Primary Punks

My sister is nicer than me. She's nicer than most people I know. She has the most sensitive disposition and kindest heart. And she said yes when called to teach primary to a class of ten-year-olds with fourteen boys and two girls. I'd have just laughed. But she didn't. She stays up late worrying about whether or not her lessons will connect with the kids and baking brownies. And today when a couple of punks erupted in a brawl during class she chalked it up to "boys will be boys". She nicely spoke with one of the boy's mother's after church and that was that. That's my Miqui- always giving everyone the benefit of the doubt. This afternoon phone calls were made by some parent's to her team teacher. The bullying kind of parents. The kind of parents who do not take responsibility for their kids or make their kids take responsibility for their actions. And following the phone calls, who was in tears? My Miqui. Oh, hell no! She is nicer than me, so that's why I'm glad I'm here. Don't push me people and do not punk my Miqui. This week invitations will be sent to each of these boys parents. They will be cordially invited to attend primary with their child so as to not disrupt class in the future or else. That's nice right? Nicer than I'd like to be.

What I'm doing today.

I sometimes save sewing projects when I know I'm coming to my mom's. Comparatively my sewing machine is like driving a pinto compared to her Mercedes. I'll link to what I'm doing later, but for now we're going swimming.

Little quirks and a book.

I'm a shower girl. I have a thing about bathtubs. And hot tubs too actually. There is just something about marinating in your own juices that gives me the heebie jeebies. But even I can appreciate a long tub with a good book. So during Little Miss' nap yesterday I decided to take a bath . Yeah, at two thirty in the afternoon. So?

I'm reading The Glass Castle by Jeanette Wall. So far, so good. So good I stayed in the tub till I was all prune-y. I should have put it on the original summer reading list. I ditched the list after the third strike. Tried to listen to Pillars of the Earth- not really my thing. Read two chapters of The Host- and lets just say Stephanie Meyers is not my favorite author, but I'm not a quitter so I'm trying. Queen Bees and Wanna-bes was great. How can you not love a book that names 'Hard Ass' a parenting style? Still haven't touched Water for Elephants or Secret Life of Bees, but I'll get there- just not before September 1.

I guess that makes me a liar too (or least a major procrastinator), huh Miqui? Can you believe my sister called me a liar? She said I promised pictures of Little Miss and didn't come through. In my defense I didn't say when I'd post pictures. I just said I will. Excuse me for not taking pictures of her grocery shopping at Costco and waiting to get the oil changed. Not every minute of our waking hour is necessarily picture worthy- contrary to Grami's belief. Well, if you want pictures come and get them. It doesn't matter anyway because I've got something better than pictures. Little Miss. Live. In the flesh. Coming to a Grami's near you. Today! See you in a few hours.

While I'm At It

Might as well do the living room too. So what did I get done today? Just about nothing.


Check out DazeyChic on Etsy. I love all her stuff.

And who doesn't love this pillow by Jonathan Adler? Do you love it $168 dollars worth? Didn't think so. I see a hack in the works.

Rate My Space

This is what I'm thinking for our bedroom. Husband remains steadfast that there is no way we are EVER getting a bird. OK. You win. But that doesn't stop me from decorating with them. This is my (current) inspiration board. I'm in love with color (this week).

What do you think?

If you want to be a Mayor hack go ahead. I really don't care.
Furniture: Lamps-Corland Wall Lamp from Pottery Barn, Nightstands- Palermo Cost Plus, Bed- Consignment store
Rug: Garden Bouquet Anna Maria Horner
Art: Yumiyumi on Etsy
Fabrics: Quilt Pattern will be Just Let it Be. Fabrics from all my favorites- Amy Butler, Tina Givens, Anna Maria Horner, and Joel Dewberry.

I don't want it outsourced.

I do not want to press #1 for English and #2 for Spanish. Do we not have an official language? Nothing against Spanish speakers (happen to be one) but is this not the United States of America? Not if your call goes through. You are calling Bangladesh. But fine. Whatever. I do not want to hang on the line for the next available representative. But I guess I don't have much of a choice. This is starting to get a little irritating. And by a little I really mean a lot.

We decided to get a 'land line' after only having cell phones for a few years. So we went on-line and signed up. Three weeks later it still wasn't working, but of course they sent us a bill. Husband calls up and is instructed to file complaint on-line. He goes to do that, but he needs an Id. His options are #1. have them call us (on the phone line that's not currently working) or #2. have them mail it to us. Now we are waiting for our Id to come in the mail so we can go on-line and file a complaint so we can tell them our phone isn't working. And a damn good thing too because I have a mind to call up and tell you what I really think of you, your customer service, and outsourcing all the damn jobs to who-knows-where.

Quite possibly the longest post ever because its about my most favorite subject ever.

Little Miss, my Chicka-dee, Baby-Cakes, Baby-Girl, Princess is seven months old today. Baaaaaah!

You've been laughing at me all week. All I get it is "poor baby" Just Wait. It gets worse! You people have no hearts.

The thought of kindergarten?...Well, we just don't think about it. Who knows? By then public education will be seriously jacked up and we wont send her. (My sister the teacher is dying right now.) By the way, home school doesn't make kids weird. If you know kids that are home schooled and they're weird it is probably coincidence. They would've been weird no matter what. Weird parents? Just sayin'. It's not what the research shows. Totally viable option for some kids. Not all, but an option.

OK. Coming back from my tangent to make a point.

My Little Miss is seven months old and I wanted to share some of my favorite things about this kid. She is my favorite kid after all. Followed closely by Milo and Thor. That is if the little bugger would show up. Does he not know that being late is very unbecoming? and a totally "Mormon" thing to do? Seriously Holly. Get a handle on your kid, would you? Acting up already. tsk. tsk. tsk. Just kidding. I'm not helping the situation any, am I? You're about ready to climb walls I'm sure. Just remember you have friends (not me) with prescriptive authority if you start needing a little something to take the edge off. Or we could go to lunch every day this week. Your choice. :)

Focus Yannet. Focus.

Holy Crap. I spelled my own name wrong. My biggest pet peeve EVER! I'm not even going to go back and correct it so you guys can use it against me when I get annoyed about it. I must really be schizo-brained this morning.

What I was saying...

Little Miss is seven months, and she is doing the usual stuff seven month olds do. Sit up, roll over, smile. Yes she has teeth-four of them. She doesn't crawl yet, but she thinks she wants to. In fact, it's kind of starting to tick her off that she can't. But that stuff is kind of boring.

I want to share the stuff that makes this kid special and makes her my favorite. Which if you're on the list of my favorites you know is hard to do. I'm not easily impressed.

She screeches like a hoot owl when Mommy gets home from work. (It makes me almost cry when she is so happy to see me.)

She is definitely a dog person. She growls when you take her toys away or if she wants something you've got. Lovely. Wonder where she learned that from? Two guesses and the second one doesn't count. Ani.

One of her favorite songs is Bleeding Love by Leona Lewis. I don't know if it's because Mommy spends so much time blog surfing and it's on just about every one's play list or if it's because when she was born Ang said that's who she would look like when she grew up. Over my dead body. It's not nice to curse a mommy with a beautiful daughter like that. I would never sleep and every male within a ten mile radius would have to be interrogated by me. And I've watched more James Bond this week than some people do their whole lives, so I know a thing or two about interrogation.

This is just in case any of you would like to look like Leona Lewis. I didn't even watch the whole thing. I just like how she says "mascara".



Back to my Miss. She is a tall drink of water. And a good thing we cloth diaper or her pants would slide right down.

She loves, loves, loves to dance. One of her other favorite songs is Low by Flo Rida. Hey, if you don't like it I had no control at what she listened to in utero. Spell check wants me to change utero to uteri. Can that be right?

She is SUPER ticklish. I hate to be tickled. As in, don't do it or you'll really piss me off. So this is for Husband. She laughs and laughs and laughs. And then she tries to tickle you by scrunching up her face and making a snorting sound which is what we do. Our favorite face ever!

She also likes to make messes. Ooh look! A picture. Of her first mess. I left the room for a while (probably to vacuum) and she figured out how to pull the wipes out.


"Hey wait a minute!" you're thinking. You can hardly see her! What a crappy picture! Well, that's because my sister said that the only reason she reads my blog is to look at pictures of Little Miss. Also, the only reason she's glad I'm coming down this weekend. Brat! Can't really say I blame her though. This kid is my favorite.

And I'm really not THAT scatterbrained. I just wanted to see how many of you actually do hang on my every word. This is just a draft. Grammy is going to be disappointed (and call me) when she sees this without pictures, but they're coming. Promise.

My conceited self-absorbed corner of the universe.

I know there are real people with real problems right now. And compared to them my life totally rocks. This post is going to make me sound like a (bigger than usual) brat. But welcome to my conceited, self-absorbed corner of the universe. Please indulge me whilst I kvetch for a moment. (How's that for an introductory paragraph?)

De-Nile. Not a river in Egypt, but what's been going on in my bathroom mirror lately. It's been going on for a while, but I'm finally ready to talk about it. (Sorry for the most lame-ass joke ever posted on this blog. But it works. And sorry if you're offended by my use of the term 'lame-ass'. Lame-butt sounds too stupid.)

I am 24. And I am an old lady trapped in a young person's body. But it's starting to give.

Don't laugh. Some of you are thinking "Oh poor baby! ha ha. Only 24." Others of you are surprised I'm that young cuz I sound sooo ma-tur for my age. But I'm not kidding people this is not good. No bueno! I hope you're listening.

Because...

Gulp.

I have an age spot on my face. There's probably more than one, but it took a lot for me to face the one this morning. Quit laughing. I'm really upset. Don't you understand? I really am an old lady trapped in a young person's body. I knit, I love Oldies, I practically spent my teenage years growing up in an Assisted Living Center, I have had varicose veins since I was fourteen, a double chin when a size two, was buying hormone replacement creams at the ripe old age of 22, and now this!

Don't get me wrong it's not been all bad. Being old trapped inside of the young isn't soo bad. The older kids have always let me hang out with them. And I could flirt shamelessly with Fernando the Fireman and Dr. Sadri at the previously mentioned "Home" where I worked as the receptionist, and they had no idea I was sixteen! Sometimes if someone accidentally called 911 from their room we would let them show up. And the entire office staff was waiting in the lobby when they got there. "There was something in the air that night. The stars were bright. Fernando." See? I am old. Okay. ABBA is a bad example. How about my love for Elvis? Another clue I'm an oldie in disguise.

I thought I was prepared when my sister told me at nineteen that I looked like a Mormon Mommy, but not even that huge blow to my ego prepared me for the premature aging that has begun to show itself across my face.

Out Damn Spot!

Pray for me. You wont recognize me by the end of next week for I feel the gray starting to grow. I'm likely to be going in for a hip replacement and to have my dentures fit.

Not the most spiritual thought for a Sunday.

I let my husband take temporary control over the Netflicks queue. He wasn't liking what he called my "depressing Independent crap". So now for the last three rounds of movies it's been Bond. James Bond.

And I just want to put it out there that both Sean Connery and Jane Seymour are like a good wine. (Hey, wine is religious.) They both have gotten better with age.

But the current choice for 007 is by far my favorite. November 14 I've got a date with my Hottie. And John isn't even jealous.

Family Secrets

We went to dinner last night with some friends, and some friends of our friends. And something that we get asked A LOT came up.

Are you going to tell her?
Tell her what?
You know.
You mean that she was adopted?
Yeah. Because you know, she looks just like you guys so you don't have to tell her if you don't want to.

OK. Right. Practically perfect strangers know but I'm not going to tell my daughter. Are you nuts? Does that sound logical? Does it sound healthy? Does even sound nice?

How would you like to be told at eighteen or twenty-one or oops when you find some document somewhere that "oh by the way..." Every family has its crap, and even their secrets but this is not ours. I never not for one single second want my daughter to EVER feel like there is something wrong with being adopted. There is no secret. In fact there are days that I want to stand up and say "The church is true. Adoption is true. Amen." If you want me to go all preachy on you, it is even a Gospel principle.

Then comes, so how are you going to tell her? Do you remember the day or moment or conversation where you were told your parents were your parents? It's not a sit down discussion. It's a matter of fact. Little Miss has a tummy mommy and a mommy mommy. And all mommy's have to do what is best for their babies. And your tummy mommy loved you so much she wanted you to have a family that had a mommy and a daddy. So she made a very very hard choice when she decided to make a plan. When she is older we will explain about her birthmother and how she made choices. And how we all make choices and how she sacrificed what her desires might have been at one time to do what is right or what might be best.

People. This is not rocket science. Kids are amazingly open and receptive to the TRUTH. Go figure. What I've found is that it's adults that have the problems. Adoption is not a secret at our house. That doesn't mean I will share every last detail about our birthmother or our situation with every Tom, Dick, and Harry. And there are situations where I won't bring it up at all. There is a difference between privacy and a secret. If I could change one thing about the way the people perceive adoption is that it is something to be tiptoed around, or embarrassed or ashamed about, or worse- kept a family secret.

The end of a friendship.

Computers are a lot like that catty fair weather friend from elementary or Jr. High. The one who you know will any day betray you but you tell all your secrets to anyway. The one you rely on so much that you're sure the world would end of things fell apart between the two of you.

I hope I wasn't that girl because I hate to think that my bad karma had anything to do with my work laptop harddrive crashing. And just like back then when my mom would stop on her way home when the bottom had dropped out from under my world to buy me a treat, I also stopped today to pick up a Snickers bar. Except this time chocolate covered macaroons, Hot Pockets, and licorice nibs landed in my cart too. That's how close we were.

Were.

She's a brat now and I hate her. And she's not invited to my birthday party.

Till next week when she starts feeling better and decides to be my best friend again.

Scary Math

We had the Missionaries over last night which is always fun. There aren't always a lot of things I love, but I LOVE the missionaries. I feel bad for the guys, so we feed them on a regular basis. No friends. No family. No music? And then there's the whole not dating thing. That's rough. I have a HUGE amount of respect for the missionaries and I love all of them for doing what they do. Plus one of our current missionaries is from Korea and I love Korean food so I selfishly used it as a way for me to get a great dinner by promising him I'd go to the Korean Market. That is always interesting because this is an authentic place, and I'm not exactly...umm... Korean. So I kind of stick out pushing my shopping cart and hauling my daughter (complete with giant bow) through the place.

Anyway, back to the missionaries...the other missionary is a new transfer so of course we are playing twenty questions. And lo and behold the dude comes from a family of eleven kids. Holy Crap! That's what I said, actually sort of shouted. Now five, six, even seven kids- whatever, but ELEVEN!?!?! I love to make up baby names for future kids I'll probably never have, but I don't even have that many names I like. And by make up, I don't mean make up as in things like 'Renesmee.' No I didn't read it, but I heard about it.

Anyway, back to my story... again...Props to his mother is all I can say. I figure it took me five years to get one, so I figure that if we keep up the pace and we have four, it's still going to take me twenty years.

The missionaries leave and I ask Husband- Can you imagine having eleven kids?
Husband- Sure. Why not?
Me- No thank you.
Husband- How about eight?
Me- Again, I point out it took us five years to have one.
So he (and I don't know how he calculated this as fast as he did) says- Well... if we have eight, even at our current pace we'll be seventy-eight when the last one leaves the house.
Me- No dear. YOU'LL be seventy-eight. I'LL be seventy-four.

Those four years might make a difference.

Trouble following directions.

Anyone else having trouble following multi-step directions?

It reads:

Machine wash cold- How about whatever setting it gets left on?
Gentle cycle- Ditto to above
Wash and dry with like colors- Like colors as in they're all in the rainbow?
Only Non-chlorine bleach when needed- Whatever. Give me options and I opt out.
Tumble dry low- There are two settings on my dryer. On and off. And if I remember to turn it on so I don't find the mildewy smelling load in the morning, that's good.
Cool iron- Ha! Okay, sure. That's gonna happen.YOU iron my nasty green sweatshirt. That is if you can find the iron.

A little more spendy but much easier to follow:

Dry Clean Only- But only if you're going to remember to drop it off and then pick it up again.

No matter how you look at it, there is no simple solution to laundry. I still vote for my label.

Burn after wearing. Buy all new clothes.

My new friend Jim.

It was one of those days where it kind of felt a little Twilight Zone-ish- the people I met, where I went, who I talked to, and how it changed me.

I was really annoyed with having to go see patients downtown, having to park in the super expensive parking structure and then finding out the very strange man sitting in the lobby of the hotel (and by hotel I do NOT mean the Marriot) still wearing hospital pants and an eye patch is the patient I'm supposed to see. "Oh hell, how I do end up in these situations?" I was thinking. I literally have a reputation in the office for attracting patients that are either a complete train wreck medically or psycho-socially, and often times it is both. So today I spent much of the day with Jim. Jim has been literally on the streets for forty plus years. And up until the last year he was homeless. It would be easy to judge this man in passing. I did. And then I was forced to sit down and talk with him (for hours) and I found him to be one of the most open minded, honest individuals I have ever met. Ever. After leaving his apartment and hearing his story I felt like a complete jackass for being annoyed this morning with having to deal with a low tire and having to put gas in the car before heading to work.

There but for the grace of God go I.

Speechless

Me? Not likely. But I've got stuff to do.

Expounding on theories.

I have what I call my "theories" which are really just my opinions on subjects, or maybe even my justifications on why I do things the way I do, but anyway... I've got one on most things. And if there's a subject on which I haven't formed one yet- give me a few hours and the Internet and I will get back to you.

This is my prevailing theory on parenting...There is a lot of crap out there and a lot of people willing to share their crap opinions on the subject. You will get a different opinion from everyone you ask. I think you should just pick a person whose kids you like how they turned out and ask them what they did. That's why I ask my mom. Ha!

Theory on marriage...it's more about your level of commitment and choosing correctly in the first place than about your age, how much schooling you have or have not finished, or how much money you have or won't have. Just make sure you like the person, they like you, and you make the rest up as you go along.

Newly developed theory on infertility and why it sucks...There's an unspoken expectation inside every woman that her female parts work. And even if she doesn't see herself as a mother, or have plans of becoming one there's the belief that she could if she wanted to. It's not always about where the baby comes from or even building a family. Sometimes it's just the disappointment of not being able to do something you think or thought you should be able to do.

Random theory...It's the little things in life that count. If I had cooked rice, veges, and shrimp- it's not so impressive. But shove it all on a stick place it on a skewer and it turns into a fairly impressive dinner. My cooking almost looks edible.


I've got lots of them. Mostly crap I make up as I go along, but it gives me something to blog about.

Psyche!

I've got nothing for you to rate. Unfortunately as my husband suspected, one man's crap is still another man's crap. But we got to eat nasty Chinese food from a road side stand. Mmmmm. Yummy. I opted out on the green onions. See, Husband was worried about the chicken but I was more concerned about the green onions. If we puke it will be the coolest colored puke ever because we also got Slurpees on the way home. That should about do it for my yearly dose of artificial food coloring. Hope your Saturday was much more productive!

Sheesh!

The first person to check my blog this morning was at 6:10 AM. Sheesh, people. It's Saturday morning. Didn't you get the memo? Little Miss did. Sleep in for cryin' in the night!But thank you all the same for thinking of me bright and early. Today I am a woman on a mission. I am headed to Northern California's largest swap meet and Farmer's Market. For two days I have been scouring Apartment Therapy, Decor8, and some of my other favorite decorating blogs for ideas of what I'm looking for. I still don't know what it is, but I'll know it when I see it. Come back later because I'll need you to Rate My Space.

Ya know what's weird?

I think that eternity is a lot like the Internet. It's vast and infinite and you go there to learn. And I totally don't get how it all works- just glad it does. Oh, except I believe there's food in heaven. Some don't and I think "then why would you want to go there?"

Yoga is really weird to watch. If you have a moral aversion to picturing people naked when you're nervous, then picture them doing yoga. Works way better huh?

On-line parenting forums are weird. The fact that I read them is even weirder. Topics range from what's best to put on their butts to when they should start crawling. You could spend days researching the best/most effective/cutest printed/most expensive diaper covers. And on the crawling thing- rolling is much faster. But if you're insistent that your kid crawl, just get an Ani. What is more motivation than getting to pull Ani's ears? Or getting away so she can't lick your face anymore?


And I don't know if this is weird or just my way of incorporating Little Miss into the conversation so I can post cute pictures, but I'd rather have a cook than a maid any day. Volunteers? The pay sucks but you get to hang out with Her all day.

Oh yeah, and I'm probably a little weird too.

Gone Soft

I was talking to Holly this week about how maybe I'm losing my edge. The hormone replacement is literally making me soft. It's curbing the hormonal outbursts and causing me to gain weight. I don't find myself spewing nearly as often or at least having most of the conversation in my head. But there are a few things recently that still cause me to roll my eyes and raise my blood pressure.

I was sort of toying with the idea of joining the ward book club. You know...get out of my comfort zone. Get to know some members of the ward. Get out. Read.All good things. Seemed like a good idea, until I found out they chose Breaking Dawn as one of the books. Dig my eyeball out with a spoon! I have a theory that we're all being brainwashed into loving vampires so that it will be easier for them to take us over. I'm full of theories. Anyway, the book club idea is going back up on the shelf along with 'Park Days' until they make another more suitable literary choice.

I have an aversion to mommy clubs, which 'Park Days' is. It is nothing personal. It is not you. It's me. I have mentioned it before in my not-so-subtle way that I really don't like hanging out with the "mom's club." It's awkward for me. I never was great at getting along with other chicks in the first place. Then I wasn't a mom so I really didn't care to hear about their labor or how much pregnancy sucked. Now I am a mommy, and I find that that fact alone is not enough to admit you into the club. See, you also have to agree on parenting theories. And I have this one major parenting theory that doesn't seem to be very popular when presented. "If you don't like kids, quit having them." I've never actually said this out loud. Yet. But I think it a lot and one of these days it's going to slip.

A group of chicks (and chicks is totally the right term) because they sound like small poultry squawking, is not fun for me. It's nothing personal. I just don't have a lot to add to a conversation which includes complaining about who's husband is the biggest loser, the latest episode of Desperate Housewives, and whose kids drive them the most crazy. Why would I want to go to Relief Society twice a week except onetime without all of the quotes? I currently like my husband, I don't have t.v., and my child is for the most part immobile so how crazy could she drive me? Add comparing who had the longest, most painful, most complicated labor ever and I will gladly dig my eye out with a spoon. A used plastic Wendy's Frosty spoon at that.

My personal favorite is when they feel like they need to include me in the conversation. Then I get to hear about every cousin's friend aunt's hair-dresser who also adopted, except they adopted from China. Now, I love a good adoption story as much as the next mom but um...what does that have to do with me? Oh, because we adopted. Gotcha.

The other thing is that the "mommy club" is not discrete. They can't keep a secret and news spreads like wild fire THROUGH THE ENTIRE WARD. Theory number three for the day is to choose friends who have an understanding of HIPAA. This helps in keeping things hush hush. Because of that, I'm going to be one of the last people to announce that the IFC is soon to be the Infertile First Club. Yes, all three of us are going to be mommies at the same time! Little Miss is going to have a posse and the playgrounds will never be the same again. It's not the kids you have to watch out for, it's us. We are all little nuts, share similar "theories", and could all use a little "therapy". Even if two us have read all of the Twilight series. I still love them and they don't hate me because I won't.

And another thing...(I'm just going to get this all out in one shot.) Recently John came to me and informed me that he had been asked if we were still trying. I find it amusing that they would ask my husband and not me. What? You were afraid of a bitchy sarcastic remark from me to mind your own business?

"As in trying to get pregnant?" I asked laughing. And what did he tell them? He says, "Yeah, I guess." And by that I guess, what he really means is "yes, we have unprotected sex." Therefore according to my last prevailing theory for the day and the natural consequences of intimacy- if you are having marital relations without contraceptives then you are trying to get pregnant. Period. End of story. Even if you don't think you can, or ever will, or are breastfeeding, or weren't planning it or whatever. If you're having sex, you're planning on getting pregnant. I hope this isn't a newsflash for any of you. If it is, I have some nursing texts you can borrow that aren't the least bit embarrassing and highly informative. Very clinical, but it gets the message across.

But if your question was really meant to be "you guys are still going to do fertility treatments, right?", then my bitchy sarcastic reply is to MYOB and I'll let you figure out what that stands for. That is unless YOU'D like to announce to the world every time you and your significant other 'are in the married way.'

Maybe I've still got it after all.

Have I missed something?

I have consumed more than my daily dose of vitamin C daily.

I have downed so many fluids my pee is clear.

I have drank (or drunk. Whatever.) orange juice like it is going out of style. (I just wanted to say that. I'm lame. So sue me.)

I have gargled with honey and vinegar and have wanted to puke.

I have eaten so much Chicken Noodle soup I should get stock in Campbells. That is after I discovered you have to add water. I was wondering why my soup was so much more concentrated than when John made it for me. I'm an idjit, I know. But to be fair we don't use a lot of canned soups around here, so how was I supposed to know? You don't read the directions on a can of soup.

I have used enough Kleenex to single-handedly be guilty for destroying part of a small forest somewhere. And there's nothing I can do about it since the thought of recycling used tissue is nasty.

And I am so over having a cold. I'm not going to blow my nose today. So I may suffocate or my sinuses explode, but I'm not doing it. Done. With. Being. Sick. That is unless there is some other 'wives tale' or home remedy that I've missed.

Oh, and garlic. I forgot the garlic. I love lots and lots of garlic. Cold or not.

Replace the Roll, PLEASE!

There are a few things (okay way more than a few) that I don't get. Like how my practically perfect, GENIUS husband has trouble replacing the toilet paper roll. I know I'm being nit-picky. And there are about a bazillion things that I do that bug the crap out of him, but I'm not trying to pick a fight. Honestly people. Help me understand. What is so hard about replacing the roll? I know he's not the only one. There are others out there that have difficulty with paper replacement as well. I'm not asking you to fold the ends into neat little hotel points. I don't even care if you place it over or under (even though over is the right way), just replace the roll, please.


And another thing I don't understand... people on government aid (which in itself I'm not against in certain circumstances), living in their nasty houses (and by nasty I mean complete with diaper smelling, Dorito cheese-crusted, scabies infested nastiness), nasty carpet, nasty couch, nasty chair, nasty everything, but they have a huge-ass tv. Priorities? I don't get it.

What would you rather do?

I would rather lurk than actually write today. I'd rather sew than do laundry. I would rather watch a movie than vacuum and I would rather do just about anything but chart. Especially since my books are late back to the library.

What would you rather do today?

I'm a Big Girl Now

I know I will not get any sympathy from you people. All I will hear about is how if I blink she'll be borrowing my shoes and dating. Blah, blah, blah. She's still growing up too fast. She thinks she's a big girl.

This week she sat all by herself in the shopping cart (and blew kisses to everyone who walked by.)


Ate out and discovered she loves garlic bread sticks and Papa's ice cream cone.


and helped to plan a wedding reception.


And just because it's my blog, my baby, and my camera.

New Rule

There should be a rule about getting colds when it is 103 degrees. It's just wrong.

Oprah Made Me Do It

She may host a talk show and be one of the richest women in America, but there are two things she does not do.

1. She does not give good book read suggestions. Boring or disturbing seems to be her specialty.

2. She does not give good presidential candidate suggestions. I have now spoken with MULTIPLE people who say they will be voting for Mr. Obama because they saw him on Oprah. Yikes!

Trip Pics

Down to LA, across to St. George, Up to Panguitch, back to Las Vegas, back to LA, and then home. We realized we are spoiled. There are actually trees where we live, unlike most of the drive, which left us nothing to count. We resorted to singing Raffi over and over and over. That was fun for about five minutes. Luckily Jedi caught on to peek-a-boo over the back seat with Little Miss to keep her entertained. That was funny.

I was kind of lame in the picture taking this trip because I always seemed to have left the camera in the car, the hotel- just about everywhere we weren't.

The only picture of the wedding we got was of Little Miss with Grandpa Webb.

Bryce Canyon

I did the hike with Little Miss carried in front. She was so enthraled with the great outdoors she promptly fell asleep. Great training for our backpacking trip in September.


If you were at our wedding you get it. If not, it's a long story but basically there was a tractor at our wedding and we got pictures on it. OK, so I guess the story isn't that long.

Now we are home and I slept most of the drive and then slept in this morning. What is it about riding the car that is so exhausting?

Are We There Yet?

Today we will make the last leg of our trip home. 21 hours down, five more to go- give or take a few potty breaks.

Happy Birthday to Me!

Yamato for lunch and an outing to Simply Knitting. Happy Birthday indeed!

Roadside Entertainment

I missed a day and I was gonna make it two, but I knew you would be disappointed. :) I tried to blog yesterday I really did, but we were in super small town Utah where there wasn't even a wireless signal to rip off. Not even in the hotel parking lots.

I know I'm supposed to be the adult but the last hour and half back to LA I found myself asking "are we there yet?" "are we there yet?" "ARE WE THERE YET?" It was a little rough. Bored and bored. You can only count so many Joshua trees. Some of my favorite entertainment this trip were the roadside signs along the way. So we're going to play a little game. Guess the state we were in when we saw the following...

a. Wedding Decorator "specializing in cultural hall transformations" Oh yes, plastered all over the side of the minivan.

b. "Tummy Tuck $5750"

b. "Bountiful Jenna"- A custom sticker found in the window of another white minivan.

c. "Vasectomy.com Easier than you think it is" I don't know why that is funny, but it just is.

There were others, but these were my favorites.

Holy Hot

"I don't know how the people of St. George can stand the heat, the Indians, the snakes and the flooding Virgin River. If I had a house in St. George and a house in Hell, I'd rent out the one in St. George and move straight to Hell."

-J. Golden Kimball

His words, not mine. But if we were going to take a vote...um yeah. It's really hot.

A Whole Lotta Random

You're going to get a whole lot of random miscellany the next few days while I'm on vacation. Sorry, but I can't think straight on little sleep and fast food.

• I actually found a book I liked. We listened to it on the crappy drive from LA to Vegas. I hate that drive. Uuuuuuugggggly! I'm not sure why I enjoyed the book so much. It definitely was not literary genius, but it was funny. Was it the off color British humor? The fact that it was read in a British accent? I am a sucker for an accent. Or was it my Husband doing his best to imitate the narrator in his best British accent by exclaiming "That COW!" all day long. Every driver, every irritation, just about everyone was "That COW!" all day long. Cracked me up.
• I luuuuv the shower in a hotel. Endless hot water and perfect water pressure. Definition of relaxation.
• I have a problem. My face and my thoughts are connected. It helps to keep me honest, but there are times where I would rather not have exactly what I'm thinking plastered on my face. I'm trying hard to control it, but its not the easiest thing. You never have to ask how I'm feeling. It is written on my face.
• Have I mentioned that my husband is a Saint. He is going to go straight to heaven and then prop the back door open to sneak me in. He just sits patiently and listens to me rant when it gets too late to call a friend.
• I hope to get some sun today while standing in the heat of Saint George waiting at the temple for a bride to come out. Sounds like fun, eh?
  

Blog and You Shall Receive

Two thoughts today. That's all I've had. Three if you count "My blankety blankety-blank foot is killing me."

Thought #1

You may not be commenting, but I know you're out there reading because when I got to my Mom's yesterday afternoon my grandma had a stack of books on the counter waiting. All but one say New York Times Best Seller on the front cover. My dad even pitched in handing me two if his books. Blog and you shall receive.

Thought #2

I know some people don't like traveling with small children and I probably wouldn't either, except Little Miss is an EXTREMELY easy going child. The first time we made the drive to Utah she was only three weeks old. She had her first plane ride at four months. We're slowly ramping up for the possibility of a thirteen hour flight to the other side of the world. Jerusalem came up again at work for Handsome Husband. I would really like to go and Husband has already looked int Rosetta Stone in Hebrew. Blog and you shall receive? Hopefully.