aiming high

I sort of love this.

2012-01-29T21:14:00.005-07:00

I find it a little disturbing...

2012-01-14T22:23:00.004-07:00

...that the cashier at one of our local shops has a lovely French-tip manicure. And pearl earrings. And impeccably groomed eyebrows. And subtle eyeliner. And a really deep voice, because he's a man. Does not compute.

Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against guyliner when it's warranted.

Maybe I stumbled onto a movie set?

In Which I Overshare

2012-01-09T16:31:00.000-07:00

Remember the famous Soup Nazi from Seinfeld? No soup for you!

I have a whole regiment of little Carb Nazis inside of my body.

When we eat carbs (of any kind, from sugar to beans, from refined to complex) it is turned into glucose. Glucose is good; it fuels our bodies, and particularly our brains. The key is making sure we have just the right amounts; too little or too much, and we have problems. To keep the glucose in check, we produce insulin. In an ideal world, we eat the right kinds of carbs in the right amounts, and our bodies produce insulin to help the resulting glucose get into the cells where it belongs.

Every time I eat a carb, my cells beg for the glucose, but the insulin receptors, the Carb Nazis, the angry gatekeepers of my cells, yell "No glucose for you!" and slam the door. This starts a tiny riot, as the bits of glucose, aided by their insulin friends, race around like Keystone Kops, trying to find a way past the Carb Nazis, and my glucose-deprived cells start screaming for more carbs because they are starving, I tell you! Starving! Good (complex) carbs make this happen more slowly than bad (simple) carbs, but they both do it.

The pancreas, not wanting to be left out of the fun, notices that there's a lot of extra glucose floating around, and kicks into higher gear, like the good little organ that it is. It starts sending out big amounts of insulin to help the glucose break down the doors of the cells. Some of the fellas get through, but the rest remain excess glucose (which wouldn't be excess at all if the insulin receptors weren't traitorous little beasts and refusing to accept new residents). These little guys have to find a home somewhere, so they change themselves into fat and go where all the cool kids hang out: the abdomen. Apparently, the landlords there just keep building on to accept all the new residents. Isn't that accommodating of them?

As the insulin receptors/Carb Nazis realize that there's a whole lotta insulin appearing all of the sudden, they immediately tighten their membership rules, and refuse even more applicants, feeling like they have plenty already, thankyouverymuch. This makes the pancreas work even harder at trying to force some insulin on them, and if all this keeps up long enough, eventually the pancreas gives up and says, "screw this, I'm outta here." It retires and moves to Boca, leaving you as an insulin-dependent type 2 diabetic. (Which I'm not, just for the record. Don't freak out, Mom. I've been tested. And tested. And just this week, tested again).

This vicious cycle is called Insulin Resistance. It's not diabetes (yet), and I'd like for it to stay that way. This means I have to give up not only the obvious stuff (candy) but the stuff I thought was good, helpful, and desirable in a healthy diet (like, say, apples and whole wheat bread). Not entirely, thankfully...I can have a little. But one sandwich on whole wheat bread has more carbs than I'm allowed for an entire meal, not even counting whatever's between the slices. Add an apple, and it's almost double my allowance. Eat all that with no extra protein to slow things down, and I'm in trouble.

How did I get this way? Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe it's genetic predisposition. Maybe it's all the low-fat foods I've eaten for so long (which are almost all jacked up with massive refined carbs, much of it sugar. Nice). I'm not talking about the naturally low-fat stuff like broccoli, but rather low-fat versions of regular foods (think mayo, dressings, sweets, etc). Add on a mostly-sedentary lifestyle and a fondness for chocolate and pizza, and we have a situation.

Sometime in the last decade I suddenly started noticing my stomach getting bigger and bigger for no apparent reason. Two stints with Weight Watchers left me worse off than before. When thirty pounds piled on within about two months, I gave up. I'd rather stay at my current level of fat than lose a little only to gain back twice as much in a mad rush. And really? I wasn't eating all that much food. I wasn't stockpiling candy bars (except maybe at Halloween) or hitting the buffet every night. And no matter how careful I was, how religiously I counted calories and fat and fiber and WW points, it just kept getting worse. Because you know what I wasn't counting? Carbs. Why would I do that? I was eating oatmeal and fruit, dang it! Staying well within my calorie/fat/points allotment, even going to Jazzercise (which is as hilarious as it sounds). I finally decided it was a hormonal imbalance. And it kinda was, only I was looking at the wrong hormone.

Why am I telling you all this? There are a couple of reasons. The first is that maybe someone reading this has had a similar experience, and would like to finally figure out why they not only can't lose weight, but also can't sleep at night even though they could sleep all day if allowed. Why they have brain fog and extreme exhaustion. Why they have unexplained anxiety, perhaps. Why all their tests for thyroid and diabetes come back normal, yet they feel like crap. If this describes you, ask for a fasting insulin test. You might find that your blood sugar is in the normal range because your pancreas is working itself to death to keep it that way. And then you might hop online and start researching, and discover that insulin resistance impairs the body's ability to convert thyroid to other forms, which is why your tests say your thyroid levels are fine, yet your body feels like your thyroid has been sleeping on the job for about a decade.

If your doctor says everything is in the normal range and sends you home, take at look at your numbers. Because my numbers show that I'm barely below the danger zone, and have been for some time. But until you actually hit the danger zone...until you actually have freaking DIABETES...they tell you you're fine. Because on my tests, at least, the "normal" range ends right beneath the "better buy a bunch of test strips" range. There is no, "hey, this is a little unusual, you might want to take a look at this" range. I had to request these extra tests specifically, and I only did so after my friend Leslie posted her story on her blog, and offered to help me through the IR jungle.

So that's reason number one. Maybe it will help someone. And reason number two: If you're reading this, chances are you're a family member or a friend who sees me on a semi-regular basis, often in a social setting that involves food. So I'm asking for your help. If you host book club and you offer me a mouth-watering dessert, and I turn it down, don't think I'm insulting your cooking/judging your eating habits/showing off my superior willpower (which honestly, I don't have much of, and I will really, really want that dessert). If you see me munching almonds during primary, it's just me thinking it would be nice to not pass out at church. If we're having a party and I bring something unconventional, it's because I want to know that there's something there I can eat without sending my blood sugar and insulin skyrocketing.

Also, if you catch me falling off the wagon, don't judge. This is hard, y'all. I've been doing this for almost 4 weeks now. It's getting easier. But I don't think it's ever going to be really easy.

Hey, I'm actually hosting book club this month. Protein shakes all around! (KIDDING. Please come to book club. We'll have something edible, I promise).

We live in heady times, my friends.

2012-01-05T11:15:00.002-07:00

The speed limit on the main road leading from our city to the next has just received a new speed limit sign: 40 miles per hour!

Okay, it changes right back to 35 MPH when we hit the two-lane, under-construction bit, but for one brief shining moment, we get to go almost as fast (legally) as we were all going already.

Also, Mitt Romney took the Iowa primary (by a whisker). I'm not a rabid Mitt fan, but I like him and I think he's a good choice. More power to him.

The kids are back in school, and I just finished a big freelance project writing copy for a website launch. Feels good to have that done. Now maybe I can catch up on laundry.

The weather has been insanely beautiful for January. It probably means we'll get slammed in the spring, but I'm not exactly hating the extra sunshine in such a traditionally gloomy month.

Happy New Year!

My Christmas gift to you

2011-12-24T12:02:00.000-07:00

I've been posting music on facebook for the 25 days of Christmas this month. Some of it is silly and fun, some of it is beautiful, some of it is just there to fill the space. But today is Christmas Eve, and I wanted to post O Holy Night, because it's my favorite Christmas song, and because Christmas Eve is a holy night.

I knew what I was looking for, but I couldn't find it. I wanted something that expressed my feelings perfectly, that didn't use cheesy cartoon pictures or weird synthesizer music. I found some good slideshows with bad music, and some bad slideshows with good music. I was even thinking of making my own slideshow out of desperation, until I remembered that I don't actually know how to do that.

Then I found this. And it was perfect.

Merry Christmas.

Is it just me, or...

2011-12-16T17:27:00.000-07:00

...does it seem like running an entire race only to give up at the finish line, when someone goes to all the trouble of getting out a new roll of toilet paper, but just sets it on top of the empty holder? Come on, people! Go the extra foot and put it on the holder--over the top, of course.

...does everyone in the cast of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills have exactly the same cheekbones? They all share a plastic surgeon, so I guess it makes sense--he probably buys cheeks in bulk and gives them a group discount. I caught an episode of this show for the first time the other day, and I spent the entire hour wondering which was which (and also wondering why I was watching. Two words: train wreck). It took most of the episode for me to finally tell them apart, these Stepford Barbies with all the same lips. And the same extensions, just different shades of blonde. Also, judging from their frequent catfights and rampant backbiting, none of them progressed emotionally past 9th grade.

...has December gone really fast this year? School is out now. Kids are home. We haven't had a decent snowstorm yet, and I'm not ready for Christmas. When did I become the Grinch? This is my favorite holiday, but I'm not feelin' it this year. I need some Christmas spirit, stat.

...is this a crazy season for weddings? I have four invitations on my bulletin board at the moment. I guess everyone decided to squeeze them in between semesters at college? I think this is a sign of things to come, as the huge numbers of youth in my neighborhood start reaching marriageable age all at the same time. Forget college funds, we're going to need to establish a wedding gift fund.

...are our local schools' music programs really, really good? I love attending my kids' band and choir concerts. Not for us the stereotypical student performances with squawking instruments and squeaking voices--we have amazing directors who pick amazing music, and the students really come through with the talent.

...should I quit procrastinating on my blog and get back to work? Sigh. Fine.

In a festive mood

2011-12-06T21:29:00.001-07:00

I posted this on facebook, but I love it so much I'm posting it here, too. I love, love, love Christmas music. Totally makes the season for me. Enjoy!

Things that make you go "hm"

2011-12-05T22:26:00.001-07:00

I've been checking out some freelance writing websites, and I'm cracking up at some of the stuff these people are asking for. They want a 1000-word article, well-researched, for $5. FIVE DOLLARS. They want you to write 200 articles that they can place on their humor websites for a total budget of less than $500. That's, like, $2.50 an article, and they expect you to be funny, too. Or how about the guy who wants to pay you $2/hr to write biting satire, do all the back-end wordpress stuff, search-engine optimization, tags, keywords, images, and splash it across about 10 different social networking sites? Think he's indulging in a little biting satire of his own? Because surely he can't be serious! (Yes, I am serious, and stop calling me Shirley).

I just read one asking for someone to write articles about "radiation, etc." As though there's just a whole host of topics that naturally go along with radiation, so common that he doesn't even need to list them. I almost want to apply, just to find out what the "etc." entails. Radiation and nuclear fallout? Radiation and sun flares? Radiation and genetically altered radishes? Don't leave me hanging! (Jackpot, they're paying $1.50/article).

I'm going to submit a job of my own. I'm going to ask for someone to write 20 articles for my Quantum Physics blog. They will require impeccable research, and probably some diagrams. I will list my budget as $20. And sadly, I will get some takers.

It's ugly out there.

We're thinking of doing the unthinkable

2011-12-02T17:10:00.001-07:00

We've had cable ever since we moved here 11 years ago. And every year for 11 years, the rates have gone up. And up. And up. We looked into satellite, but it wasn't the right setup for us, considering our number of TVs and viewing habits. So we stuck with cable.

And the rates continue to climb. I swear to you, every month, it's a dollar or two more than the month before. It's ridiculous, and I've had enough, dang it! So we're thinking about...*gulp*...cancelling cable.

There are all sorts of viewing options now, from looking up episodes on the show's website to streaming through Netflix to using a service like Hulu. But none of them are quite as convenient, complete, or immediate as cable. Some don't release new episodes until 8 days (or more) after their original air date. Some charge a fee. Some are glitchy. Nearly all make you sit through ads, which I have been zapping on my DVR for years. Still, we're cobbling together a plan and then we're taking the plunge. Just say no to monolith cable monopolies, and stick it to The Man, man!

You'll know when we finally cancel cable. You'll find me in the corner, hunched in a fetal position and feverishly scouring YouTube for clips of the latest Glee mashup.

In which I gloat about being right

2011-11-25T13:34:00.001-07:00

Bella's secret is revealed: for anyone who has seen Breaking Dawn, and wondered how they make Bella look totally emaciated, yet realistic, this is what I found:

To depict the great physical toll the pregnancy takes on Bella’s body — she’s unable to eat and essentially is withering away as her stomach swells — the “Breaking Dawn” filmmakers looked to Lola Visual Effects, the company responsible for downsizing muscular Chris Evans to a pre-transformation weakling in this summer’s comic book superhero film “Captain America.” The results are certainly eyebrow-raising, with Bella becoming increasingly pale and extremely gaunt.

“The idea was to leave you with a question mark about how they did it,” said the film’s director, Bill Condon. “We wanted you to think it was possible that Kristen actually lost a lot of weight for it.”

The visual-effects team added prosthetics to Stewart’s face (a process that took three hours of application) to make her eyes look more sunken and her ears larger. Stewart likened wearing the prosthetics to having a “big, skinny head” for the scenes. Still, the 21-year old actress was game for the transformation.

Sorry about the white-on-black text (I HATE that), but I copied it from the FX company's blog, and apparently it copied its colors, too. I don't know how to fix it.

Anyway, I had two theories: one was that they used prosthetics on her face to make the bones stick out more, but I couldn't figure out how they made the rest of her face so thin if that was the case.

Second, I thought they might have used the same CGI stuff they used in Captain America to make her look skinnier.

The verdict: they used both. Woot! Do I get a prize? I have to say, the special effects were pretty impressive--I seriously couldn't figure out how they did it, because it looked so realistic. Kudos, FX people.

Here's a comparison, for anyone who hasn't seen the movie (but if you haven't seen it, it's probably because you don't care about it, and thus don't care about Bella's transformation. So really, I'm preaching to the choir here. Oh well).

Bella healthy:

Bella not healthy (notice the sunken cheeks):

P.S. I might be a lone voice in the wilderness, but I liked the movie. Take that, soulless, cynical movie critics.

In which Santa is stumped

2011-11-22T15:32:00.001-07:00

Santa was planning to bring each of the girls a new dress this year, which is especially nice because Christmas is on Sunday, so they can wear them the same day they get them. The big benefit of this is that I don't have to crumple the dresses into a box or bag, making them all wrinkled and messy before they even get worn. Santa just leaves his gifts out on the sofa, unwrapped, next to each child's stocking.

I found a cute dress at Costco (yes, I bought clothes at Costco, don't judge me) last weekend that I thought would be perfect for M. When dh and I came into the house, he smuggled the dress in under his coat so M wouldn't see it. I unloaded groceries in the kitchen, and assumed he had hidden the dress in the closet, our go-to place for gift-stashing.

I went into the bedroom for something a little later, and M followed me. She immediately spied the dress laid out across my bed. "What's this for?" she asked, her hand immediately moving to stroke the satiny fabric. "It's beautiful!"

I grabbed the dress and shoved it halfway under a blanket. "Oh, that's nothing," I said, trying (probably unsuccessfully) for a casual tone. "Don't worry about it."

She still looked intrigued, so I callously made use of her short attention span. "Hey, can you come help me check the food in the oven? I think I forgot to set the timer!"

M skipped happily into the kitchen with me, where we discovered that I had, indeed, forgotten to set the timer. I sneaked back to the bedroom and hid the dress in my closet behind one of my own dresses. She hasn't mentioned it since, but while her attention is short, her memory is long. She won't forget that dress. When it shows up at Christmas she's going to know it's the one that was sitting on my bed, and really, I'm not ready to make up an even more elaborate lie than I'm already telling her about Santa. ("He, uh, brought the dress early to make sure it was the right size/color/style, then took it back to deliver at Christmas...").

So now the dress has to be from me, and it has to be crumpled into a box or bag, and I have to figure out something different for Santa to bring her. I have a couple of ideas, but I'm still bummed because I love the way new Christmas clothes look all spread out on the couch Christmas morning.

This would all be a lot easier if I had just told the truth in the first place. And crushed her dreams.

Just One More Blessing to Count

2011-11-15T12:34:00.001-07:00

I got a notice on Facebook today from an old friend who is swallowing her pride and asking for help. Her husband is struggling with an alcohol addiction, and it is now to the point that either he goes into a treatment facility or she takes her kids and leaves for their own safety. Either way, she needs financial help to make it happen. (Side note, this isn't one of those famous Facebook scams--I've communicated with her directly).

Does one little drink of alcohol now and then really hurt anyone? Probably not. Unless that person is an alcoholic. Then the drink turns into one more, and one more, and a lot more. And then it hurts not just one person, but his entire family.

I am reminded once more of why the Word of Wisdom was given to help the weakest among us. The easiest way to avoid addiction is to never take that first drink, that first puff, that first pill. How many of us would be fighting this same monster if not for a divine guideline that protects us from it? How many are fighting different monsters now?

Also, not to be flippant, but I sometimes wish chocolate had been listed among the prohibited substances. Oh, and refined sugar. It would be hard to miss what you never had.

To Whom It May Concern

2011-11-08T09:34:00.000-07:00

Dear Lindsay Lohan:

Playboy shoots are never "tasteful." Nice try, though.

Sincerely,
Someone who hopes you pay your publicist well
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To Certain Citizens of My Fair City:

Yes, the golf course is a huge money suck. Yes, I wish the city hadn't built it. But now we have it, and we owe money on it, and whining about it isn't going to pay the bills. We can either let it die, but still pay it off, or we can run it and at least get as much revenue as possible, and still pay it off. Which way do you think will leave us less broke? Think about it. To those who say, "Just sell it!" I can only say: I agree. But nobody "just sells" anything in this economy, let alone an entire golf course. To those who say, "Let's just default!" I can only say: seriously? You're advocating fiscal responsibility, and your way of accomplishing this is to simply not pay our debts? Very fiscally responsible of you. Excuse me while I put away my soapbox. And vote today, people!

Sincerely,
Someone who actually pays attention to the signs people put on their lawns

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Sing-Off:

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
1. Pentatonix

2. Afro Blue

3. Vocal Point

Sincerely,
A music lover who should be rooting for Vocal Point from her alma mater, but is having a hard time seeing past Afro Blue's enormous talent.

My new favorite store

2011-11-03T21:36:00.002-06:00

I'm in love. Love, love, love.
The Literary Gift Company

"She is too fond of books, and it has turned her brain."
~~Louisa May Alcott

Five Happy Things

2011-10-22T19:29:00.001-06:00

1. I'm caught up on laundry. Seriously. Not even lying.
2. It's UEA weekend, which means lots of down time. Ahhhhh.
3. I'm reorganizing my bedroom, and I'm excited because I think the new layout will work better.
4. Baked potato bar for dinner. Totally hitting the spot.
5. Going for dessert later to celebrate a friend's birthday. Dessert and friends are always happy things.

What are your happy things today?

Well, that didn't last long

2011-10-19T12:27:00.000-06:00

Remember my fresh, happy new attitude? One call from the assistant principal pretty much sent it running for cover.

M gave a boy in her class a bloody nose today. A BLOODY NOSE. Because he got in front of her in line...where he was supposed to be. Because they were lining up alphabetically. She didn't like that, so she hit him in the face, repeatedly. He eventually hit back, but she's okay. On the surface, anyway.

I very much suspect she's not okay in other ways.

What is WRONG with my child?! We don't hit her. She knows it's wrong. She ended up in the principal's office three times last year because of physical incidents. I guess I should be relieved that we made it two whole months before she was sent there this year.

She's on adhd meds that are supposed to help her impulsivity. We've worked through consequences, role-playing, finding outlets for her anger, switching places with the other child...she's been grounded, privileges removed, kept in from recess.

I'm out of ideas. I'm seriously going to look for a counselor. Seriously. We probably can't afford it, but this is RIDICULOUS. Stupid. And ridiculous.

It makes me angry. But guess what? I'm not going to go punch anyone. Because NORMAL people don't do that. I don't know who the boy is, but if I did, I'd call his mom to apologize for my bully of a daughter.

A bloody nose. A bloody-freaking-nose.

All better

2011-10-17T10:17:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I have a rough time. Usually I'm fine. Lately, I haven't been. My parents rode to the rescue. And now, I'm fine again. Thanks, Mom and Dad. I'm the luckiest girl ever to have you.

Time to get back to my cheerful blog and stop whining all the time. Here's my theme song for today:

Did you know I have seven blogs? SEVEN?

2011-10-10T22:42:00.000-06:00

Yeah, me neither. I just counted them. Wow.

1. This one.
2. One I set up for my daughter, who wanted to blog and wrote a total of one post.
3. One I set up as a guinea pig to try new formatting stuff on without destroying my real blogs.
4. One I set up for Sassy Homemaker back when it was the Happiest Homemaker, before I decided to go with Wordpress.
5. One I set up for my big writing career that hasn't happened yet (notice the optimistic URL that requires me to have written a book...well, more than one, to be exact).
6. One I set up for piano teachers and students, which has about three posts. Abandoned.
7. The Sassy Homemaker, which I haven't posted on in ages, but still has good stuff, if you ask me.

Seven blogs. And I used to have an eighth, which was on emergency preparedness, but I never wrote on it, and then someone emailed me and asked if I'd let it go so they could use the domain name. I agreed. But I just checked it and guess what? They've posted exactly twice on it, and one of those posts simply says, "Test." Slacker.

I've always liked the number seven.

Who do you talk to?

2011-10-03T14:51:00.001-06:00

When you're really bugged or mad about something, but you can't talk to anyone about it? Because you don't want to badmouth someone to anyone else, and you can't talk to the person because he/she will just get defensive and angry, so you let it simmer until you're ready to POP?

Who do you talk to?

I write on my blog. But some things can't go on a blog, either. Then I write in a notebook, which sort of helps, but mostly not. Maybe this is why people get therapists--so they can just say what's on their mind with no worry about repercussion. Yes? No?

That's what I need. A therapist. Too bad they cost a fortune. A dog! I can get a dog! I don't want a dog, but at least it would have to listen and couldn't talk back.

A hairless, barkless, poopless dog. That's what I need. Maybe I'll look on Craigslist.

I really wanted to dislike this guy.

2011-09-30T20:46:00.000-06:00

I admit it, I wanted him to be one of those people who think they're all that, then get up and sing and totally blow it. Why? Because he's cocky. He's very good-looking, yes, but he knows it. He will tell you so. He will say that it's a trial to look like him, because he has to prove himself all the more. Watch me play "My Heart Bleeds for You" on the world's tiniest violin, Brennin Hunt.

But alas: he's good. He's really, really good. Girls will like him because he's cute (if they can fit into the same room with his ego), and everyone else will like his voice. And that song he wrote all by himself? It's good, too. Dang it! I didn't expect that.

He's not the best one I've seen, but I think he's one to watch. I've been really enjoying X Factor. Simon seems a little more human on this show than he was on American Idol, and there have been very few bad singers and a LOT of really good ones. I'm also really liking L.A. Reid. Really liking him.

I'm just posting this video because I think it's a perfect example of how you can get everything right (looks, voice, music) and still get it wrong (ARROGANCE). I hope he's knocked down a few pegs and learns some humility. If so, he could be really good.

And just for contrast, here's a guy who really has the goods, and humility. Can't wait to see a makeover on him:

Things that make me laugh

2011-09-30T18:04:00.002-06:00

1. When my child stomps off to her room in high dudgeon and tries to slam the door, only to find that the clothes she left on the floor are in the way, rendering nothing but a dull thunk of the doorframe. Guess she should have cleaned her room. Karma.

2. When my child dramatically says, "You're killing me!" because I refuse to make her a sandwich a half hour before dinner. It's hard to be on the brink of starvation on a daily basis.

3. When I get phone calls from telemarketers that put me on hold as soon as I answer. "Hello?" "Please hold for an important message from XYZ Company regarding your eligibility for ABC Services..." Um, no. Click.

4. When I find folded clothes in the dirty laundry, or socks that are still rolled with their mates, clearly never having been worn. This tells me that my child dumped his pile of clean clothes on the floor instead of putting them away, then proceeded to throw dirty clothes on top of them all week, then brought the entire pile upstairs to be washed. This usually brings on a lecture of epic proportions, but it still makes me laugh inside.

5. Dilbert. Every time, man!

What I've Been Working On

2011-09-24T19:08:00.001-06:00

I've been writing for Demand Media for a while now, and most of my stuff is published on eHow, but I've recently been approved to write for LiveStrong, Lance Armstrong's health and fitness website, as well. I'm not sure why Demand offered me this site, when I'm really neither healthy nor fit, but I'll take it. Here's a sample of the type of writing I'm doing there. They supply the titles, we just write the articles.

There ya go, if you're looking to eat raw foods without spending a fortune at Organic Ripoffs R Us. I've also written for Dremel and White Fence, although I don't know if either site is live yet. I find most of the writing assignments uninspiring, but that's what my blog is for, I suppose.

Oh, here are a couple more: a basic how-to on correct silverware etiquette that was actually kind of fun to write, because I learned a few things along the way (I tend to switch from American to Continental when eating steak, just for the record).

And here's one that's not a how-to, but is more just informational about concussions in soccer (which, by the way, did not make me a happy soccer mom after doing all the research).

Anyway, after my epic whine earlier this week, I thought I'd share something positive I've been doing. I haven't been writing much (obviously, since I have had NO time) but it's still a good thing to have running in the background.

Also, still working on a book. An e-book, really. I'd like to try this Kindle/Nook/iPad bandwagon. We'll see. Books are, like, really hard, man.

VENT (you might want to avert your eyes)

2011-09-21T12:27:00.001-06:00

1. Facebook sucks. The new changes make it impossible to find anyone's feeds, yet every time my friends post to anyone else, or like something, or pick their nose, it's posted in a real-time scrolling nightmare in the sidebar. And what's more, I can see all the people's posts that they're replying to, even if they're not my friends. Um...does this mean all of facebook can see my posts if we have a friend in common who replies to them? Not cool. NOT cool. Also, my main feed doesn't really update anymore. It's very bizarre, and yes, I'm sure I'll get used to it, just like I did all the other changes, but to be frank, I'm not sure I want to.

2. I have my insurance company threatening to suspend my flexible spending account again, this time because they need an itemized receipt proving that I truly did buy glasses at the OPTICAL CENTER. Look, government chimps, I can understand that you might be skeptical about purchases made at a grocery story or the mall or something, but come on! First you question our activity at a hospital, and now at the optical center. What do you think we were buying there, if not glasses?! Just stocking up on toilet paper, perhaps? Anyway, I called the optical center and gave all the info to a lady, who then informed me that I had to talk to a different lady, whose extension sent me to voice mail. I gave up and called the insurance company, telling them that they may or may not be receiving a fax from someone who may or may not be the correct employee, and that fax may or may not reflect the fact that we were not ordering pizza from the optical center. And I only had to wait on hold, enter my member number, and push the number 1 four times before I got through. (one of those 1-buttons was for English, which is a whole other rant I don't have the heart for today).

3. I'm feeling really, really overwhelmed right now. But that's not stopping the requests from piling on this week. I'll get it all done, somehow. I'm just really tired of being really tired. I feel like I'm barely functioning most of the time. I can't keep up with my own house and kids, let alone take care of other people in the neighborhood, head up a block party for people I've been arbitrarily assigned to, make extra goodies for friends, and dig up extra unused goods for a yard sale, which I've been assigned to work at, immediately following my three kids' soccer games, after which I have to get everything done for primary because I won't have my Sunday morning available, having just been assigned another meeting to go to. Don't forget the extra soccer practice this week, parent teacher conferences for the high school (8 teachers!), another soccer game during the boys' court of honor, one baby gift that needs to be delivered and another baby gift that needs to be bought, book club (which is one of the few things I actually WANT to do this week, and I will not be skipping), a potluck during which we're meant to be sorting things for the garage sale, and the General Relief Society meeting (which I most likely will be skipping because that's now the only time I have to prepare for primary).

Yes, I feel better. If you read this, poor you. I'm sorry. If you didn't, pat yourself on the back and go on your merry way. Sorry to dump it all here -- but it's not like I can vent to my friends on facebook anymore. After all, they most likely won't even see it, and if they do, and reply to it, then all their friends will see it too. So...no.

There's one bright light at the end of the tunnel, though: I finally found someone who would listen, not just another doctor who would claim it's all in my head or I just need to exercise more, or insist that the tests are all normal and therefore I can't possibly have anything wrong. This guy might be a little more voodoo, less medical, but you know what? He pegged everything. Everything. Nail on head. We'll see if treatment works, but if I can stop the brain fog and get by with less than two naps a day, it can only be an improvement. Fingers crossed. I'll keep you posted. But right now, I'm gonna go take a nap.

Where were you?

2011-09-11T19:30:00.000-06:00

Ten years ago, on September 11, 2001, I had just dropped my son off at school, and with nothing planned for the morning, was lounging in the bedroom with my other son. The phone rang. I answered it, wondering who was calling so early. It was my husband, on his way to work. He had the radio on. He told me to turn on the TV. "Why?" I asked.

"Just turn it on," he replied. "You're going to want to see this."

I'm pretty sure I gave an annoyed sigh. "Okay. Which channel?"

"It will be on all the channels."

That's when I knew it was something big. Something serious. I turned on the TV and watched in shock as two enormous buildings crumbled to dust, as reports came about other explosions, other planes. The Pentagon was hit. There was a plane missing in Pennsylvania. Rumors flew thick and fast about other explosions, other hijacked planes, other threats. I left the house long enough to pick up my son from school; the rest of the day I was riveted to the news coverage.

Later, I logged on to a discussion board I was part of, to find that one of the girls was witnessing everything firsthand from her office building a short distance from the twin towers. The topic of the thread: "Holy Holy Holy." Her first words: "What's going on at the World Trade Center, anyone know? Bomb? Plane? [expletive deleted]."

From there we all followed her posts as she talked about bodies falling from the towers, huge gaping holes in the buildings, everything being shut down, how much she wanted to pick up her son at daycare in New Jersey, but not being able to get out of the city with everything shut down. She finally managed to get out of the building, went to a colleague's apartment and eventually got home, somehow.

Meanwhile, I sat in my cozy, safe house that no longer felt either cozy or safe, and I hugged my kids. And I watched TV. And I knew things would never be the same.

That's where I was. Where were you?

Why I Love Pinterest

2011-09-09T11:37:00.000-06:00

Are you on Pinterest? If not, come join and meet your new obsession. Essentially, Pinterest is a place to bookmark, or pin, things you love onto your virtual pinboard. You can pin things your find on your own, or browse through what other people have pinned and repin it to your own boards.

It's fun. It's addicting. And where your friends are concerned, it's enlightening. I love to see what others find inspiring, sometimes because I agree, and sometimes because I wonder what they're thinking. "Really?" I will say to myself. "THAT inspires you? You want THOSE colors in your home? You want to make THAT food?"

And that's what makes it fun. Because my friends are all individuals, with their own taste and style, and looking at their boards opens my eyes to other possibilities. Maybe I'll agree, maybe I won't, but it's fun either way. I like to try to guess who pinned something before I look at the name on the board. I like to see the variety of aesthetics among my friends, because what a boring world it would be if everyone had the same taste. I'm sure people see my pins and think, "What? She wants to wear THAT? And why would she travel THERE?" And that's okay. Good, even. We're learning new things about each other.

I confess, I spend all my time pinning and none of my time creating/cooking/making/doing the things in the pins I place on my boards. But maybe I'll get there one of these days. Maybe. In the meantime, I have a lot of pinning to do.

Do as I say, not as I...say

2011-09-04T00:54:00.000-06:00

We took the kids to a Real game tonight (Real Salt Lake, our local professional soccer team). This is the first time I've gone, so I don't know if this is standard practice, but every time the goalie for the other team was getting ready to kick, the crowd yelled, "Youuuuuuuu Suuuuuuuuuuck!"

It annoyed me.

K gamely joined in on one of the chants, and I told her to stop. "Why?" she asked.

"Well, because I think it's tacky and poor sportsmanship," I told her quietly, not wanting to offend the people behind me who were enthusiastic "you suck"ers.

At halftime, there was a contest between all of the local team mascots: Bumble, from the Bees, Rio, from the Real, the Utah Jazz bear, etc. When Cosmo (from BYU, my alma mater) came out, I cheered wildly while the people behind me booed. Then Swoop came out (from the University of Utah, our arch-rival and the embodiment of The Dark Side). The people behind me cheered. I proudly booed, with two thumbs down, and hoped my daughter didn't notice.

It's a matter of principle, y'all.

One year older, and wiser too

2011-09-04T00:41:00.000-06:00

My son turned 17 today. Seventeen! He's the light of my life.

I caught him almost smiling. Rare picture! Notice the pile of edibles on his lap. His siblings know the way to his heart is through his stomach, even when it comes to birthday gifts.

M repurposed the gift wrap into a chic frock. Project Runway, here we come.

Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin

2011-08-26T00:11:00.000-06:00

My tweezers have been missing for a week or two. The chin situation was reaching critical mass, and I couldn't figure out where I could have left my tweezers, so I finally went and bought new ones. Then today, my tweezers reappeared in my makeup kit.

Tonight, my husband sheepishly came and handed me the tweezer case that he'd been searching for in his bedroom, having already snuck the tweezers back into my kit. Why did he "borrow" my tweezers for a week? A little manscaping? No. Turns out tweezers are great for pulling little bitty computer wires through little bitty spaces.

Meanwhile, I've been growing a beard.

He's such a guy. And I kind of am, too.

To Whom It May Concern

2011-08-23T08:02:00.000-06:00

Dear Kim Kardashian:

Why are you even famous? I don't get it.

Sincerely,
Another ordinary American whose entire life isn't played out on reality television

So it's not just my family, then.

2011-08-18T09:50:00.002-06:00

Amen. Amen. Amen.

86 Kix and Boy Scouts Rule

2011-08-14T18:26:00.000-06:00

I went to my 25th high school reunion this weekend, and had a really good time. Better than I thought I would, since so many of my friends couldn't make it. As I drove toward Idaho with my family, I could feel the stress falling off my shoulders (put there mostly by demanding soccer parents who can't be bothered to fill out forms correctly, yet somehow manage to turn their negligence into my fault anyway).

The traffic thinned out the farther north we went. By the time we hit the Idaho border, I was feeling downright pleasant. There is something about Idaho -- I don't want to move back there. Ever. Yet I have very happy memories of my childhood there, and I still find the people in my hometown to be friendly, hardworking, good people. The world could use more of them. And nobody is in a hurry there. Nobody rides your bumper as you mosey into town.

Among my classmates are a state trooper and a public defense attorney. One puts them in jail, the other gets them out. Both were present on Friday night when some of us let curiosity get the better of us and wandered into the school to look around. The door was unlocked. There were signs saying, "Wet wax, stay out", but since we very responsibly made sure the wax was, indeed, dry at that point, we didn't see a problem. Did I mention the door was unlocked? I need to stress that, because what we did was walk into an unlocked public building after hours. There was no breaking involved, only entering.

This is why we were caught off guard when we got to the front of the school and heard a strange beeping noise. It wasn't very loud, but it sounded suspiciously like an alarm. We thought it might be prudent to vacate the premises. Within five or ten minutes, the cops showed up. The cop and the lawyer, both of whom were among our sightseeing party, smoothed everything over, but not before a few of us started wondering who would take our kids while we were in jail.

The state trooper tells me we're probably all on security video somewhere. I am relying on 25 years of aging and weight gain to render me unrecognizable in the footage. Not that it matters, because we didn't break the law. We also didn't paint the rock after the cops came. 86 Kix, yes, but we're not idiots.

On the way home from the reunion today we blew a tire on the interstate. We wobbled around a bit and worked our way to the shoulder, where my former Boy Scout honey and my current Boy Scout son proceeded to change the tire mere inches from the lane where cars were whizzing past at 80 mph. They never flinched and had us back on the road in record time. Macho under pressure, my men.

So now I have to go buy tires tomorrow, the same day I'm paying both J's high school and A's jr high fees. I'm probably going to blow a cool grand tomorrow. Whee.

It could be worse. I could be posting bail.

My Eyes! My Eyes!

2011-08-07T12:13:00.000-06:00

Public Service Announcement:

If you are looking for pictures or clip art of a boy singing, ironically to be used for a primary song about keeping your mind pure by "humming your favorite hymn", don't Google it.

There is a musical revue out there called "N*ked Boys Singing" (asterisk added to prevent pervy searchers from stumbling upon my blog). And they are, indeed, nekkid. I know one of the guys in the show. What a lovely way to start my Sunday.

Thanks, Internet.

The Mysterious Case of the Broken Key

2011-08-07T11:40:00.001-06:00

A few weeks ago I went up to Park City to hang out for a couple of days at a friend's house. On the docket: shopping, playing games, watching movies, talking, talking, talking, and a little sleep here and there. Not in the plans: putting my key into the car ignition, giving it a light turn and having the key break off.

The best-laid plans of mice and men (and women who just want to hit the outlet shops) must go astray.

It was bizarre, really. It's not like I was cranking the key, putting a lot of torque on it. I just barely turned it and it broke cleanly off, not twisted or wrenched. Just as though it had been sliced through with a warm butter knife. So there I sat, with the top of the key in my hand and the rest of the key in the ignition. I didn't have a spare key with me, but it wouldn't have mattered, since the ignition was currently occupied by the broken stub of the original key, and I couldn't get it out.

I went back in the house, looked up a locksmith on my laptop (yay for wifi!) and within a couple of hours I had a new car key (and an empty ignition) for the bargain price of $100.

I guess if you have to be stranded somewhere, you could do worse than to be stuck at a friend's beautiful home in a resort city. Still, that's the most expensive duplicate key I've ever had made.

Oh, the Drama!

2011-08-03T15:44:00.000-06:00

My oldest child has never been very dramatic. He doesn't play sick, or moon about the house, or pout excessively. I thought it was because he was a boy. Apparently, it's because he's him. Now that my second son is in junior high, I'm getting the full teen hormone experience, and I'm not liking it. It's not that he's hard to live with -- he's actually a pretty good kid all around. But there's always drama. And he's much more social than his brother, so he always has a bunch of adolescent friends around, who also have drama. The upshot is: my house has drama.

What's going on? I don't actually know. I just know that at any given time one or more of his friends are mad at him or any number of his other friends, for reasons I've never been able to figure out. I'm reminded of the time in 6th grade when I got mad at my best friend about something petty that I can't even remember, and latched onto some other girl at recess. We both marched around the school in opposite directions with our new friends, pointedly ignoring each other when our paths crossed. At one point she tried to speak to me, and I witheringly said, "I don't talk to creeps!"

Somehow, we remained best friends, despite my obvious emotional imbalance. She's always been the steady one. We're still friends, all these years later, without drama.

So I have hope for my son, but in the meantime I'm finding that I take everything personally. Still! I haven't been a teenager for a long time, but one wrong word can send me right back to my own junior high days. If someone is mad at my kid, they're mad at me. What did I do wrong? How could anyone not like my child? I want to jump in and protect their feelings, because I remember so vividly how painful it can be. But then I remember that it passes, and it's a good learning experience, and there's nothing I can do most of the time. So I tell them to just ignore the drama, as though that's possible, because you can't fight puberty hormones any more than you can fight aging. Just let it be.

I wish my teenaged self had been able to do that.

The cost of celebrity

2011-07-30T10:29:00.000-06:00

Every time I start up my computer, I check the headlines to see if there's anything new or interesting out there. Here's what I usually see: stuff about the current crisis in Congress (and there's always a crisis), breaking news about various natural disasters (and there's always a disaster somewhere), reviews of the current movie blockbuster, stories I never care about from the sports world, and articles promising to explain why celebrities are either just like us, or far better than us, based on their wardrobe choices.

Really? "Today, there was a 9.8 earthquake in the Pacific Rim, the Yankees traded their entire team to the Sox, Harry Potter took in 14 trillion dollars at the box office, and Beyonce wore an unflattering dress!"

No wonder celebrities are mostly neurotic, often reliant on illegal and/or imprudently consumed legal substances, riddled with eating disorders, and, conversely, full of arrogance and inflated egos. They can't leave the house without being picked apart by the fashion police, chased by photographers hoping for a glimpse up their skirts, or fawned upon by fans/stalkers. I would probably drink myself into a coma every night too, if I had to deal with that. And I might start to believe everyone in the entire world cares about what I wear.

There's a guy I follow on Twitter. As celebrities go, he's strictly small time. Backup outfielder in the Little Leagues. He's an improv comedian, very smart, very funny, very cute, very single. I follow him because his Tweets are hilarious. The smart kind of funny. Anyway, I've been watching as a group of highly annoying teeny boppers have clued in to his hotness, completely unaware of his smart-funny tweets, constantly bombarding him with tweets like, "OMG ur so hott plz retweet me I will luv u 4ever!" Or, less frequently but even more disturbingly, they will say something like, "Just so u know I would love to ______ with you." (Insert action/activity of your choice. Use your imagination. Whatever you're thinking, you're probably right).

It drives me nuts to even read them, and I'm not the one getting a constant stream of them in my feed. Most of the time we can only imagine what sorts of things celebrities see and hear in their famous lives, because we're looking in from the outside. But in the case of Twitter, everyone's fawning/hating/flirting is right there for everyone else to see. Except the private messages, of course, and I can only hope that most celebrities have somehow blocked those from the unwashed masses, because that way madness lies.

Anyway, if a minor comedian is receiving this sort of stuff, only imagine the exponential number of similar messages a major celebrity receives. Daily. DAILY. How could anyone maintain a realistic world view when their own circle has cast them in the role of a minor god? How could anyone not start believing their own press? And if you're female, in particular, how could you not feel like every extra pound is a death knell to your career? That every bulge of cellulite revealed on the cover of a tabloid is a direct condemnation of your worth as a person?

Why do so many celebrity marriages break up? Maybe because they have fans throwing themselves at them everywhere they go. Constant temptation. Maybe because they've decided they deserve better, based on their recent press coverage. Maybe because they've become so self-involved that they find it impossible to maintain a healthy relationship with another human being.

Why do I care? Well, I don't, really. It just struck me today as I saw yet another article on poor fashion choices made by otherwise beautiful women, next to a story about the hottest abs in Hollywood. What kind of life is that? No, thank you. They can have it.

In which I sleep on the ground

2011-07-25T20:59:00.001-06:00

We went to a family reunion this weekend, the same ill-fated gathering where K hurt her eye last year. I'm happy to report that this year, there were no injuries, and very few mosquito bites. Turns out, major winds blow away both paper plates and mosquitos. We sat inside a lot.

I slept on the ground. I only showered once. I ate dutch oven food and only checked my email a few times. I was almost camping! My back is very happy to be back in a bed, and I am very happy to have my own space again. I love being with people, but it's hard to never have anywhere to go and just be alone (unless you want to hang out with the cows and the bugs, which isn't really alone, is it?).

The second night I had a hard time getting to sleep because there was a bee or fly trapped between the tarp and the mesh of the tent, buzzing every few seconds in what I assume were its death throes, since it eventually stopped. An earwig went crawling under a pile of clothes, and I didn't insist on finding it before going to sleep. I did, however, wear ear plugs. Impressive, I know! Before you know it I'll be baiting my own hook and everything. Hear me roar.

An a-ha moment

2011-07-25T20:49:00.000-06:00

Sorry to harp on about Harry Potter, but I just saw this, and realized I'd never made the connection before.

Interesting, no? Just like the Peverell brothers...

A Night to Remember

2011-07-19T21:11:00.000-06:00

Last night I went with my family to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2. That's a mouthful. It was, simply put, AMAZING. So well done, so beautifully filmed. Snape made me sniffle, and I fell in love with him all over again. The epilogue wasn't cheesy and overdone, as I feared it would be. The scene in the forest was heartbreaking, and the final battle was epic, although I had a few quibbles with it. On the whole, it was supremely satisfying and just as good as I hoped it would be.

But I couldn't sleep last night.

I don't know why things affect me this way, but I just couldn't get it out of my mind. The same thing happened after I reread the book. It's bittersweet, being completely invested in a story that finally comes to an end. Yes, I know they're just characters, words on a page, but my heart doesn't seem to realize that at times.

Words are powerful.

Double the teenagers, double the fun

2011-07-11T23:40:00.000-06:00

I officially have two teenagers in the house. A turned 13 on Friday, celebrating with a house full of very active, very noisy boys. They had a sleepover, or more accurately, an awakeover. The plan was to stay up half the night watching movies, but they chose to thunder repeatedly up and down the stairs for several hours instead, as Avatar blared in the background. At 2 a.m. I finally convinced the last two stragglers to go to sleep, or at least to maintain a dull roar so I could go to sleep.

We celebrated the 4th of July at my brother's house. It was fun, as always, and I forgot my camera, as always. Picture yummy food, soaking wet post-waterfight children, poppers and glow sticks and (mostly legal) fireworks. I adore July 4th. Second-best holiday of the year, right behind Christmas.

We decided we're tired of paying hundreds of dollars a month for mediocre (at best) air conditioning, so we've been inviting strangers to come into our homes and give us the hard sell on their products. It hasn't been my favorite week ever. We have someone coming back with their engineer to look at the ducts tomorrow, and another company coming to do an estimate in the evening, and then I think we're finally through with Phase 1. (Phase 2 being the even more painful process of installing and paying for it all).

Harry Potter 7 Part 2 opens this Friday. I'm not going. I'm not going on Saturday, either. Or Sunday. But on Monday, I will be decending on the theater with my extended family, overpriced tickets in hand, to see Harry kick some booty, with a little help from his friends. You're going down, Voldy.

Four Score and Twenty Years Ago (Minus the Four Score)

2011-06-29T19:32:00.000-06:00

Twenty years ago, this happened:

To celebrate, we stayed here last night, where they brought us breakfast in bed this morning:

Honeymoon suite, Johnson Mill, Midway Utah

And we ate dinner here, where we had the entire restaurant to ourselves (slow night, lucky us):

Blue Boar Inn, Midway Utah

We had to stop for a moose to cross the road, we stared down a very cute raccoon on the porch of the inn, and I did an impromptu jig, complete with screaming, when I nearly stepped on a water snake crossing our path as we walked by the lake.

It was beautiful.

Note to the unidentified big, black flying insect that took up residence in our room: Dave was only trying to relocate you outside so I would quit freaking out. You brought your eventual fate on yourself when you stung him in the process. *flush* buh bye.

Happy 20th anniversary to my handsome, snake-attack-rescuing, fine-dining, bug-slaying, moose-avoiding, car-sickness-soothing, squeaky-cheese-buying, hopelessly-romantic husband.

Snippets

2011-06-26T08:42:00.000-06:00

I would like to issue a cease-and-desist order to the local birds: do not chirp, tweet, whistle, caw, call, cry or otherwise make noise before 9:00 a.m. Thank you.

Similarly, if all emergencies could take place during regular business hours, thereby allowing sirens and horns to keep the same schedule, that would be awesome.

To the person who does our city fireworks every year: The firework show is fantastic, surprisingly so for a small town. Family and friends comment on it every time they visit for the festivities. I'm glad the city has established this tradition. I'd like to offer my services in establishing a new tradition: a corresponding music track in which we get to hear entire songs, not just random snippets of partial verses, cut off mid-wor

See? Annoying! Here's my advice, and I won't even charge a consultant fee: play a full verse. A full chorus. Maybe one of each. Maybe a 16- or 32-bar excerpt that ends with a full cadence. Whatever. Just don't subject us to the irritating sensation of sitting next to someone who can't leave the car radio alone. I like 70s funk, and 80s rock, and patriotic songs, and feel-good Top 40 anthems. Just not all together in one long string of bizarre and abrupt transitions, with no apparent relationship to the actual fireworks. I realize it's probably done by a volunteer, like most other things for the city festival, and I appreciate their time and efforts. I'm not trying to be rude. But it kind of sounds like the entire committee got together and threw all their favorite songs in a hat, to be played in random order, for random amounts of time, like a game of musical chairs.

Please. Help me help you.

We meet again, Harry Potter

2011-06-23T15:25:00.002-06:00

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I just re-read this book for the first time since I bought it when it was first published. I wanted to refresh my memory before the final movie came out. I remembered it being well-written and exciting and heartbreaking, but I didn't think it would affect me as much on the second reading, since I knew what was coming.

I was wrong. I just finished it today, and I can't get it out of my head, just like the first time. The characters have found their way deep into my heart, and I share their triumphs and their sorrows. I love the closure provided by the final battle and the epilogue, but that closure is bittersweet. Once again, I'm sad that the journey has come to an end and my decade-long friendship with Harry and company is over.

I think that's what makes the book so powerful. It's like life. Some people die, some people move on, and we miss them when they're gone. I could get into a long discussion on all the symbolism in the series, and especially in this last installment, but right now I just want to bask in the glow of a story well told.

View all my reviews

Rantalicious

2011-06-20T19:24:00.000-06:00

Don't mind me, I'm just doing a little blog therapy over here. Today's topic: stupidity.

Insurance company: Ms H? We show here that you have some charges on your Flexible Spending Account that need verification.

Me: Why?

IC: Because we need to verify that you used your account for qualified medical purchases. If we don't receive verification, we will have to suspend your account.

Me: You mean the account that we put OUR money into at the beginning of the year, so we can use it for medical expenses during the year? You're going to suspend OUR money in OUR account because I didn't keep a receipt from September of last year? Really?

IC: Yes, ma'am. That's exactly what I mean. Because we are a red-tape-loving bureaucracy, and we suck.

Me: So...what exactly is unclear about my using the account to pay $312 at the hospital? What do you think I was doing there, grocery shopping?

IC: I'm sorry ma'am, but I'm going to need an itemized receipt of your expenses on that date.

Me: Um...YOU sent ME a form showing what the hospital charged, what I paid, what you paid, what was still owing. Clearly you already have this information. How about you just look it up in your handy dandy database? You know, the one that told you there was this mysterious hospital shopping spree to begin with.

IC: Those two systems aren't linked, ma'am. I will need you to locate your itemized receipt and fax it to us. Alternatively, you can give me the record number from the Explanation of Benefits showing the charges.

Me: You mean the Explanation of Benefits that YOU SENT ME? The one you ALREADY HAVE in your SYSTEM? You want me to dig through last year's medical files to locate a lone sheet of paper so I can read off to you the information you have already, right there in front of you in the computer? THAT Explanation of Benefits?

IC: Yes, ma'am.

Me: You suck.

IC: Yes, ma'am.

Get ready for excellence

2011-06-16T00:12:00.000-06:00

The first competition of the So You Think You Can Dance season started tonight. I've already fallen in love with most of the dancers, but I had this girl picked out from the very first audition. Her technique is aMAZing. Stellar. And this routine? Flawless and ethereal. Oh, how I love this show. (watch it quick, before the killjoys at Dick Clark Productions get it removed, like they do every year, little snots).

Trek 2011 (or: pictures of other people's kids)

2011-06-14T13:20:00.000-06:00

My wonderful, smart, caring, responsible eldest child does exist. Not that I could ever prove it to anyone with pictures past the age of about 10. His entire teenagehood has gone more or less undocumented, with the exception of the occasional stealth photo of the back of his head.

Like this one:

That's the best picture I got of him as he rolled down the mountain with his company, dressed like pioneers but with the armor of God glinting in the sun on a beautiful Saturday morning after a two-day trek.

It was an impressive and tear-inducing sight when the handcarts came around the bend of the mountain, and this legion of youth came steadily on to greet their families.

They were hot and tired and dusty and sunburned. And glorious.

Sadly, once J noticed me with my camera, it became a cat and mouse game. He ducked behind someone else, turned his head or otherwise foiled almost every shot I took. He hates having his picture taken. Loathes it. But I wasn't going to let this experience go by without some sort of record. So I took lots of pictures of other people's kids (if I had any idea who they were, I'd send their parents a copy), and coincidentally caught little glimpses of J in the background of some of them.

Believe it or not, that stoic expression is covering up a full heart. Trek was good. Very good. I can't wait for my next kids to go!

Life Lessons from the Tonys

2011-06-12T23:14:00.001-06:00

I dunno if you've heard about this little musical called The Book of Mormon. It's kind of a big deal. It's grossed over a billion dollars, it's sold out through something like November, and it just won Best Musical tonight at the Tony Awards (along with 8 other Tonys. It was nominated for 14!). Also, it's written by the guys who do South Park, so it's highly offensive, extremely vulgar and, as far as I can tell, really, really funny.

Unless you're Mormon. Or maybe even then.

Anyway, from what I understand, the LDS church is getting lots of inquiries from people who have seen the musical and want to know more. The lesson: I guess there's no such thing as bad press, afterall. Maybe folks just want to know if we're as weird as the musical makes us seem (answer: yeah, we kind of are, but we prefer "peculiar"). Maybe they want to know if we really believe all that stuff they talk about in the musical (answer: yeah, some of it, but not quite the way they portray it, at least in the one song I've actually heard).

In a moment of perfect irony, The Book of Mormon received the Tony Award for Best Book of a Musical. The Book of Mormon = Best Book. Yes. I agree. Thank you for pointing that out, Tony people. Oh, you meant the script was good? Meh. But the original book is worth checking out, trust me.

Also, when the show won Best Musical, the writers talked about how they think they wrote it because they secretly always wanted to be part of a big, happy Mormon family. And now they got their wish. I'm not sure I have the heart to inform them that they ended up in a big, happy Mormon-bashing family. So close, guys...maybe next time.

The other lesson I learned tonight: Harry Potter can sing and dance. No, really. He can. When they cast Daniel Radcliffe in How to Succeed in Business, I was certain he would be like so many other big names that get leads in Broadway shows. Hired to be a box office draw, not to give a stellar performance. I expected him to do a little bounce and shuffle in front of the dancers doing all the real work, while he belted out a song more or less on tune.

I was wrong. I don't know if Hermione gave him a performance-enhancing potion or what, but he performed on the Tonys tonight, and he was holding his own. Not only doing the same choreography as everyone else, but doing it well. Singing well. Looking like he belonged up there. Would he have gotten the lead if he weren't famous? Probably not. But it was no charity role. He's a song and dance man. Who knew?

P.S. My old summer stock roommate is in the show that won Best Revival tonight: Anything Goes. Here's a clip. She's on the 2nd level, redhead with long skirt and floppy hat. She's mostly in the back for most of the dance. And isn't Sutton Foster amazing?

P.P.S. Here's the Tony performance from BOM. Watch at your own risk if you're easily offended by people making fun of Mormons.

If real life were like facebook...

2011-06-10T17:22:00.000-06:00

This is my giggle for the day. Enjoy!

I have a dream

2011-06-07T23:30:00.000-06:00

A dream that involves a large compound where my extended family take up residence, each in their own home with their own space, but surrounding an open area, a park, a communal garden area, like homes around a private English square. Where our group email exchanges, involving plans for the Harry Potter 7 movie (pt 2), liberally sprinkled with references to which spells are best used on the unruly children -- Petrificus Totalus being the front-runner -- can turn into face-to-face conversations over a leisurely neighborhood barbecue and my brother can contently pronounce us the nerdiest family ever within striking distance of our backhands.

A dream where I never forget to defrost the meat or take the garbage to the curb. Where nobody grinds gum into the carpeted floormats of the car. Where seasonal allergies don't exist, but money trees do.

A dream filled with happiness and wonder, energy and motivation, enthusiasm and joy. A dream where I can do the entire Zumba workout without cringing when I get to the part where the instructor says, "Okay, this is the aerobic portion of the workout," just as though I hadn't reached my target heartrate about three minutes into the warmup.

Ya gotta have a dream, because if you don't have a dream, how are you gonna make it come true?

I have a dream.

Things That are Evil

2011-06-06T20:59:00.000-06:00

Alarm clocks
Liver
Allergies
Garden snails
Mosquitos
Clothing patterns
Paper cuts
Things with more than four legs
A lot of things with only two legs
The spot under the booster seat in the car
Zits
Laundry forgotten in the washer
Stubbed toes
Girl Scout cookies
Road construction
Orange cones, detours, but no actual contruction
Haagen Dazs Dulce de Leche Caramel ice cream

I Think I'm Twitterpated

2011-06-05T20:54:00.000-06:00

I joined Twitter about a year ago, sent a few random tweets out into the ether, followed a few random people, got a few random followers, and lost interest. I didn't see the point.

I picked up the habit again a few weeks ago, and I think I get it this time. It makes so much more sense when you figure out how to organize your feeds and lists and tweets and tweeps. Notice the lingo? Yeah, I'm a pro. Hear me roar.

Turns out, Twitter is fun. And addicting. I have four feeds in my Hootsuite setup. My Funny Folks feed is the one I read the most. If you're on Twitter and you're not following Steve Martin, do so immediately. And if you're on Twitter and you're not following me, do so even more immediately. You'll find me at @SassyHomemaker.

Are you on Twitter? Do you tweet? Can I follow you? We'll be like Bambi and Thumper. Twitterpated.

What do you think? Too Bright?

2011-05-28T23:01:00.000-06:00

This is the project I made for K's birthday. She loves it, and so do I. Those ladybugs -- I die! So cute!

I'm an apron. I have rickrack.

I have cute ties made out of ladybug fabric.

I'm two-sided. Each side has a pocket. I'm adorable, even though I was made by that chick who is always whining that she doesn't know how to sew.

Here I am on one of the two cutest girls in the known universe. They're even cuter than me. But I have ladybugs. And rickrack. So there.

A Successful Friday

2011-05-20T23:09:00.000-06:00

I spent about four hours today working on something for K's birthday. Yeah, it probably shouldn't have taken me four hours, but since it involved a sewing machine (my nemesis), it's not really surprising. I think it turned out really cute. Pictures coming post-birthday. Shout out to Amber for kicking me into gear and offering advice about stuff I really shouldn't have needed advice on, yet sadly did. (Wouldn't that be easier if you used the ruler? Wouldn't you like to move your pattern so you aren't wasting so much fabric?) I wish everyone could have an Amber in their lives. Seriously.

The other success of the day: A got his cast off. The doctor says his x-rays look fantastic. Woot! Apparently, if he were an adult he would have to go to occupational therapy to get his finger up to par again, but kids bounce back quickly and usually don't need the therapy. In fact, A has been given specific medical instructions to play Guitar Hero to increase his dexterity. Rough life.

Also, fingers that have been in casts for several weeks grow very long, very disgusting yellow fingernails. Plus, they reek. That is all.

Turns out, third time isn't charming at all.

2011-05-19T13:11:00.000-06:00

"Mrs. H? I have M here in the office. There's been an incident..."

Heart sinks. Blood pressure rises. Does any parent want to get the call from the principal (or in this case, vice-principal)? Indoor recess = rambunctious children = M kicking another kid and getting sent to the office. For the third time this year.

She begged the vice-principal not to call her mom because she would get grounded. I assured the VP that was exactly what was going to happen. Again. Although I don't know why I bother, since clearly it isn't doing any good.

Oh, and she lied about it, of course. As usual. Said she didn't do it, despite a roomful of witnesses. I don't understand this obsession with lying. Heck, this morning I told her to brush her teeth, and when I checked on her, she was just adjusting her skirt. "Oh, did you use the bathroom?" I asked. "NO!" she replied defensively. Um...why? Like she was going to get in trouble for taking a potty break? Why lie about that?

I wish I were a child psychologist. Or that I had a magic Wonder Woman lasso that would make M tell the truth. Or that I weren't a teetotaler -- this is definitely an "I need a drink" moment. Gonna go make a green smoothie and drown my sorrows instead.

For the three people who haven't already seen this:

2011-05-15T00:38:00.001-06:00

This picture cracked me right up.

I thought it was too much of a coincidence, plus Prince Charming's outfit looked strangely mussed, so I went searching, because I couldn't remember what the original cartoon looked like. And I found this:

So it's fake. Whatever. Still funny.

P.S. Thank you, Blogger, for finally letting me get into my account for the first time in two days. Don't you know that when I get the urge to blog, I have to jump right on it before I sink back into my apathetic haze? Way to mess with my mojo.

New things at our house

2011-05-03T20:29:00.000-06:00

So, A's broken finger translated into this:

That puts him out of soccer for the rest of the season, but it gives him a new, unexpected talent:

He can make awesome shadow puppets now. Look at that llama!

K wasn't too happy about her new thing, but she came to terms with it when she saw some of the stylish choices. I give you: K's glasses!

They're pink and burgundy. They were screaming her name from the rack at the optical center. The poor wire frames didn't stand a chance once she caught sight of these beauties.

Osama, yo mama

2011-05-02T13:18:00.000-06:00

So they got you. Finally. Buh-bye, evil dude. I'm sure your organization will carry on without you, and I shouldn't rejoice in someone's death, but right now I don't much care. After watching your gleeful smugness at how effective your mass murder campaign was, I don't think you deserve many tears.

And how typical that right to the end, you and your cronies used women as shields. Cowards.

On a lighter note, thank you for waiting til the royal wedding was over to make the news. I heart William and Kate.

Anglophile much?

2011-04-27T08:40:00.000-06:00

I'm fascinated with England. The history, the geography, the traditions, and yes, the aristocracy. Even the royalty. I'm a good red-blooded American who thinks it's ridiculous that someone can rule a country just because they were born into the right family. I mean, I was looking at a royal succession chart today and realized that the world is only one old lady and four healthy men away from having a Queen Beatrice (the daughter of Andrew and the infamous Fergie).

I'm sure she's a lovely girl, but if this were an earlier time, she would be in absolute control of an enormous, and enormously powerful, empire. Brilliant.

Say what you want about Obama (I certainly do), but at least he was elected, not born into the presidency. What a ridiculous system, passing down the power in one inbred family, everyone subject to the whims of the current wearer of the crown. I'm glad times have changed.

But the anglophile part of me is glad things haven't changed too much, because I love nothing better than to read about William and Harry in their various exploits. I wonder if Charles will abdicate when the time comes. I suspect not. I wonder if Edward is privately upset that he's only an earl (well, also a prince, but whatever), and that he comes behind his nieces in the succession. I wonder if Harry is privately, or even publicly, relieved that William is finally getting married and hopefully having kids so that Harry is no longer the "spare". He really doesn't strike me as king material.

Even while I disdain the thought of royalty, I avidly follow their lives. Which makes me a total hypocrite. And a total American.

Crying wolf and other painful lessons

2011-04-20T23:04:00.000-06:00

I've probably mentioned that A is a faker. In fact, I've probably mentioned it a LOT, because he fakes a LOT and it drives me crazy. Lately he's been a lot better, though. When he stubs his toe, he carries on like he only chopped it off instead of screaming as though he lost the entire foot. So, progress.

Anyway, a couple of days ago he went running down the hall, and I heard a huge WHAP, and then he was on the ground, screaming and writhing and holding his hand. We calmly told him to come back into the family room so we could finish Family Home Evening. He continued his wolf-crying. I looked at his hand. No swelling. No blood. No fingers hanging the wrong direction or anything. I gave him some Advil and sent him to bed.

The next day he still couldn't move his finger. And there were suspicious bruises on a couple of joints. And there was definitely swelling. We went to the urgent care clinic. Diagnosis: sprained. Keep using it and it will start feeling better and better. Take Advil. The end.

Home again, he couldn't bear to move it. It hurt too much. So I wrapped it for him to keep it still and headed off to a soccer game. On the way home from the game, A called me on my cell: "We need to go back to the clinic. The radiologist found a fracture."

He's in a splint now. He sees the orthopedist on Friday. See, the problem with crying wolf is, eventually it catches up with you. Like the time he broke his arm, and I didn't believe him until I noticed he'd developed an extra joint halfway down his forearm. Yuck.

In other news, K had another surgery on her eye on Friday. Laser surgery, to open the capsule that clouded over from the cataract surgery and was affecting her vision. The way the dr described it, the laser makes tiny little explosions that peel back the capsule like cellophane.

Nice.

Anyway, the surgery went great, but she still might end up needing glasses. Such a bummer for a girl who used to have perfect vision. We'll find out on Thursday what the next step is. And here we thought we were finally home free. sigh.

P.S. Not only should you stay away from water balloon launchers, but you now need to avoid thermostats. That's how A broke his finger. Tripping over a ball and smashing his finger on the thermostat on the wall. Also, I can tell you from experience that you should never ride your scooter off the front porch, stand on a wheeled chair in front of a computer desk, or eat your grandpa's pretty little pills.

This has been a public service announcement from Bad Moms R Us

I'm a Yankee Doodle...Bunny....?

2011-04-20T22:44:00.000-06:00

M came prancing out of her bedroom the other day in this fine getup:

White tights, and a white t-shirt...

And white socks on her hands, waving a flag...

And white paper ears with pink middles, taped onto a headband.

Just another day in M's world.

I crack myself up

2011-04-19T08:43:00.001-06:00

I grabbed a pencil to write something on my shopping list today. The lead was broken off, of course. I tossed it aside, mumbling, "Well, that was pointless." I dug around for a pen and finished writing the list.

Get it? Pointless?

Yeah, I didn't get it at first, either. But then I giggled at my own unintentional hilarity.

No?

{crickets}

To snitch or not to snitch

2011-04-13T13:03:00.000-06:00

So, if your child theoretically had a friend who theoretically snuck out in the middle of the night and was chatting to your child through a bedroom window...and if that friend came back later and tried to do so again, but your child was theoretically asleep...and if your theoretical spouse had the window open and heard the knocking, and busted the kids...and your kid admitted they had planned this earlier in the day...

Would you tell the neighbor kid's parents? Theoretically? Or would you keep your mouth shut? I mean, it's not like they were out dealing drugs or something. But I'd want to know if my kid were sneaking out at night. So I theoretically snitched. And my husband laughed and theoretically said he couldn't believe I told, and that he wouldn't have said anything.

As of now, I do believe both kids are theoretically grounded. Or something. Or would be, had this actually happened. But it's all theoretical, you understand.

Things That Would Be Awesome

2011-04-08T18:51:00.000-06:00

If I didn't trip over shoes, backpacks, coats, toys, books and the occasional broomstick on my way to the garage.
If every dirty sock in the house made it all the way to the laundry hamper.
If every clean sock in the house had a mate. And no holes.
If Mother Nature would bother to look at her calendar once in a while. Snow? Really? Again?
If owning an exercise video/bread mixer/mop/scrub brush were the same as actually using said items.
If I were a genetic mutant.
If I won a trip to NYC to see the new spring shows. My old roommate is in this one. How fun would that be?
If J made it into the choir that goes to NYC every year. Because a bunch of high school kids must need chaperones, yes? And here I am, willing to selflessly sacrifice my time to help them out.
If oranges were easy to peel.
If I didn't keep forgetting stuff. I'd give an example, but I can't remember any.

I'm walking on sunshine

2011-04-03T19:55:00.000-06:00

Sure, it snowed last night. And again today. So what? I still feel like I'm standing in the full light of the sun, thanks to two days of General Conference followed by my oldest child receiving his Patriarchal Blessing today. Good stuff. Really, really good stuff.

Maybe I should apply some sunscreen.

Snippets

2011-03-30T15:26:00.000-06:00

Soccer season has started. K is back with her competition team, and tearing up the field. She has been forcibly sedentary for way too long, though. That eye injury/surgery really did a number on her stamina. She comes off the field huffing and puffing and wondering why she gets tired so fast. I sit there, breathing heavily from setting up my chair, and feel very little sympathy. It's fun to see her back in her element again.

The boys start soccer this week. Three different cities for practices, two of them at the same day and time. I want to blame my son for being unwilling to get his license so he can get himself to and from practices, but then I remember that he doesn't have a car, so it wouldn't do much good. Curses.

I'm in the middle of practices for a master class and recital. I know I keep saying I'm done with the piano stuff, but for real, this is the last music thing I have to do before summer. I think. Unless I get a phone call from another teacher.

I'm so bad at crafts. Seriously, what is my problem? We made little hair flower things at a Relief Society meeting, and seriously, all I had to do was cut out the circles and bunch up the tulle and take a few stitches and hot glue some stuff. It's not rocket science. But somehow my flower turned out -- Daliesque. Like, Salvador Dali's melting clocks. I made the melting flower. It's all sort of sliding off to one side, and of course it's glued that way now, so it's beyond help.

That was random, but the flower is sitting here on my desk, mocking me, so I thought I'd mention it. If I ever get too cocky about my obvious perfection (snicker), the flower will remind me that apparently I can't cut and glue.

Disclaimer: I'm not down on myself. There are things I'm good at. They're just not nearly as much fun to write about as the very numerous things I'm not good at. Guess what? I play the piano really well. I should, after 14 years of lessons and a music degree. But wouldn't it be boring to hear me wax rhapsodic about Mozart? Isn't it much more fun to read about melting flowers? It's the absurd things in life that keep it interesting.

Is this a bad sign?

2011-03-23T13:41:00.000-06:00

Is the basic Zumba DVD, the one where they just teach you the steps, supposed to feel like you just ran a marathon? No? I didn't think so. I haven't even gotten to an actual workout yet.

Must buy more bottled water.

Need new towel.

Oh, my 20-yr-old aerobics queen self, where have you gone? Why have you deserted me and left this aging matron in your place? Why will my shoulders no longer shimmy, yet the rest of me shimmies when it shouldn't?

Zumba; noun, from the Latin "zippy torture": The process of having too much fun to realize you're miserable.

25 Things I Will Never Do

2011-03-17T15:57:00.000-06:00

1. Sky dive
2. Bungee jump
3. Ride a zip line
4. Rock climb
5. Be a supermodel
6. Own a pet snake, spider or rat
7. Wear jeggings (jeans + leggings = NO)
8. Hunt big game
9. Audition for American Idol
10. Audition for So You Think You Can Dance
11. Patent a scientific invention
12. Understand advanced math
13. Go cliff diving
14. Visit the moon
15. Eat liver on purpose
16. Run for president
17. Sing at the Met
18. Get enough sleep
19. Go platinum blonde
20. Tame lions
21. Walk a tightrope
22. Find something better than chocolate
23. Care about the Superbowl
24. Be 29 again. Darn it.
25. Lie about my age. Joke, yes. Lie, no.

2011-03-14T12:34:00.000-06:00

I've been watching the news, along with the rest of the world, of the devastating events in Japan. An enormous earthquake, setting off an enormous tsunami, resulting in flooding, fires, mass death and several nuclear reactors quite literally having a meltdown.

And I've been thinking.

What's the point of preparing for disaster? Those people could have all the bottled water and canned food in the world, and it wouldn't matter, because the ocean would just sweep in and take it all away. Everyone stranded on the trains around Tokyo might have emergency kits at home and at work, but guess what? They got stuck halfway in between. Pointless and useless.

But then I thought some more.

Lots of people in the area still have their homes and their cars and, hopefully, some food and water stored. And since the whole region has been without power and water (and maybe heat? I don't know) for days, and probably will continue to be for the foreseeable future, I bet they're awfully glad they have some supplies. The store shelves are empty. I've seen pictures. Stripped bare. It's up to emergency crews and charities and government agencies to try to help the displaced survivors. Wouldn't it be nice if everyone who wasn't directly affected by the disaster was able to take care of themselves, and not put a heavier burden on these groups? Wouldn't it be nice if all the available disaster relief could go to people who were actually in the disaster?

So I will keep holding on to my canned tuna and bottled fruit, and I'll hope others are doing the same. If the day comes when my family needs to hunker down and be self-sufficient for awhile, I hope we can be. If we need to take someone in who has lost their home, I hope we will. And if my home is the one that gets swept down the hill in a flood, I hope someone will help us. That's kind of what it's all about, ya know?

Sleepy Math

2011-03-13T23:53:00.001-06:00

So, let me see if I have this right.

Let's say I go to bed at 10 pm and wake up at 6 am. I don't, but let's pretend I'm one of those early-to-bed and early-to-rise types. I've always wanted to be healthy, wealthy and wise.

Anyway, that's 8 hours of sleep. Okay.

Now, we move the clocks forward because it's spring, and someone a really long time ago decided that the rack and thumbscrews weren't torturous enough, so they invented Daylight Saving Time.

So when 10 pm arrives, I think it's 9 pm. I'm not tired yet. I can't sleep. My body wants to stay up for another hour, so it does. So I go to sleep at 11 pm instead. But the world marches on, and bosses and teachers don't take well to the "but I had Daylight Savings Jet Lag" excuse. So I wake up at 6 am anyway.

That's 7 hours of sleep. I've lost an hour of sleep. And to add insult to injury, My body thinks I woke up at 5 am, also known as the middle of the night. So I'm begging the powers that be, please, please, please. Bring back the thumbscrews.

My Arms Are Tired

2011-03-05T21:10:00.000-07:00

Two days of competition. Twenty-six songs. Eight rehearsals. Twelve juried performances. One semi-final. One final. The student who made it to the finals won his division. I'm thrilled, both that he did so well and that NATS is over. Because I am tired. T-I-R-E-D. It's 9pm Saturday night and I finally have two seconds to spare to think about what on earth I'm going to do for primary tomorrow. I'm supposed to be teaching a new song. I really should be planning some fun game and making cute visual aids, but mostly I just want to crawl into bed and sleep.

I played on a lot of pianos in the last two days, from electronic practice keyboards to concert grands. And among those concert grands were a Kawaii, two Steinways and a Bosendorfer. I always thought my dream was to own a Steinway, but I have to say, that Bosendorfer was sweet. Beautiful touch, beautiful sound. And the touch on one of the Steinways was a little off. And the Kawaii sounded pretty darn good. Moral: Don't judge a piano by its cover.

Huge sigh. It's nice to be home.

Overkill?

2011-03-04T14:44:00.001-07:00

I cleared out my Google reader this morning, and came back later to find 75 new blog posts. 75! In just a few hours? Did everyone on my reader suddenly get the itch to post on their blogs?

No, just one person. Tip Junkie. 75 posts from Tip Junkie. SEVENTY-FIVE.

Guess who's no longer on my reader? Good grief.

P.S. I just edited this to fix a typo. That probably means it's going to post twice in everyone else's readers now. I am not unaware of the irony. Heh.

Buy shares in Kleenex

2011-02-26T22:57:00.000-07:00

Good grief. February has pretty much been The Month That Wellness Forgot. Some stupid virus, I'm assuming flu, given the length and symptoms, has been working its way through our family, one person at a time. Cough. Fever. Aches. Chills. Dizziness. Nausea. Sore throat. More cough. Stuffy nose. Sinus. Cough, cough, cough.

It's pretty well gone now, except for that stooopid cough that just hangs on and on and on.

Also, there's this really nasty cough...

Anyway, that's sort of our month in a nutshell. In happier news, I got new furniture! And what's more, I paid for it all myself, with the money I've earned from writing. I've had more than a few complaints that I don't write on my blog much anymore, and I hate that my time is so restricted now, but did I mention I bought NEW FURNITURE?!

New sofa, loveseat and ottoman for the family room. New sofa, chair and ottoman for the living room. The old stuff was 15 and 19 years old, respectively. It was sooooo time. I put my old stuff on craigslist for free, and that same day people came and hauled it all away. It made me a little sad, because I have a lot of memories tied up in those couches.

The sadness didn't last long.

M says the new couches smell like newspapers, and she likes the old ones better. Newspaper. Huh.

Next week is NATS, a singing competition that I usually accompany each year. I've been learning music and rehearsing with singers. One girl's songs -- ay yi yi. The composers never met an accidental they didn't like, that's all I have to say about that. Killer. Lots o' practice. But it's actually kinda fun, and it brings in more money. Gotta save my pennies. Mama needs a new floor.

K took the test for the advanced 5th grade class for next year. We don't have the results yet, but since she was in the throes of the flu when she took it, I can only hope for the best. She said it was pretty easy, so we'll see if that's true or if it was the fever talking.

Spring soccer planning is here, with adding players and ordering uniforms and feeling very over the whole thing. I don't know if I want to be a coordinator next year. Ruminating on that one. Life is getting so very busy...

And now I have to end, because it's time to go pick J up from a dance. He could have just driven himself and saved me all this trouble, except he's 16 1/2 yrs old and has NO interest in getting his license. None. Should I take him in for therapy? Because surely that's not normal. But here I go to pick him up and grill him about the girls he danced with all the way home. He loves it when I do that.

The Red Shirt: A Cautionary Tale

2011-02-10T22:05:00.000-07:00

I took K shopping yesterday because she had a photo session today. She had to have a plain red shirt for this particular picture. Well, no worries -- she might not own a red shirt, but it's almost Valentine's Day, and the stores are full of red everywhere you look. Right?

Right! Red, red, everywhere, and not a thing to wear. Red nighties, red boxers, red t-shirts with suggestive phrases scrawled across the front. But a girl's size 12 plain red shirt? Not so much.

We went to Kohl's. Nothing. We tried JC Penney. Nothing. Then Forever 21, Crazy 8, Aeropostale. Nada. Children's Place? Closed for remodeling. I finally gave in and marched K toward Macy's, limping all the way. I didn't want to go there because it's often more expensive than other stores, but I was getting desperate. Guess what? NOTHING. NO red shirts at all in the girls' department, except one button-up satiny number that looked like it lost its way to Women's Sophisticates.

I pulled out all the stops. Resolving to spend my life savings to obtain the elusive shirt, we went for the last option: Dillards. I entered with trepidation. We walked past the wool and cashmere, leather and suede. I averted my eyes from the triple-digit price tags as we wound our way through the racks to the children's section. Past the tiny $50 jeans with triple stitching, past the polka-dot organza Easter dresses. And there, on a rack of blouses, I spotted a flash of red. It had shirred sleeves. It was a gorgeous blue-red hue. It was a size 12. It fit like a glove. It was on sale for $14. That's, like, Target prices.

The moral of the story: don't be cheap. I could have saved five hours of shopping just by going to Dillards first. Well, that's not entirely true...we did find jeans, and much-coveted Converse shoes, and a Panda Bowl of orange chicken during our mall crawl. But still.

The photographer better have really, really, really appreciated that red shirt.

Book Review: Matched

2011-02-02T18:21:00.000-07:00

Matched by Ally Condie

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Fast read. Easy read. Can't-put-it-down read. Yet another young adult dystopic novel? Yes. Highly derivative? Definitely. But still, I'm giving it four stars. It's not as well written as some comparable books, but it's good enough. It doesn't have much new to say, but it's interesting enough. And it made me think. The socialist undertones set off my political radar, and there are plenty of analogies to current society if you look for them. Semi-spoilers may lie ahead, so read at your own risk.

Question: If you are in a society that has regulated everything to the point that you live a long, healthy life with no crime, is it worth the cost of free will to achieve that existence? Is it really living? Is this society worth the sacrifice of creativity, innovation, and philosophy?

I say No.

To lose the essence of ourselves, to live a life that is civilized on the outside but completely empty of all purpose, to lose the knowledge and beauty from our history -- that's not worth it.

I also wondered about the purpose of no longer teaching handwriting. People literally cannot write, they can only type on a keyboard. Is this because typing is more efficient, in this society where efficiency is prized over individuality? Or is it because by requiring everything to go through a computer terminal, the society can monitor all written communications?

Why is everyone trained only in their specific job, never being allowed to cross-train, to study for another position, to pursue their own interests? Is it because this is, again, more efficient? Or is it to keep the people from becoming self-sufficient? If everyone knows only one piece of the puzzle, no one can solve it alone. No one can become independent. I think efficiency is a cover-up. The government wants to keep everyone under their thumb, and the best way to do that is to create ignorance and dependence on the state.

There is a lot of enforced equality in this book, such as taking possessions from people because it's not fair if they have things that others don't. Chairman Mao, you're wanted on line one. Written material is destroyed or strictly censored. I'd bet all those papers burn at 451 degrees Fahrenheit. The main character, a girl, is torn between two worthy suitors. Who will she choose? Maybe we should read The Hunger Games to find out. The clinical, civilized, disturbingly amoral society is reminiscent of The Giver.

Yeah, heavily borrowed. And still a darn good read.

View all my reviews

I got sunshine -- on a cloudy day

2011-01-24T11:54:00.000-07:00

The sun is shining, a bird is chirping outside my window, there's a plane flying overhead...and it's January! I don't know how this happened, but I'll take it.
I'm in the market for new living room furniture. I'm having a hard time finding what I want, though. It would help if I knew what I wanted, I suppose. But whatever it is, the stuff I've found isn't it.

We're trying to decide on a family vacation for this year. Somewhere kinda close and kinda cheap. Maybe the Grand Canyon? Mesa Verde? I tried going this route last year, and ended up with a tres cher southern California vacation. But this year I mean it. Close, cheap, easy. Fur realz.

Where's a good place for furniture that doesn't have "RC Willey" in the name? Where should we go for vacation? How long will this beautiful sunshine last?

Seven Things I Don't Understand

2011-01-11T16:18:00.001-07:00

Tattoos

I guess I'm just not that attached to my art. I like it on my walls, where I can switch it out, move it around, and know it's never going to sag. And the only pain involved is the price of purchase. Now, maybe if Da Vinci were the tattoo artist....nah, not even then.

Nose rings

Doesn't it feel like you have to blow your nose, like, all the time? And why draw attention to a feature that is generally unattractive? Even if you won the genetic lottery and ended up with a perfect nose, why ruin its graceful lines with a ring stuck through it? And they must be horrid during cold season.

Snooki, Paris, the Kardashians et al

Famous for being famous, basically. In the immortal words of Nancy Kerrigan: Whyyyyyy?

It would hide the cankles, I suppose

Boot Sandals

Really? REALLY??

Our garbage can

It appears that the lid has been cleanly sliced off. Where or how, I could not say. It's very strange.

Calories

Calories in, calories out. It should be simple. But it never is.

The space-time continuum

Wouldn't Marty McFly's parents have eventually realized he looked EXACTLY like that strange boy who befriended them in high school?

Snippets

2011-01-05T13:19:00.000-07:00

Overheard:
Young child #1, gazing in awe at friend's luxurious house: "Wow, this guy must be rich! Maybe he's an accountant!"

Young child #2, in agreement: "We were almost middle-class once."

~~~~~~~~~~

It's no secret that I have an ongoing love affair with Amazon. Perhaps less known but equally torrid is the affair my husband has with Newegg. If either of those companies' stocks take a dive, you will know we must be gone on vacation.

~~~~~~~~~~

I took all four kids to get haircuts yesterday. The boys like it short and sweet, easy to comb (or not comb at all) and out of their way. K had hers trimmed below her shoulders, taking off damage and split ends but leaving length. The Divine Miss M, however, insisted that her almost-waist-length-hair be chopped up to her nose. She's really tired of combing snarls out of her hair every morning. Truth be told, so am I, but not enough to give her a Three Stooges cut. We ended with a shoulder-length bob. It took about three minutes to comb her hair this morning. Heaven.

~~~~~~~~~~

Our New Year's Eve was very exciting: J went to a dance and the rest of us watched TV. It might sound boring, but it was exactly what I wanted after the craziness of the holidays. Peace and quiet. J called and asked for a ride home about 11 pm because the dance was lame, so he rang in the new year with us and a few bottles of Martinellis. Yeah, we were pretty much as lame as the dance.

~~~~~~~~~~

The kids are back in school. As a result, I'm back in my right mind. The house is perfectly silent right now. Perfectly. Silent. That's the sound of sanity, folks.

Merry Christmas, we need a plumber.

2010-12-25T21:39:00.000-07:00

That's what J said to me last night as he was going to bed. Apparently there was an incident with one of the bathrooms. Specifically, while J was trying to change the toilet paper, the suicidal metal tube thingamajig popped out of the TP holder, bounced off the toilet seat and drowned itself in the depths of the toilet bowl. J fetched his dad to help, but his tp-holder-retrieval-maneuver was unsuccessful, and it has now flushed farther into the pipe.

Ooh, dh and I both came home from separate shopping trips with the same cheap, off-brand box of chocolates. Great minds think alike. But so do lame minds, apparently, because I've tried several chocolates from one of the boxes, and I've thrown them all out after one bite. I.Threw.Out.Chocolate. Yes, it's that bad. Inedible, really. And we have two large boxes of these little horrors. Lovely.

I put off gift wrapping for way too long, because I was either sick or busy for most of the week. So Christmas Eve came, we got the kids to bed late, and I finally started wrapping. I didn't think it would take very long, but as usual I underestimated my time allotment and overestimated my wrapping ability. I went to bed at 3:30 a.m. and the kids woke me up at 6:00. Whee.

Kamikaze toilet paper rolls, waxy puke-flavored chocolates, and sleep deprivation aside, it has been a relaxing, delightful, thoroughly enjoyable Christmas. I am surrounded by amazing family and friends who enrich my life. I am content. Life is good.

As long as nobody flushes the toilet.

Naughty or Nice?

2010-12-17T10:00:00.000-07:00

M is putting her Magnadoodle to good use. She has compiled a "Nody" and Nice list that changes minute by minute as her whim dictates. Currently nice: M and K, both drawn with flowing locks and happy grins. On the naughty side: Mom and Dad, with evil eyebrows and frowning mouths.

I was booted unceremoniously from the nice list this morning for the crime of combing out M's snarled hair. Also, I made her wear socks. Her brothers have yet to appear on the list, not having done anything sufficiently good or bad to catch her notice. I'm letting them enjoy life as long as possible, never dreaming that they're just one tantrum away from a stocking full of coal.

My dirty little secret

2010-12-11T20:09:00.000-07:00

The truth is, I've been cheating on you, my loyal and patient reader(s). I've been stepping out with another website, one that pays me for what I write. I'm ashamed that I've been ignoring my blog, After all, blog writing is fun. It's relaxing. It's creative. My freelance gig is often boring and very structured, but it brings in the (small) bucks. And there's something satisfying about having a little mad money here and there. But alas, it pushes my other, much more fun, writing to the back burner.

Sadly, my Sassy blog has taken a similar hit. It takes a long time to take pictures and make a tutorial, and there is no return on investment. I want to write things that help people, teach them things they need to know. I want to inject my personality into my writing, and make life a little more fun for all involved. But again, I can't justify the time I have been spending on it. I have a couple of ideas in the works, and maybe I'll get a chance to work on them. Who knows? In the meantime, I've been neglecting the fun writing for the filthy lucre instead. And at the end of the day, I simply don't have the time or energy to keep up so many sites.

So posts might be more infrequent here, but I'm still posting. And Sassy hasn't gone away, she's just trying to figure out how to stay in the loop. I need the fun stuff. I need to write exactly what I want, when I want, how I want, without finding authoritative sources and worrying about AP style or picky copy editors. So I'm still writing. I promise.

But if you miss me and you're desperate to know what to do with an unrooted poinsettia cutting, or which willow trees grow in Maine, or how to grow carnivorous plants in a terrarium, come visit me at eHow. It's absolutely riveting stuff. And I'm laughing all the way to the (piggy) bank.

A Fashionable Rant

2010-11-29T22:30:00.000-07:00

Why, I'd like to know, am I seeing adorable, beautiful, fabulous holiday dresses, for decent prices, in my daughters' sizes, made of taffeta and satin lookalikes, embellished and bedazzled and festive...and SLEEVELESS?

It's ticking me off.

Couldn't they at least provide a matching shrug, or a wee jacket? Here's a tip: for the vast majority of the country, the December holidays are cold. Really cold. Like, below freezing cold. Are the designers afraid of ruining the line of the dress by adding a layer? Because I assure you, it would look better than the parka I'll have to zip over it to avoid hypothermia.

Not many years from now, these same daughters will follow in their brothers' footsteps, refusing to wear coats to school and claiming it's not that cold outside. But even their brothers don't wear tank tops in a snowstorm.

I'm crying out for a black bolero jacket.

Now really, that wasn't so hard, was it?

Pictures from So Sweet Boutique

M Strikes Again

2010-11-20T14:34:00.000-07:00

Oh where, oh where has my M gone? Oh where, oh where can she be? With her pants too short and her hair too long, oh where, oh where can she be?

Where she's not:

In front of the school where I pick her up every day
In her classroom, any of the three times I checked
In the office, any of the three times I checked
Behind the school on the playground
Hiding in the bathroom
Wandering to a friend's house (I called and asked)
Wandering to her own house (the 12-yr-old walked the path to the school to look for her)
In my car, which is locked and parked right in front of the school as we search.

Where she is:

In the office, the 4th time I looked. She proudly showed me her collection of red leaves that she was saving from the windy day. I asked where she had been. She said she was waiting for me to pick her up. Oh, and by the way, she found the car, but I wasn't in it, and could I please not leave the car, because she couldn't find me, and she was all alone. By the empty car. Because I abandoned her.

Dh asked me what I thought we should get M for Christmas. I suggested an implantable GPS chip. I was only half kidding.

Meow.

2010-11-02T15:30:00.000-06:00

My three oldest kids raced out the door this Halloween before I could get pictures of them. When they returned hours later, I was far too lazy to come out of my candy coma long enough to fetch the camera. So picture, if you will, Mario in a red cap and bushy mustache, Dr Who in a 9-dollar trench coat from D.I. that is in remarkable condition and just might be kept in reserve for future missions, and a vampire princess with pointy boots, fangs, and a red tiara, because neither a vampire nor a princess is special enough on its own.

Also, picture this:

The only member of the family who would deign to be seen with her mom this year.

What makes me giggle today

2010-10-25T08:41:00.000-06:00

I just read a recipe for something decadent and calorie-laden, that is supposed to be a guilt-free alternative to Halloween candy. It's practically health food, because it uses maple syrup in place of sugar for sweetener.

Do you know what maple syrup is? Sugar and water. And maple flavoring.

People are stupid.

Isn't it ironic?

2010-10-21T23:29:00.000-06:00

I'm on a website researching ADHD symptoms and treatments (trying to figure out how to help M). As I try to focus on the article, an ad pops up, blocking my view. I click on the x, closing the box, and continue reading. But there are three other ads: one is a banner across the top of the page, another is centered in the block of text, forcing me to read around it, and the third is in the right-hand column. All three ads are animated, meaning they are flashing and scrolling text and otherwise making it very hard to concentrate on what I'm reading.

Hello? If I didn't have ADHD before I got to the site, I probably do now.

The principal hates me.

2010-10-20T18:14:00.000-06:00

Or maybe he doesn't. Maybe he just doesn't like me. Or maybe he's just not a friendly man, and couldn't care less about me or anyone else.

At any rate, the almost tangible waves of disapproval emitting from him today as he stood at my car in the pickup lane and told me of M's latest debacle have convinced me that at the very least, I can add one more person to the list of People Who Think My Daughter and I Suck.

I got the truth out of M (I thought), and took her back to the school to tell the principal the real story, and to apologize for lying to him. It wasn't a raging success.

Why did she hit two other children with a stick? I don't know, still. She's told us so many different stories now, I'm completely at a loss. And she tried to drag in a completely innocent bystander and pin the blame on her.

How do you punish someone for lying, when you can't prove that they are? And how do you get them to stop lying, when they seem to have no compunction about saying whatever comes into their head, true or not? How do you get through to them that they are in much worse trouble for lying than they are for the original crime? And would it kill the principal to crack a smile?

I'm married to an enabler

2010-10-16T22:47:00.000-06:00

Dh has been going to training this week, and every day he comes home with leftover goodies from the meetings. They feed them well there, apparently. Two days running, it was cinnamon rolls. Another day, it was fudge from the BYU bookstore. Fudge, one of my biggest downfalls. And one day, he brought home a bag full of candy bars. Full-size candy bars. A few M&Ms, a couple of Reese's, and seriously, 21 Snickers bars. TWENTY-ONE. I'm not even kidding. I counted them.

I love Snickers. It is my favorite candy bar. Dh knows this. It's why he brought so many home.

I'm thrilled that he thinks of me, and wants to please me, but this is the same man who is always encouraging me to lose weight and become healthier (in a loving, non-judgmental way, I should clarify). I mention that maybe this would be easier without all these treats in the house. His reply: "Well, nobody's forcing you to eat them."

He was out shopping today, and called to ask if we needed anything. I gave him the usual list: bread, fruit, etc. He came home with many, many groceries.

Tonight I found two bags of chips on the counter.

*sigh*

If I were a queen bee...

2010-10-13T15:05:00.000-06:00

...I could sit in my hive all day long, ordering around the workers and drones, and taking care of my babies.

I want to be a queen bee.

I am geometrically challenged.

2010-10-04T12:13:00.000-06:00

I was trying to draw a baseball diamond on a piece of posterboard for a game I was making for primary It's a diamond. Which is basically a square, turned on its end. How hard should that be? Like, not hard at all. Four 90-degree angles, four equal sides...but I couldn't do it! The problem, you see, was that the posterboard wasn't square. It was rectangular. And that was throwing off all my measurements, because I kept measuring IN from the sides...and the sides weren't equal.

This is why I am so happy I never have to take math again. It just doesn't come naturally to me. Well, okay, it came naturally to me all the way through 6th grade. Straight A's, no effort. But then I hit junior high and its accompanying Algebra classes, and all bets were off. Just last week I had to visit A's algebra teacher during student conferences, to pick up his makeup assignment from when he was sick. She said I should look over his work, and make sure he was doing it right. I had a good chuckle over that, and told her that would require me to remember my own jr high algebra. She smiled and leaned in closer. "Truth is, A could probably teach you, anyway!"

My husband will tell you I married him for his looks and his money. But really, I just wanted my kids to have a chance at math. Looks like it worked.

By the way, I did finally get a clue, find the center of the board, and measure OUT from that point. And whaddyaknow? I got a diamond. Magic. See kids? You really will use those classes in the real world!

It is really humbling...

2010-09-30T23:26:00.000-06:00

to go from straight-A, head-of-the-class kids to one who just qualified for remedial reading. I've always enjoyed parent-teacher conference, where I go listen to my kids' teachers extol their virtues, then go home in a cloud of smugness. MY kids do great in school. MY kids never cause problems. MY kids must get it from their clearly brilliant, well-behaved parents. MY kids are not remedial, for heavens sake.

Except, MY kid is still struggling. MY kid doesn't even try the bonus words on her spelling test, because they are simply beyond her capabilities right now, whereas all the other kids breezed through, unchallenged. When she brings home a test where she actually wrote down the answers instead of drawing pictures, I am beyond thrilled.

So, I've turned into the mom who is afraid to face the teacher, who has to go the extra mile to help her kid. And you know what?

It's not all that bad.

I spend MUCH more one-on-one time with M than I did with any of my other kids doing homework. I have to be right there, keeping her on task, checking her work, explaining the directions. I expected it to be more frustrating, but the truth is, I'm enjoying my time with her. Yes, sometimes I want to rip my hair out, and wonder how her teacher can handle it for six hours, when I am ready to throw in the towel after 30 minutes. But she looks at me with her clear, shining eyes, and smiles mischievously as she deliberately writes the wrong answer to see if I'll notice. When I quietly sit and read, waiting for her to finish a math worksheet, she will exclaim, in an excited and encouraging voice, "Mom! You're being so quiet! I'm so proud of you! I'm going to give you five points!" She then makes five hash marks on the top of her paper, before moving on to the next problem.

If she were an on-task, independent worker, I would not be spending this time with her. I would be reminding her to finish her homework, then moving on to other things while she worked alone. That has always worked with my other kids. But now I'm wondering what I've missed with them. Because this is, in some ways, a blessing in disguise. A chance to spend extra time with my last baby, to learn how her mind works and give her the extra confidence she needs in her schoolwork. To read to her, because she still can't read to herself. To love her creative spirit, and learn to appreciate a different sort of brilliance.

No, it's not bad at all.

Nothing like truth in advertising, I suppose

2010-09-23T12:04:00.000-06:00

The phone rang this morning. I glanced at the caller ID. It displayed a long-distance number, and where the name should be, it said "Phone Scam".

Well, alrighty. It was practically daring me to pick it up, wasn't it? I mean, who would list their number as "phone scam"? So I answered. And guess what? Shockingly, it was a phone scam. You know the one with the computer girl telling you she's calling about your current credit card account, but naturally they don't say which credit card, because it's, you know, a scam? Yeah, that one.

So yeah. If you get a call from "phone scam", just know, that's probably the one thing they're not lying about.

No, it's not the apocalypse.

2010-09-22T19:39:00.000-06:00

It's just the stomach flu. But it sure felt like the end of the world. And it probably looked like it, too, when dh came home yesterday to find five strung-out family members lying on various surfaces, arms wrapped possessively around their barf buckets, meeting his offers of chicken soup with grimaces and retches.

It all started with the 12-yr-old, who wasn't feeling well. He's a faker, so I didn't believe him at first. The vomiting convinced me. Then it was the 6-yr-old, who I had to pick up at school because she had thrown up in class. I arrived at the nurse's office, and saw little M, lying pitifully on the bed, covered with her lunch. As I helped her up, she asked if she could change clothes, as though I was going to make her stay in her crusty clothes all day. She got a bath and jammies and full ownership of the tv remote.

Then, as I was getting ready to take K to her eye appt, the 16-yr-old came home, looking pale and exhausted. He dropped onto the couch and rolled over to go to sleep. Giving up prime video-game-playing time? The boy was definitely sick.

I handed around the buckets and left for the doctor's office. What a relief that at least K and I were still okay. The prognosis: K's retina looks great. It doesn't need any more work. Woot! First good news of the day.

On the half-hour drive home, I start feeling distinctly nauseous. No, no, no, no, no! The mom isn't allowed to get sick! Five minutes from the house, I'm convinced I will have to pull over and create a scene, but somehow I make it home before the inevitable hurling.

Four down.

Dh calls, and I tell him I'm sick, too. He replies that only he and K are still well. K races past on the way to the bathroom.

Make that five.

As of now, A is fine. M is perky again. K is iffy. J is mostly ok. I'm so-so. And dh still hasn't gotten it. We really, really hope he doesn't, because someone has to be around to bury the bodies.

Well, at least she comes by it honestly.

2010-09-21T00:01:00.000-06:00

I got an email from one of the room moms, asking for volunteers to help at the school. I signed up for Mondays, and dutifully went to the school today at the appointed time. M's teacher greeted me with a friendly "hi" and waited for me to state my business.

I told her that I was here to help during math time, and she looked confused. They weren't doing math. Also, she hadn't asked for any volunteers. Well, I was SURE it was the right day and the right time, because I had gotten a confirming email and written it in my calendar and everything. But I laughed it off and told her that if she didn't need me, that was fine, although I'd be happy to help if she needed anything done.

She set me up with some busywork, and as I cut, a suspicion started to grow in my mind. Correct time? Check. Correct day? Check. Correct classroom? Not so much.

I told the teacher that I might have mixed up the classes, and it might have been K's class that I was supposed to be in. I went and checked, and sure enough, there was the teacher, wondering why I wasn't there helping. So I went back and told M's teacher that I would love to help at a different time, and hightailed it back to K's class, where I had to grade math papers WITHOUT AN ANSWER SHEET. This teacher has more confidence in my math skills than I do. It's a good thing it's only 4th grade.

Anyway, it occurs to me that M's teacher, who has commented on her lack of focus and difficulty with concentration and follow-through, is probably not all that surprised that her mom showed up to the wrong class. What a delightful and winsome family we are. *sigh*

Just reading this makes me fat

2010-09-20T00:25:00.000-06:00

Friday night dh surprised me with tickets to the Duke Ellington Orchestra at the Utah Symphony. Now that's some good jazz! We started with dinner at one of our favorite places, Red Rock Brewing Company, where the food is delicious and the root beer and cream soda are home-brewed and on tap. They brew a lot of other beverages too, but even teetotalers like us can enjoy the urban atmosphere and fabulous food. Oh, so good.

While we're on the subject, here are a few other places we've tried and liked:

Cucina Toscana is pricey and decadent. Fabulous Italian food.
The Tin Angel is all about local suppliers and eclectic atmosphere. Groovy.
The Dodo has the best Key Lime Pie I have ever tasted. EVER.
Chef's Table has atmosphere and food worthy of the price. Yum.
Pizzeria 712 will ruin Domino's for you forever.

Places with amazing atmosphere but the food doesn't float my boat (because it's not my thing, not because it isn't good. You might like bison and raw oysters and such):

The Tree Room at Sundance -- what can I say, it's the sort of place that serves you wild game, yet gives you sorbet palate cleansers between courses. Go there when it's snowing, incredibly romantic.
Log Haven is up Millcreek Canyon, and the location is utterly beautiful. The atmosphere is quiet and romantic and completely not kid-friendly. But again with the weird food. I guess my palate isn't sophisticated enough.
La Caille is overhyped and overpriced, but there's a lot to be said for the fairy tale castle, ya know?

And for more affordable yumminess:

Kneaders makes my heart to pitter-pat. I love the raspberry bread pudding (heated), and pretty much every sandwich and/or salad on their menu.
The Blue Lemon makes me feel virtuous, with its fresh ingredients and clean presentation. Watch out for the Ladies Who Lunch that haunt the place.
Zupas is perfect for lunch, and your order comes with a chocolate-dipped strawberry. Nice!
Smashburger: I'm pretty much in love. True love.
Cafe Rio is still my favorite addiction. Fire grilled chicken salad with black beans. Mama mia.

I just realized I never ate dinner. No wonder I'm writing a post about all my favorite food! Anyway, bon appetit.

P.S. What are your favorite restaurants?

Oh yeah, she bad

2010-09-15T17:20:00.000-06:00

K's eye appt today was very encouraging.

Current vision: 20/25
Upcoming visits: remove stitch, laser capsule, visit retinal surgeon
Meds: one more week of drops
Eye guard: no longer needed
Activity: normal, except contact/impact
Future: bright
Soccer: ALLOWED FOR SPRING!!!!!

The Great Escape

2010-09-10T16:56:00.000-06:00

Today, I had to take K to an eye appointment, and we were cutting it close on time, trying to get back to pick M up from school. So I called A (who was home "sick"), and asked him if he could ride his bike to the school and pick up M. He experienced an instantaneous and miraculous recovery, and said yes.

When he got to the school, he was greeted by a teary, subdued M, and her teacher, who said she needed to speak to his parents. Of course, his parents weren't available, which probably made us look even more irresponsible, given the fact that M had just been retrieved after having escaped from the classroom. Someone saw her walking down the hall, and there was a man walking near her, which sent everyone into a panic. Luckily, she had just gone outside to wait for me to pick her up, and I would guess the man was some innocent dad who went on his merry way, never dreaming that a schoolful of teachers suspected him of attempted kidnapping.

Anyway, they found her, and took her back inside, but only after she stubbornly refused to budge, because she was waiting for her mom, and she wasn't supposed to move from the appointed meeting spot. Which is true, when school is over. But when school is still in session, not so much.

Her reason for leaving? Well, I guess it depends on which version you believe; she gave me several. Her finger was bleeding, and she went outside to get rid of the blood. Or she saw kids going out, and thought she was supposed to go. Or she was tired of school, it was just going for toooooo loooooong, so she left.

The teacher called me and we had a nice chat, the first of many this year, I'm sure. Oh, M. Never a dull moment.

Presenting: the new and improved K

2010-09-09T22:09:00.000-06:00

I realized I haven't put a lot of details on my blog about K's eye. Here's the super-condensed version: after she was injured in July (it's in the archives), her eye developed a traumatic cataract. Her vision was deteriorating. She had laser surgery on her retina, and then this week she had cataract surgery.

Surgery went really well. K has a new lens in her eye, and a new ring thingamabob to hold it in place. She can already see much better, and the doctor is very pleased with the results. The eye itself looks like it's possessed, but that will get better. I have a very creepy horror-movie shot of it, but I won't post it. It will haunt your dreams. Instead, here's a less-disturbing shot, with a cute face to offset the freaky eye.

I posted this with her permission. She's understandably a little self-conscious about it. I told her if it hasn't faded by the time she goes back to school, she can wear her sunglasses all day long and be a sophisticated woman of mystery.

Whew. My little girl can see again. So happy!

Happy birthday? Maybe?

2010-09-06T00:19:00.000-06:00

I turned 42 today. Yep, I put it out there for all the world to see. I'm owning it. Forty-two. And with the energy of a 41-yr-old.

So at 4:30 this morning, my dh woke me up to tell me he was heading to the ER, because he thought he had a kidney stone. He drove himself while I went back to sleep. That seems odd now, but at the time it made perfect sense. He wasn't in enormous pain, and he hadn't tapped the narcotics yet. He said he was fine to drive.

He drove himself home, too, despite having been given some very good drugs in the hospital. He was there long enough for them to wear off, or so they said, but I'm telling you now, it's a good thing we just live down the road from the hospital, because his 1000-yard stare told a different story.

Anyway, when I got up this morning, I found roses on the stove, where he had hidden them. He had planned a nice birthday morning, but the little jaunt to the ER threw a kink into the plans. And he apologized for ruining my birthday.

HE APOLOGIZED. For selfishly getting a kidney stone? And then letting me sleep while he drove himself to the hospital? And for leaving a dozen roses on the stove instead of delivering them to me in bed? And for leaving me to get the kids ready for church all by myself, while he writhed in pain and/or dozed in drugged bliss on a gurney somewhere?

Wow. Every wife should be so mistreated.

Do I want to know?

2010-09-02T23:57:00.000-06:00

So, I went to Back to School night at the elementary school tonight. This involves rotating through each child's classroom and hearing a presentation by their teachers. In M's class, I noticed that the desks had been rearranged. I'm pretty sure it's no accident that M's desk is now right next to the teacher's, at the very front of the room.

I don't want to ask. I don't want to know. I can hardly wait for the first parent-teacher conference.

On the other hand, I'm getting a kick out of her homework. I hope the teacher doesn't mind a few embellishments, because M is pretty much incapable of handing in a boring math worksheet without prettifying it a little.

The number seven has a flower sprouting from it. The zeros are dead faces, with x's for eyes. And when we do our daily reading, M does a cheer each time there's an exclamation point, an Egyptian dance for each question mark, and a pirouette for the periods.

It takes a long time to get through each sentence.

I wonder if the teacher accepts bribes.

Getting booed in primary? Seriously?

2010-08-29T22:27:00.000-06:00

I realize that not every kid likes to sing. Particularly kids of the male persuasion, who are way too cool for such sissy stuff.

However.

If said children actually boo when singing time is announced, that's going a little far, don't you think?

One of those boys brought over a card of apology today, much embarrassed and clearly coerced by his parents. I don't think he'll be booing again in the future. As for the other miscreants, I have been considering my options for possible future heckling.

There may or may not be:

A dunce cap with "party pooper" written across the front
A chair in the hall, where the offender can write a list of 20 things he loves about singing time and the fabulous music leader, while the rest of the kids play a very fun, very loud game without him
An enforced solo, preferably something embarrassing. I'm a Little Teapot, perhaps?
A cultural exchange, wherein I sit in the audience and heckle, while he attempts to teach a song
Complete silence for five minutes. No singing. Just sitting there, watching everyone fidget, and knowing that he is the reason nobody's having any fun.
An invitation to his parent (preferably the dad, because dads can be fearsome creatures when they want to be) to sit right next to him throughout singing time.

Or, most likely, I'll do what I did today, which was to give them the Hairy Eyeball and go on with singing time.

But I might keep a dunce cap in my bag. Just in case.

You couldn't pay me enough.

2010-08-23T19:46:00.000-06:00

I've been having traumatic flashbacks this week, taking my two boys to register for junior high and high school, walking the halls, watching the other students who seem so sure of themselves, wondering if my offspring will be stuffed in lockers or pantsed in PE, befriended or bereft. Who will they sit by at lunch? Will they have the right clothes? What if they get lost in the shuffle, as 2000 kids move like a tidal wave through the halls?

Gossip, backstabbing, insecurity, changing bodies, trying to fit in, wanting to stand out, worrying about the future, confused about the present, wondering how everyone else does it so easily, not realizing that they're all just as freaked out as you are.

You could not pay me enough to go back.

Nope.

Now college, on the other hand -- I'd be there with bells on.