Scorpion Sojourn

"You're right. I'm afraid of your heat."

2012-01-31T19:47:00.002-07:00

Here are my Monthly Resolutions:

JANUARY: read with C every day
FEBRUARY: 20 minute walk 4 days a week (and finally hang pictures on walls)
MARCH: read entire Book of Mormon (and pay off credit card)
APRIL: take Love & Logic parenting class
MAY: start writing life story
JUNE: survive new babyhood
JULY: update photo albums
AUGUST: learn new ways to budget (esp. for groceries & clothing)
SEPTEMBER: start training for 10k
OCTOBER: ?
NOVEMBER: get family photos taken
DECEMBER: print blog books

Any ideas for that blank next to October?

[Title quote is from "The Birdcage"]

"Yeah, let's celebrate mediocrity! That's fantastic."

2012-01-24T19:02:00.002-07:00

You wanna know what’s pretty sad? I don’t feel very writey. Or updatey. Because you know what? The daily happens and it’s so everything but also very nothing.

But I’m gonna try. For all our sakes. But mostly for mine. Because I’m freakin’ tired of that Christmas tree being at the top of my blog this late into the new year. Also I am too tired to post actual pictures of our 2011 tree. And also because I haven’t uploaded the pictures yet. And besides, I totally missed that boat anyway when December 31st sailed off into that good night.

The good news is that 2012 has been great so far.

I made a list of resolutions. Then I assigned them to months. Some of the months are challenging. Then again, for June my goal is to “survive new babyhood”. I don’t have anything for October or November yet. Any ideas?

I’ve spent goodly, insanely big portions of my time budget reading the Twilight saga. I set out to learn more about the whole werewolf imprinting thing and also to find out how the damn thing ends so I don’t have to wait until the next film is out later this year. And then sometimes I feel guilty and I know exactly what Jenn means when she resolves to “read the scriptures like they’re Twilight”.

I have big big hopes that big big things will happen this year. And I don’t just mean big babies in big bellies. I feel that my feet have been set on a path and I have no idea where it leads. So I have lots of hope (and nearly equal amounts of shame for not doing more of what I know I should be doing). All the same, I’m doing what I can to help these big big things along, and trying to prove I’m Serious about wanting them and being committed to making them work.

Speaking of big things, we bought our kid a big boy bed and he basically loves it. Except for the nights he’s restless and wakes up three or four times calling for “Mama!” until I want to poke my tired eyes out and finally just give up and bring him to our bed. It’s only happened two times in two weeks, but it makes me bat fuh-reakin crazy.

I wrote to a name blog for help with a baby name. Because remember this? Yeeaaaahhhhhhhhh. . . . We have a name in mind. M is convinced it is THE name. I? Am not. I think we should have a backup. And some nicknames we can force from birth. Because the I pretty much hate the obvious ones. Which is nicht so gut.

Also? I can’t decide if my baby belly is tiny or big. Since it’s bumping into things without my permission, I’m thinking it’s big and that my top-down perspective just makes it look tiny and skews things a bit.

And then a couple of weeks ago, M was all “let’s have a third one” and I was all “who are you!?!?” and also “let’s have this one first, mmmkay?” And then, the reality of three distilled downward and settled on my pragmatism a while and I was all “we’d have to buy a bigger car” which is why my brain sort of stops at two, even though my heart would totally go to three, at least. Essentially, this means that I’ve asked M to take some belly pictures because if this is my last pregnancy, I’d really like to have it documented.

Also again? How is it that 10 weeks at the beginning of pregnancy can pretty much drag (especially when you’re dog sick but so much like a rat that you’re unable to throw up) and 10 weeks at the middle of pregnancy can pretty much fly by? I mean, who’s in charge of the time flying/dragging continuum anyway? Because, seriously, Dude? That sucker needs to be adjusted.

But even with flying time and such – not that I’m complaining or anything – but I feel like it’s been January forever. I’m stuck in January the way Phil Connors gets stuck on February 2. It’s all good though, because do you know how much I’ve been able to accomplish this month?

Also times three? I laughed and laughed at this post by Kalli, for lots of reasons. And if it doesn’t make you laugh too then we can’t be friends.

[Title quote is from "Whip It"]

"Burn some dust here. Eat my rubber."

2011-11-26T06:32:00.000-07:00

We're going on another Griswold tree-cutting adventure.

Wish us luck.

Hopefully years past have taught us that 10 feet tall in the woods looks smaller than it does in our house.

Fa-la-la-la-la. . .

[Title quote is from "Christmas Vacation"]

"Chew like you have a secret..."

2011-11-18T10:30:00.000-07:00

For my 32nd birthday, I got this.

For my 33rd birthday, I got this.

For my 34th birthday, I got this.

And for my 35th birthday, I got:

Man, the years just keep getting better!!!

[Title quote is from "She's the Man"]

"You are never gonna be Jell-O!"

2011-09-21T17:37:00.001-07:00

Here’s the story, morning glory
(Lest you think me an only-when-angry blogger)
My creative energy has flat-lined
I tried to revive it using a journaling defibrillator
But no use
Dead as a doornail
And when not going all Jacob Marley on me
The thoughts come too quickly and rapidly
They flit and float and fly away
Long before I can catch them all
To pin them down
Like the veritable flutter-by collection
I wish they were
So I toss my hands up
Cry a “hail Mary”
Or two
And go about my mundanity

Which, lately, means
Working
Reading (actual books!)
Exhaustion-ing
Family-ing
Surviving

What?
You too?

[Title quote is from "My Best Friend's Wedding"]

"Would you quit it? What, the ocean isn't big enough for you or something? You got a problem? Huh? Do ya, do ya, do ya? You wanna piece of me?"

2011-09-17T00:19:00.003-07:00

In about a week, we will have been married for 12 years.

In that time, I have left the house (a.k.a. "stormed out") during approximately 4 arguments.

The fourth time was today.

The thing about having a one (and a half!) year old is this: storming out of the house feels infinitely more stupid now.

"Are you going with me or staying with Dada?"
"Truck!"
"Okay. See you later!"
(for the record, you're not supposed to call out "see ya later" when storming out.)

Even more than stupid? The fact that each and every time I have left the house in the middle of a fight, I have ended up sitting in a grocery store parking lot (and, once, a church parking lot) praying.

Today, though, because I was feeling extra mad and self-righteous - and because of little ears, we had restrained ourselves from throwing verbal barbs and working each other into a frothy fury - and also because we needed laundry detergent and whole milk, instead of praying and/or sobbing, I went in to the store and looked at books and read magazines.

When I got the second call from M (I hung up on him the first time because I could, and also because he couldn't behave), it was complete with C crying in the background and M's assertion that he had been crying for an hour because he was upset that I left. So, I made my purchase and drove the five minutes back to home.

The thing about having a husband who forgives so easily - without ruminating or rehashing or guilt-tripping - is that when he's in the position of saying he's sorry, you kind of feel like you have to do likewise and just let it all go.

But I am me, after all, so it takes a little longer. And with much more grumping and grousing.

Because it was so late when I finally gave up the grouch, instead of a trip to the mall, the night was salvaged with a 3-mile family walk.

[Title quote is from "Finding Nemo"]

"Are you not aware that I get farty and bloated with a foamy latte?"

2011-09-02T05:13:00.002-07:00

And now, just in time for a three-day weekend, I share with you The Top Ten Cult Classics in our family:

Happy viewing!

And, yup. We have a stupid taste for stupid movies. (Runners Up include The Family Man, Serendipity, Pirates of the Carribean, Napoleon Dynamite, Austin Powers, O Brother Where Art Thou, October Sky, Rango. . . .)

What are YOUR family's cult classics?

[Title quote is from "Zoolander"]

"There we go. That was kind of the emotion that I was searching for on the first take."

2011-09-01T04:19:00.002-07:00

"Thirty days hath September,

April, June, and November. . ."

I don't know why, but I love this little poem.

Well, the first two lines of it anyway.

(Interesting variations? Here are 88.)

All this to say

It's September!

Hooray!

[Title quote is from "Juno"]

"Quiver ladies, quiver."

2011-08-30T05:45:00.001-07:00

On Monday morning, I brushed both the tangles from my hair and the germs from my teeth and I pondered over the number 35. It is the number my husband has aged himself to and for the first time in our married history, his age has him rattled. Like facing his own mortality kind of rattled. Like doing a mental sum of life’s achievements so far and determining they don’t add up to 35 kind of rattled.

“It’s halfway to 70” he said to me on Sunday, just before he retreated into that deeply thoughtful place he sometimes goes, from which it is difficult to fetch him back.

I tried not to let his rattling take me captive too. I mean, I only just calmed my own rattling age cage down and decided that 30-something is definitely the place to be!

So, to help calm my husband's poor, addling rattling, here are some things that definitely add up to 35!

My M:
1. is funny and makes me laugh about 85% of the time.
2. impresses us by fixing things (just ask C, who still says all the time "Dada fix it fan!")
3. LOVES to go fishing.
4. hates hunting.
5. is very supportive of things I want to do.
6. loves being outside (it's hereditary).
7. takes care of the dog.
8. is handy around the house and yard.
9. loves him some power tools.
10. owns 3 "boats".
11. reads to learn and inform himself.
12. is a thinker.
13. is a worrier.
14. has light brown eyes.
15. always wears his wedding ring.
16. rarely uses the computer.
17. would go to sporting goods stores every day if he could.
18. is a great husband and a loving father.
19. likes clothes shopping.
20. is my best friend.
21. keeps people's secrets secret.
22. is very loyal.
23. is very trustworthy.
24. is diligent.
25. works hard at work and at home.
26. has a sweet tooth.
27. finds it difficult to be idle.
28. likes the newspaper.
29. is health conscious.
30. sees what needs to be done and does it.
31. has a good heart.
32. has a cool first name.
33. ages like a fine wine.
34. is my favoritest favorite.
35. has the best laugh.

[Title quote is from "The Fifth Element"]

"Good philosophy, see good in bad, I like."

2011-08-27T23:00:00.002-07:00

More from the August annals. . .

Mondays are made up mostly of dash and scramble.

But, sometimes, in the middle of all that, there are moments of complete calm.

Like the Monday morning when Gratitude struck me suddenly as I crossed its path on my way back from garage farewells toward the bathroom to fix my face for the day. At that nexus, like some invisible sheet, Gratitude draped over me.

And then a tempered Tuesday flared up, colored so from its 5:30 a.m. start. Grouchy kid, grouchy mom, grouchy dad - all in turns: morning, noon and evening. That night, however, is blissfully free of such ill-tempers and so somewhat redeemed the day as a whole. Nothing a dinner and some down time couldn't cure.

Having been wrapped up so delicately and nicely in that sheet of Gratitude on Monday - even despite the frenzy of grouchiness on Tuesday at high noon - one can come to understand that Prayer is essential to helping her to make decisions with confidence (not fear) and to live life knowing everything will work out for the Good.

[Title quote is from "The Fifth Element"]

"Sometimes, it's the boring stuff I remember the most."

2011-08-26T22:52:00.001-07:00

More from the August annals. . .

A couple of days, a couple of wagons to fall off of.

It all started with chocolate cake. Perhaps my half of a perfectly balanced not-too-sweet chocolate slice was my undoing? A noticeable crack in my resolve to stick to my "no sugar!" ultimatum for 30 days and - Bam! - the whole delicate balance comes tumbling down, writing daily falling with it, into the rubble.

Then I felt at a loss for words and sat listening to the clock ticking the minutes off, with words and thoughts and feelings spinning together in some great whirlpool of emotion and contemplation.

But I do not find frustration.

There were playgroups and naps and the satisfaction of leisurely Saturdays.

And the hope that all our hopes and plans are possible and within reach.

And the absolute wonder at the love of a Heavenly Father who hears my pleas and orchestrates the whole lovely Thing.

Life is good.

[Title quote is from "Up"]

"My god, man, you could at least act like it was a hard decision!"

2011-08-25T07:45:00.001-07:00

More from the August annals. . .

I am tired - both brain and heart weary, having been beaten into submission by reality.

There's a fresh newness to one's reality, a crispness for having been sealed up until its discovery and ultimate unraveling. When talking of scary things like "foreclosure" and "debt" and "purchasing power" and "volatile economy" and "credit scores", Reality creeps about the edges of the room, ducking behind sundry furnishings until, finally, with so much pomp and flourish, it pops out and announces itself with a grand "Ta da!"

There is an air of discovery about the whole ordeal, the closing up of a long journey in search of some elusive something, that now, having revealed itself, is as refreshing as it is startling.

And the path to get here - oh! - how well it has been traveled. How thoroughly these careworn travelers have studied the path along the way, trying to remember each detail, committing it to memory lest they be tested on it later.

[Title quote is from "Star Trek"]

"You mean you were diagnosed with something called a brain cloud and didn't ask for a second opinion?"

2011-08-23T22:36:00.002-07:00

From the August annals. . .

I think somewhere in the recesses of my brain - or maybe it was my heart - arose a mist of a thought when I made goals of "no sugar" and "writing daily", and in that mist was the understanding that I never expected myself to be perfect at it.

Probably it was my heart. Because my brain wants to be exacting, reminding me verbatim of the mantra it cleverly devised: "I can do anything for 30 days!"

It turns out I fit perfectly inside the difference between "committed" and "disciplined".

I am trying to let my heart lead my dance steps, but my brain is proving to be a tricky dance partner, all demanding and precise. Neither of which I do well with. (I have the college transcripts that show withdrawals from - count them - three dance classes, you know.)

My heart says I need to - and can - do hard things. Make decisions that may not seem to make sense, but that get me closer to the heart of things.

And my heart thanks God for a husband on whom I can test out the whims of my heart-full ideas and who does not get rattled in the least. Such support is a warm blanket and a hot meal to my weary, wandering heart.

My heart says I need to trust . . . to believe, to have faith against all odds of reasons my brain would devise to the contrary.

What does my brain know anyway?

[Title quote is from "Joe Versus the Volcano"]

"Your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go un-witnessed because I will be your witness."

2011-08-08T07:20:00.001-07:00

The full, lovely movie quote goes like this: "We need a witness to our lives. There's a billion people on the planet... I mean, what does any one life really mean? But in a marriage, you're promising to care about everything. The good things, the bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things... all of it, all of the time, every day. You're saying 'Your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go un-witnessed because I will be your witness'."

As I lay C down the other night, I thought about how - already! - he has grown too big for my kisses. At least when he first arrives home. He's still too busy trying to find a way back outside (and most definitely not wanting to surrender to being indoors by taking his shoes off) to be concerned with me. But I can easily make him rush into my arms - squealing and laughing all the way - by threatening him with the classic "I'm gonna get youuuuu!"

The trouble I think some people have - and the weakness I myself and brought down by - is not really thinking about how quickly time really goes. That night, I was trying to "unwind" on the computer (duh, right?). I was paying bills and then the critical part of the DVD we were watching was playing. I grew impatient with C's grabby reach for M's water bottle, telling him "yours is right there! get it!", and then setting him off the couch firmly and dismissively, straining my ear to hear the movie. And even while I was doing so, I was thinking to myself "you can always watch this movie later - you own it."

The thing is, I tend to do this too often at home, with the people who matter most. I am sometimes around them more than I am with them. Call it an occupational hazard though I may (getting home at 7:00 and starting dinner and eating dinner and cramming in the first few minutes of truly "free" time all day, then doing bath/book/bed. . .), it smacks of self-justification.

I am here to bear witness to their lives! In order to do that, I have to be paying attention! Looking. Noticing. Interacting. Engaging.

Not that I'm an automaton droid. It's just that Time goes all too quickly.

The writing book I am working with this week says "So much of the loneliness of modern life comes because we no longer witness each other. Our lives are led as such velocity that we often feel - and are - quite alone."

I don't disagree. But (!) I posit that it doesn't HAVE to be that way. I believe we can resist that tendency and stem the tide of such learned loneliness. We can stop, pay attention, and make and maintain vital and meaningful connections with other people, with those around us.

Now, as I write this, my mind begins a mental survey of my own interpersonal relationships, an attempt to catalog precisely which ones have gone wrong, which ones disprove my theory. Many do.

The connections grow thin, and in the place of lengthy phone calls have crept terse, short emails and trite, machine-gun facebook commentary. Is it a symptom of the failure to be a good and proper witness? Or is it the root cause of our too-busy lifestyles? Or is it something else entirely? Something phasic, cyclical, seasonal? Something that the natural course of life just does to people?

Whatever the case may be with "friends," I refuse to let it happen with Family.

I exist in myself, in my family, with and among these people closest to me to be their witness. (My writing book author says I should also be my own witness - an idea I will have to spend some time exploring.) It is my job - my calling - to be a witness to my husband. To be a witness to my children. And to try harder to be a witness to my siblings and parents.

Our stories - our histories - our legacies live inside other people as much as they do inside ourselves. I am a walking witness to the crossroads, the intersections, the inroads others make as they crisscross my life.

I am living, breathing history.

And I want to make sure that historical record of my mind and of my heart is as complete and accurate as possible, so I can remember that I lived in the now. And that I loved.

Oh, I loved!

[Title quote is from "Shall We Dance"]

"August 6th." "August 6th what?" "August 6th period."

2011-08-06T13:14:00.000-07:00

The other day, my facebook status read "Is it Friday yet? Is it September yet? Is it 2010 yet?".

Immediately after typing that, I thought "What is with me!?"

Because the thing is, I was trying really hard to wait patiently. For Friday and the reprieve of a day off. For September and the promise both of new job offers (for M) and new fall shows (for me). For 2012 and the hope of different priorities and a new president and maybe even being in the pudding club again.

And August - with its long, hot days and stormy, cranky nights - torments wildly.

We are in a staring contest, August and I, each waiting for the other's next move - wondering who will cave and blink first. I am sure to lose.

August is, after all, a long month. Particularly with its "write everyday!" and "no sugar!" manifestos holstered on either hip like firearms at the ready, to be pointed and aimed at me as August chooses.

I am, after all, August's prisoner.

[Title quote is from "I Love Lucy" (Today is Lucille Ball's 100th birthday! Totally didn't plan that.)]

"Silly old bear!"

2011-08-05T12:50:00.004-07:00

Did you know that I am part bear? Why, just last week, I devoured my lunch and then pondered over how I am sometimes as monstrously grouchy and unpredictable as a bear in the spring, leaving my careworn husband to guess at whether I'll shake off hibernation by sitting in a flowery field eating honey - or tear apart his car with him inside while looking for a crusty morsel hidden under the back seat. Sometimes I am both, perhaps decidedly more honey than not, (hopefully).

Did you know, also, that I am a cantakerous old mama bear? Why, just last week, my toddling tot broke our kitchen drawer and was met by the not-so-sweet cacophony of an angry Dada who set to yelling at said child and then fixing said drawer. I protected myself and that Dada I live with from an angry bear attack by retreating into emotional, proximal, and intellectual distance. And also? Some sleep.

Did you even know that I am sooooo The Mom but sometimes I am not soooo The Wife? Why, just last week, after an afternoon hibernation, I awoke to find my husband excited to see me! Still under the influence of weariness (no excuse!), I accused him of being "an insect on crack". Then, feeling badly, I went and sat on the couch next to him. On purpose. Most decidedly, in fact. I looked at his eyes and kissed his lips and touched his freshly Sunday-shaven face with my fingertips. I do really like that guy!

Did you know that it is possible to teach a middle-aged bear new tricks? Why, just last week, I learned that kissing solves a hundred ills. And that perhaps I should take a "train the trainer" approach to my husband's obstreperous parenting style? Teach him what he needs to remember, as it were?

[Title quote is from "Winnie the Pooh"]

"I've been waiting for this day my whole life... This day of reckoning."

2011-07-23T07:36:00.001-07:00

There is an aching exquisiteness to my fourth decade of life. The impatience and impetuosity of my roaring twenties have struck out for greener pastures, and in the warmth of their vacant places confidence and calmness have curled up and made themselves at home.

Silver ribbons lace themselves in my hair, but I leave the tweezers to their rest. The microscopic canyons etched into my face by time no longer gape at me. My sponge cake belly and butter cream thighs speak sweet somethings to me - delicious things about the prime of my childbearing years and plenty of time later to seek out reduced fat versions of my confectionary parts.

Stocked safely away is an ample inventory of assurance about who I am and what I can do. But the stockpile turns to mush in my mouth, leaving nothing hunger and discouragement as food for the belly.

Under a more critical eye, I am revealed: equal parts angst and certainty, swirling against each other, a stormy yin and yang, surfacing in turns with the other buried deep. When angst rises up like a great harvest moon, undone am I by questions of “What do I want to do?” and “Who do I want to be?” and sometimes "Is my hair fashionable?"

In the nick of time, my Future, that alluring, chivalrous suitor, comes to my aid, bows himself before me like a lover to a lady, his bedroom eyes whispering to my soul. “What’s the hurry? There’s plenty of time.”

The rapid breath of anticipation finally steadies, flowing evenly in then out, a calm sea under a watchful moon. There is such delight in finding fragments of myself, carefully scooping those petals up and storing them away for safekeeping.

[Title quote is from "Star Trek"]

"We both know that I’m training to be a cagefighter."

2011-07-21T18:30:00.001-07:00

A few suns ago, I told you how I read a beautiful blog post that stirred up the latent writer in me, bringing her the surface, ravenous after a too-long hibernation.

In short, I had writer's envy, induced by turns of phrase so elegant and easy, they made the entire attempt seem effortless.

The latency of my single tried and true artistic talent is sufferable. Poor words!

That day, the thoughts just tumbled and twisted, no one thought extracting itself into form or feeling. Instead, I felt everything at once, which, at first blush, is an affliction ripe with possibility, but results ultimately in the confusion of a failed bloom.

That night, I visited the website gallery of a friend I met on my mission. (Do you know the joy that is the rediscovery of a kindred spirit?) I read an article in which he was interviewed, then asked him to be my social network friend. "Do you realize how enchanted your life is?" I wanted to implore. "You have a life other people envy, you know!" is what I wanted to say. I refrained on both counts. (No matter. As it turns out, he does know.)

What my inquiring mind really wanted to know is whether he had suffered for his art. If he, upon being questioned, might wistfully recount years of struggle - perhaps even of pauperism - to get where he is now.

I think also of Ray Bradbury, who, in the prologue of my go-to summer read "Dandelion Wine", speaks of doing writing exercises every day for twelve years (!) in order to recreate the intricate world he seems so freshly to have opened up and poured into those pages. He tells how he drove himself over and back over the experiences of his childhood, trying to perfect the smell, the feel, the urgency and reality of the summer a twelve-year-old boy first realizes he's Alive.

The sum of these thoughts makes me wonder what it really takes, and makes me fear what I might have to trade in the name of my desired craft.

It all makes me feel like a hunted gazelle, confused in the chase and uncertain whether to see the safety of solitude or the refuge of Art.

For, art truly is a refuge for my soul. And my neglected craft - the piece of myself I lay so idly by when life gets busy or hectic or seemingly too mundane or uninspiring for words - is what leaves me soul sick and searching.

And so begs the question "What would I give?" I do not wish to be an erstwhile writer. Nor do I really desire to be "published" in the traditional sense. Bonus? Absolutely. But not essential.

No. What I earnestly wish for is to find peace with this art, this craft, these words. But I've not a clue in which valley or clime this reclusive peace makes its home. . . or how to attempt my pilgrimage there.

A night's sleep.

Then, rising as the morning sun, a new thought into my head: take the writing books I've spend years "investing" in, select 4 - one for each week - and for 30 straight days? Write! Every day.

The single bit of trouble in all this is that I was just on the verge of committing myself to a fitness regimen and now feel in a quandary over which to throw my al dente self at, hoping I'll stick. (Gazelle here, hello!)

The answer is. . . I will simply have to find a way to do everything. The trouble is, I know me. And "Everything" is much too large a beast to cup in my smallish, two-handed grasp.

And so, Balance - which I am ever seeking but only intermittently finding (much like Peace that way, Balance is) - must be my goal. Nay, my ally.

Writing daily is the goal. With Balance as my ally.

Time to test the ol' mettle, as it were. I tend to go through these creative bursts periodically, the writer in me breaking free, petulant and angry at having been held hostage. The initial burst then recedes back to the land where Occasion and Caprice hold up my writing with nothing more than a thumb and forefinger shaped to look like a pistol. (The proof is in the pudding, is how the old saying goes? It's all there in my archives.)

Is the intensity of thought, of feeling too much to handle on a full-time basis? Is it really all or nothing with me?

And if not, exactly what shade of gray should I be training my eyes to see?

[Title quote is from "Napoleon Dynamite"]

"You're exactly the mutant I'm looking for! You're hired."

2011-07-20T20:21:00.001-07:00

Would you like one more demonstration of how precisely strange I am?

I received an email the other day from a co-worker. “I am looking to purchase a black permanent marker that is odorless and that does not bleed through. Do you know of any? I looked in the Office Max catalog and all they had were the fine point ones. [My boss] would like one that has a larger point or chiseled.”

Of course, I Googled it and the links I found on that results list sent me into full-scale art marker lust. I quickly sent my response (“I don’t know of any, but it sounds like one used for art (or one with pigments instead of dye) might be what you are looking for”) and then I ogled the art pens and markers for a bit, all the while thinking back to the words of the radio deejay the morning before when he talked about the “art of buying a pen”. His fellow deejay mocked and laughed, but I nodded in invisible agreement.

Because for my husband, there is definitely an art to buying a pen. The man has serious taste in pens. And in pencils, for that matter (but only when he calls himself “student”).

But for me, bring on a great art store with some fabulous art markers, pencils and pens and I am in Code 3 trouble, particularly when I encounter something called a writer’s pen. Oh! Bring me one in every color please and I would lay them carefully on my bed and roll in them like they were new, crisp Benjamins.

And now you know.

[Title quote is from "Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium"]

"All stories, even the ones we love, must eventually come to an end and when they do, it's only an opportunity for another story to begin."

2011-07-18T19:54:00.002-07:00

I am working on some stuff.

I have been spurred into action
by this splendid little piece of bloggy prose.

It's my favorite today.

Read it.
Seriously.

[Title quote is from "Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium"]

"Say yes to whim! Say yes to chance! Say yes to chaos!"

2011-07-07T11:46:00.001-07:00

The Ottoman Project, Part 2

So, you want to know how to make an ottoman out of a coffee table, do you? I'm about to show you!

I combined three separate tutorials to come up with my own uniquely awesome one!

Step One: Get a cute assistant (i.e. child labor)

Step Two: Measure, mark and drill holes where you want your covered buttons to be.

Step Three:

Make covered buttons from scrap fabric. With a thick fabric like mine, you may need to use a hammer to get your button forms closed. Or you can make your trusty assistant do it.

Step Four: Spray the table with adhesive. Spray the foam pieces with adhesive.

Carefully line each foam piece up with the table, then place the foam on the table, with adhesive sides together.

Step Five:

Cut enough batting to fit over the top of the foam, plus at least three inches.

Remove top of table from legs and wrap the top in batting. Starting at center of one side, begin stapling batting in place pulling batting down, diagonally and back in toward edge. Stop stapling 3 inches from corner. Repeat on opposite side, then move to unstapled sides.

Finish the corners like you're folding a crisp, flat sheet corner, folded and tucked under, pulled taut and stapled securely. Repeat this for each corner.

Step Six: Place your fabric over the table top, centering design if necessary. Staple the same way as the batting and cut off excess fabric as you go.

Work carefully to get corners nice and snug.

Step Seven:

Cut 14-18 inch pieces of upholstery or crochet thread. Loop end through eye of needle and tie off ends with a small washer. Using the drilled holes as a guide, feed the thread up through the bottom of the foam and fabric.

The washers will anchor the thread: Feed the needle through the eye of the button, then back through the foam and hole in the table. Make sure the tuft is as taut as you like, then tie the thread off on the washer.

Step Eight: Put the legs back on the top.

Voila! You now have an ottoman!

(Be on the look out for the octopus version of this tutorial.)

[Title quote is from "Chaos Theory"]

"You've got an overdeveloped sense of vengeance. It's going to get you into trouble someday."

2011-07-07T07:47:00.002-07:00

The Ottoman Project, Part 1

Our years-old (who knows how many??) $12 Goodwill-hunting coffee table was swiftly decommissioned the precise moment our son learned how to crawl. The white sliver of a scar on my lower lip, evidence of a face-first run in with a table in my own toddlerhood, made my mind reel with the potential threats my once-innocuous table now posed.

Relegated to the least used room in the house, that perfectly square, sturdy table with the smallish gash on one corner sat sadly - tipped up on its side with its legs hanging out or, more recently, on all fours being scuffed up as a moving box assembly station.

I don't recall what particular wild hair made me search, but I Googled "how to make an ottoman out of a coffee table". And I kept right on Googling long after I decided it was exactly what my poor thrift-store table needed, trying to get the steps and details just right for what would become the centerpiece of our family room.

I kept my eye on my fabric of choice for two months, trying to justify the cost. The fact that the color scheme in my new family room and kitchen were based off of that fabric ended up being justification enough (but only after a 10% off coupon and free shipping). Because I am a moron, or maybe just a distracted mom, I ordered way too much fabric. I needed 3.5 feet (about 1.25 yards), but I ordered 3.5 yards. So I will have lots of extra for pillows - or maybe even a second ottoman for the living room!

SUPPLIES YOU NEED before getting started:

• cotton batting
• 2 or 3" foam (foam can be well over $30 per yard, so wait until there’s a sale and remember: fabric stores – I’m looking at you JoAnn’s - will not cut it to size for you)
• electric knife (or razor knife and handy dandy husband)
• spray adhesive
• twine or string (I used crochet thread)
• scissors
• LONG needle
• hammer
• staple gun (a staple gun connected to an air compressor works best)
• staples
• flat head screwdriver for staple removal
• button forms for covered buttons (available at fabric stores)
• enough fabric to cover your project

Stay tuned for step-by-step tutorial and photos!

[Title quote is from "The Princess Bride"]

"Light bulb!"

2011-07-05T22:34:00.001-07:00

Even though I still have boxes left unpacked and there is not a single picture hung on my bare walls, I am getting all sorts of crafty up in this new house.

OR not.

But, by request of my child - saying "hot" when I put him in his car seat after the car has been parked anywhere other than our garage - I started looking for a car seat cooler.

I have this thing, which I put on his seat mostly to keep it from fading in the sun when it's not in use rather than to keep it cool. I really liked this one, but availability is sometimes an issue. This one was a runner up, but both those options come at 60 bucks a pop, plus shipping. Not so "cool", in my opinion.

Google once again came to my rescue. When I entered the search string "make your own car seat cooler," I found this tutorial at eighteen25. It wasn't precisely step-by-step, since it was missing the step where you actually sew the pockets on to the front (I did it after sewing the velcro and after sewing the pockets, figuring that was the best approach to avoid the bunching in pockets I have had in other projects).

I went looking in my sewing stash and found everything I needed for the project (I love it when that happens!), so, using what I had on hand, I set out to make one. In so doing, I uttered more curse words than I care to admit - more from my being out of the sewing habit than the fault of the girls at eighteen25, to be sure. But after much trial and error (and error and error and more curse words and lots and lots of wasted thread), what later became known as the Murphy's Law Sewing Saturday yielded a finished product!

I put ice packs from my freezer, with dimensions of about 6.5" high, 3.5" wide, and 1.5" thick, into my new invention and it was a tight squeeze into the two lower/larger pockets. I knew they'd never fit in the smaller top pockets. So, I set out to find a thinner pack. Walmart was a bust. Online wasn't much more helpful, unless I wanted to order for a camping store in the UK (tempting, very tempting).

I have one of three Ameda packs that originally came with my breast pump and that is less than an inch thick. (The other two were the first casualty of our trip last December, setting off a comedy of errors known as Keeping Baby's Milk Cold While Traveling.) I knew these packs would work in my cooler, that I needed to replace those two lost packs, and that these packs work wonders in that Similac bottle holder I got for free at the hospital, thus increasing their usability. BUT eBay was listing them at $4 to $6 each, which is ridiculous.

Ameda Online ended up being the cure to what ailed me, charging only $3 per pack with reasonable shipping fees, and totaling only slightly more than that UK camping store, but you know, it’s American, so why not.

And so, my six new packs arrived in the mail today and I put them in my cooler. Voila! They fit, it works, and everyone is happy! I can’t wait to use it!

For just under $26, we got a very viable solution. Here's the final product:

[Title quote is from "Despicable Me" - which movie, by the way, scares the crap out of my kid]

"No, of course I like you. It's because I like you I don't want to be with you. It's a complicated emotion."

2011-07-02T08:08:00.002-07:00

You know how sometimes
you wanna just get something off your chest?
But you can't
because inevitably someone will read it
assume it's about them (and maybe it is)
and get all hurt
and who wants to air their laundry in the digital arena
anyway?

Instead,
I will tell you about my Friday.

Yesterday was supposed to be a day of fun.
Complete with water play and the whole bit.
I had the whole day off.
Until the power went out Thursday and I had to work half of Friday.

So. . . . I worked my heart out until 1:30 yesterday.
Took a bath.
Took a nap.
Had a late lunch with my home-early husband.
We hung out.
Went grocery shopping.
I made melon berry popsicles in my new Tovolo molds.
Chilled on the couch and ate apples with our muchkin.
We snuggled up as we watched his "moo-ee"
and we all went to bed way too late.

It was great!

I am looking forward to a weekend spent with family and friends.
It's going to be awesome!

(There. Not quite as cathartic as getting a thing or two off your chest,
but I don't feel like pointing that gun at anyone today.)

[Title quote is from "Finding Nemo"]

"We deserve better villains."

2011-06-26T14:50:00.003-07:00

I was picking up C's toys and books when I saw it.

A wave of panic rippled through my body. I stared at that scorpion, my mind racing, and hoping it was fake (thinking "Who would put a fake scorpion by my baby's toys? That's just sick!") even though I knew it wasn't.

I ran to the garage and tried to put on my steadiest voice, and said to M "I need you to come and see this and let me know if it is real or fake," a little shakier and more panicky than I would have liked. And what kind of weird thing is that to say to a man who is on a ladder in your garage, armed with a drill?

It was real. Suddenly, the title of my blog didn't seem so cute. And fake rubber scorpions became the stupidest invention ever.

I still have the task ahead of pulling apart my son's reading area - shaking out the pillows and blankets - and going through his toys and move the couches to determine whether he was a lone ranger or whether he brought some friends for the death party that ensues when M uses the drill bit to impale the critter and otherwise dispose of him as inhumanely as possible.

*shudder*

Suddenly, danger lurked around every corner and nowhere was safe and the potential for harm was overwhelmingly real in a place that usually feels comfortable. And I'm just talking about my family room. In my mind swarmed all sorts of threatening possibilities and scenarios, not the least of which were helped by my husband's suggestion that we should have an EpiPen on hand, just in case of an anaphylactic reaction if our kid were to get stung.

*shudder*

I hate real scorpions!

[Title quote is from "Whip It"]

"Paging Dr. Freud."

2011-06-21T23:12:00.003-07:00

how, precisely, i ended up lost,
i will never quite know.

maybe it was all the moving and unpacking and new housing and whatnot.

maybe it's the summer solstice.

maybe it was a wrong turn on Google, who knows?

however it was, too many times today, Google would stare me in the face
its cursor blinking in the Search box

i would start off "why". . . .

and my brain would fall off the edge of the earth and
forget what on earth i was seeking the answer to.

so, Google, ever-so-helpful,
filled in the most-searched phrases starting with "why".

Why is the sky blue?
Why do we dream?
Why is a raven like a writing desk?
Why is my poop green?
Why do dogs eat poop?
Why do men cheat?
Why am I so tired?
Why are manhole covers round?
Why do cats purr?
Why is the ocean salty?

Very deep, profoundly probing questions about
the nature of office furniture and bodily functions and earthly mysteries

so you can imagine that when i saw this helpful list populate,
there was no remembering my original query!

nope.

i had a whole new list of 10 new inquiries to make my mind spin.

finally, hours and hours and many attempts later
i finally managed to form my question:

"why bathroom non GFCI plugs not working"

and honestly?
i really liked Google's questions better.

because, hey, let's face it.
i would really LOVE to know why i am so tired.

[Title quote is from "Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery"]

"Don't pander to me, kid. One tiny crack in the hull and our blood boils in thirteen seconds. Solar flare might crop up, cook us in our seats."

2011-06-14T06:38:00.003-07:00

I awoke this morning in that swirling place where the fog of fatigue meets the flurry of thought.

I should put that CD player in C's room. Even though he's never in there.
Man alive! What time is it? (6:30 a.m.)
Is C awake? "Good morning baby!"
We really need some darkening shades in here!
Is it really only Tuesday?
What boxes should I unpack today?
Mental list of Stuff To Do Today: water trees at old house, pick up dog food, feed dogs,
pick up tortillas, pick up garage door opener. . . . what else?
Oh yes. Pick up a j-o-b for my husband.

The weather vane of my life has been dialed over to "Chaos" for far too long. And boy am I ready for the winds to die back down . . .

It is far too early for anything other than tornado-ish thought, with the broken up bits and pieces flying and spinning startingly into view (there's a house! there's a cow!), never settling, then moving suddenly, swiftly into an unreachable distance.

And then there's my early riser boy, who is at this very moment, a hurricane all on his own, getting into his dad's nightstand and driving his mother bonkers by grabbing things He's Not Supposed To.

It's going to be a Tuesday. That much is sure.

[Title quote is from "Star Trek"]

"What’s wrong babe? You okay? You sad? Sad monkey?"

2011-05-06T18:55:00.004-07:00

You know what? When I said I wasn't ready for another week, I was right.

I am not here to gloat.

No, really. I would rather not have been in tears by Wednesday, exhausted by Thursday, and in tears again and more exhausted by Friday.

Sometimes you just have weeks like that, you know?

I have to admit that I beat myself up about my weight, about not being able to be home with my baby, about not being able to have more control about when my kid naps and what he eats, about not being healthy enough to do all I do and exercise without having it push me over the edge.

I have to admit I fantasized about running away to some exotic island beach, setting up shack, and living the life of a beach bum. More than once.

I have to admit that I had to remind myself how blessed I really am, despite feeling run down and frustrated and emotional. More than once.

I have to admit that I had to tell myself how ridiculous some of my thoughts and frustrations were, and to realize that not feeling well and being tired are a deadly combination. More than once.

It was just one of those weeks. Ones where TGIF is just not where it's at. No - bring me a nice, leisurely, well-rested Saturday morning to salve my exhausted body, to soothe my tired soul, to heal my gloomy spirit.

I wish I may, I wish I might have the Saturday morning tomorrow that I wish for tonight!

[Title quote is from "The House Bunny"]

"But that's life! I suppose, you - you go along with and suddenly... poof!"

2011-05-01T21:53:00.007-07:00

There's nothing quite like being on the phone for an hour with a Wells Fargo representative (or four) to bring on a self-discovery type epiphany.

What, you've never had that?

Let me tell you how it goes.

You call up WF with the intent to get them to give you a check or a PIN number or something that means you will ultimately be able to withdraw all your retirement money from your 401(k) so that it can be rolled over into the more access-friendly (read: loose) retirement sister, the IRA.

Whereupon, you speak to a well-trained phone sales ninja who convinces you to leave your money with WF and roll it over to one of their IRA products instead, and you imagine that she gets off the phone with you and pumps her arm and says "Yessssssss!"

Meanwhile, you are still on the phone - with an IRA ninja this time - who is seeking to know your approach to investing. Your investing strategy, as it were. You try desperately to sound semi-knowledgeable about such things, possibly failing miserably as soon as the confession "I'm pretty low maintenance" escapes your lips.

But then something happens that slightly amazes and confounds you. As you are trying really hard to listen to the ninja as she kung fus you with rates of return for things called 2030s, 2035s, and 2040s, your mind inevitably wanders off on some meandering path, pondering all possible reasons why on earth this stuff is even important and I wish my baby would wake up already.

And then you are finally (finally!) done. You now have a renewed portfolio and access to your funds so that when that part of your five-year plan called Go Back To School comes around, you'll be ready to go for broke all over again.

Still, your mind is a little weary from that journey. And it decides, right then and there, without your knowledge or prior consent, that "low maintenance" actually describes you quite perfectly. At least in most things that rank less than Most Important.

Low Maintenance.

Who knew that a so-called investment strategy could morph into a life philosophy?

Not I.

But you know what I really thought about over the last few days?

How much I would like to be even lower than low maintenance. Like, perhaps a fly on the glass of the carriage that held Charles and Camilla and the Middletons. (Do you suppose they discussed the weather? Or the commoners who showed up in mass? The stilted, polite conversations of relative strangers about to become in-laws of each others' children?)

Like, perhaps the prairie dog I saw in the middle of the road as I slowed down to allow him to get safely back across the road - even though there was not a Prairie Dog Crossing sign in sight - realizing at that slow speed that the reason he was in the middle of the road was because he was checking on his mangled friend. (Do you suppose he was checking his friend's pulse and pronouncing him dead? Or telling him to hold on and he was going for help? Or calling back to his other prairie dog friend on the side of the road saying "man, we have to move him!"?)

Anyway.

Low maintenance may be my desired M.O. But, here it is the eve of a new week and all I feel like I have done all weekend is work. Even though I know that is not true, it certainly feels like it is. My bones are tired. My mind is becoming more blank by the minute. And I certainly do not feel ready for another week.

[Title quote is from "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince"]

"I am not going to sit on my ass as the events that affect me unfold to determine the course of my life. I'm going to take a stand."

2011-04-26T21:39:00.006-07:00

After giving up television, internet, and cellular for (most of) Lent, I wish I had something profound to tell you about my experience.

I wish I could report that I finished everything on my Lent to-do list.

I wish I could tell you that I was perfect in my practice.

I wish I could report that I exercised more or mended those darned (pun!) clothes.

About all I have to say about that is:
I have proved I cannot be trusted with a computer.

Good things came out of it, sure.

Like, we are no longer a TV watching kind of folk. So our evenings feel greatly uncluttered save for the occasional DVD or a show viewed on Hulu.

Like, I spent more time with my kid and hub and less time with my face buried in a screen.

Like, it was so incredibly nice not to be expected to be tied to my phone. Not being plugged in that way does something for you, you know.

Like, it was amazing to write in C's journal and my journal and really feel like I was getting to the heart of things.

Like, I learned about impulse control and how to ask myself "what is more important right now?" (which I am still trying to get good at, for what it's worth).

Like, I am seriously contemplating going to a scaled back version of internet and cell phone use - as opposed to the digital free for all I've been having these last two days - and maybe instituting Web Wednesdays and Web Weekends? I am thinking this would work well because it'll give me a mid-week checkpoint. Plus my major shows (all 3 of them) are on Tuesday nights, so they'll be Hulu-ed by Wednesday. . . . just sayin'.

I guess what I'm saying is that the experience taught me a lot. But the freedom I have after the fact is really the crux of the matter, isn't it? It's how I behave when I'm the only one who's watching that really matters, que no?

So, I am going to try and remember the good things that I enjoyed while I was (mostly) unplugged and try to do more of them more often and not let the internet boogie man get me again.

[Title quote is from "Ferris Bueller's Day Off"]

"Wait. So I have to learn things about things and stuff? About topics? Can I even do that?"

2011-04-19T07:58:00.001-07:00

As you read in that last post, the first domino is finally teetering and is about to topple over, setting in motion a course that will lead to some really great things for my little family.

When M called and told me the news, my voice suddenly shrunk and uttered a very small and hopeful "Really!?" I walked into the den, trying not to wake a sleeping baby, trying to keep my heart from bursting its way out of my chest, and feeling like I wanted to do the happiest dance ever created by woman (ala Gru after he steals the shrink ray from Vector).

I later wrote in my journal that there are only a handful of times - if even that many - when I have been so happy in my life, when the true desires of my heart were being manifest in my very life. The other two were marrying M and having C.

The next day I stood in my bathroom, talking with God. I was tempted to paint these last 6 years with a very broad brush. In fact, with one wide sweep, I had entirely colored over that block of time by feeling - and saying - that we were finally moving on.

Then I remembered a time when I was 18. I was not yet a latter-day saint, but the missionaries were due to come over within hours and I was suddenly feeling very unsure about all of it. I wanted to hear what they had to say, but I was scared of losing something in the exchange.

I call it the Closed Fist Philosophy. In order to be able to gain something new, eventually that closed fist has to open, which is bound to unsettle - and even lose - some of its contents.

I realized my last six years have never been something to just get over or get past. Nor have they been squandered waiting for something different. I learned long ago to be present in my present and I really try to live by that. These past six years - in this little city, in this house, on this street, in these jobs, in this life - have been some really good years. I've had times of testing, times of trial, times of blessing, times of growth. In short, it marks the time in my life that I finally grew up.

It was in this house that we experienced the freedom and ease of post-graduate life. It was in this house that learned about ourselves free of the mania that is undergraduate education. It was in this house that we walked away from activity in our church for two years. It was in this house that we found our way back. It was in this house that we learned who we are and what we are made of. It was in this house we became a family. It was in this house that I caught the vision of who I want to be as a person, as a mother, as a wife, and as a latter-day saint.

The temptation to brush aside my present or my recent past with a single flick of the wrist is too great sometimes. For, if I am to live wholly in one moment, what am I to do when that moment passes and becomes an entirely new one?

So, as I stood there talking to Heavenly Father about that prayer so long ago, I was telling Him I kind of feel like that now. My fist is tightly closed around my present, and I do not want to let it go entirely without soaking it all up and certainly not without feeling consummately grateful for all of it, for the experience of growing up and finding out who I am, and setting my feet firmly on the path of becoming who I want to be.

I am learning that when we open a closed fist, the treasures that lie within need not slip idly out of our grasp. Instead, we can lay them before us, noting with awe the gleam and glint of each one, remembering its importance and significance in our life and thinking fondly on how it felt to be the recipient of such a gift. And then, we store those trinkets up in our hearts forever, the life-long accumulation of which, I imagine, add up to a wonderfully complete existence.

[Title quote is from "The House Bunny"]

"A Jedi must have the deepest commitment, the most serious mind."

2011-04-18T07:55:00.001-07:00

Following is a guest post by my budding writer of a husband. (Who knew?)

During a recent semi-annual conference for the LDS church, there was a message delivered by one of the speakers about a gardener and a bush that needed trimming. Since I inherited Dad's green thumb, I discovered in recent years that I enjoy gardening. The act of gardening is enjoyable, relaxing and it's good for your health. There is nothing more tasty than a vegetable that is freshly harvested and prepared in a meal. The tastes are delightful.

I enjoyed the story about the gardener because it was a peculiar story about a bush that had been allowed to grow wild without manicure for some time. As any gardener will know, a plant allowed to grow unrestrained will eventually grow wild and in most cases will not bear fruit. In the case of the bush aforementioned, the plant was tall, but uneven in character and size. The gardener took note of this and decided to manicure the bush, and so he began to trim back the plant until when finished the bush was now small in stature, but even in size and character.

The gardener noticed after trimming the plant that the plant began to perspire from the joints that were freshly cut. The gardener imagined for a moment that the plant spoke to him and told him, why did you cut me down, I was beautiful and tall in stature. Now look at me, I am only a small bush. The gardener thought for moment and began to wonder if he should have trimmed the bush as much as he did. Then with full purpose decided that what was done for the plant was in it's best interest, because he knew someday that it would flourish and bear fruit and be beautiful.

Another trait that I collected from my mother are dreams. I at times am the recipient of vivid dreams that sometimes leave me with more questions than answers. Recently, I had a dream about our attorney/real estate agent. In my dream, he called to give Me and Nichole an update about the home that we are trying to purchase in Mesa. Nothing was really unusual about the dream other than the fact that he told me that he had news for us.

Several months prior to this dream I had another dream about a home. When I awoke from the dream, I remember telling Nichole that I thought I saw the home that we were looking for. It wasn't more than a week later that we walked into a home that we were touring and decided to put an offer in on it. We were interested in the home because it felt like a home and it resemble much of the place that I saw in my dream.

A few days ago, we received a call from our attorney/real estate agent. He called me to tell me that he had good news; the bank had accepted our offer and that we could now begin the process of closing on the home of our interest. Now back to the story of the gardener. Since the year 2007, Nichole and I have struggled much like everyone else through the tough economic times, sometimes gainfully employed and other times not.

We would be ungrateful if we didn't express our gratitude for those who offered a hand up in our most difficult times. It was during those times that we volleyed between remembering our purpose in life and just surviving. There were many times that we felt much like the bush mentioned in the story of the gardener, cut down and with no hope of retaining the height or level that we became accustomed to. We have learned much since then and like the plant that was cut back, we have been able to grow together and flourish, and some may even say bear fruit (the birth of our son).

The story of the gardener was a story about a heavenly father, and much like a concerned and caring parent, the gardener was able to see the imperfections of the plant and know what it needed in order to inspire it's true potential. I may be young in comparison, but I am grateful for these insightful moments in my life, I cherish them, because I know that I was born to a family that is special. I know of only one other family that has all brothers like ours. We are of a unique kind and have much to be proud of from both of our familial lines. Where much is given, much is expected.

[Title quote is from "Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back"]

"You don't know what to do. You talk, talk, talk, all the time!"

2011-04-16T08:31:00.003-07:00

Things have gotten. . . oh, what's the word? Weighty? Serious? Somber? Austere? Unfunny?

Mayhaps all of the above.

But, we are not done!

So, to lighten the mood, before we go and get all contemplative on you again, I have decided to share a recent He Said, She Said with you.

She Said (in a particularly giddy mood while sitting in a DQ drive-thru): I am in mini-blizzard Chocolate Cherry Love with you!
He Said (somewhat absent mindedly): I love you too. (pauses for several seconds) I want a new fly rod.
She Said: Wha. . . ? I just told you I was in Chocolate Cherry Love with you, and all you can say is you want a new fly rod? I am so blogging about this!
He Said (clearly backpeddling): No! I said I love you too! I said I love you too!
She Said: Sha!
He Said: I do! I love you! It's just that I also love fly fishing!
She Said (laughing): So you are telling me that fly fishing is your mistress?
He Said (laughing): Yes. And she ain't cheap!
She Said: Duly noted.

Coming up? More He Said, She Said! A guest post from M is next, followed by my version of the story.

[Title quote is from "My Big Fat Greek Wedding"]

"Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

2011-04-09T12:19:00.003-07:00

Just a few days ago marked the 60th day, after 35 years, that my mom has been smoke-free. It is something I have hoped for for years, but wondered if it was ever possible. My mom has so far proved that it is. Which is pretty freakin' awesome in my book.

Then, there's my boss. Recognizing his own tendencies toward addiction, he has not drank coffee or eaten chocolate in over 20 years. Coffee? I get. But every time I have a piece of chocolate, I wonder how on earth he doesn't ever crave it.

But, here's the thing. Once you give something up, once you find other things to take its place, once your brain re-routes the signals and impulses that push toward addictive behavior, the cravings diminish.

At least that's how it happened with me and the internet. I should say it's still happening, because I am definitely a work in progress. I don't really feel the push and pull and tug of impulse driven frenzy toward the internet. In fact, it's nice to sort of live under the radar, checking in every now and then, but not really committing. I have books and people and life to commit to.

And you know what? I have this friend who recently told me how she gave up carbohydrates ala the Metabolism Miracle. It's something that simultaneously intrigues me and seems impossible. It makes me want to hyperventilate to think of it. Still reading that book (and Cook This, Not That) makes me want to do, well, something.

So, I wrote stuff down on a list. Grocery type stuff. And, knowing that sometimes the impossible becomes possible (hello! I have given up TV! And the internet!), I decided to test the waters. I called out to my husband, "I am thinking about giving up carbs for a few weeks to reset my system." To my utter surprise, my cereal-for-breakfast imbibing husband called back, "I am so on board with that!"

"Really!?" I replied, confused and sort of flabbergasted. "Even though it means you have to give up cereal?" "Oh no. I couldn't give up my cereal." Knowing it's the ease of cereal he is scared of parting with, I said "What about hard-boiled eggs?" "They mess with my stomach." "Well, what about whole wheat toast with peanut butter and apples?" "That might work." "It does work," I said, "I tried it yesterday and I was full until lunch."

Now, I know I know that whole wheat toast is technically carbs, but it's a ton better than, say, cookies or cakes or cereal (oh my!).

Anyway, the point is that my mind feels better because it's increasingly less tetchy and skittish and anxious.

I am hoping to do the same for my body, which, after eating almost anything, craves something sweet and carb-loaded.

It feels impossible.

But I've seen enough examples to know that's not true.

[Title quote is from "Star Trek"]

"No, don't stop now. I think my sinuses are clearing."

2011-04-03T22:20:00.005-07:00

So. In a momentary lapse of reason about one Friday ago, I slid and slipped all backwards and checked email and researched a May-ish trip to Frisco and otherwise pilfered my weasly black internet-loving guts out. (Not really.) (But close.)

In my wake of guilt and disappointment, I made up for it by making myself scarce that weekend - hence my not being here.

Then, this week, I went on stay-cation for a couple of days and all Lent-ish bets were off as it were. Well some of them, at least (ahem: screen time). In other words, pretty much the opposite of my normal vacation routine. Not in excess, mind you. Just not within my guidelines.

(OK, okay! Watching re-runs of Glee bordered on excess.) (What? I was bored!)
(Again, I made up for it by making myself scarce on the weekend.) (Also? Conference technically put me over my screen time this weekend - hence the curious lack of links in this post?)

But, here's the thing. We are ready to call DirecTV off the hunt, to cancel our Blockbuster account, and as I type, my kitchen table is laden with church magazines and articles and booklets all ready for us to start making a family manual for Family Home Evening tomorrow. So something must be working with this whole giving-up-technology-for-Lent thing, right?

And here's the other thing. When in family prayer, my husband quotes scripture that "this time is the time to prepare to meet God" and then asks that we will use our time wisely? Well, I know precisely what that means to me: that what I really want in life has very little to do with media or internet.

It's all about impulse control, is what I thought one Tuesday afternoon while driving in my car. Impulse control. Not to go and grab the computer from it's sleeping spot on my loveseat and rouse it impatiently each and every time I get a rush of curiosity and just have to look at something or find out something or see what others think about something. (Except for recipes. Those are just dead helpful sometimes, you know?)

So. Three more weeks of this endeavor. I will be practicing more impulse control. (Which is also the reason we will not be traveling to Frisco in May-ish. Because being an adult means making responsible decisions that involve deciding what you want more.)

And I'll really focusing on that list of allowables I made. (Because re-reading HP6 and HP7 - fantastic by the way! - is all good and fun, but I'm pretty sure there are some more things on that list that I need to start doing.)

[Title quote is from "Lost" (TV)]

"If crew morale is better served by my roaming the halls weeping, I will gladly defer to your medical expertise."

2011-03-19T12:54:00.002-07:00

So.

Giving up technology for Lent? Going well. During the weekdays, I don't really miss it.

Much.

For instance, on Monday, instead of TV going or head buried in a computer screen, M and I compared our Alice Cooper impressions of I'm Eighteen. (Hilarious!)

Tuesday night was quiet too, complete with dinner conversation and general hangings out and HP6 reading.

Wednesday was stomach flu day! (Hooray?) C was our very first participant, and along with throwing up, he also got his very first haircut. And then came Stomach Flu Thursday (also known as my turn) in which some form of technology was my only link to sanity and so the Bug and I mixed up a heretofore elusive Disney/Dreamworks partnership on our DVD player all the livelong day - while he tried to be patient about being stuck inside all day and I tried to peel myself off the couch between trips to the bathroom to take care of his basic needs.

Friday, we enjoyed my first full meal in days, only to have it be trumped by one of my top 5 grossest moments ever in the middle of Sweet Tomatoes. (And no, I'm not divulging any more about it.)

That brings us today. Having forgotten about St. Patrick's Day, I tried to make up for it by eating a small bowl of Lucky Charms for breakfast. My stomach is still carrying a grudge, and is apparently not ready for meals yet, and so, we are (as I type this) missing Amococo with my family. I am camped on the end of the couch closest to the bathroom, a post-fishing M is asleep in the recliner, and the newly-shorn kid is asleep in his crib.

Now, normally, this sickly week would have been spent muchly on the 'net and lost in the grips of the boob tube. Instead, I have read books and otherwise rested. I still think I've slightly exceeded my screentime quota for today (Glee was just begging to be watched!), but at least it's a darn sight better than last weekend.

Do you know what? I don't miss TV. DirecTV can keep it. I don't miss blogging or FB near as much as I thought I would, but sometimes I just kind of want to put something random out there and the limits I've set sort of squelch it much like water to a campfire.

I kind of miss texting. But not much. I've had some lovely phone conversations, one with my mother in law (about what it means to be a tuned in mother) that really made me suspect that I was right about technology having very little to do with who I am - or at least who I am trying to be.

Seacrest out.

[Title quote is from "Star Trek"]

"I am a nice shark, not a mindless eating machine. If I am to change this image, I must first change myself. Fish are friends, not food."

2011-03-13T21:35:00.004-07:00

Yeah, so that whole not carb (or tech) loading on the weekend thing?

Famous Last Words, indeed.

I had my hearty share of both this weekend. Getting sidetracked by all the boredom and quiet, I ate. Getting tempted by newly found digital "freedom", I surfed the net. Craving something unsweet and TV-like, I watched some Arrested Development circa season 2.

The result? Total carb loading and WAY more than 5 total hours.

But also? Some nice moments too. And several reasonable meals negated by mass amounts of ice cream and cake; a nice meal of salmon, rice and salad effectively undone by braided cinnamon pastry.

My goals for next week? Consult the ample "to-do" list for things to do other than eat. Do just as good on the weekends as I do on the weekdays.

And no sugary desserts this week. . . .

[Title quote is from "Finding Nemo"]

"Move over, Rover. This chick is taking over!"

2011-03-12T06:01:00.002-07:00

Man, was this the longest week EVER without the internet, or what?

What's that? It wasn't a week? Just three days, huh? Er . . .

Well, what I really want to talk about is tetherball. Because how many kinds of Awesome was that game when I was in grade school??? About eleventy million kinds, that's how. We - me and the sibs, that is - even made our own makeshift tethers during the summers, that's how.

But then I grew up. And instead of playing tetherball, I became the tetherball, knocked to and fro with every buzz of the cell phone or ding! of e-mail.

But ever since Wednesday, I have been tether-less. Why, just last night I went to Costco and came back home to discover that I had left without my cell phone. Before, I would have discovered its absence from my purse within 2.7 seconds and ran back into the house to get it. But! since the only people I am allowed to speak with were with me, it was left to wither in the dark on the loveseat at home.

Still, as I discovered this week, I do need the cell phone to continue being successful in my stint as Chief Operations Officer of my home. Things like "if you need a $20, you can find it [here]!" and "the real estate agent needs those papers stat" and {other really important communiques made easier by living, breathing technology}.

But also? It seemed to me that I had more time in the evenings. That may just be because I was off from work earlier, so dinner and everything else was earlier. . . I suppose only time will tell.

I did use the internet and computer as needed for business and work, but I had more time on my lunch hours to read HP6 and get really really tired only to have to peel myself off of the recliner and schlump my tired butt back to the office.

I had more time to do What Needs To Be Done, like our LLC filing. I really thought that filing for a new business would be more ceremonious, but seriously folks, believe me when I tell you that you hand them your paperwork and there are no banners or balloons falling from the sky, no flashing camera bulbs or congratulatory handshakes. Just "that'll be $50" and "it'll be 4 to 6 weeks for processing. NEXT!"

But other things that Need to Be Done did not get done. Like folding the laundry, for instance. The clean clothes are mounded in their basket like ice cream in a dish just waiting to be folded up and put away real nice. But, seriously, doing laundry without the benefit of mindless entertainment? That's just mindless. So that'll be a task for this morning, better believe it.

So, to wrap up? I missed TV, cell phones are just plain convenient, but the distraction and time suck that masquerades as the internet (and possibly texting) I can do without.

I promised myself that I would not be carb (tech) loading on the weekends, hence the 2.5 hour limit, but here I am an hour in already. . . . And, done.

[Title quote is from "Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me"]

"I'm pretty sure there's a lot more to life than being really, really, ridiculously good looking. And I plan on finding out what that is."

2011-03-09T06:13:00.003-07:00

It was once a running joke about me and office-hopping. Part of my job at my employer at the time was file cataloguing and retention. And retain I did. When the files were in boxes and the boxes were stacked high, I would take my personal effects and move to the next space. I filled up two (three?) offices in that building and moved three (four?) times.

Much like those mini-offices with papery, hear-through walls, stuffed to the brim with boxes full of the past, my life is feeling crowded. I am having trouble seeing past the Stuff I have filled the boxes of my life with.

Once, while I was serving a mission in Fresno, I met a wealthy family that amazed me for so many reasons – they were down to earth, they had pizza nights for the missionaries, they served their hearts out. They had children ranging in age from 3 to 17 years old and it was a standing rule in the house that there was “No TV during weeknights”. The children were free to pursue other interests, such as practicing their musical instrument of choice, reading, or shooting bb guns at pigeons in their backyard with their dad.

Before I knew it, I was home, married and living the life of a poor (but happy!) college student-slash-newlywed. I mentioned the No TV during weeknights thing to my new husband-slash-study partner, and we tabled that discussion to another time when it really mattered. After all, we didn’t even own a TV in those early days (and almost all our furniture consisted of hand-me-downs). We saved our money and eventually bought a TV and a DVD player. Then, we moved to a bigger apartment and got free cable. Once we were hooked, free cable went away and we missed it, so we started paying for satellite. After that, we bought our first house and eventually had our first kid, which brings us straightway to the present with curbside-service style efficiency.

Let me tell you, being delivered to the doorstep of your own inevitability does something to a person. For me, it makes me realize that if I want my children to love reading, playing outside, and thinking and acting creatively, I really need to be (or become) that kind of person. The thing is I know she is in here somewhere under all this technology and internet and Facebooking and blogging and texting and TiVo-ing.

Suddenly, it matters. Suddenly, I am thinking about the kind of person I want to be, about the kind of mother I want to be. Suddenly, I am finding that TV and the internet have so little to do with who that person is.

And yet, I am an addict. When I get bored, my mind starts twitching and I reach for the mouse and start clicking through images and pages or I reach for the cell phone and start thumbing away like my life depends on it or I reach for the remote and put some inane thing on just for the noise (and yet I HATE commercials with a white-hot passion! they seriously raise my blood pressure).

I am not saying the internet is evil or that TV is evil or that cell phones are evil. There is a subset to these that involves real-life connections with the world at large. But mostly (like 80%) is fluff. And my Life is getting buried underneath it.

Order and Balance must be restored. It is time for some spring cleaning around here!

I am hoping that once the fluff - the highly unnecessary - is removed, the more important things will rise to the surface, like cream, to be scraped off and savored.

[Title quote is from "Zoolander"]

"You're not dying, you just can't think of anything good to do."

2011-03-08T23:12:00.001-07:00

Tomorrow is Day One.

And I am freaking out.

Just a little bit.

(Even though I have prepared something of a manifesto for posting in the morning.)
(And even though I stand by said manifesto. . . .)

Tomorrow is the first day of no TV, no internet, no cell phone.

Oh holy crap!

What have I done?

[Title quote is from "Ferris Bueller's Day Off"]

"Have you ever wondered if there was more to life than being really, really, ridiculously good looking?"

2011-03-07T07:16:00.004-07:00

I've joked. I've resolved. I've even experimented.

But this time, I'm serious.

The first thing you need to know (in case you don't already) is that I am not Catholic. The second thing you need to know is what Lent is all about. The third thing you need to know is why I've chosen to do this.

My reasons are multifaceted.

Did you know, for instance, that "Too much time in front of the boob tube can take a serious toll on your health. In fact, a 2010 study found that people who watched four or more hours a day were 46 percent more likely to die from any cause than people who watched less than two hours a day. Even cutting back a little can help; each additional hour you watch increases your overall risk of dying by 11 percent and dying from heart disease by 18 percent"?

Also? (As if death isn't a good enough reason?) I don't think it's a coincidence that the week I was mulling this over so much my brain resembled a tumbling clothes dryer, I read articles about how TV is bad for you, cell phones are bad for you, and how the recession has brought on a new frugality. Precisely at the same time I contemplating how to free myself from the bonds of my bad technological habits and also to test my mettle to see if the monthly savings are worth the restriction. (Sat TV alone is $65 a month! And cell phones? Fuhgeddaboudit!)

The last thing you need to know is my plan.

During weekdays between Ash Wednesday (March 9) through Good Friday (April 22), I will not:
· Blog or read blogs
· Log in to Facebook
· Log in to my e-mail account
· Perform any Google searches that are not work related; or click on MSN or CNN bookmarks
· Draft blog posts in e-mail format
· Make ANY online purchases
· Use a computer other than for work, home purchase, paying bills, or working with photos
· Read or send any text messages
· Use my cell phone to call anyone other than 911, my husband or my in-laws (while they care for my son)

The things I can use a computer for during weekdays are:
· Paying bills
· Accessing documents saved on my flash drive
· Logging in to M’s e-mail account (for house stuff)
· Using iPhoto and MyBook to access photos
· If it’s not on this list, I won’t do it!

During weekends (Saturday and Sunday) between Ash Wednesday through Easter Sunday (April 24), I will:
· Limit total “screen time” (movie, TV, or computer screens) to 2.5 hours each day, including the list of allowable activities above

The list of alternative activities includes:
· Yoga
· Answer those 20 questions
· Calling people on the phone
· Updating photo albums
· Writing in my journal/C's baby journal
· Reading books
· Cleaning and organizing my house
· Spending time with family
· Mending clothes
· Packing/organizing
· A million other things that are on my “to do” list

[Title quote is from "Zoolander"]

"You hear that Mr. Anderson? That is the sound of inevitability..."

2011-03-02T07:07:00.005-07:00

Let’s go back in time, shall we? January 2007. Four years ago. My world had just been flipped on its head. And then? A thin line of silver in my hair caught my eye. My first gray hair! I gaped as my finger worked to isolate the single gray line from the rest. Even as I took my tweezers and plucked that silvery strand from my mane, my own inevitability began a staring contest with me. It won.

Inevitability always wins.

Just yesterday I spied with my little eye two silver lines in my mane, tucked so deeply into my slicked back ponytail that no amount of tweezering would help without messing it up and making me start all over again and, honestly, who has the time?

{And then there was the day last week when I lost my last baby tooth and had to grow up for real.}

And then, while washing and drying my hands at work, I got to thinking about the female winner of the recent marathon in my city and somehow it stuck in my mind that she is 39. Then out of nowhere, I was broadsided by the fact that I am 34, which, you know, mathematically speaking, is only 5 years away from 39!

Such thoughts can cause a full-scale tailspin, the likes of which are rarely seen around these parts. Symptoms include mild hysteria, panic attacks, and brown-bag breathing, followed by deep deep contemplation about Important Things. {Like how the hand soap I just washed with and was now smelling on my hands – Twisted Peppermint – would likely cause my sister to gag because that’s just what happens ever since they used peppermint flavored whateveritis during her ear tube surgery when she was a kid.}

Oh, yeah, and also things like Inevitability.

And, mayhaps, it shall come to pass that while standing there sniffing your minty-smelling digits, you may just get this swelling in your being and suddenly feel on the verge of Something Very Big.

It happened to me! I felt like Very Big and Important Things are coming my way and I need to be prepared. And then I thought, “Wait! Is this just ‘cause I’m buying a house?” And I answered myself, somewhat exasperatedly, “This is NOT just because you are buying a house!”

I thought back to a recent conversation with M about how our last five-year plan is now expired by a year, give or take, and how we need a new one. We briefly named off the major things we expect to occur in the next five years.

Then we launched into a querying and circular quandary over whether we are possibly the only people we know who actually still make five-year plans? (Perhaps that’s because they have a communist history?) {Five-year plans speak to our order-craving souls in calm and soothing overtones is all I have to say about that.}

And later, whilst en route to pick up my getting-bigger-every-day 15 month old, I listed to Coldplay's A Rush of Blood to the Head (another symptom of aforementioned tailspin?) and turned at least five more shades of contemplative and wondering what, for the love of mustard, does it all really mean?

A few weeks ago (a month ago now?!) I read an article. 20 questions that could change your life. It's really good and I have re-read it several times since. {What I am saying is that you should read it too.} I have gotten to thinking and considering that perhaps the reading of that article circa January 2011 is the origin of all my deepest thinking theresince? And why I am so darkly contemplative that I am hardly recognizable?

For instance, did you know that a week from today is Ash Wednesday?

I did. Because I have something planned that should allow me to spend some quality time with that 20 questions list. And with my new five-year plan. We are going to get all up front and personal over here! We're going to get on a first-name basis and be BFFs and bedfellows and whatnot.

I am so excited, it borders on insanity.

Which, as it turns out, might just be the real inevitability?

[Title quote is from "The Matrix"]

"But he goes in anyway, because he's not afraid of his own mind!"

2011-02-27T09:07:00.002-07:00

You are about to experience a very rare treat indeed! (!!!)

My husband is not a writer. He will tell you so himself.

HOWEVER, when he takes occasion to sit down and write something (usually in e-mail form to his family), I perk up and take note (and ask him to send me a copy).

So, coming to you from my gem of a spouse is his Very First Guest Post EVER! (!!!)

Hi all,

I had the fortune circumstance to visit with a childhood friend of mine recently. Unfortunately I made the visit because there was a death in his family. My friend's father passed after a long struggle with his health. As I visited with him and his family, I recalled many happy and memorable memories that we created together as our friendship developed.

One in particular that I remember distinctly, was when I jumped my homemade bicycle over a ramp like Evil Kenevil. I cleared the jump fine, but soon realized my flight path was one that would clearly lead me to my physical demise. When I landed the bicycle after descending from 10ft in the air, I soon found myself heading directly towards an orange tree that greeted me with open arms. To sum it up for you, I felt pain. It was stories like this and others that helped us all bear the pain of the loss that was felt.

When I entered into the M_ family home, I always felt like I was part of the family. As I recalled this to the mother, I expressed my gratitude to her and her children for always making me feel welcomed in their home. The love that was felt was truly genuine and every bit as real as there is an earth, moon and stars.

Each M_ brother and sister asked me how my family was and how each brother was doing. As I went through the laundry list of my brothers bragging about their accomplishments, one thing stood out in my mind. The M_ family hadn't changed, they still were as genuinely concerned for my family as I am.

[Each of the siblings] all said to say Hi to my brothers and to tell them that they are thinking about them. It was incredible to me to see that the M_ family cared, even under the dim situation that they were dealing with.

Before I left them, I took a few minutes to pay my respects to the father. He looked peaceful and finally at rest. Not far from him, in close proximity to the family were pictures of the M_ family throughout the years. As I looked upon each photo and recalled my friends in their youth, I came across a wooden placard with the words "Families are Forever" engraved upon it.

This simple statement left an impression on me that was profound enough for me to take the time to write to you this evening. I want you to know that I know that this life is a preparation for the next, and that our existence doesn't end when we pass from this earth. I know that I will be reunited with my loved ones that I miss dearly, like my grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. I am grateful for this knowledge and I am most grateful for each and everyone of you. You are all very special to me and I am glad to have you as my family.

I hope that you take the time to reach out to one of your brothers or your parents and tell them how much you love them.

There you have it, people.

{And now you know precisely why it is I perk up and take notice whenever my husband sits down at the keyboard with the intent to craft a letter . . . }

{And also? Now you know why it is that we were invited to give talks in church today on immortality and eternal life. . . .}

[Title quote is from "Failure to Launch"]

"Meat or Potatoes?"

2011-02-24T21:43:00.005-07:00

I could never be a vegetarian.

If I am honest, there are so many times I think about blogging and I go looking and find my mind on holiday.

But mostly, it's a case of having to choose between meat (work, house buying, a monkey-ish one-year old) and potatoes (everything else, like blogging, for instance).

There was this one time that I ate lots and lots of potatoes. There was this one time I also weighed about 40 pounds less, too. But, Times, as they say, er. . . change.

And so meat has been the center-feature of the 2011 menu. And will likely continue to be prominently featured. Because Life, as they say, er . . . happens.

BUT. But! That is not all!

Remember when I thought about this? And remember when I pulled this little stunt? Put them together and you have what I am working on in my head right now. (Ironic, yes, how this post should be about meat, and yet. . . Lent, and everything? That was not intentional.)

I like potatoes as much as the next red-blooded Idahoan (?), but a theme is winding itself through my life as of late and I am finding myself in need of finding the center. Refocusing. Simplifying. And I need a test to see what I am made of.

To separate the meat from the potatoes, as it were.

Stay tuned. . .

{Dang it! Am I the only one who's craving corned beef and cabbage right now???}

[Title quote is from "Sherlock Holmes"]

"Find a happy place! Find a happy place! Find a happy place!"

2011-02-09T21:17:00.004-07:00

There are times in life when you kind of get lost in the day to day to day. Oh, and all the back pain and sick babies and lack of sleeping and just Life, you know?

And then, as it happens, one Sunday night you may be bathing said sickly baby and when you scoop him out of the tub, all his bathtime alphabet letters that you use to spell funny words on the sides of the tub will scurry toward the drain. When you go in to wring out his washcloth, you will see "S-A-P".

Later, after talking with your husband about how it feels like there are obstacles at every possible turn in the road lately, when you are exhausted and pondering over how and why it is that Life seems so particularly challenging, you will see "A-S-K". And in your mind comes a quiet voice reminding you "ask and ye shall receive; knock and it shall be opened unto you".

And so it is that you wind up kneeling on the seat of your recliner, sobbing your poor heart out to your Maker, trying to make sense of it all.

Then, you go to bed and hear the steady breathing of your husband. Steady breathing to match the steadiness of the man. And you will feel grateful. And then, possibly - I am just saying it can happen - the next day you might be thinking about the toys littering the floor and the dishes in the sink and the bottles to be washed and you might query what, exactly, is the number one thing you should be doing right now, and the surprising answer from out of somewhere is "my husband".

But, really it turns out that sickly babies are much like infant ones in that no one in the house sleeps very well. And lack of sleep is how even the steadiest of men get their logic dial all in a knot and start to make sort of stupidly emotional reactionary decisions.

And that, along with a nonsensically painful back (and possibly psycho hormones?) is how you, as that steady man's wife, end up having more sobbing prayers, only this time in the shower and on the porcelain throne in the midst of trying to get ready for work.

You will look in the mirror after all that crying and your bloodshot eyes will shout at you, making you wonder if there is any hope left in the world and whether makeup will even help today.

But the funniest thing about Life is that with enough faith (and texts reassuring your friend - and maybe yourself - that it will be OK, that it won't last forever, that it's nothing a little sleep and family time can't cure), the sun will begin to shine in your heart once again, so that by the end of the day you suddenly realize "wow! the day got better! things are looking up a little bit!"

And then, once again, you will know and understand that sometimes just believing and hoping that better is possible will make it so. And thus it is that faith precedes the miracle.

I am pretty sure we are still meandering through those dark woods, but up above, there is sunlight.

[Title quote is from "Finding Nemo"]

"Mayhaps you desire to - SQUIRREL!"

2011-02-04T20:02:00.003-07:00

So, here's the thing. Life is, by definition, essentially insane for absolutely no good reason lately. Do you ever have one of those Januarys (Januaries?)? Because seriously, 1-11 almost had me calling 9-11.

We started house hunting, found THE house, lost THE house, then picked ourselves up and started all over again.

My baby suddenly got old enough to start climbing on furniture and tall enough to start grabbing things off tables and counters and smart enough to start climbing on furniture and grabbing stuff we pushed out of his reach on tables and counters.

The Cold of Christmas 2010 hung around overlong so much that I now don't know if I have allergies or a wicked stubborn sinus infection.

And then? It's warm like spring then wind-chilly like full-on winter.

My house is a wreck and even though I'm pretty sure I've said that before, it seriously is (see above about baby pulling stuff down off of stuff, press instant replay about a thousand times over).

And then? My dogs bark at the new kids next door at all hours of the day and night so that I am very extremely tempted to accidentally and possibly maliciously leave the gate open one of these days?

When I have suffered a child-induced or barking-caused wakefulness, my mind starts thinking about houses or about taking used school books to sell at Half Price Books or starting to pack up all my stuff or about going through photos and printing them and so I am pretty much sleep-starved and distracted and blah-di-blah-di-blah.

And then? I wrenched my back rolling out the big blue can in high heels, of all the stupid things in the whole wide world.

But, then suddenly February arrived full of hope and promise. First Punxsutawney Phil predicted an early spring, then it was a family sick day spent inside, then it was Wednesday, and then my Earrings of the Month from Darlybird came in the mail (best purchase of the year? I think so!), then we looked at a gazillion more houses (ok! three more, but still. . . ) and even though not a single one stands out, we know we'll find where we are supposed to be.

So, welcome February! (Please be nicer than January?)

[Title quote is from "UP"]

"He's so talented, don't you think? I just love him... he's so sexy..."

2011-01-28T17:42:00.001-07:00

Half my life ago (i.e. circa January 1994), I walked into a high school classroom and soon spied with my little green eye a boy. A black-haired skinny boy. Oh but was he cute! And even this morning, the siren call of a Volkswagen bug’s exhaust in the distance launches a reverie of all the times I heard that skinny, black-haired boy’s bug zooming around the neighborhood, coming my way! Oh but we were so young and carefree and foolish and fun!

Half my life later, even if we aren’t so young or carefree anymore, even if we’re a bit wiser and we fall asleep on the couch by 9:30 on Friday nights. . . . that skinny, black-haired boy is now a slender, black (and silver!) haired man who can still make my heart go pitter patt and is still my bestest friend in the whole world!

[Title quote is from "The Fifth Element"]

"You must unlearn what you have learned."

2011-01-26T17:57:00.004-07:00

Here’s the thing about Wanting Things. Wanting Things can make you do some really crazy things. It can reveal really surly and less pleasant things about your character. If you’re me, it can turn you into the basest of creatures, ready to beg, borrow, pout, plead, barter, convince and otherwise manipulate people. Or you know, in this case, God. And if you’re me, you will tell your husband of this internal struggle with your natural (wo)man, and he’ll say “be careful with that! The Thing you are Wanting may not be the Thing you are supposed to be Getting!” (or some such wise-ish thing.)

And you know, of course, that he is right. And it’s not like you actually resorted to any of those tactics, anyway. But still! That those tactics are just sitting there, little arrows in your quiver! Handy tools in your toolbelt! (If, you know, you suddenly took up archery or carpentry as a profession. . . )

Then, not even 5 minutes pass into oblivion before that same husband resorts to pouting to get what HE wants. . . . AHA! Confirmed! You are not the only one!

Mayhaps it is a human weakness, this urge to convince, to cajole, to coerce? Either way, you read your patriarchal blessing to get yourself on the right track with Wanting Things and you are freshly reminded exactly how it is that where much is given, much is expected.

[Title quote is from "Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back"]

"Would you like the cancer?"

2011-01-24T21:39:00.006-07:00

Some days, I feel exactly like all I do all day long is

jump hurdles.

Really big, harrowing adult kind of hurdles.
Hurdles with the sort of exacting height that makes one stumble and fall a bit.
Only, as it goes with hurdles, falling means some formidable scrapes, bumps, and bruises.

{Or, you know, crying prayers on lunch hours.}
(Which may just be the hormones. . . but who else knows like your Father in Heaven?)

And you will feel Frustrated.
Impatient.
Out of Sorts.
Determined.
Lost.
Like giving up.

But, alas . . .
You cannot.

Because you are an adult.
And, sometimes, being an adult means
standing up and fighting
learning how to be patient
finding ways to keep going
digging for strength
praying for guidance
and getting back up and doing it all over again tomorrow.

Even if you don't want to.

So you look up how to jump hurdles,
in hopes of finding some tips on how to do it better,
and it talks about
conserving speed and energy,
mimicking the opening of a door,
landing with purpose,
and reminds you that
"training and repetition will provide the technique and speed building required to succeed"
(in case you forgot)

And, secretly, we all hope there's a MIGHTY, roaring

YEAH!

at the end of all this.

{And maybe abs like that might be nice, too?}

[Title post is from "Up in the Air"]

"You know, if you can sort of muscle your way past the gag reflex, all kinds of food possibilities open up."

2011-01-17T06:09:00.002-07:00

I have told you about my love affair with sleep, about my loathing of timekeeping devices, and my disdain for awful customer service, parts one and two. It is now time to do what I have promised (threatened?) to do for years. It is time for this story to be told.

M and I once had a long-standing theory about Tucson.

It was simply this: Tucson makes M sick. At least that was usually the final outcome of any trip there to visit his brother.

One time on an overnighter circa 2002, following a particularly rousing round of Mexican Train, he was handed the Blanket of Death to sleep with.

The following day, just as we were arriving home, we got calls from the Oregon Brother saying they were sick on the flight home, necessitating the use of several airsick bags and extra flight attendant patience. One by one they fell. The final fall was my husband's. After a visit to my aunt's and his other brother's, he pulled over by the side of the road and yacked his brains out while I sat in the truck, plugged my ears, sang "lalalalala," and tried my hardest not to think about it. I am still traumatized by it - to the point that when I see a car pulled over on the side of the road, I am convinced it is because someone is getting sick.

That night, when he was puking every half hour and cursing his brother and that blanket and Tucson and anything else he could think of, I was lying on the couch. We had learned enough by then about communicable diseases to know to steer clear of one another when we're sick, a practice we follow to this day.

So, there I was on the couch, and every half hour I was plugging my ears, singing "lalalalala" and praying I didn't get this awful sickness and that it would be eased for him. Then, eventually, I started to think that maybe I would take his sickness from him if I could and he'd be spared the agony. I viewed it as major progress in our marriage that I went from commanding "you had better make it to the bathroom" when he would say his stomach didn't feel good, to actually feeling willing (even if only fleetingly) to take on that awful stomach flu for him so he didn't have to deal with it anymore.

He was sick for two days. I slept on the floor next to his side of our bed the following night, but I never got that sickness. And though I had been (temporarily) willing to stand in his sickly place (I blame my overactive sense of compassion), I was so glad I did not have to make good on that good intention.

My husband? He's susceptible to stomach things and though that was the first time in our married life that he'd had something like that, it has definitely not been the last. Me? I'm like a rat, is what I always say. I do not vomit easily. Or rather, I resist it with all of my might. (Well there were a couple of times while I was pregnant that I wished I could just, you know, get it over with and throw up already.) You have no idea how grateful I am that, so far, our kid has a constitution more like mine that M's.

Vomit is one thing I cannot abide. (I couldn't even look at that link very closely.) I can't talk about it (you have no idea the struggle that has been mine composing this very post), can't think about it, can't hear it. . . and can't even fathom seeing or smelling it. It borders on psychological aversion, to be sure. (Perhaps I am emetophobic? No, really, I think I am.)

I make a mental note of movies with vomit scenes and make it a point to (try and) never watch them again. Here is a partial list of the movies I have trouble watching because of my little (?) problem: Space Cowboys, Stand By Me, The Sandlot, The Wedding Singer, The Replacements, In Her Shoes, Bring It On, The Matrix, The Rock, and Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest (I know! My favoritest trilogy even!). I for one, agree with this guy: this has got to stop.

I don't know where exactly I was going with all of this, only that I had promised for a long while to let you all know exactly how precisely nutso I am about this entire topic.

So, now you know.

[Title quote is from "Ratatouille"]

"I did not achieve this position in life by having some snot-nosed punk leave my cheese out in the wind."

2011-01-06T21:58:00.003-07:00

Oy vey. What a bipolar day. It's good; it's bad; it's not sure!

All I wanted to do was take my kid out for a nice picnic lunch at the park. Is that too much to ask for?

Instead, I get yelled at for driving near some buses after the HS let out!

"Hey! HEY! You can't drive here!"
"I'm sorry I didn't know." (Not a single sign posted.)
"Um, yeah. You driving through those kids? That coulda been . . . that was really unsafe what you did." (Honestly lady!? I was driving like 2 mph and they're HIGH SCHOOLERS for dying out loud, not elementary kids! They saw me coming! They KNOW by now how to avoid getting hit!)
"So, what do I need to do? Stay put and not move until all the buses clear?"
"Yes, which should be in about . . . 4 minutes."
"OK." (Sheeesh. Just trying to take my kid to the local PUBLIC park over there!)
[face burning, I proceed to transmit rapid-fire text messages about the ridiculousness of it all]

Also?

It's always nice to be waiting in traffic trying to get out of a parking lot and there's that one person who doesn't want to obey the "you go, I go" etiquette, believing that if she turns her music up really loudly and carefully avoids making eye contact with me that she can play deaf, dumb AND blind.

So, a single word to sum up my day today?

"B*TCHES!"

[Title quote is from "Ferris Bueller's Day Off"]

"Don’t go accusing me of thinking! I am not doing anything of the sort."

2011-01-05T08:37:00.002-07:00

The thing about January is that despite its chilly pomposity and icy stare, its internal sundial surreptitiously leans ever so subtly and hopefully toward spring.

The thing about Newly Minted Years is that they feel like the warm side of a blanket, wrapping you up in possibility and optimism.

The thing about Resolutions is that their diction is entirely too haughty and vacuous to ever be taken seriously; I much prefer their more down-to-earth cousins: Goals.

The thing about Running is that the morning after is usually awash in confusion and you’re left swimming in elation (of mind), annihilation (of body), and contemplation (in which your mind tries to figure whether your body will look like a stuffed sausage in those size 8 slacks at the back of your closet).

The thing about One Year Olds is they sneakily and craftily lull you into bragging on their excellent sleeping habits to all your mommy friends, listening all the while. . . as silently they hatch a plan to ope their wee brown little eyes nigh unto 3:30 in the morn, sit straight up in bed and peer around in the darkness as if to say “You wanna run that by me again?”

The thing about Life is that in the midst of the chaos of a toyed up living room, a sink that never empties, bills piled up on couch backs, and crazy work schedules that make it all possible, there is a sweetness winding through, a veritable confectionary ribbon, a swirly, caramel river you want to drink from and maybe just float around in for a while.

[Title quote is from "Sweet Home Alabama"]

"Well, ain't this place a geographical oddity. Two weeks from everywhere!"

2011-01-01T22:43:00.004-07:00

You know what?

Sometimes this state I live in really surprises me:

And then?

And then?

Hello 2011! We are SO excited to meet you!

[Title quote is from "O Brother, Where Art Thou?"]

"Remember: They give extra points for alacrity and effulgence."

2010-12-26T21:05:00.002-07:00

Christmas 2010 is over. The telltale aftermath?
My house is a wreck.
I find myself bored with the sudden lack of hubbub.
Relieved it wasn't too stressful.
Realizing that I have a long way to go to earn the title of "good cook".
And that laughing with family is the best medicine.
{Even if I am still (still!) sickly.}
I now fear the worst: that the baby has caught something too.
Let us hope (and pray) not!

I look forward to Christmas's second cousin coming to visit.
Isn't New Year's the best?
But only because it immediately follows Christmas.
I am convinced that otherwise it would lose its luster.

I have big plans for 2011.
It feels momentous, though I have no idea why.
I feel like some order is in order.

Training is supposed to start tomorrow.
I was planning on running inside.
BUT, I foresee hocking and spitting (stupid sickness) and just might have to take things outside.

And there's that whole home office reorg project we've got planned.
And M's new business to start.
And his graduation ceremony.

And who knows what else!

[Title quote is from "Bring It On"]

"Hey... life is pretty stupid; with lots of hubbub to keep you busy, but really not amounting to much."

2010-12-21T07:38:00.003-07:00

Brief history of what I've been up to?
Behold, the short (one-word paragraphical) version:

school
school
SCHOOL
Thanksgiving
final!
hiking
packing
sickness
vacation!
work
Santa!
party
sickness

Next up?

baking, baking,
family, family, family,
day off, day off, day off, day off

It's everything I want for Christmas.

[Title quote is from "L.A. Story"]

"I don't really know what kind of girl I am."

2010-11-29T21:21:00.006-07:00

This morning was just one of those mornings. The kind where I know I am going to be juggling work and personal stuff all morning long. A lot to do at work. A lot to do at home.

Then, as I was tightening the ankle strap of my black heels, my eye caught the black house shoes I'd been wearing all weekend. The irony of that moment did not escape me. I was trading house shoes for heels.

So, I did what any weirdo would do. I looked to see if the blog name was available. It was, so I reserved it. I have no idea what to do with it yet. Perhaps a forum for working moms? I don't know.

In the meantime, my morning became a day and I juggled and balanced throughout. Calls to the pediatrician to get a same day sick appointment? Check. Calls from my boss checking in while working remotely? Check. Calls to the "sitters" to arrange a different pick up time? Check. Calls to friends to arrange a new lunch time? Check.

I arranged to leave work early only to wait in the waiting room of the pediatrician's office entirely overlong with a baby who was uncharacteristically fussy. The problem was solved by taking off his house shoes so he could sock around on the ground for while and bang on some chairs, laughing all the way. Who knew trading house shoes for non-slip socks could make such a difference?

Later, over a late lunch with a newly minted mommy-friend, at Chick-fil-A of all the places in the world (because that's just what happens with two babies and a crazy day multiplied times two frazzled mommies), I caught a glance down at my black heels. So out of place at this chicken joint, with two babies in tow and sitting across the table from my friend's maternity leave casual and next to the Bug's dressed down digs (that's code for the very same clothes he had been wearing when he went to bed the previous evening). We talked about nursing and sitters and working and plans for more babies. All the while I felt overdressed. Overdone. A little peculiar?

Then, later, perched on the lid of the toilet, still in my gray slacks and purple cowl-necked blouse and watching my babe splash in his bath water, I was still overdressed, despite my bare feet. But I did not necessarily feel unbalanced or out of sorts. Not torn between two worlds, just. . . odd.

Only when I had taken off the workplace trappings (and watched a little Cake Boss) did I feel an inkling.

You know what I want to do? I want to bake Christmas cookies. With my husband. On a winter's day when we're both off from work.

Because, overdressed or not, I can do both. And guess what? At the end of the day, I always trade my heels for house shoes, anyway.

So on that note, please, do tell: what are your favorite kinds of Christmas cookies??

[Title quote is from "Juno"]

"You're a combat aviator, start acting like one."

2010-11-23T07:45:00.001-07:00

Occasionally, the icy fingers of Tragedy
extend their boney, grasping reach
far too close to home for comfort

Yet even tragedy serves a purpose

if only to remind us to be more vigilant,
to be more grateful,
to hold our families closer,
to protect our children better,
to nourish fragile bonds,
to try oftener to touch that distant heart,

to monitor and watch more carefully,
and seek eyes and understanding
beyond our mortal ones

to help us try to comprehend more fully
the truer purpose,
the better path,
to establish for ourselves
the good from the evil

to strengthen our desire
to come out on the winning side
or die trying

[Title quote is from "Behind Enemy Lines"]

"Oh, Mother Carey's chickens! What happened?"

2010-11-18T06:54:00.001-07:00

Ahem. Did you know that it has been a while? And, oh, the thoughts! The thoughts I have had! They are gathering in my head, so many that they are starting to trip and stumble over one another. And, so help me, if ever they decide to come to the forefront all at once, my head might just tip forward under the weight of it all, nigh unto neck injury or maybe even breaking off. (Then you could call me Nearly Headless Nic!) (Oh, but don’t you even know how excited I am about Harry Potter on Friday???)

If I could have over the last few weeks (months?), I would have spun tales across this web that would have been. . . well, sort of spectacular is what they would have been!

I would have told you all about the celebration we held in honor of the Bug’s first whole year of life and how M frosted that child’s lovely face in such a way that I could just have eaten it up and loved it more than I love cake!

I would have told you about how watching too much Friends whilst folding laundered clothing has opened up a wormhole in my life and my husband was recently the understudy of one sickly Monica Geller, sans fluffy red robe, and my kid has channeled the camera face of Chandler Bing and how pretty freakin’ hilarious it all is!

I would have told you about the week when I underwent a bodily transformation and shapeshifted myself into a chocolate covered whale, and ate mini cheesecakes, chocolate chip cookies, birthday cake, half gallons of ice cream with chocolate shell coating on top, and Hershey’s kisses with such abandon that I didn’t need the scale’s daily upward inching to tell me that I gained back 5 (five!) hard-won pounds!

I would have told you about the comedy of errors it sometimes is to work for a governmental entity and how I get to watch the circus come to town each and every workday, touting such spectacles as the Festival of Political Posturing! and the Circumvent the Real Issues Jubilee! and my personal favorite, still being featured under the big top, the Exposition of Economic Doom!

I would have told you all of this and everything and so much more! But, alas, my wobbly noggin has been staring headlong at making the Boss’s (er, that would be me) deadline of having All Things Graduate School d-o-n-e and over with by the 30th of November. Nearly all my energy has buckled under that demand, to the hapless privation of this dejected blog and the overcrowding of my batty belfry.

I make no apology, save it be to say I’m sorry I have no stories to tell. (Well, there is this, but it serves mostly as reassurance that I can actually tell my head from my boobs these days, what with all the lopsidedness and whatnot.) Mayhaps you will come back in a month or so and I can sit you on my knee and regale you with tales of traveling over the Pacific with a 13-month old? Or some other anecdote that does not involve my anatomy?

Date? Date!

[Title quote is from "Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest"]

"Oh, aye, Baby: the other, other white meat. Baby: it's what's for dinner."

2010-11-09T07:12:00.001-07:00

Remember this story?

Well, it's been reworked.

Go here for more.

And also?

Happy 1st Birthday to my Bug! You're awesome! I love you. I thank Heaven for you every day.

[Title quote is from "Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery"]

"Time not important. Only life important."

2010-11-03T07:26:00.001-07:00

My sister Trina has always been one of my best girlfriends. She offered to guest post and I'm so glad she did! Here, she talks about what it's been like to raise her second child. I know this is a subject near and dear to her heart. (I remember all the late night conversations. . . ) I also know she amazes me on a regular basis. And I love her.

I am a married mom of two. After the birth of my second child, I became, I guess you could say, branded.

I am now also known as a mom of a special needs child. She is developmentally delayed and was born deaf. In the beginning her prognosis wasn't great and was virtually unknown to doctors. Now, 8 years later she is hearing due to a cochlear hearing aid but still delayed.

In the past few years I have been reconnecting with some family members and friends and kept thinking "Wow, that was fun, why haven't I done this before now?" Lately the answer has become glaringly obvious to me. And maybe to others. I have been living in my own reality I suppose.

As a parent, you see the potential danger of your child about to be hurt in some way and the panic sets in. You feel the warm adrenaline rush through your body and begin to react. For me this was a daily occurrence and most often a minute-to-minute feeling. Everything became a potential danger, including basic movements. She had to have 4 stitches in her lip from a fall while she was crawling. Yes, crawling.

I would show up to family functions or even just a visit to someone and feel overwhelmed. Especially if my daughter was with me. And when I did show up that was about it I was already checked out, looking to see what might happen to her this time. I have had people tell me stories or bring up past conversations and I could vaguely remember what they were talking about. I have even noticed how much I missed of my son's life during these times and that has really affected me.

As she's gotten older, been through therapies, and become more independent I have been able to relax a bit and enjoy the people around me so much more. I just hope they're not still asking themselves "Where the heck has she been all this time?"

[Title quote is from "The Fifth Element"]

"If anything should happen to you I don't know what I'd do. I'd probably move on...but there would be a 10-minute period where I'd be inconsolable."

2010-10-29T10:00:00.001-07:00

I recently called for guest posts. Brittney is a friend whom I have never met in person. Kindred spirits, as they say, can connect electronically. Just so you know.

So, we engaged in a trade. I helped her with this little tale. And she responded in kind:

When Nichole offered a guest post the possible topics spread out before me teasing me with the possibilities. What could I say? What would be funny enough to share on her blog? Suddenly all the options seemed like too much. Suddenly I was overwhelmed with too many ways to go with a guest blog.

So I asked Nichole if she had a topic she wanted thinking maybe she even just had a question about me she would like me to elaborate on.

No suck luck. She told me anything I had been thinking about was fine.

Snap.

I have lots of things I think about. Hence why most of the last several posts I have done on my own blog is just random diarrhea of the mouth. My thoughts are neither organized or coherent. At least with the paid job I have keywords to write off of. It gives direction to my tumbling thoughts.

So in an effort to try and keep it slightly more organized we go with the old standby:

3 Rants And A Rave

Rant: I have a serious problem with all of the gender requirements that are accepted in our culture today. I am so sick of princess crap on little girls I could hurl. My little girl has never seen a princess. She doesn't even know what it is. She plays in the dirt and tackles and drives trucks because she wants to be like her brother. All while wearing a tutu and pink cowboy boots. She is her own girl and I love her. But everyone seems bent on pushing princess stuff on her. Today when I took her to the dentist the tech was going way over the top. She called her princess, offered her princess stickers and asked if she liked Cinderella. Each time I told her she didn't know what she was talking about. We don't own a tv and she has never seen that stuff. So she would try a different character, to which I would answer again, she doesn't know who that is.

Now, to be fair, I realize that she was just trying to make a positive experience out of something that could have been disastrous. I mean, I had a one year old at the dentist for crying out loud. But there is no other way she can approach my little girl than with princess themes? After several attempts she finally just left the room. Scarlett's confused stare was more than she could take and apparently she had no other material. I told her she was a line backer, she could have given her a truck sticker. I saw them on the counter. But she didn't.

It made me wonder what she would have done if my son was there. He is all boy, but you better believe he wears tutus as well. He wants to be like his sister just as much as she wants to be like him. I don't care. I think it is perfectly normal to see both of my kids wearing tutus as they play in the dirt together. Too bad the rest of the world seems to think there is something wrong with this.

Rant: Somehow, somewhere along the road, I got old. I mean, I am not *actually* old physically, but I am old. I am old in the turn the music down, don't drive so fast, show some respect for your elders old. I don't know how this happened. I think I am young. I feel young. I am still reckless and impulsive (in my head if not in real life, dang responsibility) and ready to have a good time. But apparently I missed the fun bus awhile back.

This became blatantly clear when a kid sat in my chair and asked for a Beiber hair cut. Beiber? What is a Beiber?

I had to go home and consult Mr. Google to find out this wasn't a what, but a who.

And then I felt old. Really old. And then I watched a Beiber music video. The cleverly named, Eenie Meenie Moe Lover. I sat there shocked at these little CHILDREN that can't even drive. I was unimpressed.

And again realized I am old.

I can't appreciate music today. Especially when songs include words such as "boobie" (Really Usher? Was that the best you could do?!?)

Rant: By my house we have roundabouts on the freeway exit. Did you know those things are supposed to reduce accidents and injuries?

I beg to differ.

Nobody and I mean NOBODY knows how to use those bad boys. In theory they are great. Those that have any driving skills at all can use them easily and continue on their merry way.

But the general public is roundabout challenged.

It is NEVER appropriate to randomly stop you vehicle on a roundabout. Also, roundabouts have lanes. You can't just go back and forth in it, especially when there are other cars in it. EVER. If you are struggling with the use of a roundabout, there are MANY sites online that teach you proper usage. Please help us all avoid a facepalm moment and potential car wrecks because you are confused by the circle.

Rave: The Hubs has been treating me with a beverage he calls The Hubs Delight. He makes it at QT, (our favorite place in the world) and surprises me with it often. I recently found out that the delight is just a Diet Mountain Dew with cherry flavoring added to it. Otherwise know as a Dew Code Red. I like my delight better. So if you are ever in the need for a tasty refreshment. Hit up the QT and try a Hubs Delight. You won't regret it.

Thanks Brittney! (I'm totally going to have to try The Hubs Delight next time I stop by QT!)

[Title quote is from "Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery"]

"How'd this go all screwy?"

2010-10-27T13:24:00.002-07:00

I woke up this morning feeling the same as any other morning.

Awake before I rightfully should be? Check.

Slight headache? Check.

Baby next to me and hub in the shower? Check and check.

Then M walked out of the bathroom and said “Happy birthday!” “Oh yeah!” I said, “I forgot that was today.”

I spent the rest of my morning philosophizing over what it means to be 34. (I tend to do that as an annual birthday tradition, you know.) Turns out, so far, it’s not muchly different from 33. So, as I went about my morning, several new insights did crop up, and I thought how being 34 might be different after all. Only one day older than yesterday and already I feel wiser!

And what kind of birthday girl would I be if I did not pass these observations on to you? (Warning: nudity ahead.) (Don’t say I didn’t warn you.)

One. Long, hot showers are hands-down the best birthday gift electricity bills can buy. The hotter the better. The longer the bestest. (No. This is not the nudity I warned you about.)

Two. Sometimes “getting things done” is much better than sleeping in. (But only sometimes. Like on mornings when you can’t sleep, for instance.)

Three. Naked Alone Time is the best kind of alone time ever! As a term, NAT comes from Friends (the one where Rachel spends her naked alone time singing “Love to love you baby” into a back scratcher). As a practice, NAT is something I’ve done for years. Sometimes, I even spend naked alone time doing household chores. (Shush!! Do NOT tell my husband! About naked alone time, I mean. On second thought, keep the chore thing to yourself too.)

Four. On that naked note, another great birthday present is staring at my 34 year old self in the mirror and realizing that I’m reasonably happy with the way I look. (This does not stop me, however, from turning to the side, sucking in, and guesstimating approximately what 10 less pounds would look like.) (Hey, gotta have goals, right?)

Five. Full moons make everyone crazy. (No pun intended.) Evidence of the crazy? Today at work someone asked me to schedule a meeting for 2 days ago. And then there’s this. Given the week I’ve had, I’m here to tell you October full moons are the worst. It's like Land of the Weird and Home of the Crazed over here this week! Leave it to a full harvest moon to make everyone so nuts that you start asking yourself whether it’s you who’s crazy and maybe everyone else is sane? You do not want to be holding the short end of that stick is what I say.

Six. Freezing homemade (from scratch!) treats is the only possible way to avoid eating each and every last one of 24 pumpkin cream pies. And if that doesn’t work, there’s always giving them away. And when all else fails? Two words: watery grave.

Seven. This time last year I was roundly, rotundly pregnant, nigh unto bursting with child. This year, I’m not and I just printed photographic evidence that said child is into absolutely Every.thing. (Hooray 34! And also? Almost-1!)

Eight. Scientists have been trying for decades to pinpoint the exact age memory starts to decline. I believe it to be exactly the week before your 34th birthday. It's the only reason I can figure for why I canNOT seem to remember my birthday this year. So far, I have tried to plan my visiting teachers coming, grocery shopping, and schoolwork over my (minimalistic?) birthday celebration.

Nine. I’ve seen the packages come through this week. And I’ve been warned at least once “don’t come out of the kitchen. I have to hide stuff under the bed.” Boy, am I in trouble! (Even if he lets me off the hook by saying “hey! You have a baby!”)

Ten. When your boss gives you a pop-up birthday card, complete with glitter and moving parts, and it makes you grin like an idiot . . . you officially know you’re a huge dork. (Only now, you're a 34 year-old dork.)

There you have it, folks. Riveting stuff. Tune in next year. I hear things go REALLY southward starting then. . .

[Title quote is from "Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest"]

"It's not too late for you to become a person of substance."

2010-10-23T06:18:00.001-07:00

Long ago, in a faraway land called Marriage Before Baby, there was a wifey. Each August and December, Wifey would search hither and yon for gifts for her lover. Then, in the most elaborate schemes she could ponder, she would wrap up those gifts and scheme little schemes. She would give a gift a day each day leading up to the day of his birth, or hide his Christmas gifts and devise elaborate treasure hunts for him, or make nesting gift boxes wrapped inside each other.

And then, before his 34th birthday, she and her lover moved to the land of Marriage with Babies and it was all she could muster to order two items online from her lover’s wish list, both of which, sadly, were on backorder and wouldn’t arrive until two weeks past the day of his birth. On the day her lover began his thirty and fifth year of life, she hired a pageboy to deliver a balloon arrangement to his office. It was delightful and unexpected and he was surprised. Still, when the packages arrived in the mail, she didn’t open them and wrap them up like she would have done before. Instead, she handed them over to him, saying “Here!” and knowing how much he likes to open packages, she hoped it would suffice.

But what she forgot was that October falls after August, leaving her lover the chance to either follow her minimalistic lead or to go all out and gain the advantage. Then cometh the pondering. “Will he cast a long shadow that can only be swept away come next August?” she wondered.

Either way, she comforted herself that December falls after October, so time for redemption is still afoot!

[Title quote is from "Almost Famous"]

"Are you classified as human?" "Negative, I am a meat popsicle."

2010-10-19T17:52:00.005-07:00

Did I forget to mention?

I feel utterly distracted/borderline braindead most of the time? That people will talk to me and I feel like I stare at them blankly until my mind can catch up? And when such an interaction ends before my mind catches up, when it finally gets there, I wonder “what must that person think of me”? And when my kid is in the vicinity and the center of my universe at the moment, the effect is heightened to the point of absolute idiocy?

[Know this: if you have a conversation with me and I stare at you blankly or make some offhanded comment or seem distracted, it’s not because I am not interested or not listening, it’s simply because I have contracted a severely acute case of mommybrain that is unfortunately not likely to go into remission any time soon. Official prognosis: poor.]

And then, there are days like this morning, I couldn't sleep. When you’re me, as I am most days, this is what happens when you have a full bladder and an empty stomach. Then, you shift your legs and body and your bladder shuts up, but hunger won’t quit gnawing your stomach from the inside out. And even though it’s the first night in a while that the baby slept 8 whole hours without waking for a night feeding, your mind wakes from its slumber and starts churning things around in previously empty spaces. (I was wrong when I said I fantasized about 6 solid hours of sleep. At 4:30 in the morning, 6 hours is still not enough!)

And the mind churns up such things as whether “gotten” is even a word? Because I said to M the night before “I should have gotten more cereal at the store, but whatever” and now, all these hours later, my mind wants to check whether I was grammatically correct or not! (For the record, I think it’s a past participle which can only be used with a helping verb string like “could have” or “must have” or “should have”. So maybe I was grammatically correct after all but it’s still just bad English.)

Then, the silliest thoughts form a crazytrain that gains such speeding momentum that I finally leave the warm baby body curled up into my middle and get up, because, might as well try to blog about some of this stupid stuff because I suddenly had a million little things I wanted to put into this blog and so I got out of bed and. . . .

Then? Blank. Complete blank. Total block. What was it I was thinking about, now? Why am I up again?

M laughed when he came out of our room and began the morning rushabout to ready for work and he asked “why aren’t you asleep” and I intoned back, somewhat desperately, “I tried!” He must have seen the pleading frantic look in my eyes, because he looked at me like he really believed me and suggested “you should come home and take a nap!”. (Or maybe he just knows me well enough to know I would never sanely choose to be up at such an hour. Also? See: grouchy.)

When I ask him why –Why?! – of all nights, when the baby sleeps through, why I can’t do the same. . . well, he doesn’t know! And why should he? He got maybe 10 more minutes of sleep than me and perhaps both of our sleep-meters are dipping toward “E”? Or perhaps we both are caught in an “aha” moment where we realize that maybe we should try to go to bed earlier? (Sha right! Like that ever happens! Mostly because I'm juvenile and stubborn like that.)

Later, while standing in my bathroom in a nekkid state of being, I find myself halting between the steps of getting ready, my mind not sure whether I really want to put deodorant on next or whether I should brush my teeth or maybe rub some lotion on my dry skin? So, I stand there with my hand darting this way and that as my mind commands “Deodorant! No! Lotion! No! . . . Um, what are we doing again?”

I settle for trying to sweep the perma-purple out from under my eyes using merely an index finger and liquid makeup. Today, the final effect of such magic tricks is only middling, which gets me thinking how glad I am that today’s a Tuesday instead of a Monday, otherwise I would have had no other option but to crawl back into bed and give my mind strict orders to “spend the remainder of the voyage contemplating all possible meanings of the phrase ‘silent as the grave’.”

Then, standing in my closet, my glance catches some dressy capri work pants all slouched over a step stool, wrinkled and sad. I suddenly feel for them, because before long it will be winter and they will be resigned to their place at the back of the closet and their long-legged cousins will take center stage. It’s not their fault they’re short of stature! It’s not their fault I hate ironing! And so, I grab them up and go turn on the iron – which is, like, a miracle! you don’t even know! – and I search the tag and think how sad it is that I don’t instinctively know how these poor, short pants should be ironed. “Cool iron on reverse” says the tag and as I follow its direction I ponder deeply that perhaps this is the way all pants are destined to be ironed? But, honestly, how am I to know?

And so the day began. As the day wore on, my mental freight train finally came into station for a refuel and my mind was no longer rushing to and fro.

But then, much much later, nigh unto the end of day, I went to check the mail and on the way back, I totally passed my street. Drove right on by it without turning left as I should have.

And the moral to this story is this: Tonight, I will get to bed earlier. And also? Pray that my kid sleeps through for 8 straight hours. And also? Mommybrain is real!

Amen.

[Title quote is from "The Fifth Element"]

" Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

2010-10-16T12:50:00.004-07:00

the time has escaped through my fingers too many times
else i would have had the time to tell you all the things i've been thinking lately

like about birthday wish lists and how i'm so blessed that i have
all i could ever wish for when it really comes down to it
(plus i'm not too terribly materialistic)
(i think)

and about how i get extremely grouchy when my husband wakes me up
from a would-be nap because he missed me whilst getting his hairs cut
and just wanted to say hi and kiss me

and about how insanely busy we've been with school
but how the end is also in sight
and how i have a wickedly incurable case of senioritis right about now

and about how i'll maybe never forget the moment i realized the
transformation of my life is complete:
baby in the backseat and i'm singing children's songs from the CD I keep in my car
(how's that for a life overhaul?)

and about how yesterday we sent the bug away
so we could work on a paper
and how M missed him and was sad
and couldn't wait to go and pick him up

and how excited i am for M to graduate
so we can dig up family time
and being together and doing things
(oh, and my blog)
from the place where we buried them
in the backyard a couple months back

[Title quote is from "Ferris Bueller's Day Off"]

"I want to be your girlfriend more than an electron wants to attach to a proton."

2010-10-07T13:29:00.000-07:00

On a particularly burny outy week in October, when the barometric pressure had my head in a vice and I felt like doing not much more than Zzzzzing all about the house, the following text-ersation occurred with the hub {Warning! Overt sappiness ahead (albeit with comical type overtones)}:

N: I just pictured us on the beach. In HI. In December. And it gave me the motivation I need to keep going. Let’s get ‘er done!!

M: I know, let’s do it. Go team F!

N: Together we can do Anything!

M: I know, it’s cool huh?

N: Yep. It’s practically a superpower!

M: You crack me up. We’re a dynamic threesome with limitless powers.

N: Lol!

M: We’re going to Contention! (repeated movie line at our house)

N: I love that you make me laugh. I think it enhances our superpowers!

M: I love you babe. You complete me.

N: Was that a Jerry Maguire line or were you for serious? Lol!

M: Serious. But if it’s a line from Jerry Maguire, I’ll take it!

N: And that’s why YOU complete ME!

M: When U is coming for lunch?

N: Mayhaps 12:30?

M: I shall futterwacken vigorously!

N: Lol! I’ll hold you to that, you know.

[Title quote is from "The House Bunny"]

"Why am I such a yummy dummy?"

2010-10-05T07:56:00.001-07:00

I very rarely lose my composure at work. But one recent morning, as I was reading over my boss’s mark-ups on a first-draft memo, I fell into a fit of giggles that made him stare at me as if I’d just sprouted a third eyeball in the middle of my forehead.

Trying to compose myself and force down the giggling I said, “Sometimes I wonder what you must think of the work I submit to you.”

Giving me that third-eyeball look, he queried “Why?”

“Because I got a word wrong from your written notes and the sentence read ‘Should we hire someone to immolate [this woman] and her family?’” {more giggling} {concerted effort to stifle giggling} “Do you know what immolate means?”

“Emulate? Sure!”

“No. Immolate. I-m-m-o-l-a-t-e. It means to sacrifice by fire.” {collapse into giggles}

“That would have been funny!”

“No. That would have been bad."

Good thing my boss has a good sense of humor! Even so, I'll be making a practice of looking up any unfamiliar words from now on!

[Title quote is from "The House Bunny"]

"Get on the horn to British Intelligence and let them know about this."

2010-09-30T15:28:00.007-07:00

Recently, I walked away from my Faboo life. (Like that? It’s my new acronym for Facebook – like Taboo with an “F”. Get it?) I needed to a little Friendly clean up, separate the passing acquaintances from all the others. Also, remember that whole tech fast thing? The internet has it’s uses (like searching for convertible carseats and Rasta gear), but can be a huge time suck. I’m still trying to strike a balance.

Apparently, judging from the cobwebs gathering at the corners of my blogs, the Faboo incident happened just after I surrendered my seat at the International House of Google (IHOG. Get it?), stepped out the door and fell into oblivion. Go figure. Let that be a lesson. . .

What have I been doing instead, is what you might be asking?

I keep busy chasing down a suddenly grabby 10-month old and throwing him in the air to keep him from swiping everything in sight or doing tricep curls with him /placing him within teasing range of being able to grab the pictures on the wall or the ugly vertical blinds pretending to cover our windows. The increasing purposeful-ness of that kid is his most amazing trait right now. Why is it some kids get like that right before they start walking? Scary, is what that is, if not frustratingly so.

Add to that the fact that our internet service has gone down twice, complete with two service calls, and culminating in the news that it was bad network card that had several city blocks having the same service interruptions. . . and well, you can see where I started having trouble keeping up.

Then there was the general malaise of the week of September 13th, followed by a quick beach trip-slash-practice flight with a kid, whereupon I learned that traveling with kids is so very different than I ever expected. For instance, I found myself publicly scolding my husband for listening to the TSA who pointed him in a direction that led him to getting separated from me at the scanners, leaving me with the baby and all the baby gear then laughing as he coasted through security and I stood there dealing with the dilemma that is a stroller, a carseat and breastmilk, oh my! I made him pinky swear he won’t do that when we travel by air again in 3 months, and made him repeat the mantra “I will stay with my wife” three times just to make sure we’re on the same travel page.

Since the malaise passed, the trip ended, the internet repairman came over, and we’ve settled back into real life (i.e. walked back into that guilded cage we like to call “graduate school”), I’ve been working on perfecting my chaturanga pose. And other poses, too. I’m such a novice, but I really love the results, so forcing myself to do yoga with a menstrual migraine officially gets an “A” for effort last week.

I’ve also been lamenting the supervisory function part of my job and have thanked the work-from-home stars above that last week was only a 3-dayer in-office for me. More than that may have found me. . . still employed (hello, economy!), but perhaps less contentedly so (that’s me pretending I don’t daydream about being a SAHM at least once a week). This week on the other hand . . .

Next up?

Well, the biggest thing is Fall. Which means? More running. (happy face!) More schoolwork. (sad face!) More hanging out with the hub and the bug. (happy face again!) (See, it all balances out!) Oh, and the Duggars are engaging in mind control, so I’m really contemplating a clean out of my dvds and skimming the praiseworthy from the trash. (Houston, we have a life-theme for fall!)

But, if it weren't for those Duggars, I wouldn't have known how to put an infant seat over an umbrella stroller whilst traveling. See? I learn so much from reality television! (Like how to crack open eggs with a fork - courtesy of Tori Spelling...)

What’s keeping you busy?

[Title quote is from "Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me"]

"Do you not agree with that which I am saying to you now?"

2010-09-29T04:00:00.000-07:00

Have you seen the newest trailer for HP7?

Well HAVE YOU?

'Cause it's freakin' AWESOME.

See for yourself:

I can hardly wait!!!!

[Title quote is from "Up"]

"Don't tell me. The offside rule is when the French mustard has to be between the teriyaki sauce and the sea salt."

2010-09-28T06:59:00.012-07:00

image

For D:

Spinach-egg-muffin sandwiches: A recipe*

5 eggs, beaten
20 spinach leaves, chopped
1/4 med. onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, pressed
1/2 cup pepper jack cheese, grated
6 multigrain english muffins, toasted and buttered
1 avocado, sliced
yield: 6 sandwiches

Mix together eggs, spinach, onion and garlic. Add salt and pepper to taste. If you're like me (don't be), pour the mixture into a hot pan sprayed with olive oil and cook on medium low heat until egg mixture "sets". Or, be not-like-me and pour the mixture into egg forms (fancy!) or a muffin tin (as pictured above) and bake.

Add cheese on top of the egg mixture, let egg mixture cook until it sets, then flip it over (if in skillet - I have no idea what to tell you about egg mixture in the muffin tins).

Cook thoroughly, then assemble eggs on muffins and top with avocado. Eat it up (so good!).

*I made this recipe off-the-cuff (believe it or not coming from the I-must-cook-from-recipes woman) so all amounts are approximate. Like, really approximate. Plus, I only had 5 eggs left in my fridge.

[Title quote is from "Bend It Like Beckham"]

"Nothing - wha - what do you mean nothing good? We've seen everything good. . .We went to a museum, we saw priceless works of art. We ate pancreas!"

2010-09-27T15:29:00.005-07:00

There's something to not only "respecting the nap" but actually taking naps when the baby does.

There's something to not worrying about the heat melting everything - chapstick, food made of chocolate, breast milk, stuff in the trunk, makeup, me, the baby, everything - down to its basest elements.

There's something to not having anything to stress or worry over or think about.

There's something to having your face touched softly by ocean breezes.

There's something to hitting up the farmer's market, picking up some sopresatte, old world Portugese cheese, some green plums and a baguette and eating a homeless-style picnic lunch (sans forks, knives, plates, napkins) by the bay.

There's something to the sun setting over the ocean, leaving a trail across the water that looks like you could just walk right down it and go visit the sun for a while.

There's something to walking away from real life every now and then.

Then again. . .

sometimes it means you have to ignore foreign carpets that turn your baby's feet and knees black, not to mention all the germs (oh the germs!)

sometimes it means forgetting in the span of three short days that you actually have to come back to triple-digit heat that persists with blatant disregard of the fact that the calendar says it's the end of September

sometimes it means you'll be pleased as punch to be home (in the air conditioning) on a Saturday afternoon, making egg and spinach english muffin sandwiches that have been kicked in the pants by some onion, garlic and pepper jack cheese

sometimes it means you daydream about your husband graduating so you can go and do and see whatever, wherever, whenever

[Title quote is from "Ferris Bueller's Day Off"]

"Okay, now everybody grab an exit buddy. Do you have your exit buddy?"

2010-09-25T15:41:00.004-07:00

"Happy Anniversary!" I said into the phone.

"Happy Anniversary. . . " came the hesitant response, followed by "but our anniversary isn't until tomorrow."

"What?"

"Today's only the 22nd."

"Oh crap! Well. . . better early than late!"

And then, the next morning, I found an e-mail in my Inbox from M that said, among other things: "Eleven Years! Wow, it doesn't feel like it sounds, it actually only feels like a couple of years. . . It's pretty awesome to be able to tell people that I have been married to you happily for 11 years. I look forward to eternity with you and our family if its going to continue to be this good."

Later in the day, I sent a text to that man: "I love you more than I can say! I'm so happy to have been your wife these last 11 years, and look forward to at least eleventy one more!"

Happy Anniversary to us!

[Title quote is from "Finding Nemo"]

"Only the meek get pinched. The bold survive."

2010-09-18T04:18:00.001-07:00

Standing at my bathroom sink, thinking about the conversation of the previous evening, I started laughing.

As we do most nights after his bath, the Bug and I were watching his Playing for Change dvd. It captures his attention literally like nothing else and he's pretty much transfixed for the entire length of the dvd. He even claps at the end.

On this particular evening, M joined us in our nightly viewing.

M: I think Tula is pretty!
N: Yeah. But I bet she is wicked short.
M: She's like the epitome of what guys think a woman should look like. Except she needs blonde hair.
N: Yeah, but she's probably really short. Look at her. And she's kind of the only main female on the dvd.
M: Whatever. She's pretty!
N: You're crazy.
M: Well, there's your guy! Noel. With his white teeth!
N: It's just that his teeth are so white! And he has blonde hair.

And here's the comedy of it all that had me chuckling to myself in the bathroom the following morning:

A. I had told M days before about my crush on Noel. NO reaction.
B. M revealed his Tula crush (and how much he likes that name - but perhaps never to use it on a child of his own) and I immediately proceeded to pick his choice apart limb from limb.
C. My husband deftly and smartly sidesteps {ignores} my barbs (because - hello! - I'm pretty short myself and who wants to step into that deathtrap?).
D. Apparently my husband has a "type"?
E. What he doesn't know is I only have a crush on Noel on that particular dvd, not in real life. In much the same way that I really ♥ Legolas and Will Turner, but not so much Orlando Bloom.
F. What I know is that my husband still likes Tula. (The woman, not necessarily the name.)
G. I also know, in the same way he knows to avoid trigger words like "short", that his like will soon fade into the hitheryon never to be heard from again.

And that, folks, is what happens when you've been married for (just about) 11 years!

[Title quote is from "Ferris Bueller's Day Off"]

"Fig, how many times must I tell you? None of us here speak Spanish!"

2010-09-15T06:41:00.002-07:00

¡Voy el vacaciones!
(I am going away for a couple of days.)

Voy a tomar el sol, la playa, el mar, los museos, los parques, la gente, la comida.
(I have big plans.)

Pero primero debemos hacer la tarea.
(But homework has to get done first!)

Tambien estoy sintiendo enfermo.
(And this stupid sore throat better clear up before Saturday!)

¡No puedo esperar para hacer nada!
(To sit with nothing to think about and nowhere to go is something I crave.)

¡Hasta luego!
(Later skater!)

P.S. Have I ever told you how much I love the fact that "vacation" in Spanish sounds plural?
I think they're on to something, I really do.

[Title quote is from "Transformers"]

"The question isn't 'what are we going to do', the question is 'what aren't we going to do'?"

2010-09-13T13:59:00.005-07:00

“I’m here to help you clean,” she said when I opened the door.
“Clean?” I asked, somewhat perplexed.
“Yeah. You know. Or whatever.”
“OK.”
“Mom said you sounded distracted, so I decided to come over to help you.”

I’ve gotten the “distracted” comment a lot lately. I don’t know about that. Here’s what I do know.

The day my sister arrived at my house was a Saturday. We sat and talked for hours, and when I became busy putting a baby down for a nap and readying for a birthday party I never got to attend because the baby napped overlong, my husband sat with her and they talked. Turns out it was exactly the kind of help I needed.

We’ve been supremely busy with homework, but only have 2 assignments to show for it, one of which was not even for a grade. Then he went and read a chapter that wasn't even assigned. My poor husband is burning out! The next few months are going to be wicked-crazy crunch time to get everything done by my November 30 deadline. I’m such a task-master! (No, really, that’s the deadline my husband agreed to when I placed the dangling carrot of a graduation trip to Hawaii in front of him.)

This morning, when I went to brush my teeth, I took a look at the toothbrush on my bathroom counter and was suddenly unsure whether it was mine. I traveled to the other bathroom to make sure. Nope. Definitely mine. “What does this say about my level of distraction?” I wondered. Probably nothing, I decided. It probably speaks more to the health of my teeth than anything else, yes?

M had never seen Ferris Bueller's Day Off, so we watched it. In pieces, of course. I love that movie. But The Princess and the Frog? Ermmm, not so much! It's been sitting at our house for almost a month, and that's a long time to have it build up expectation.

I took the opportunity this weekend past to make my son’s first birthday party invitations. He doesn’t turn 1 for another couple months, but I figured I had to use the time while it was available, because Time doesn’t just show up at my house and ask for some milk and biscuits or come over to sit and talk like my sister does. Maybe Time is over at your house for a visit? I don’t know?

Hrrrmmmmm. Maybe I need to stock up on milk and biscuits to lure the old codger over to our place? Because when I looked in my fridge this morning, it wasn’t pretty. Weeks-old chicken noodle soup stared back at me, among other sad-eyed leftovers. And I, finding myself feeling entirely too lazy this morning, threw out the strawberries because who wants to pick the good from the moldy on a Monday morning? Not me is who.

I start forming a mental post about all this distraction. And then I remember how I have several mental posts about running (the one with the skinnybutt girl trying to outrun me) and mothering (the one about the new and improved birth story, and the other one about mom-to-mom dispatches, and the other other one about how much my kid can do nowadays).

As I scoop wheat germ and flax seed into my granola, I make a list in my head of stuff we need from the grocery store (dish soap, Ester C tablets, diapers, wipes, moisturizer. . . what else? Milk? Biscuits?) Then, I manage to avoid eating even more homemade cinnamon-raisin bread that M made yesterday; instead, I pick up the Bug’s towel and rehang it in the bathroom, start a load of whites to humming in the washer, pick up various discarded clothing off the couches and put it in the designated discard pile in my bedroom, gather paperwork and file it in the tragedy I call an office (which filing consisted entirely of stacking new Stuff on top of piles of old Stuff).

I survey the house and spy with my (baggy) little eye all the other things left undone. Perhaps my sister was right? Maybe I really should clean at some point? But then I decide that it all gives our house the look of having been acutely lived in. I also decide that I kind of like that. Still, I clean up clutter on my bathroom counter and stick the mousse and other stuff I haven’t used in months in the cabinet for good measure.

As I back out of the driveway, I ignore the overgrown bushes and the weeds poking up through the rocks. Instead, I am grateful that M rolled the garbage out for pick up. And that a flag once again adorns our house.

Then, I come here and look at my last post. And the one from before that. And then the dates between all of them. Wow. How’s that for distraction? I don’t see it getting better. But, hey, my life, much like my house, looks acutely lived in. And that’s the important thing.

[Title quote is from "Ferris Bueller's Day Off"]

"And then, this one time, at band camp. . . "

2010-09-07T20:23:00.002-07:00

All my good intentions are dying hard, cruel, awful deaths. ;./'''
And so it is for a September.
[In the ]meantime we a8re e-=njo[ying life and are nursing a sick 6baby back to health.

He helped me TYpe this post.

Can you tell?

Lov"
']

that

kid
S o
OMUCH

GOTTA GOo before he brea
ks the keyboard or the screen. He's a maniac!

{{title q-\\uote i[s f[rom "]

]whate[ver.

Meltdown #312 for today because I'm trying to keep him away from the bright big gl0o\ing =
thing he lovs so much!

"I love Hawaii."

2010-08-27T07:18:00.001-07:00

So... this week LOST memorabilia was auctioned off. I'm still thinking, but wanted to put the question to you: If you could have any LOST item you wanted, what would you choose?

Edit: I've decided it would be pretty cool to have Ben's journal. Or Kate's dress. Or Jack's backpack. Or maybe one of the backgammon sets. Final answer.

[Title quote is from "Forgetting Sarah Marshall"]

"Because it's got this naive idealism thing going on where ours is going to be one of the greatest love stories ever told, and I'm writing it."

2010-08-25T07:04:00.001-07:00

"I love you."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Even with my fatty love handles?"

"Yes. You are not your love handles!"

"Aww. Thanks Babe!"

[Title quote is from "In the Land of Women"]

"Brain? What does he mean by my brain?"

2010-08-23T14:23:00.003-07:00

You know, the friends I can wear my PJs in front of? Well, not so long ago we had them over for dinner. While they were there (and shortly after they left) I reflected on how different life with babies really is (no more late night movies! no more hanging out whenever!) But that is a story for a different day.

On this particular evening, I was picking up the toys the babies had Mine! Mine!-d over (already with the mine-mines?!) when suddenly my childhood flashed before my eyes. THE standing rule when visiting other people’s houses was “help clean up”. When we were little, this consisted of picking up toys. Later, in my teens, it consisted of doing dishes. On this point, Mom was non-negotiable. Perhaps this is why, as I picked up C’s “dudes” and other toys, my mouth tasted sour at the fact that I was cleaning up alone after my PJ-accepting friends had gone.

Fast forward less than a week later: Friday night at my sister’s house. I played games with the fam damily, then my babe put on his crankypants and cut our evening short. In the car after we left, he promptly fell asleep and in the quietude of the front seat my mind was left to wander. Straight back to my sister’s house it went, thinking on the trail of disorder and disarray we had left: stuffed animals on her floor, a crumpled Last Word card, a plastic green cup on the new table next to another stuffed animal – all used in an attempt to distract from and delay the missed-bedtime blues. In my rush to keep my kid happy, get out in one piece, and not leave anything behind, I had totally forgotten the cardinal rule of my youth. Justlikethat. I had bad-feeling double jeopardy – the kind where you feel bad about two related situations all at once. I felt bad about the destruction at my sister’s house, and about having it stick in my craw that my friends didn’t help pick up at my house. I had been on the receiving and the giving end and I now understood both completely.

And here’s the secret I learned from all this: LIFE Happens. As parents of young children, we do our best. Sometimes we score a win and sometimes we stand there staring blankly, there but not really there, our brain having gone off and left us without so much as putting up a Vacancy sign as a warning. All we can do is hope our friends and family “get it” and overlook our momentary lapses in reason/sudden loss of brain function.

(Btw, T, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry about all the stuffed animals. And I really really hope that banging green cup didn’t dent your new table. )

[Title quote is from "Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen"]

"I wouldn't presume to tell you what to do with your past, sir. Just know that there are those of us who care about what you do with your future."

2010-08-16T06:24:00.001-07:00

POST-FAST: On Sunday afternoon, I break my fast. I pull the laptop over my lap and step up to the edge and stick my toe in to test the water. First, I check my e-mail. Mostly junk (plus 230-odd actual junk e-mails), but a few blog comments and FB notifications make me smile. Someone did say that the e-world wasn’t the same without me, after all! Later, I check FB for a few minutes. Still later, I look at my Google reader. It overwhelms me. There’s way too much there and it looks much the way an inbox at work looks upon return from a leave of absence, only slightly more organized.

On Monday, I check FB and e-mail in the morning. And again in the evening. Then, as I help with a school paper (the inevitable fallout of ditching it on Saturday), in a quiet moment while M is thinking, I quickly prune my Google reader. I take out the blogs that take up space. Delete! The ones I don’t read. Delete! The ones that overwhelm me because of the frequency of the posts. Delete! In the late evening, when the house has gone quiet and dark, I read a couple of blogs.

The result of all this? I still don’t know how to strike a balance. It’s something I’m still giving a lot of thought to. It’s something I know I’ve got to get a handle on. I’m considering limiting internet use during my kid’s waking hours to only what is absolutely necessary, and leaving blogging for when he’s asleep. I’m considering other options too, like a daily list or like only checking my e-mails every other day and checking FB only once or twice a week. Already I feel the internet has disrupted the delicate balance I managed to gain without it last week.

What do you think? Are there any guidelines you follow when balancing blogging with family?

[Title quote is from "Batman Begins"]

"You traveled the world... Now you must journey inwards... to what you really fear... "

2010-08-14T06:22:00.002-07:00

DAY SIX: On this day, I write “I miss it less” but I also admit that it’s nice to have a quiet distraction in the evenings, one that won’t wake the baby. I realize that morning internet really is a waste of my time and that it often sets me behind because I lose track of time. I realize I have only updated the baby’s photo album so far this week and that I have two vacation albums that need to be done still. I take stock of what I’ve done with my time all week. I’ve read. And watched a little TV. I try to sit with my yellow notepad and make sense of my lists and thoughts for the week, and I realize that ideas don’t flow easily with a paper and pen. My hand just can’t keep pace with my brain.

At work, I realize how much more productive I have been when I’ve been forced to do the less desirable tasks instead of turning to the internet for distraction and comfort. I come across some statistics from a conference my boss attended. “Just How Big is Social Networking” the slide asks. This is how big, it says: About 175,000 blogs are created every day and there are currently more than 70 million in existence; Facebook has more than 400 million active global users and usage in the U.S. alone spiked 97% in the last year; Twitter had 23 million unique visitors in June 2009 and will have 1 billion users by 2013. It’s staggering to think about. That’s A LOT of people. That’s a lot of TIME.

DAY SEVEN: It’s Saturday. Finding things to do is not a problem. I don’t even think about the computer. I don’t miss it. I don’t long for it. I’m a little panicked about going back to it, if you must know. I play with my baby. I read. I nap. I play with him some more. Then, we go out for lunch. Then, on a whim, we ditch the obligatory Schoolwork Saturday session and go with friends to see Gonzo’s number get retired at Chase Field. It’s a little slice of awesome. I hold my little person in my arms and show him the field and the players and the jumbotron with Gonzo’s face on it.

Later as I reflect on our day, I remember that once upon a time I thought how I would love for my kids to experience the minds of some of the world’s greatest thinkers. I reflect back to something I wrote earlier in the week. “What kind of person do I want to raise? One with his head hidden behind a computer screen? Or one with his nose buried in a book? BE that kind of person!”

. . . to be continued . . .

[Title quote is from "Batman Begins"]

"What do you want of me? Tell me anything. But do what I beg you to do."

2010-08-12T06:20:00.001-07:00

DAY THREE: In the absence of the internet, I found more time to ponder things. I felt a better clarity for what is important. I was reading books again. Real books (and I find it kind of funny that under “Musings” I wrote, “I’m skeptical of people who prefer e-books over real books!”)

By Tuesday, I was still at a loss for being able to sift through the wreckage and identify the good versus the unnecessary, the valuable versus the inane. I was starting to consider that maybe meditation might be good? Maybe it would help me discover my Italian side?

Meanwhile, motives were uncovering themselves in my Reasons category. Sometimes, genuine curiosity kills my proverbial (technological?) cat. But mostly, it’s boredom, or mental fatigue, or habit, or anxiety, or when I’m stuck. But also, sometimes, it’s to feed my ego (what are people saying to me? about me?), or panic that I’m missing a deal, and sometimes, it’s for sheer entertainment. I also realize that I pride myself on using time efficiently, which is why I also tend to catch up on the couple of TV shows I watch while also on the internet. And I text while working, while dining, while in the car. It’s madness. Turns out, it also isn’t that efficient. It’s interruptive is what it is. Besides, what’s the big deal about using time efficiently, anyway? Where’s the rush? Where’s the fire?

DAY FOUR: On Wednesday morning, the reigning thought in my head was “Enough Already!” I was starting to miss People. Friends and family. I was starting to wonder what they have been up to. (It does not escape me what a sad social commentary it is that the internet is how we connect with friends and family these days. I know we’re all busy, but c’mon. Is it so bad to visit face to face once in a while?)

Back on Day Two, I had had what has come to be known as The Cake Day Incident, in which I ate waaaayyyy too much cake and then, in a post-binge/guilt phase, sat down with another yellow notepad and identified my eating and workout goals. By Day Four I was standing face to face with a piece of cake in my breakroom at work and as it stared at me and I stood there staring back, knowing that eating it was strictly verboden, I suddenly thought “What do I want MORE?” (a good question, yes?) I decided that, at that very moment, I wanted lost pounds more than I wanted to eat that stupid chocolate cake with raspberry filling and nice buttercream frosting. Having won the staring contest, I walked triumphantly from the room, and I decided that “What do I want more” was a good question for lots of things, including my tech fast.

So, what do I want more? I think it’s something having to do with wanting less. Less time interruptions, less impulses to grab the laptop in small moments of repose. Less drama. Less worries. And ultimately, that gives me more. More time to sit and ponder. More time to do things I enjoy. More time to pay attention to a little face that seeks it ever more directly. More time for late-night talks with hub (giving him my undivided attention).

Day Five: On Thursday, a funny thought occurred to me. “Well, at least the laptop battery is fully charged (because I’m not constantly running it down).” I’ve also realized I still don’t know how to balance this Whole Thing. By now, I’ve found plenty of good uses for the internet. I’ve wanted to search for books on health, how to buy raw milk at a place called Superstition Dairy, to find a book that was mentioned at church on Sunday, possible reasons my milk production might have suddenly decreased.

So, I start thinking about limits. Parameters. Shall I blog only twice a week? Have designated “computer days”? Log in to FB only once a week? Pick a handful (or two) of blogs and leave the rest? Shall I continue with a daily list of things to look up and do it only once a day?

So, on Thursday I start thinking about “Good, Better, Best.” I start thinking about how my use of the internet is largely impulse driven, that my Need to Know and the ease of access to Information trump my good sense sometimes.

On my lunch hour I travel to the hospital where they laid my baby in my arms for the first time. I’m there to get the written record of the process of his birth. While I’m waiting for the records to be produced, I sit in the café eating a massive sandwich on thick nine grain. I stare out the window and I think about those first hours of motherhood. I think about the meals I ordered to my room. I think about how I was driven to make sensible choices, how I ordered sandwiches on whole wheat, fresh fruit, milk, water. I could have eaten all the greasy, fried, sweetened crap I could have stuffed down my gullet, but I didn’t. I’m thinking about all this when it settles over me like a blanket: “I know how to make good choices.”

. . . to be continued . . .

[Title quote is from "The Godfather"]

"Don't pull those wires out, we're okay. Nothing's gonna happen. Nothing is going to happen!"

2010-08-10T18:16:00.003-07:00

Il dolce far niente. An Italian phrase meaning “the sweetness of doing nothing”. Oh how I wish I could say I learned this high form of art while fasting technologically. But . . . I did not {sad face}.

(I’m not entirely convinced that Americans will ever learn the Importance of Being Idle. Finding Something to Do is in our blood. I’m not bragging. It’s a sickness, really. Besides, I think it’s good to work hard and enjoy the spoils of our work by doing absolutely nothing. I just don’t think I’m one of those people who has this ability. But I’d like to. . . ) (See what happens? Already I digress!)

DAY ONE: The week of the fast started out fine enough. Sunday was D-day – the first day I was internet-less. At first, it was fun. Kind of like a game I was playing with myself. It was liberating. Sort of in the way that a vacation sets you free. Even so, I went to sleep with visions of computer screens dancing in my head. I’m pretty sure I dreamed about the internet that night.

DAY TWO: I got to work on Monday and the impulses started. I wanted to Google. E-mail. Text someone. Look at the poor excuse for news on MSN. Something. Anything. I have never felt more like an addict. I knew I had to identify my triggers. So, I took a yellow notepad and started two columns. The one on the left said “Want to Look Up” and the one on the right said “Did”. Then underneath, I added another column called “Reasons”. I kept this list by me all week and whenever I felt the urge to stop what I was doing and look something up that was not work or school related, I wrote it down under that first column and wrote what I was feeling under Reasons.

Did you know that sometimes I want to look up the stupidest things? Like the French pronunciation of Jeansonne. Like the definition of effusive and what phenylalanine really is. And what a chaturanga yoga pose looks like. I want to find out where I can buy the dryblock sunscreen I bought in some store somewhere years ago that we have not been able to find since (even though we look every time). I want to know whether the cell phone “do not call” list was a scam because I am getting calls from 617 and 342 area codes. (And a little later in the week, I actually cave on this last one and look up the area codes.) (What!? It was an emergency!) (The codes are fakes, btw.)

On another piece of paper, I wrote “Musings” – a record of my thoughts and impressions as I went through the week. I also recorded each day’s summary in my journal. One of my first thoughts was something about how badly I hoped the e-world was missing me. I secretly hoped someone somewhere out there was sending me an e-mail (or a text or a FB message) saying “the e-world is just not the same without you!” (Seriously, how vain is that!?)

Also on that first day, I thought about all the stuff I wrote in my pre-blog days. All those journals. . . And I thought about the notes and calendars and stuff I keep now. And then I thought about what would happen if I had to use pen and paper to record everything for all the rest of my time on earth. Then, I thought “where are they gonna put all that paper when I’m dead”? Then, I thought, “on the other hand, where does all the ‘stuff’ I put on the internet go? Where does that trail end? And who’s to say that someone in some far distant future won’t assume my e-identity and assume all my ‘stuff’ as his or her own and continue where I left off?” My ‘Stuff’ hanging around out there in the internets ad infinitum, with the possibility of being stolen, subsumed, or otherwise perpetuated forever and ever gives me a bit of a panic attack, to tell the truth. Go figure. You’d think the opposite would be true. That I’d be flattered. Or not.

But also, what happens if there is a digital apocalypse? Where does all my stuff go then? And what if I no longer have a digital room to put all my ‘stuff’ in?

. . . to be continued . . .

[Title quote is from "LOST"]

"I confess that I have no desire to confess."

2010-08-05T08:09:00.003-07:00

{also written before my tech fast. . . pulled out some old "drafts" and dusted them off. . .}

I tried not to place this post too close to mother’s day, because, after all, what mom would want to read such things right after you told them what a good job they did? Plus, I know it’ll piss my mom off, or at the very least make her go “whyyoulittle…!”, which one does not want to do on (or before) that most important of mom days. (p.s. Hi mom!)

Even so, here are some True Confessions I never told my mom (or dad) about:

- We used to be on the “free lunch” program in school. In high school, this was not en vogue. That and I wanted more variety. But my dad insisted on me having that little pink card punched each day (even though it was my own money I was spending otherwise). So, I would eat wherever and whatever I wanted and take the card to work with me and date stamp it there. When my dad wanted to see the cards, I was always paranoid that he would see there was a difference in the stamps and call me on it. That’s the kind of fear only a dad can evoke. But, I was never caught and we all lived ignorantly after.

- I have never, in fact, seen the movie Speed. Even though I told my parents that's where I was going one Saturday night when I was 17. Then, later, when we went to the drive-in movies as a family and watched a movie I had already seen, I watched Speed on another screen (without sound, of course) just in case my dad ever suspected me and asked me any questions about it. What was I doing instead of watching the movie, you ask? M and I went parking (you know, parking) up on Hawes north of McDowell, where the road used to turn to dirt and be all dark and overlook the city. True story.

What are some things you did as a teenager that you never told your parent about?

[Title quote is from "Gran Torino"]

"You think there are men in this country who ain't seen your bosoms?"

2010-08-03T07:17:00.001-07:00

{relax! this was written before my tech fast. . . }

Once, during a full moon, I bit my tongue and fidgeted and sighed exasperatedly and pointed annoyed looks at my husband and stirred up the anger in my belly until finally I burst and snapped a snarky/rude comment and ran off to my room and slammed the door. The source of my dramatic discontent? My (poor) friend, unaware of my strict rule about No Talking During Movies, had been talking during the movie. More than once.

I laugh at this now (hope you do too J!), particularly because I’m pretty sure I haven’t watched an uninterrupted movie since C was born. Movies around these parts are now watched either in fits and starts after baby is asleep, or with very divided attention while I ensure baby’s not getting bonked on the head or electrocuted, or I catch a beginning or an end here and there before I have to rush off to wash a baby butt or feed a baby mouth.

While it’s a very sad state of affairs for such a movie lover as me, it makes me feel a little sheepish about taking movie watching so seriously. Did it really matter that much?

(Um, yeah. Kind of.)

I’d give my left arm to watch a movie all the way through. Seriously, I don't understand why on earth we even have a Blockbuster account. What a waste! Books left unread are one thing. But Movies left unwatched? I’m pretty sure that’s considered a criminal act somewhere or other. (But I’m still sorry for throwing such a fit about it.)

(By the way, J, I still think you saw my left boob that one time on vacation when we got pummeled by that wave and my top got pushed down . . . ) (just sayin’) (maybe we are even?)

[Title quote is from "A League of Their Own"]

"We're facing war against a technological civilization far superior to our own!"

2010-07-29T07:47:00.001-07:00

Long time followers of ScoSo know that there are times when it’s really feast or famine around here. And for that, I make no apologies.

But, I do usually feel it necessary to explain an absence. Like the one I’m taking next week. I’ve been contemplating this for a while and I’ve decided to do a “tech fast”. I Googled it and came up about a 40 day evening technology fast, and how the Catholic church called for a tech fast during Lent this year. I like what that first guy has to say about simplifying – something I am always seeking more of – “Simplifying life means removing things so that the things which are “left” are important and worthy of valuation.”

I’m not (necessarily) doing it for religious reasons (though that would be a cool by-product, no?). As you know, I’ve made resolutions and taken breaks and wondered if I’d die without the internet. . . but I’ve never done anything like this. Way back when ScoSo was just a baby, I contemplated something like this, but mostly in jest. Still, we all know a digital vacation does me good every now and then. Besides, the list of “stuff I want to do around here” grows ever longer and the resource of Time becomes increasingly scarce.

And so, here are the “rules” of My Technology Fast:

Between August 1st and August 7th, I will not:
· Blog or read blogs
· Log in to Facebook
· Log in to my e-mail account
· Perform any Google searches that are not school or work related; or click on my MSN or CNN bookmarks
· Draft blog posts in e-mail format (which I usually send to myself and post later)
· Make ANY online purchases
· Touch a computer other than for work purposes, school purposes, paying bills, or working with my photos
· Read or send any texts (eeek!)

The things I can use a computer for are:
· Paying bills online (if necessary)
· Accessing any documents that are saved on my flash drive
· Logging in to M’s school account
· Logging in to M’s e-mail account
· Using iPhoto and MyBook to access photos
· If it’s not on this list, I won’t do it!

The list of alternative activities includes:
· Updating photo albums
· Writing in my journal
· Reading books
· Cleaning my house
· Documenting this journey (using paper and pen – gasp!)
· Staring out the window
· A million other things that are on my “to do” list

When I told my husband about this, he said "can you still call me?" and when I explained it a little bit more he said "do you think you can make it?"

What do you think? Think I can make it?

[Title quote is from "Transformers"]

And I said to her "I know. My lifeline is broken. . . "

2010-07-27T14:16:00.003-07:00

. . . continued from here . . .

Needless to say, the rest of the evening was pretty. . . what’s the word I’m looking for here? Crappy. Even with us stuffing our faces full of hot cookies and molten “frosting”. It was wrong. It was all wrong! (Those recipes really suck!) (Have I ever told you that my most unfavoritist thing in the world is a botched recipe?) (Seriously. I hate when cooking turns bad.) ( I take it really personally.)

Before we knew it, the clock struck 9 and the kibosh was put, the smack was down. Our guests made their (hasty?) exit and we went about doing what needed to be done: pumping, bathing, prepping. All the while, my mind was focused on my silent curse word (and the kicking of the walker out of the way. There goes my Mother of the Year award!).

Along with feeling drained, and frazzled, and headachey, and sore throaty, and wondering how on earth I was going to make it through another (!) week, I suddenly felt lost. Far far away. Sad. Out of control? Stupid?

I reached out for a lifeline.

My hand grabbed the conference version of the Ensign, which has been floating around my house, largely unread, since May.

I read several articles that reminded me who I am and what it is I am doing here. I felt found. Needless to say, I am humbled and committed to being better. I even sent a text to my friends: "Wow! I was in really rare form tonight. I promise I will behave (and hopefully feel) much better next time."

With regard to my faith, C.S. Lewis' words come to mind: "I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen, not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else."

My beliefs are like that. By them, I can see everything else. And slowly, surely, I can see a clearer, more socially adept version of myself. The self I was born to be. And she is not the least bit awkward.

[Title quote is from "Factory Girl"]

"I apologize to you if I don't seem real eager to jump into a forced awkward intimate situation that people like to call dating."

2010-07-26T14:15:00.005-07:00

I may have mentioned before that I can be socially awkward at times. (Maybe not, 'cause I can't find a post to link you to. . .) Anyway, it's true. Get me in a social situation with people I don't know very well and I say some of the stupidest things. (One time, I was talking on the phone and used "yee haw!" as an emphatic expression of excitement. True story.)

But what happened that night eclipsed awkwardness and went the way of a circus act.

I had told the hub “no get togethers” this past weekend. After all, I was still sick and we had a mad stack of schoolwork to tackle. But, as caged animals are wont to do, when we broke free of homework around 7 on Sunday night, he raced headlong toward his newfound freedom, called up his BFF and made some lame excuse about baking cookies and would they come over? Surely, a lapse of reason that can easily be blamed on a growly belly that hadn’t seen a meal since the mac-n-cheese lunch thrown at it hours before? (Still – wanting to dish with a best friend while baking cookies? Man Card = Revoked.)

It was 7:30 when our friends arrived, T minus 45 until I needed to be bathing a baby, and my mind was racing with all the other things that need to be done to prepare for the work week. What I really wanted to do was eat dinner, sit on the couch with M and watch something dumb on TV. In other words, it was way too late for having people over on a Sunday, especially last minute (I don’t do last minute!), but these are friends I can wear my nightgown or pajamas in front of and who really don’t care if my house is a mess or if I’m doing laundry on a Sunday night, so I figured “why not?”. Despite feeling weary and not-quite-myself, I gave an earnest effort to supporting my hubs’ cookie-making endeavors by finding a recipe we had the ingredients for, walking him through the recipe, checking his dough, and trying to make some frosting to complement them.

Then, before I knew it, a three-ring circus erupted inside my kitchen and I was the center ring. My “frosting” needed to set, so just as the cookies came hot out of the oven, I stuck a bowl of frosting in the freezer. The door wouldn’t shut, so I forced it. Then, scared of what I might have just done, I opened it to peek. Yup. Sure enough! There was chocolatey goo dripping all over my freezer! All over my frozen dinners from the pregnant era! All over my frozen milk!!

I looked M square in the face and lip synched the F word. Within viewing distance of our company. Then I kicked the baby’s walker out of my way (with him in it) and reached for a dish rag. Did I mention the prime ingredient of this frosting was sweetened condensed milk? ‘Cause it was. Do you know how hard it is to wipe up sweetened condensed milk that is starting to cool and freeze? Do you now understand (even a little) why I dropped a silent F bomb (which, by the way, is not that cathartic. Like at all.)?

. . . to be continued . . .

[Title quote is from"Wedding Crashers"]

"Uh-oh. Sounds like somebody's got a case of the Mondays."

2010-07-19T14:53:00.001-07:00

Today I am sickly. (Yes again.) (shut up.)

(I am also grouchy.)

Making me ungrouchy? Music Monday!

Here's the stuff that's helping make me ungrouchy:

See? Aren't you also ungrouchy now?

[Title quote is from "Office Space"]

2010-07-16T01:25:00.003-07:00

Those first few chords on the guitar. . .
That intro guitar riff . . .
Then the guitar duet . . .
Those first few words sung in slightly raspy tones . . .

M goes, “So. So you think you can tell. . .”
"We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year . . . " I belt back . . .

We’ve been singing this song for over a week now. . .
We’ve cranked it in its entirety more than once in recent history. . .

I now pass this particular sickness to you . . .

It's fabulous. Enjoy.

Lyrics here.

[Title quote is from " "]

“Wait a minute! Am I being Punk’d? Oh my god! Ashton, you really got me! Ha Ha! Ashton! Ashton?”

2010-07-14T01:32:00.005-07:00

Remember when I wrote about how I don’t volunteer for stress? Remember how I made a no-laptop resolution? Remember just last week when I wrote about not being a good plate spinner? On the very day I wrote the latter post, I signed up for Twitter, something I promised myself a few months back that I would not do.

It’s something I (thought I) definitively decided after reading this post by Sue at Navel Gazing. At the time, just reading about all of that made me break out in a cold sweat and want to go hide in my closet.

And then. . . and then, I just couldn’t sit still and had to interject myself into a Twitter conversation about breastfeeding. Nothing LLL-ish or controversial or too overly interjectory. . . just trying to be helpful. Just offering my two cents. Because I’m a giver. And, also, because I’m all about the information. Either way, I totally drank the Twitter flavored KoolAid. And had buyer’s remorse for my trouble.

The morning after, when I was 6 or so hours more rested than when I clicked “Sign Up”, I started to feel it. Anxiety. With a capital “A”. I felt like I had just been press ganged onto the Twitt-ship. And not only did I have a wicked-bad case of stage fright, but I was balking at the task, wanting to retreat back into my smallish, quiet, untwittered corner of the world, where I relish (nay, bathe in) my anonymity. A world where I am not expected to do too much, except show up around here every once in a while, and where I can take as many breaks as I want before galumphing back on my own timetable. That’s how a blog is, see. But, c’mon. . . Twitter? It’s all “You’re a monkey, Derek! Dance, monkey, dance!!” (shameless movie reference #12,097)

Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for a little attention now and then. I even told Rude Cactus that I’d probably die without the internet, seeing how I’m addicted to Google and e-love in the form of comments and e-mails. (And yes, I said “tweets”, but blast if I wasn’t already having second thoughts about that. . . ) But, I’m also the kind of person who goes on vacation and walks away from GoogleReader, FaceBook, my cell phone, texting, e-mail, the iPod – all of it – without any serious withdrawals. I'm also the kind of person who, when my sis shows me her fancy new phone with all its apps and e-mail access and fancy accessories, eyes it suspiciously while simultaneously backing away slowly and willing my heart rate back down to previously unanxious levels. (tweet: @Information "Chuy, I love you, but I don't love you like that!") (s.m.r. #12,098)

(I'm also the kind of person who prefers to use cash over debit because it makes me feel "off the grid" but then I go and mess it up by using my credit cards routinely.) (don't get me started on conspiracy theories about just how much the government can/might already track every move we make because of the electronic trail we leave 24 hours a day. . . ) (trust me, you don't want to go there.)

I’m considering the possibility that breastfeeding is the source of all my internet troubles. After all, 20-30 minutes of being forced to sit in one place, connected to a pump, only one hand free to do much of anything. . . what else am I supposed to do? (Just so you know: occasionally, I do read a book rather than a blog during these times. Or I update my babe’s photo album or first year calendar. But it’s hard to turn a book with one hand. Ditto for putting photos in photo albums and updating calendars. Just so you know.)

Like any addict who’s toed the line and just stepped over, my new tweeting portal has me more anxiety ridden than ever. Fearing my potential of becoming a tweeting twit – or worse, my potential for being sucked, body and soul, into my computer screen never again to be heard or seen – I’m having second thoughts. Delete-my-account kind of second thoughts. (Me? Yeah. In desperate need of a digital vacation, I am.)

What do you think? Is it possible to form a loving relationship with Twitter?

[Title quote is from "Just Friends"]

"I don't exist."

2010-07-12T01:45:00.000-07:00

What, you ask, have I been up to during my absence? Behold, a series of vignettes. . .

Vignette the first: Crying babies make me cry. Two babies. One cries big, tired crocodile tears. Then mine cries, all low-moaning and despair. The sadness of it all makes me cry. Lesson here? Sometimes, we all just need a good cry.

Vignette the second: Eating dinner at the table as a family makes me feel like a grown up.

Vignette the third: Parenting and habitual drinking (even "only on the weekends") don’t mix. I have really serious problems with people who think it does. So much so that I may be unfriending on FB just to avoid seeing those #$*&^-ing status updates. For serious.

Vignette the fourth: I have a crap ton of bruises for no apparent - or memorable - reason. I have renewed my vitamin consumption, which I'm hoping will also help my summer doldrums/headaches.

Vignette the fifth: Wearing my Moby wrap at the mall makes me feel like a rock star! Everywhere I go it's all "did you see that!?" "Cool!"

Vignette the sixth: I miss my paper journal. It might be time to make a return to the land of thoughts via paper and pen. Which means I may or may not be back here more often.

Vignette the seventh: Any self-esteem issues - mommy or otherwise - have pretty much resolved themselves. As it turns out, I'm pretty great.

Vignette the eighth: Sometimes not being where you’re “supposed to be” is exactly where you’re supposed to be!

Vignette the ninth: M’s father’s day present (he bought himself): $$$$; My mother’s day present (I bought myself): $$$; Knowing he owes me one? Priceless!

Vignette the tenth: Sometimes, during a craptastic week, when both you and your spouse are doing everything you can muster and it's still not enough, you might find yourself lying on a blanket in the middle of your living room floor and saying "Partner, I just need to know that you know and appreciate that sometimes I struggle under the weight of all this and that it's not easy." And he'll say "I know. I appreciate." And you will say "Thank you. That's all I need."

[Title quote is from "Spanglish"]

Oh, wedding in Hawaii! Real original!

2010-07-09T06:44:00.001-07:00

In Hawaii, Aloha Friday is a day to take it easy and look forward to the weekend. On Fridays I will be taking it easy on posting. I’ll ask a simple question for you to answer.

Today's question is:

Which movie(s) do you like even though you probably shouldn't?

(Mine's Wedding Crashers. I'm so going to hell over it. . . )

{Aloha Friday is courtesy of Kailani over at An Island Life. Go ahead. Click on over.}

[Title quote is from "Forgetting Sarah Marshall"]

“I make too much of this, right?”

2010-07-08T13:38:00.003-07:00

It’s a little hard to explain. See, I’ve never had the stamina for spinning plates. When life gets feeling messy, like chaos personified, like one of my plates might drop, I pull back and things get left lying. This time it was my blog. Looking back over this break, I realized a couple of things.

It really sucks to not feel like writing. To feel like life is beating you up in your sleep or, at the very least, beating every creative thought out of your head with a not-so-soft pillow.

Then again, it’s kind of nice to take a mental break and enjoy a dry season every once in a while. I’ll never be one of those bloggers who posts daily or keeps any sort of regular schedule. I’m not like that in real life, so why keep up appearances here? Plus, for me, daily posts just feel cluttered. Is that weird?

I’m still a little shocked at the good days/bad days war that’s been waged since I assumed the Mother throne. It pretty much gives me a paining sort of whiplash when I feel balanced and zen one day and like I’m going to need all the king’s horses/men to put me back together the next. It ebbs and flows, this life.

That said, there are more good days than bad, and I’m feeling more centered and like I’m on the way to a return to myself. What I really mean is my problems haven’t been anything the perspective of time, a decent night’s sleep, and a closet full of new clothes couldn’t cure. Still, it is a little unsettling how long it has taken me to get to this place, even when I know I have a little further to go. To be fair, I’ve been kind of patient and just went with it, for the most part. But why for the love of chocolate don’t more new mothers talk about this? Or maybe they do and I must pay better attention? Or maybe it really is just me?

However it is, while I was away, I managed to not start a running regimen, to finally print a couple of blog books, to chop off my hair, to spend glorious snippets of time with the boy-babe, and yesterday, if you had come to my house around the hour of 19:00, you would have spied me in a long flowy skirt with a ruffley apron over it, cooking dinner and making baby food. I’m such a grown up! Or, alternatively, as I told M, “I am so the mom right now!”

And so it is.

[Title quote is from "Spanglish"]

"Look, I don't mean to be rude but this is not as easy as it looks, so I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't distract me."

2010-06-26T23:28:00.003-07:00

A while ago, I wrote about mommy blogs I ♥ a lot.

And that's when I discovered that 100% of the blogs I read are written by women.

I decided I'd branch out.

So as not to leave the other sex out
and perhaps provide you some reading material during my blogatus
(blog + hiatus = blogatus)
(blog-ATE-us. . . get it?)
(whatever.)

I now bring you:

~A Guy Blog I Think Is Funny~

I came across Rude Cactus
and, among other things, I thoroughly enjoy his Haiku Mondays.
You should be warned he favors the "F" word, curses a bit,
and uses correct anatomical terms,
hence Vaginas Always Win and Yay Penis.

Also, he sometimes writes about serious stuff,
like the death penalty, the BP oil spill, and doing the right thing.
And he asks his readers questions and, really, who doesn't like to be asked about stuff?
But at the heart of it, he's a lover of books, music, his wife and 2 kids.

p.s. still don't know when i'll be back. . .
i'm in a bit of a dry spell
blame it on the heat, if you will. . .
or don't.
your call.

[Title quote is from "The Princess Bride"]

"What happened to Hawaii?"

2010-06-25T06:36:00.003-07:00

Today's Aloha Friday question:

Do you tip the carhops at Sonic?
('cause I never have and I totally wonder if I should)

[Title quote is from "RV"]

"Come on, Hawaii's a winter destination. It's summer!"

2010-06-18T07:35:00.002-07:00

You know the drill.

It's official. It's an Arizona summer!

Today's question:

Would you rather sit for 12 hours straight at the play center in the mall
OR sit for 3 hours straight in an unconditioned car with the windows rolled up?

[Title quote is from "RV"]

"That's good, 'cause you're gonna miss me, boy."

2010-06-16T18:20:00.003-07:00

On days like today every decision feels mountainous. Getting out of bed is a chore (oh, my exhausted body and catching neck!) Just yesterday I was all set to get to start getting bed earlier, getting up earlier, pumping earlier, then go running! Today I was almost ready to crawl around on the floor (if only my neck weren’t so catchy!). My head (and neck!) hurt so badly that I contemplated not showering. I felt like Jane in Friends with Money when she stops washing her hair because, really, what’s the point: it’s just going to get dirty again and she’s going to have to wash it all over tomorrow. (Then I remembered her husband yelling something about “That’s what civilized people do! They wash their hair!” and I got in the shower.)

I stayed up way too late last night. Very much my own fault. (Don’t you hate it when you awaken crappily and it is entirely of your own doing? Ew. That’s the worst!) (for what it’s worth, I still think my pillow beats me in my sleep.) The result is that I feel like a truck hit me. I even told M so when first I spoke to him this morning. “I feel like a truck hit me!” said I. “Well, you don’t look like it! You look cute!” said he. I was too flattened by a proverbial truck to really appreciate that compliment.

So, as I stood under the (hot!) water, still only partially committed to actually showering, applying makeup, and getting dressed for the day, my stiff neck aching, and the clock proclaiming my increasing lateness to work, I made a resolution. No more laptop in the evenings. Period. No more! Books? Fabulous! TV? Acceptable. But no more working on the laptop trying to catch up on blogs, FB, etc!

(Last night, for the first time, I understood all you silly FarmVille addicts. I was fiendishly trying to update my “Where Have I Been” map under my new FB “Travel” tab, trying to amass the cities I’ve been too and it was the utter definition of insanity.) (Btw, I’ve apparently traveled 2% of the world.) (How cool would it be to travel, say, 60% of the world before leaving it forever?) (Pretty freakin’ cool, that’s how.) (Even now I’m sitting here thinking of cities I need to add to my list.) (Addict!) (Hence, my new “no laptop” resolution.)

Another showerly resolution? Running. It has taken me almost a full 7 months to feel like I’m not falling over with fatigue (this morning excepted), and it’s high time I get my rear in gear – at least on 3 mornings each week. Given that the calendar has ticked over into June, and the summer is sure to be scorching, and I have already done the summer running thing once before and I know just how brutal that morning summer sun can be, even in the wee daybreak hours. . . I looked up the weather. (Did you know you could look it up an hourly forecast?) The way I figure it, thanks to AccuWeather.com, it will be between 75-80 degrees at 6:30 in the morning. Perfect running weather! (Well, at least for summer in AZ!) And so, tomorrow, I will (finally!) begin.

The moral of this tale is that neither you or I will lament nor marvel at my anticipated scarcity around these parts. I, for my part, will be running and getting some much needed perspective on things. You, for your part, will be impressed that I am finally keeping my word (and my goal) – because that’s what you ScoSo readers do, you digital cheerleaders, you. And it will be a mutual missing, to be sure. But we will survive!

[Title quote is from "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof"]

"If you had an ounce of self-esteem, of self-worth, of self-confidence, you would realize that as trite as it may sound, beauty is truly skin-deep."

2010-06-15T19:27:00.002-07:00

So, recently, I read this humorous article about loving your postpartum, 40-something body even in the face of competition of the Miss America kind.

It all comes down to self-esteem, or so says the author. Ugh, I can't even find the link now, but it was a funny take on some of the feelings I've been feeling lately.

Back in high school, I decided that if I was going to compare myself to others, I was always going to be on the losing side because someone will always have something more, better, prettier than me. It’s been pretty easy to remind myself of that any time mental comparisons have cropped up. I’m pretty good about being centered in my own reality because, hey, why not? It’s not so bad being me. . . Until I became a mom. Then a whole new realm opened up to me, one replete with peers to endlessly compare myself to. I’ve been struggling with the math, keeping mental score with myself and seeing how I add up. Needless to say, it’s always a losing battle when I’ve pitted myself against skinnier, younger, seemingly more put-together others.

SO. It got me to thinking about an essay I read back when I was a junior (senior?) in high school. It was poignant enough a moment for me that I remember it to this day. First, it's a fabulous display of writing genius. Second, it's all about self respect, and what high school junior (senior?) do you know that isn't learning how to respect his or her self?

So, without further ado, I present to you, in its full glory, Joan Didion's On Self Respect:

Once, in a dry season, I wrote in large letters across two pages of a notebook that innocence ends when one is stripped of the delusion that one likes oneself. Although now, some years later, I marvel that a mind on the outs with itself should have nonetheless made painstaking record of its every tremor, I recall with embarrassing clarity the flavor of those particular ashes. It was a matter of misplaced self-respect. I had not been elected to Phi Beta Kappa. This failure could scarcely have been more predictable or less ambiguous (I simply did not have the grades), but I was unnerved by it; I had somehow thought myself a kind of academic Raskolnikov, curiously exempt from the cause-effect relationships which hampered others.

Although even the humorless nineteen-year-old that I was must have recognized that the situation lacked real tragic stature, the day that I did to make Phi Beta Kappa nonetheless marked the end of something, and innocence may well be the word for it. I lost the conviction that lights would always turn green for me, the pleasant certainty that those rather passive virtues which had won me approval as a child automatically guaranteed me not only Phi Beta Kappa keys but happiness, honor, and the love of a good man; lost a certain touching faith in the totem power of good manners, clean hair, and proved competence on the Stanford-Binet scale. To such doubtful amulets had my self-respect been pinned, and I faced myself that day with the nonplussed apprehension of someone who has come across a vampire and has no crucifix at hand. Although to be driven back upon oneself is an uneasy affair at best, rather like trying to cross a border with borrowed credentials, it seems to me now the one condition necessary to the beginnings of real self-respect.

Most of our platitudes notwithstanding, self-deception remains the most difficult deception. The tricks that work on others count for nothing in that well-lit back alley where one keeps assignations with oneself; no winning smiles will do here, no prettily drawn lists of good intentions. One shuffles flashily but in vain through ones’ marked cards the kindness done for the wrong reason, the apparent triumph which involved no real effort, the seemingly heroic act into which one had been shamed. The dismal fact is that self-respect has nothing to do with the approval of others – who are, after all, deceived easily enough; has nothing to do with reputation, which, as Rhett Butler told Scarlett O’Hara, is something people with courage can do without.

To do without self-respect, on the other hand, is to be an unwilling audience of one to an interminable documentary that deals one’s failings, both real and imagined, with fresh footage spliced in for every screening. There’s the glass you broke in anger, there’s the hurt on X’s face; watch now, this next scene, the night Y came back from Houston, see how you muff this one. To live without self-respect is to lie awake some night, beyond the reach of warm milk, the Phenobarbital, and the sleeping hand on the coverlet, counting up the sins of commissions and omission, the trusts betrayed, the promises subtly broken, the gifts irrevocably wasted through sloth or cowardice, or carelessness. However long we postpone it, we eventually lie down alone in that notoriously uncomfortable bed, the one we make ourselves. Whether or not we sleep in it depends, of course, on whether or not we respect ourselves. To protest that some fairly improbable people, some people who could not possibly respect themselves, seem to sleep easily enough is to miss the point entirely, as surely as those people miss it who think that self-respect has necessarily to do with not having safety pins in one’s underwear.

There is a common superstition that “self-respect” is a kind of charm against snakes, something that keeps those who have it locked in some unblighted Eden, out of strange beds, ambivalent conversations, and trouble in general. It does not at all. It has nothing to do with the face of things, but concerns instead a separate peace, a private reconciliation. . . . In brief, people with self-respect exhibit a certain toughness, a kind of mortal nerve; they display what was once called character, a quality which, although approved in the abstract, sometimes loses ground to other, more instantly negotiable virtues. The measure of its slipping prestige is that one tends to think of it only in connection with homely children and United States senators who have been defeated, preferably in the primary, for reelection.

Nonetheless, character – the willingness to accept responsibility for one’s own life – is the source from which self-respect springs. Self-respect is something that our grandparents, whether or not they had it, knew all about. They had instilled in them young, a certain discipline, the sense that one lives by doing things one does not particularly want to do, by putting fears and doubts to one side, by weighing immediate comforts against the possibility of larger, even intangible, comforts. . . .

Again, it is a question of recognizing that anything worth having has its price. People who respect themselves are willing to accept the risk that the [others] will be hostile, that the venture will go bankrupt, that the liaison may not turn out to be one in which every day is a holiday because you’re married to me. They are willing to invest something of themselves; they may not play at all, but when they do play, they know the odds. That kind of self-respect is a discipline, a habit of mind that can never be faked but can be developed, trained, coaxed forth.
It was once suggested to me that, as an antidote to crying, I put my head in a paper bag. As it happens, there is a sound physiological reason, something to do with oxygen, for doing exactly that, but the psychological effect alone is incalculable: it is difficult in the extreme to continue fancying oneself Cathy in Wuthering Heights with ones head in a Food Fair bag. There is a similar case for all the small disciplines, unimportant in themselves; imagine maintaining any kind of swoon, commiserative or carnal, in a cold shower.

But those small disciplines are valuable only insofar as they represent larger ones. To say that Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton is not to say that Napoleon might have been saved by a crash program in cricket; to give formal dinners in the rain forest would be pointless did not the candlelight flickering on the liana call forth deeper, stronger disciplines, values instilled long before. It is a kind of ritual, helping us to remember who and what we are. In order to remember it, one must have known it. To have that sense of one’s intrinsic worth which constitutes self-respect is potentially to have everything: the ability to discriminate, to love and to remain indifferent. To lack it is to be locked within oneself, paradoxically incapable of either love or indifference. If we do not respect ourselves, we are on the one hand forced to despise those who have so few resources as to consort with us, so little perception as to remain blind to our fatal weaknesses. On the other, we are peculiarly in thrall to everyone we see, curiously determined to live out – since our self-image is untenable – their false notion of us. We flatter ourselves by thinking this compulsion to please others an attractive trait: a gist for imaginative empathy, evidence of our willingness to give. Of course I will play Francesca to your Paolo, Helen Keller to anyone’s Annie Sullivan; no expectation is too misplaced, no role too ludicrous.

At the mercy of those we cannot but hold in contempt, we play roles doomed to failure before they are begun, each defeat generating fresh despair at the urgency of divining and meting the next demand made upon us. It is the phenomenon sometimes called “alienation from self.” In its advanced stages, we no longer answer the telephone, because someone might want something; that we could say no without drowning in self-reproach is an idea alien to this game. Every encounter demands too much, tears the nerves, drains the will, and the specter of something as small as an unanswered letter arouses such disproportionate guilt that answering it becomes out of the question. To assign unanswered letters their proper weight, to free us from the expectations of others, to give us back to ourselves – there lies the great, the singular power of self-respect. Without it, one eventually discovers the final turn of the screw: one runs away to find oneself, and finds no one at home.

Source.

[Title quote is from "Beautiful Girls"]

"Rest? Didn't we just get back from Hawaii?"

2010-06-11T06:37:00.005-07:00

In Hawaii, Aloha Friday is a day to take it easy and look forward to the weekend. On Fridays I will be taking it easy on posting. I’ll ask a simple question for you to answer.

Today's question is:

What is your favorite "me-time" thing to do?

{Aloha Friday is courtesy of Kailani over at An Island Life. Go ahead. Click on over.}

[Title quote is from "Summer Rental"]

Scorpion Sojourn

"You're right. I'm afraid of your heat."

"Yeah, let's celebrate mediocrity! That's fantastic."

"Burn some dust here. Eat my rubber."

"Chew like you have a secret..."

"You are never gonna be Jell-O!"

"Would you quit it? What, the ocean isn't big enough for you or something? You got a problem? Huh? Do ya, do ya, do ya? You wanna piece of me?"

"Are you not aware that I get farty and bloated with a foamy latte?"

"There we go. That was kind of the emotion that I was searching for on the first take."

"Quiver ladies, quiver."

"Good philosophy, see good in bad, I like."

"Sometimes, it's the boring stuff I remember the most."

"My god, man, you could at least *act* like it was a hard decision!"

"You mean you were diagnosed with something called a brain cloud and didn't ask for a second opinion?"

"Your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go un-witnessed because I will be your witness."

"August 6th." "August 6th what?" "August 6th period."

"Silly old bear!"

"I've been waiting for this day my whole life... This day of reckoning."

"We both know that I’m training to be a cagefighter."

"You're exactly the mutant I'm looking for! You're hired."

"All stories, even the ones we love, must eventually come to an end and when they do, it's only an opportunity for another story to begin."

"Say yes to whim! Say yes to chance! Say yes to chaos!"

"You've got an overdeveloped sense of vengeance. It's going to get you into trouble someday."

"Light bulb!"

"No, of course I like you. It's because I like you I don't want to be with you. It's a complicated emotion."

"We deserve better villains."

"Paging Dr. Freud."

"Don't pander to me, kid. One tiny crack in the hull and our blood boils in thirteen seconds. Solar flare might crop up, cook us in our seats."

"What’s wrong babe? You okay? You sad? Sad monkey?"

"But that's life! I suppose, you - you go along with and suddenly... poof!"

"I am not going to sit on my ass as the events that affect me unfold to determine the course of my life. I'm going to take a stand."

"Wait. So I have to learn things about things and stuff? About topics? Can I even do that?"

"A Jedi must have the deepest commitment, the most serious mind."

"You don't know what to do. You talk, talk, talk, all the time!"

"Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

"No, don't stop now. I think my sinuses are clearing."

"If crew morale is better served by my roaming the halls weeping, I will gladly defer to your medical expertise."

"I am a nice shark, not a mindless eating machine. If I am to change this image, I must first change myself. Fish are friends, not food."

"Move over, Rover. This chick is taking over!"

"I'm pretty sure there's a lot more to life than being really, really, ridiculously good looking. And I plan on finding out what that is."

"You're not dying, you just can't think of anything good to do."

"Have you ever wondered if there was more to life than being really, really, ridiculously good looking?"

"You hear that Mr. Anderson? That is the sound of inevitability..."

"But he goes in anyway, because he's not afraid of his own mind!"

"Meat or Potatoes?"

"Find a happy place! Find a happy place! Find a happy place!"

"Mayhaps you desire to - SQUIRREL!"

"He's so talented, don't you think? I just love him... he's so sexy..."

"You must unlearn what you have learned."

"Would you like the cancer?"

"You know, if you can sort of muscle your way past the gag reflex, all kinds of food possibilities open up."

"I did not achieve this position in life by having some snot-nosed punk leave my cheese out in the wind."

"Don’t go accusing me of thinking! I am not doing anything of the sort."

"Well, ain't this place a geographical oddity. Two weeks from everywhere!"

"Remember: They give extra points for alacrity and effulgence."

"Hey... life is pretty stupid; with lots of hubbub to keep you busy, but really not amounting to much."

"I don't really know what kind of girl I am."

"You're a combat aviator, start acting like one."

"Oh, Mother Carey's chickens! What happened?"

"Oh, aye, Baby: the other, other white meat. Baby: it's what's for dinner."

"Time not important. Only life important."

"If anything should happen to you I don't know what I'd do. I'd probably move on...but there would be a 10-minute period where I'd be inconsolable."

"How'd this go all screwy?"

"It's not too late for you to become a person of substance."

"Are you classified as human?" "Negative, I am a meat popsicle."

" Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

"I want to be your girlfriend more than an electron wants to attach to a proton."

"Why am I such a yummy dummy?"

"Get on the horn to British Intelligence and let them know about this."

"Do you not agree with that which I am saying to you now?"

"Don't tell me. The offside rule is when the French mustard has to be between the teriyaki sauce and the sea salt."

"Nothing - wha - what do you mean nothing good? We've seen everything good. . .We went to a museum, we saw priceless works of art. We ate pancreas!"

"Okay, now everybody grab an exit buddy. Do you have your exit buddy?"

"Only the meek get pinched. The bold survive."

"Fig, how many times must I tell you? None of us here speak Spanish!"

"The question isn't 'what are we going to do', the question is 'what aren't we going to do'?"

"And then, this one time, at band camp. . . "

"I love Hawaii."

"Because it's got this naive idealism thing going on where ours is going to be one of the greatest love stories ever told, and I'm writing it."

"Brain? What does he mean by my brain?"

"My god, man, you could at least act like it was a hard decision!"