you have four kids, some of your stuff is going to get beat up, and after all, it is only stuff.