Christmas Surprise

I think it was the Christmas when I was in 4th grade. I had read the classic Judy Blume coming-of-age story "Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret." Now, some say that story is all about finding God. But to me, at the time, it was all about the training bra. I had noticed some of my friends wearing training bras at school and, because I read that book, I knew I needed one, too. But how could I possibly bring that subject up to my mom? It just was not possible for a kid like me to broach that subject. And so I just hoped. And hoped. And maybe pushed my chest out just a little to show that I had a need for some support. And possibly pulled my shirt a little tighter. But just possibly. Did I recite the mantra, "I must, I must, I must increase my bust?" I'll never tell. But probably not.

On Christmas morning my mom gave me a present and told me I might want to open it separately, without everyone watching. I thought, "Could it be? No way! I never even told her. How could she have known? Maybe she read that book, too." And I carefully peeled the paper away to display my new.... training bra! I was excited and embarrassed all at once. I quickly stuffed it under a pillow on the couch so my brothers wouldn't see it, which of course was a terrible hiding place and one of them found it later. Brothers. I should write a post about brothers sometime.

Anyway, funny that a training bra should be one of the most memorable Christmas presents for me. I guess what's most memorable is that my mom figured it out. Maybe she read the book, too.

On Productivity

There are two household chores I hate with an extra dose of vengeance: washing dishes and scrubbing the master bathroom. As I was avoiding both today it occurred to me that avoiding those two jobs makes me, strangely, more productive. I use a no holds barred approach in my campaign to procrastinate doing those two duties. By the end of the day I will look around to see the wash done, beds made, iPod charged, bills paid, sharing time lesson for Sunday planned, blog updated, the flower beds weeded, letters written, errands run, children's hair cut, newspapers read and recycled, stories read, baths given, and everyone tucked in on time (or close to it).

But those two rooms will still look like a homeless person set up camp in them (no offense to homeless people. They are not generally known for their cleanliness, but I'm sure there are some who are quite tidy).

If I hired someone to do those jobs for me, then would my entire house finally be clean? I doubt it. Knowing I have those hateful chores to do is my source of power. That thought drives me to clean everything else in my house, to catch up on the odds and ends sort of jobs for school and church, to write blog posts which otherwise may never have been written, and so much more. I must do the dreaded tasks, eventually (it will be late at night when all my other excuses are gone), and I will, but I have to go into it knowing that I will have do them again. And so the next day the cycle will begin again until I find I have, somehow, cleaned my entire house without even planning to do so. And then I will have to give in and scrub that massive shower and gigantic tub-- again (bigger is not always better, friends) and I must rinse those dang dishes so my family can eat tomorrow (they always insist on eating, don't they?). I wish it could be easier. But I don't feel hopeful that I will ever become someone other than the sort of person I am now. Maybe I will improve in some areas, but I don't think I will ever stop procrastinating chores I hate to do. If you disapprove, well, you are more than welcome to show up at my house with a sponge and a can of scrubbing bubbles. But don't let me know you're coming or nothing else will ever happen around here.

Amy's Fitness Plan

(originally posted in 2009)

Just like a lot of you out there, I'm really hoping to end 2009 with a skinnier waistline than I had at the end of 2008. I don't have a gym membership right now, so I'm trying to figure out how to shed the extra pounds. I've had to be creative. I came up with a plan that I think you all should try. But when you do it, make sure you give me credit. Don't try to pass it off as your own idea. The only thing I still have to do is find out how many calories are burned while doing the following activities from a fairly typical week:

Jump up and down and flap arms to stay warm while filling the car with gas.

Make 2 extra trips up & down the stairs at night because 1.you forgot the baby monitor and 2. forgot to take your birth control (if you do this, make sure you don't remember both in the same trip, because that's fewer calories burned).

Maybe an extra trip up & down the stairs because you forgot that your pajamas were in the dryer still (don't fold your laundry & put it away all at once right after the dryer buzzes; make sure you have to go fetch each item piecemeal. More calories. Always think calories. Never efficiency).

Go outside, bring the trash can into the garage, and walk back into the house.

Go back outside, get the mail you forgot to get when you brought the trash can inside, walk back into the house with the mail.

Go back outside, pick up the newspaper you forgot to get when you brought the trash can inside & forgot again when you got the mail. The newspaper could be anywhere, so make sure you check your neighbor's front yard, the sidewalk in front of their house, the curb in front of the neighbor's house, or the middle of the street (also in front of the neighbor's house). But don't bother checking your own driveway or sidewalk or yard; that hardly ever happens. Then go back into the house.

Again, notice the pure inefficiency. That's the key to my fitness plan: inefficiency. And forgetfulness.

Stomp up the stairs to shut 5-year-old's bedroom door since he won't settle down to sleep. Then stomp back downstairs, ignoring his crying.

Vacuum house, then vacuum again a couple of days later just to get 5-year-old (who is terrified of the vacuum because he thinks the vacuum will suck up his books & toys) to pick up his room & playroom. And if you're feeling really mean, you could get him to pick up your bedroom as well.

Walk upstairs to get baby from crib because he's definitely not going to sleep. Walk back up 5 minutes later because, yep, he's definitely ready for a nap.

I'm still working on my diet plan. I need to find one that allows me to eat a brownie for breakfast. I just haven't found it yet.

"Practically Imperfect In Every Way"

I was recently reading a blog whose author claimed to be "practically imperfect in every way." When I saw that claim I was excited. I thought, "Oh, good, someone like me!" But the first post I saw was a recipe for something I could never make, complete with a professional-looking photo of said meal that I could never take in my wildest dreams (you should see my photos; they're terrible). And the next few posts followed suit.

I admit I enjoyed some of the posts on the blog (they were funny) and the recipes looked delicious. And of course there's nothing wrong with being good at cooking and photography (I wish I were). BUT I really began to hate this woman and all she stood for. What is with all of the women of the world claiming to be imperfect (which of course we all ARE imperfect) yet when we have a chance to share part of ourselves we decide to only display those parts of us which look pretty close to perfect? It's the old joke about cleaning the house and then when the guests arrive apologizing for the mess.

I'm guilty of this, too. I claim to have a dirty house (and, actually, I do, just ask my family) but if I take a picture I make sure my kids are NOT standing in front of my cluttered desk. And if I invite friends over I clean the house before they come over until it looks like nobody lives in it. I don't allow anyone outside my immediate family to see how I really live (they would probably be pretty disgusted).

The problem is we read blogs or look at pictures on Facebook and we all start to get a complex about ourselves. We think we're the only ones who have dirty houses or yell at our kids or have acne or feel fat or feel sad or feel lonely even when we're surrounded by people or have kids who misbehave or kids who wear their shirts backwards and their shoes on the wrong feet. 

I remember a long time ago a friend of mine just shaking her head in complete bewilderment over the fact that she had actually yelled at her kids once. ONCE. Maybe she really was that perfect or maybe she didn't want me to know the truth. I want to know the truth (up to a point, of course). I don't want to know how anyone's sex life is (please keep THAT private, thank you very much).  But I do want to know if my friends struggle. I want to know for selfish reasons (it makes me feel normal) and I want to know because then I can be a better friend. I can maybe HELP my friend.

We don't want to admit we have a hard time and we don't want to accept help. But I LOVE it when I can help a friend out in a pinch. There is no better feeling than knowing I made someone else's day a little easier. Even if my own day was pretty much awful it will immediately feel better if I can help someone.

I also LOVE knowing a friend trusts me enough to be honest with me about who she really is and what she struggles with because her imperfections are as much a part of her as her strengths are.

We're not doing our friends any favors by hiding our imperfections from them. Let's resist the urge to pretend we're perfect. Let's let our friends visit without cleaning up our houses (this is the hardest for me). Let's take pictures of kids with food on their faces (that's what they look like most the time anyway, let's admit it). Let's admit those things that are hard for us or admit when we're having a hard day. Let's allow people to help us.  Let's stop trying live a catalog family life or we'll all discover someday all we have are catalog family friendships, all superficial and glossy but never real or deep or meaningful. And I don't want to live in a catalog.

I Want to Be Me

I was recently tormenting myself by going over an incident in my past when I opened my mouth and made a fool of myself.  Cheeks flushed, I thought about the fact I never will make that mistake now that I have learned to keep that part of myself hidden. And then I stopped and thought how sad it is I felt I had to learn to hide a part of myself from the world because I thought they would not approve (and I was probably right). Although there is a refining process we should all go through in this life, where we become the best version of ourselves, nobody should have to pretend to be someone else entirely in order to have acceptance and friendship.

We've all probably felt pressure to conform our inner selves to what's acceptable. The problem is there are messages being drilled into our brains from the beginning of our consciousness until the day we day that pressure us to feel like what we are isn't good enough.

SPEAK UP

If you are a quiet or shy person you can probably relate to how I'm feeling. I'm naturally very shy but I wouldn't exactly call myself quiet. Once I feel comfortable around someone I have no trouble talking. The trouble comes with getting someone to stick around long enough to get me feeling comfortable enough to convince them I'm not as boring as I seem at face value. But in the meantime I'm constantly attacked with propaganda from the extroverts of society who can't understand that being shy is not a bad thing.

My high school Geometry teacher gave me a C in Citizenship because I didn't talk in class enough. Her reasoning was that I wasn't doing well on the tests and so I should have been asking more questions. But I don't learn that way and I certainly wouldn't have know what question to ask. How about this one: "Can you explain ALL of Geometry to me? I don't get it." So instead of finding a way to reach me she punished me for being shy with a bad grade. The next year when I took Algebra II and my teacher sat down one on one with me after school to help me understand the subject better I received the highest score on the final. THAT is how I operate. I need time to let things simmer and I need to not be put on the spot in front of an entire class. One of those teachers understood that people are not all the same AND, what's better, she was okay with it. I wish I had gone back and told that Geometry teacher how wrong her approach had been, but that kind of thing is not my strength, as you can imagine.

DON'T BE SO NICE

Speaking my mind is not something I'm good at in general. I don't like to hurt feelings. So many people over the course of my life have told me that I should just stop being so nice and just tell people exactly what I'm thinking. I'm told my approach is passive aggressive. But personally I would prefer to be guilty of the occasional passive aggressive approach than to be guilty of actual aggressiveness. The brutally honest people of the world have hurt my feelings enough for me to not want to be the one making someone feel that way. There are plenty of people in this world who will tell a person exactly what they're thinking; I think there should be some of us who will be kind and gentle.

I don't pretend I always properly apply my approach. Sometimes I have been guilty of lying to protect someone's feelings. I don't think I should lie and I'm not going to justify it. BUT I also don't see why I should have to say something unkind or harsh when I can easily pass on the same message in a gentler way.

There are situations in which I have had to grit my teeth and be brutally honest. In various leadership positions throughout my life I often have had to be that person. But I want it to be the exception rather than the rule. I don't want people to think I'm trying to hide my true feelings from them just to be considered "nice." Rather, I want them to know that whether I agree with them or not, whether I am happy with their choices or not that I will not treat them harshly or unkindly.

DON'T GET TOO EXCITED

I think part of being kind is letting someone know I'm happy to see them. In the aforementioned situation in which I made a fool of myself it was because I was too openly excited about something or other. You know when you're a little girl and you walk around holding hands with your best friend and squeal when you see her coming your way? But when you get older you have to act all cool as if it's all the same to you whether your friends come or go? At least that's what I observed and tried to mimic. It seems like the older we get the more pretending we do. Shouldn't it be the other way around??

I like people and I want to be excited to see them if I run into them at the grocery store or even just in the hallway at church. And if someone invites me to spend time with them I don't like to turn them down because I love spending time with my friends any chance I can get. And I won't squeal like a little girl, but I don't want to pretend I'm not excited. I am. I am shy and I can be socially awkward, but I will brave society so I can be with the people who are important to me. And I will usually have fun once I get comfortable with my surroundings, as long as I am surrounded by people who will let me be myself.

All my life people have tried to tell me who I should be because they think it will be "easier" for me. And in some ways being like everyone else seems easier, but what would really make my life easier is to feel people love me the way I am, even if I have room to improve. A lot of people seem to think everyone should be like them and I think everyone should be like themselves. The best version of themselves, of course, and I am still working on becoming that person.

Help Needed

Dear Family and Friends, 

This letter below is from my aunt, a native of Guatemala, who now lives in Tennessee (she is married to my mom's youngest brother). She has been organizing medical missions to Peru for about the last five years and now would like to take one to her home country in Guatemala. 

I would like to as your help in spreading the word for her, especially to medical professionals. She is looking for volunteers who can afford to pay their own way. Thanks so much for your help in sharing this letter. Miriam's contact information is included if you have more questions.

"Dear Family and Friends,

I have been planning the first medical mission to Guatemala, which will be held at the Santiago Medical Clinic in the peaceful Mayan town of Solola. We are looking for volunteers to build a team of medical professionals and non-medical support staff to help the underserved population of my beautiful Guatemala. We are thinking of a name for the mission, which right now we are calling "Love in Action."

Unfortunately, I do not have a date set yet, but to avoid the rainy season I am looking for a week in March or April 2013. Please let me know if there is a week in these months that would be best for you.

We want medical professionals of all levels, including physicians, surgeons, pre-med and biology students, nurses, pharmacists, dentists, and ophthalmologists to provide medical care at the clinic. If you are not a medical professional, or you have a non-medical family member that wants to travel with you, do not worry—I will put you to work. We are developing a list of potential workshops for the non-medical volunteers to lead, such as basic health and hygiene habits, Spanish literacy, English skills, domestic abuse prevention and parenting classes, sexual health and STD counseling. We also always need volunteers to watch and entertain the children while their parents receive medical treatment. If you have any additional thoughts on a class or workshop that you would enjoy leading, please let me know. Also, you do not need to speak Spanish to help! 

My plan is to have us work hard four days in Solola and then leave a few days for travel around the beautiful countryside in Guatemala. Solola is easily accessible to the beautiful lake of Atitlan, and we will pass through the colonial city of Antigua as well. There are also many other nearby beautiful locations, and I am attaching some pictures.

Finally, I do not know the total cost to each volunteer yet, but I am giving you a very rough estimate. This is not a final estimate, but an amount you can use to plan on whether this trip would be affordable for you or not. Of course, you have a few months before the trip, so there is time to save up! 

Very, rough estimate:

Airfare:

From Atlanta $550 round trip

From Florida $450.00 round trip

From SLC $750 round trip

From LAX $550 round trip

Hotel about $50 per night per person (based on two person per room) breakfast included in the hotel

Lunch and dinner about $20 per day

Transportation while in Guatemala about $100.

We have lots of planning to do, so please let me know if you want to be added to the list of volunteers!

I hope to hear from all of you.
If you want to call me the best time to do it is after 7 pm EST or on the weekends
Love you !
Miriam Lemon
706-280-7862"

Mommy Hypochondriasis

I think I have this disease.

Symptoms: Overuse of household sanitizing sprays. For example, when husband is sick, patient may spray everything he touches with Lysol until patient can taste Lysol when she's eating her lunch. When passing through the cold & flu section of the store, patient may hold breath. When coming into contact with any sick person, patient may sanitize hands until they're dry & unnattractive. Also, after coming into contact with a sick person, patient may imagine they have the same symptoms as said sick person. For example, when husband has a cold, patient may immediately begin experiencing sore throat, fever, and weakness that may or may not be caused by actual virus. Patient also may be terrible nurse to the sick, as patient may not wish to take temperatures, administer medicine, or generally console the sick. Instead, the patient may wish to be in different county than sick person.

Causes: Though there is considerable debate concerning the causes of this disorder, most professionals think it is probably caused by motherhood. Mothers who have had sick, whiney children do not want to deal with them again and mothers who have cared for sick children while sick themselves never want to be sick again. Thus, they may begin to take drastic measures to avoid illness in all its forms until it becomes an obsession, though some may call it an artform.

Treatments: The best cure for this disorder is for the patient to actually get sick. They become much less obsessive when sick and even feel a sort of relief at not having to avoid the illness anymore. This is why most patients are never cured, because they avoid the cure with such dedication.

Crazy Scary Stalker Girl

(originally posted 2008)

That's me. In a recent discussion on my friend's blog, we discovered that a few of us are blog-stalkers. We read the blogs of people we don't know. I would apologize for this sort of borderline behavior, except that I enjoy it too much and have found some gems as a result. Now, this is risky, but I'm going to list a few of the blogs (of people I've never met) I enjoy stalking. Some of you might be shocked:


--My sister Cindy's friend Gabe. He's a democrat, but I sometimes like to read his blog anyway. Except for when he went through a breakup... then it was a tad depressing.
--My friend Tracy's friend's blog "The Musings of the Dahle Lama." She also contributes to a pretty good blog called "Do We Have to Eat This?"
--My friend Leslie's "friend" Katie's Blog "White Skinned Goddess."

There are more, but I'm getting tired.

Now you know what a crazy stalker girl I am. I'm sure there's something not quite genteel about continually exposing myself this way to all my friends & family (&, potentially, other crazy stalkers), but then I suppose I don't care.

Now, perhaps I shouldn't encourage such behavior, but I will anyway. In case you're now thinking of blog stalking people you've never met, let me suggest some of my friends' blogs for you to stalk:

Leslie: http://sweetlifeofleslie.blogspot.com/. Funny, sweet, cute. 'Nuff said.
Jen: http://wehrmeisters.blogspot.com/. Funny, funny, funny.
Melynie: http://lifeissodelicious.blogspot.com/. The stories about her kids... so great!
My sister-in-law's photo blog: http://jessicawashburn365.blogspot.com/. Now you can see why I think I'm not good at photography.

Note: if you are an unsavory character who is stalking my blog, please stop and please don't go stalking any of my friends, either. We don't like unsavory characters reading our blogs.

Sounding Off

So, as you may have learned by now... I don't really like confrontation. And usually when someone expresses an opinion about something that I disagree with, well, I just keep my mouth shut & complain to David about it later & he tells me I need to start standing up for myself, which advice I continue to ignore. But I thought it was about time I sounded off on a few things, to cleanse the system.

To the two ladies I talked to at a shindig for our kids earlier this week...

It's apparent that you hate your children so, yes, for you the best path probably would have been to jet-set about the country until you got the selfishness out of your system, then try to have kids at 40. Hopefully you wouldn't have been able to conceive so late in life and then I wouldn't have to stand here listening to you talk about how awful your children are and how you could have better planned your life so as to minimize the time you had to spend with them.
---
To someone who looked over my Disney movie collection a few years ago...

No, I don't think the fact that there are always bad guys in Disney movies somehow makes them bad for children to watch. There is good in this world, but there is also a lot of bad in this world. I think it might be slightly better to expose your kids to bad vs. good first in a Disney format, so they can see how good can overcome, than to protect them from all bad things until you, at some point during their lives, throw them out to the wolves without any kind of warning. And how dare you, when invited into my home, look at the movies I have and commence to announce to the room full of women how they are bad movies? Where are your manners?!
---
To nobody in particular, just in case you were wondering...

I don't like garlic salt! I prefer garlic powder!
---
To my psychpathic downstairs neighbor from a few years ago...

It's apparent you hate children, but I happen to like them. Especially mine. And I refuse to make him tiptoe around all day just because you happened to move in below me & decided to work a night job delivering newspapers because your job at the vet clinic didn't work out an account of you hating people (her words, not mine). And stop leaving nasty notes on my door every morning. And get rid of those horrible birds. Oh, and by the way, we're moving soon, but I'm not telling you that because I want to torture you a little. I don't want you to know we'll be gone soon. I want you to think we'll be living here forever & my little boy will continue playing with his toys and having fun when you're trying to sleep. Because that's what kids do. At least the happy ones, with parents who love them more than they love psychopathic downstairs neighbors. No offense or anything. It's natural for me to love my child more than someone I hardly know. If it makes you feel better, I love you just as much as anyone could love a psychopathic downstairs neighbor who's tormenting them and lying to apartment managers about them. And, no, I don't have a dog!
---
To a lot of you out there...

I think Crocs are ugly & I can't believe you would wear them out in public!
---
To my math teacher in sixth grade...

No, I'm not as smart as my brother! NOT my fault!
---
To most of my friends & family...

STOP exercising & eating healthy! You're makin' me look bad!
---
To a random stranger at Shop N Save many, many years ago, when they first instituded "coupon Thursday"...

Yes, I do think waiting in line for 30 minutes is worth $10. Totally. I just got paid $10 to stand here. Some people pay money to go stand in lines, like at Disneyland. In this case, it's like Disneyland paid US!
---

Okay, enough already. Boy, do I feel better.

Reasons to Either Love or Hate Shopping with Children

1. Snacks. You must have snacks for the children, which means you can have a snack for yourself. This is good if you're hungry as I was today but not so good if you accidentally eat half a bag of strawberry yogurt covered raisins (or "pink yummies," as Melynie calls them) that you bought at Aldi 5 minutes ago.

2. Company. At least you're not the lonely shopper, wandering aimlessly, nobody to talk to. But on the other hand, you have someone to talk to you. "Mom, what's for Gain?" "Mom, what's for Purex?" (repeat for every brand of detergent you can think of and that might give you an idea). Even though you eventually tell them, "Everything here is for washing clothes. EVERYTHING." They'll still need to ask.

3. Efficiency. Shopping with children can make you more efficient. When I shop alone I wander, looking at everything in the store until David calls the police to search for me. Not that way with kids. With kids you leave the store before you have everything you needed because said children were laying on top of the shelves, which means you will have to go back again another day, which I guess isn't really efficient after all.

4. Attention. If you take your kids with you to the store people will look at you. When you shop alone they might not. Not sure if you want them looking at you, though, when you threaten in that end-of-my-rope voice to leave the children at the store if they don't stop hiding in the racks of clothes.

5. Excitement. If you shop with children you won't be bored. Your heart will be racing at some point or another on your shopping trip. Like when you can't find your child for 5 solid minutes even though you're yelling his name and he can hear you from the rack of clothes he's hiding inside. Maybe boredom's not such a bad thing.

6. Preparedness. If you shop with children you will have something for almost any catastrophe that might arise. Like when your child dumps soft scrub with bleach on himself in the shopping cart. But then if you shop with children you MUST be prepared for all sorts of catastrophes, so gone is the cute handbag. Enter the mommy bag. Useful. Big. NOT cute.

Then you'll get home and find out your husband came home from work early. If you had left an hour later you could have been shopping alone. ALONE!

Thanks to the rotten potatoes for taking the trash out, mopping my bathrooms, cleaning my kitchen, and making me take a shower

A few days ago I smelled a smell in my kitchen. I was pretty sure it had to be in the trash can, so I took the trash out. I could still smell it, so I also took the recycling out. Then since the smell was still there I decided I'd better scrub both the trash & recycling cans. Guess what. My kitchen still reeked. Like something had died.

Next, I wondered maybe something had spilled on the floor under the trash, so I swept and mopped the kitchen, which led to me sweeping and mopping the entryway and the bathrooms. Since that didn't work I washed the dishes and used a special cleaner in my garbage disposal, because probably there was just something stinky in the sink somewhere. Well, then it was really late and I decided to go to bed. I wasn't sure if I could smell the smell anymore or not.

In the morning I was pretty sure I could still smell it, but I still thought it came from the vicinity of the trash. I was baffled. I started to wonder if maybe it wasn't the kitchen after all. It could be ME. So I showered. Luckily that didn't get rid of the stink.

Then I did other stuff because I have things to do and can't stand around all day in my kitchen, just wondering what smells are. Later that night I set the trash cans in the garage, for an experiment. My kitchen was still unpleasant.

My next train of thought was that there was maybe a dead animal somewhere. So I did nothing because I did NOT want to be the one to find a dead rat in the kitchen. That might cause me to pass out and then who would care for the children. So I had David look around when he came home (he of course hadn't even noticed the smell). He looked in the cupboards and in the vent. Then he found it. The bag of rotten potatoes. No, two bags of rotten baby potatoes that I had on hand to make delicious Crash Hot Potatoes for my family. No crash hot potatoes for us, but at least my trash cans are clean. And my garbage disposal. And my floors (all of them). And me.

The Man Who Didn't Wash His Dishes and how he's still in my life

One of my favorite books as I was growing up was "The Man Who Didn't Wash His Dishes" (Krasilovsky, Phyllis). This poor man apparently didn't like washing dishes, so he just didn't. Eventually he ran out of dishes to eat off and cook out of, so he got creative-- eating out of flower pots and ash trays, even the soap dish. Then he ran out of those things, too, but also out of room to put any more dirty dishes and the cleanup job was just too big. So he had the ingeneous idea to put all the dirty dishes & non-dishes in the back of his truck while it was raining and that got them all clean. He of course vowed to always wash his dishes from there on out.


Now, I of course realize how ridiculous the whole story is, because when I run out of clean plates I just use paper plates. And when I don't have a pot to cook out of I just drive down to Little Ceasar's. And of course the rain would be no match for stuck-on food-- especially food that was stuck on the first plate he used, before he ran out of ALL his dishes and everything else that could pose as a dish. Just imagine.


But that's not the point (I always have a point, as you well know). The point is how I still think of that poor man on at least a weekly basis. There's a day every week when I look around my kitchen and think, boy, there's not even a place to put any more dirty dishes (as I was thinking today and which brought me to writing this inspiring post). If I don't watch out I'll be like that poor man who had to eat out of a flower pot. And that's when I finally get around to washing the dishes. Because I, too, hate washing dishes. It's one of my least favorite household chores. But I'm pretty well convinced I would hate eating out of a flower pot even more than I hate washing dishes.


You should read the book, by the way. But not because it will have the same effect on you (you're adults, for heaven's sake) but because it's a good book. Your kids (if you have some) would love it, too, and maybe someday they'll look around their kitchens and say, boy, I don't have a place to put any more dirty dishes. If I don't watch out I'll end up like that poor man who had to eat out of a flower pot. And they'll wash their dishes and your grandchildren won't have to eat out of soap dishes. Just think.

A New Standard

I have known for a while that having two kids means I need to maybe change my standards for cleanliness. What I was able to achieve before (and maintain sanity) is just not possible anymore. So I have come up with a handy guide to turn to when I'm unsure whether my house meets the new standards.


Definitions:


Old standard= sparkling/see your face in/disinfected/eat off the floor/vacuum lined/polished/does anyone really live here/company ready/house the pope if needed clean


New standard= clean enough


Chapter 1: What is "clean enough?"



The bathroom is clean enough if you can still see yourself in the mirror.


The vinyl floors are clean enough as long as your feet aren't sticking to them.


No need to dust until you can legibly write "dust me" on surfaces with a fingertip.


The windows are clean enough as long as you can still see the neighbor's dead grass from your kitchen.


The kitchen is clean enough as long as there aren't any dead flies floating in dirty cereal bowls.


The laundry can wait until you run out of either clean underwear or baskets for the dirty stuff.


The bedding is clean enough until it holds the shape of your body when you're not in bed anymore.


The walls are clean enough as long as you can see more paint than sticky handprints.


The house is clean enough as long as your child doesn't tell you this house is kind of messy. Then you let things go too far.


Just for the record, my house is not currently "clean enough."

A couple of days ago I was taking an online consumer survey. They asked me the strangest question: "What is the age of your inner voice?" I really had to think about that one.

My inner voice right now is a 90-year-old-woman. She's telling me it's late & I should get to bed & stop messing around on the computer.

On the other hand, there's a voice in there that's telling me I should go right ahead & enjoy the very little bit of time I have for myself (sans children). Yeah, you'll be tired tomorrow, but you're always tired. I think that voice is about 30. Realistic.

And then I hear a voice reminding me I have a husband in the other room. He might like to have me around while he flips channels. I think that voice is probably about 19, the age I was when I married David.

I hear a whispering... something about getting the dishes done & maybe even sweeping up (for the 3rd time today). I think that voice is someone very young, maybe 16, because it has a lot of energy.

I also hear someone in there shouting that I want my mom. Oh, never mind, that's not an inner voice. That's one of the kids. What's he still doing awake? It's 10:00! Oh, my goodness, that child is going to be trouble for us tomorrow.

I think a voice in there must talk to my mom regularly, because it's telling me it's worried about me. It wants me to get more rest. It wants to know I'm happy. That voice worries a lot. Not sure on the age. Maybe an empty nester. Its kids have all left home. It worries because it can't see the kids and know they're okay. I guess that voice is my mom. Mom, get out of my head!

There's a voice that wants me to be more interesting & convinced me to not publish the long essay about being a young mother I just typed because it thinks I write about being a mom too much. (I'll publish it another time, when that voice is asleep). I think that voice is probably about 18 & in college. Definitely unmarried & without children.

I just heard a voice tell me my son wants to show me a book. It's David's voice. I think I'll listen to that voice. Because if I don't, then that child will never go to sleep.

Religious Myths Revealed

Thanks to Mormon Presidential candidate Mitt Romney, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints is all over the media these days. As a Mormon, I often feel the need to correct some of the misconceptions out there about our church & its members. Just as not all Muslims are jihadists, not all Mormons fit the stereotypes assigned us by ill-informed people.

Myth #1: All of our women are exceptionally beautiful.
Truth: Though many of the Mormon women are very beautiful, we have our share of less-attractive women. No more or less than other religious groups.

Myth #2: Our congregations are spilling over with raging alcoholics.
Truth: Though I'm sure we have a few closet alcoholics amongst us, practicing Mormons do not drink alcohol. I have never tasted the stuff myself. I choose to get drunk, instead, on power.

Myth #3: We have unusually small families.
Truth: This may come as a surprise, but we actually tend to have larger than average families. My parents, for example, raised 6 children.

Myth #4: We hate the Jehovah's Witnesses.
Truth: We actually really like them because they take part of the brunt of door-to-door proselytizing jokes. Takes a little heat off us.

Myth #5: We don't really think about or plan for the the future.
Truth: Actually, we tend to be a little overprepared for the future. We keep lots of food & other supplies in our basements for emergencies, like when you forgot to buy sugar at the grocery store. Or other, real, emergencies, like natural disasters.

Myth #6: We only go to church on Easter & Christmas.
Truth: This is a common misconception. In reality, we spend 3 hours in church every Sunday. Really. And, for the most part, we enjoy it. Crazy people.

Myth #7: Mormons are crazy.
Truth: This might actually be kind of true, such as in the case of... me, for example. But it certainly doesn't apply to everyone, so it's not fair to apply it generally.

Myth #8: We hate jello.
Truth: On the contrary, Mormons consume an unusually large amount of jello per capita as compared to the amounts consumed by the general population . It's yummy.

Myth #9: Mormons have potty mouths.
Truth: Though this is widely believed, Mormons, in general, try not to use offensive language. Instead, we make up our own words which, though not offensive, may be annoying to some.

Myth #10: The Mormon Church (more correctly and longly called The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints) receives heavy support from the Big Tobacco.
Truth: Actually, the tobacco companies do not like Mormons. We do not smoke and with our proselytizing efforts worldwide we are taking business away from them.



I hope I have helped clear things up for some of you.

Dress to Impress

I gussied myself up for a women's meeting at church. While doing so, it occured to me that I get more dressed up for time with my women friends than I do for a date night with David. Not that those happen often. Date nights, I mean. But that's another issue altogether.


The answer to why I put so much more effort into impressing my ladies than I do into impressing David? It's the result of conditioning.


Amy: "Do you like my haircut?"

David: "You got your hair cut? It looks the same."


Vs.


Female friend: "Ooh, I love the hair. SOOO cute!"

Amy: "Oh, thanks for noticing!"


David: "Is that a new skirt?"

Amy: "Well, I've had it about a year. So, no."

David: "How much did it cost?"


Vs.


Female friend: "That's such a cute skirt! Where did you get it?"

Amy: "Oh, can you believe I found this on the clearance rack at JC Penney. $5!"

Female friend: "No way! I love a good deal! Do you think they have any more?"



David: "What's on your toenails?"

Amy: "That's pink nail polish."

David: "Oh, I thought you had nail fungus or something."


Vs.


Female friend: "Look at your fancy nails! I should totally paint mine."

Amy: "Yeah, pink nail polish makes everything better."


David: "What's that smell?"

Amy: "What does it smell like? I just put on perfume."

David: "Oh."


Vs.


Female friend: "Ooh, something smells good!."

Amy: "Oh, I'm wearing perfume."


Amy: " Wait, I have to put my makeup on first."

David: "Why would you wear makeup? It'll just be dark in the movie."

Amy: "Good point."


Vs.


Female friend: "You look so pretty!"

Amy: "Thanks! You're so sweet! You look pretty, too!"


I do not mean to imply that David does not think I'm pretty. Rather, I mean that David just likes me more... natural. And so that's what he gets. No makeup. No hairdo. No perfume. Just me.

A topic on which I am very qualified to write

I hate to brag, but I will anyway. I am a world-reknowned expert on guilt. I have won the world guilt olympics 5 times. The National Association of Guilt Experts has named me "Top Guilt Performer for 2003-2009." What kind of dedication does it take to achieve such greatness?

If my house is dirty I feel guilty and clean it. Once it's clean I feel guilty that maybe it's too clean & people who have dirty houses might be uncomfortable when they see how clean my house is. I don't want them to feel uncomfortable. But then again I don't want a dirty house, so I just go back and forth between dirty and clean, filled with guilt all the while.

I am wracked with guilt when I ask David to come home from work "early" so I can go out with my friends and enjoy myself. But if I don't go I feel guilty because I didn't go & support whatever fun thing the girls had planned for us to do. If David asks if he can go to a baseball game after work, however, I work my hardest to make sure he goes & enjoys himself. I want him to do something besides work. I make a conscious effort to rid him of any guilt. It's like I want to keep all the guilt for myself.

Whenever my kids want something they cannot have I feel guilty for saying no all the time, but when I say yes I feel guilty & wonder if I should have said no. This results in a very inconsistent application of yes's & no's & a consistent feeling of guilt.

If I call a friend just to chat I feel guilty that I'm keeping them on the phone for so long. However, when I don't call them at all I, of course, feel guilty for being an inattentive friend. I call sporadically & so I alternate between feeling guilty for not calling & then feeling guilty because I called.

Guilt overcomes me when I ask a friend for a favor, like watching my children. So I often put off calling them until the last minute, and so then I add on the guilt of asking someone for a huge favor last minute, when they probably had other plans and had to change them to accomodate me. And of course if they call me for a favor, well, you know what happens, but that was another post.

When I have a responsibility I feel guilty if I don't do everything perfectly. I am so driven to perfection that it takes up more time than it probably should, so then I feel guilty because I am spending too much time on that when I could be playing with my kids or talking to David. So I go for periods where I neglect my duties to do the more important stuff, like being a good mom, but then when the guilt gets the better of me I'll go back to overachieving for a while so I can feel a different kind of guilt.

If I stay up late I feel guilty. But if I go to bed early I lay in bed feeling guilty for all the dirty dishes in the sink & unread emails in the inbox. And I end up staying awake late anyway, eventually drifting into a guilty sleep.

At parties, guilt drives me to make sure nobody gets left out. I try to talk to anyone who seems lonely. But then I feel guilty that I'm not talking to my friends. And so I go back and forth between the lonelies & the friends, feeling guilty & not enjoying myself as much as I should.

If you need any further evidence of this I would be glad to give you a call & tell you about it, but I'll probably make the call short. You probably have other things you need to be doing. I would feel guilty keeping you from your work. And I have a record to uphold after all.

Once Upon a Time

Sometime in August marked the 13-year anniversary of the day I supposedly married David. Or so they tell me. I was very, very sick that day & my memory is foggy. But I remember a white dress & some people shaking my hand. And lots of cameras.



The story of David & Amy.


David loved Jennifer, or so he thought. Until he saw Amy. She was so much prettier. And she didn't live in Springfield like Jennifer. Not only was Amy more conveniently located; she cooked dinner for him. She was definitely marriageable. He could see it: beautiful little children who all looked just like Amy. And delicious dinners when he arrived home from work. So David asked Amy to marry him (after a reasonable trial period). And she did. Unfortunately, she hates to cook. But she did give him some rather nice-looking sons, who, thankfully, do not look exactly like her.



The story of Amy & David.


Amy loved David's blue eyes. But she hated that girlfriend. She would have to go. So Amy got rid of Jennifer by bewitching David with her female trickery. She cooked him dinner (rice-a-roni, or pasta-roni, if she was getting fancy). And of course she cooked him dinner with food he paid for. Then she ate the food, too. And she saw her own grocery bills go down considerably. She saw this was an arrangement that worked to her advantage. Plus he had those blue eyes. So when he said marry me, she did. And they lived happily ever after, at least for 13 years so far anyway.

How to tell whether you've read that book before or not

1. Read the title. If it doesn't seem familiar, you may not have read the book.
2. Look at the cover. If you don't recall having seen the pictures on it, you may not have read the book.
3. Read the first page. If it seems new to you, then you may not have read the book.
4. Continue reading. If you get through the first chapter without remembering any details, you may not have read the book.
5. Read the rest of the book. If, at any point, you think, hey, I've read this before, then you can stop reading if you want. You may have possibly read the book before. But since you apparently don't really remember reading it, you might do well with a re-read

How to put off something you'll inevitably have to do anyway

Chapter 1

Make a list. Making lists is a great way to put off doing any actual work. Make sure to include items on the list that you enjoy doing and which do not need to be done right away. Also include tasks already previously completed.

Chapter 2

Do the items on the list that you enjoy in order to avoid the more important, less enjoyable tasks. Then cross them off. You'll feel really good and will be ready to procrastinate some more.

Chapter 3

Check your email. Then you might need to clean out your inbox. Then you'll of course need to empty the recycling folder. Then you can find more cleaning tasks to complete on your computer if you think hard enough. What about your internet history? Your pictures? Your Facebook Invitations? There is so much to be done!

Chapter 4

Check to see if the mailman has arrived yet. If he has not, then you can check again at intervals later in order to eat up more time. Even if you happen to know he never comes before 3pm. It doesn't matter. We're dealing with possibilities, not realities.

Chapter 5

Turn on the TV in order to watch the news. But you might also want to clean out some of those shows that have been filling up your DVR. That's kind if like cleaning.

Chapter 6

Play with your kids. They need your attention. Then they might also need you to cuddle with them on the couch for a while. With a bowl of popcorn. And while you're there you might as well watch something on TV or read some stories. Kids are always willing to help you put off work.

Chapter 7

Cross off some of the items on the list that you had already done anyway but put on there so you could feel like you accomplished something when, in fact, you did not.

Chapter 8

Stack your dirty dishes in neat piles. Then it looks like you did something. Sort your laundry into darks, whites, and colors. Shuffle the piles of paper around on your desk. You haven't actually "done" anything, but you'll feel like you did.

Chapter 9

Call someone you've been meaning to call. Especially someone who really likes talking.

Chapter 10

It's getting late and your husband might be home from work any minute now. He might not fall for all your tricks. He knows stacking dishes is not the same thing as washing them. Now is the time to do something. So pick the one job he'd notice first. The rest can wait. After all, you haven't checked the mailbox in at least an hour. Besides, you're tired from all those walks out to the mailbox. Boy, it sure is hard work avoiding work.

Opposites Attract

Yes, indeed, they do. Pantyhose and velcro always find each other. Zippers will inevitably seek out lace. They don't know what's good for them. Pantyhose mothers are often heard telling their daughters to find themselves a nice, reliable sock to marry but the daughters can't resist those dangerous, mysterious velcro boys. The red socks always wheedle their way into the washer with a load of nice, clean, innocent white socks. Then, before you know it, a whole generation of white socks is pink. The mesh shorts tend to position themselves next to the skirt wearing a nice hook & eye. Next thing you know they're hooked. And nothing good can come of it. The wool sweater thinks it would be nice to run away to the dryer with her crew neck T-shirt boyfriend when she told her mother she was going to the top of the washer for a nap.

They never learn. Oh, it seems exciting at first. But once they've been married for a while the mystery wears off and they realize they're married to a sweaty sock and that they gave up their looks for that sweaty sock. A warning: opposites tend to want to do opposite things. A pair of pantyhose is bound to be the theater-going type, but velcro really just wants to go see a movie. A skirt wearing a hook & eye is going to end up at church. But mesh shorts don't want anything to do with church. Red socks are notoriously hermits. A social butterfly like the white sock should think twice about a red sock. And their poor pink children.... And don't even get me started about the differences between zippers and lace.

All About the Five Minutes One Day When I Thought I Had Breast Cancer

(Originally Posted in 2010)

I had some discomfort in the left upper quadrant of my chest so my doctor, just to be extra safe, sent me in for a mammogram. I went, feeling sure that I did not have breast cancer and this would be a very painful waste of my time.

The test was in the "cancer building" of St. Joseph West Hospital (I didn't like going into the cancer building & even sort of wondered while sitting in the waiting room if there were any contagious forms of cancer). After a short wait I was escorted to a changing room so I could dress myself in the stylish pink shirt that would give them full access. After another short wait in a different waiting room a technician took me into the room for the mammogram. After asking me some questions about cancer, she told me she would take some pictures of both sides & then show them to the radiologist, who might want more pictures depending on how well the first ones turned out. So she took about 4 or so pictures and then showed them to the radiologist while I waited in the waiting room with a woman older than my mom (and that is OLD). The technician returned with instructions to take a few more pictures of the left side. Once in the room she told me she had a feeling the radiologist was going to want an ultrasound of the left side.

"Do you have orders from your doctor for an ultrasound?" she asked.

"Um, no..." I answered, trying to think of a reason they would want an ultrasound other than to get a better look at "something they found" in the other pictures.

The technician took some more pictures, which, by the way, hurt a lot more than the first ones. She then returned me to my seat in the waiting room so she could, once again, confer with the yet unseen radiologist. The technician returned to the waiting room with what I thought was a concerned look on her face. She told me the radiologist did want to have an ultrasound of the left side. They were having their receptionist call my doctor for the orders. Meanwhile, she said, touching my arm, just wait here. Was there anything I needed? (speaking in the concerned voice, sitting next to me, touching my arm, looking me straight in the eyes). No, I didn't need anything, except for this whole ordeal to end.

She left & I continued flipping through my magazine. The next page just happened to be a story about breast cancer survivors and what they had learned from their breast cancer experience. This was too much for me & the tears started coming, but I managed to hold them in (just barely). I began pondering what my breast cancer experience would be like. I wondered if I could possibly be pregnant. What would that do to the baby? Would I have to choose between my own life & the life of a baby? How would we tell the kids? What kind of life would we have? Could I depend on David to help me through this? How would I get all the housework done when I was sick from chemotherapy? How much pain would I be in after the inevitable mastectomy? I was getting quite upset by my cancer diagnosis. Until I remembered that I had not, in fact, been diagnosed with cancer. Or anything.

Another technician came and told me she'd be right with me. Then she took me into a different room and I got on the bed. I was tired from my earlier meltdown, so it was nice to be able to rest. The technician took several pictures of what looked like a circular thingy and then told me she would show them to the radiologist, who may or may not want to then come talk to me. But, she reassured me, if she does come talk to you, it doesn't necessarily mean something bad has been found. Which, to me, sounded like she said, "If she wants to talk to you, then it could mean she found something bad." She left.

The radiologist returned to the room alone. She said, "WE FOUND....." (they found something!) "what appears to be a benign nodule...." blah blah blah "we just want to see you in six months to make sure it hasn't grown." blah blah blah. I don't know what else she said, except to tell you she did not tell me that I have breast cancer. And that is what matters.  And that is the end of the story about the five minutes one day when I thought I had breast cancer.

On the Virtues of Inconsistency

As I was recently worrying about the inconsistency in my life in general and, specifically, in my exercise routine (can you call it a "routine" if it's anything but? Whatever), it occured to me that there is an upside to everything. Right? So. For those of us in the world who excel at inconsistent exercise, I have come up with a list of reasons why our way is better:

1. Gyms are germ-infested. I speak as one who previously worked in a gym. Trust me. Stay away. And the outdoors, well, is infested with insects and other nature. Stay away from that stuff, too.

2. Your body likes to be surprised. If you do the same thing every day, your body gets bored & the exercise doesn't work as well as it used to. So, if you're inconsistent your body will never have time to get used to anything. Every workout will feel like your first. This is completely based on something someone once told me who was not at all an expert in anything and I choose to accept it as fact because it conveniently supports my way of doing things.

3. If you lose all the weight, you will have nothing to look forward to anymore. It's better to never reach your weight loss goals so that you have a motivation to continue exercising.

4. If you spend too much time exercising you use more socks & underwear. I find my laundry loads increase when I have been exercising consistently. Inconsistency, then, can save water & energy. Good for the environment.

5. I can speak from experience that if I exercise too much & lose weight there's a tendency to want to buy new clothing. Exercising is expensive. Thus, you should avoid doing it too consistently.

6. If you always look skinny & healthy, people will stop commenting on it. It'll be old news. So, it's better if your weight fluctuates along with your workouts. Keep that element of surprise. "Will Millie be fat or skinny this month? We don't know. Can't wait to find out."

7. How can you possibly expect to get cast on The Biggest Loser if you've already lost all that weight? It'll look good on your audition tape if you're struggling & just not able to pull it off on your own.

8. When you exercise, you sweat. Sweat is stinky. Do you want to be stinky all the time? Me either.

9. If you lose a lot of weight then people may not recognize you anymore. This could be confusing for people. You don't want to confuse anyone, do you? Me either.

10. If a burglar is staking out your house, they may be watching for routines, i.e. when you leave the house to go to the gym every day or when you go out walking in the mornings. If you are inconsistent enough the burglar will give up on you & rob your skinny neighbor.

Surgeon General Amy (that has a nice ring to it)

The American Academy of Pediatrics wants labels on foods that are a choking hazard for children. Yeah, this seems like a good idea. I would love to bite into a fresh, crunchy apple stamped with "CHOKING HAZARD! Not for children under the age of 4!" In fact, everything you buy should come with a warning label on it, just so you know in advance what might happen if you buy it. That way life will hold no surprises. Here are just a few suggestions:

HANES BRIEFS
"Parents, be advised: Your sons will wear these as a hat."

CHOCOLATE ICE CREAM (all brands)
"You've been warned: This will make you fat"

SNYDER'S PRETZELS
"PARENTS: Your 1-year-old may eat these for breakfast every day for a week"
(Side note: I don't know what sort of parent would allow such a thing, but I've heard somewhere that it has happened before)

DISNEY DVDS
"Parents, be advised: You will get sick of watching this for the hundredth time, but your children will not"

NOISY TOYS (any brand)
"GRANDPARENTS: If you buy this for your grandchildren, it will eventually work its way back to your house"

PRINGLES (any flavor)
"WARNING: Once you pop, you can't stop"

CELL PHONES (all brands)
"NOTICE: If you buy this phone, everyone you know can call you anytime they want. And they will expect you to answer."

LEGOS
"CAUTION: You will be finding these tiny pieces all over your house"

COUCHES (any brand)
"HUSBANDS: You may have to sleep on this"

SWIMMING SUITS (any brand)
"Be advised: You may not have the body for this"

How You Can Tell It's Busy Season

(This is from 2010, but is is very timely)

David hates the term "busy season" because he's busy all year. It's just that at certain times of the year he is busier than other times. And this is one of those times. He probably has about 3 or more busy seasons now in the course of a year, but the summer busy season is by far the longest, about 2-2 1/2 months. He works 7 day weeks & comes home very late every night. In case you didn't know, David is a tax consultant for a CPA firm. He deals with corporate taxes & tax planning & some other stuff.

If you can't seem to remember that the summer busy season is July through September 15, well, here are some signs:

1. Our house, from the outside, begins to look abandoned. At the moment, the sign with our address on it that hangs from our mailbox stand is dangling by one hook, our lawn has been completely overtaken by crabgrass (which is about a foot high now), and the shrubs are very overgrown.
2. The kids start going to bed earlier & earlier. If you stop by at 7pm and the kids are both in bed already, you know it's been a busy season kind of day.
3. You see me shopping with my kids at night. Who, in their right mind, would do it unless they have no choice?
4. I start to get that crazed "I'm barely holding it together here" look in my eyes.
5. You notice me gaining lots of weight. Yes, I eat when I'm stressed. I used to clean when I was stressed. I should still do that, but as it is now I'm too tired to clean, so I have to eat.
6. My kids start to look like orphans. Their hair gets too long & their fingernails start to look a little clawlike. They may get fewer baths, too.
7. If I come over to visit, you may have trouble getting rid of me. Hey, once I get out of here, I don't want to come back. Can you blame me?
8. My kids begin watching way too much TV. I'm pretty sure they watched about 5 hours of TV today. I know you're not supposed to let TV babysit your kids, but on some days I think Mickey, Thomas, Tom, & Jerry are actually better at taking care of my kids than I am.
9. You'll notice Michael spending too much time on the computer. I let him create a website one day just so I could get a nap. I also have let him open three email accounts for the same reason.
10. If you call me (or if I call you), you may have trouble getting me to stop talking. Hey, what's a girl gotta do for a little adult conversation around here?!

Advice Fathers Must Give their Sons...

...when Mom is not listening.

Despite our constant drilling regarding bathroom procedure (shut the door behind you, lift the seat, AIM, flush, wash your hands), boys can't seem to get it straight. Perhaps there is some sabotage going on when we're not in the room.

"You can leave the door open; we're all family. Besides, Mom will shut it for you if she's around anyway."

"Don't worry about the seat; you probably won't pee on it. And if you do, whatever. Mom cleans this toilet every week."

"You don't need to aim; just sort of let it go wherever. Mom will clean it up later."

"Flushing is too much work. Don't worry about it. Mom will flush it later."

"Wash your hands? You want to wash your hands? Washing hands is for sissies! Are you a girl or something?"

And that's not the only topic that's somewhat suspicious. Why do they think it's okay to pee in the shower or wear the same underwear all week? Not from anything their moms told them.

"Oh, no, stay here. See that hole there? Just pee in there & then you won't have to get out of the shower & get all cold."

"Does it LOOK dirty? NO? Then it's not dirty."

I can't think of any other explanation except that boys are genetically programmed to be gross and lazy. And I sure hope that's not it, because I have to believe there is hope for the future.

Confessions of a 30-Something Drama Queen

David gets really upset when I threaten to kill our children or myself. I don't know why. I guess he just doesn't understand what I really mean. If I said what I meant it just wouldn't sound as dramatic. It wouldn't carry any weight. Here's what I mean:

When I say, "I'm going to kill the children!" I actually mean, "I want to put the children to bed early!"

However, when I threaten, "I'm going to strangle the children!" I of course intend to say, "I'm going to send the children to a long time out!"

I have been known to say, "I'm going to sell you to the gypsies!" but obviously what I'm saying is "I would really love to ship you off to Grandma & Grandpa."

On those nights when I beg David, "Just shoot me now!" what I'm saying is "I want you to put ME to bed early & do the dishes for me!"

But when I announce, "I have had enough!" the true meaning is, "I'm going to Walmart alone to wander the aisles aimlessly for a couple of hours. Don't call the cops when I don't come home right away."

While the Cat's Away

The mice do not, apparently, make the baby mice change their underwear or take baths. They certainly do not make the baby mice eat their vegetables and they don't remember to take snacks or crayons & coloring books for them when they take them to church (really, though, it's a miracle if the mice take the baby mice to church at all). But the mice do manage to keep the baby mice alive despite their lack of experience in general micecare. And they do at least clean up the nest before the cats return to find out a lot of the other stuff mice consider optional while the cat is out of town.

In Sickness and In Health

A healthy husband says, "I don't need to see the doctor. I'm a man. I will live forever."

A sick husband whimpers from underneath a pile of blankets, "I'm going to die. Feel my head. doesn't it feel like I'm going to die?"

A healthy husband declares, "I don't need to take medicine. I'm a man."

A sick husband will ask in a pitiful voice, "Do we have any medicine that will keep me from dying?"

A healthy husband complains that we don't have any ice cream in the house.

A sick husband sobs that he is going to die because we don't have any ice cream in the house.

A healthy husband lets you know, "There is nothing to eat in this house. I am starving."

A sick husband explains, "I'm not hungry. I had a bowl of applesauce today. That's enough."

A healthy husband tells you, "It's not cold in here. Leave that thermostat alone."

A sick husband whines, "This house is freezing. Can't you feel how cold it is in here? Turn up the heat. Pile on the blankets. I'm suffering from hypothermia here."

A healthy husband informs you, "I don't need to call my mom; I'm a grown man."

A sick husband moans, "Call my mom. She'd know what to do."

Q & A

The way a mother answers a question:

Kid: "Mom, when was the word quiz invented?"
Mom: "That is a very good question. I don't know. We should go look it up on the Internet."

The way a father answers a question:

Kid: "Dad, when was the word quiz invented?"
Dad: "February 1, 1823. It was invented by George Quiz of Boston, Massachusetts. He was a school teacher. He wanted school to be harder for the kids. Interestingly enough,
he actually did very poorly in school when he was a kid. But he made millions of dollars on his invention & was able to stop teaching school and married a beautiful woman named Poppy, but all of her friends called her 'Pop.' So, for the rest of her life she was known as 'Pop Quiz,' which, incidentally, is where the phrase 'Pop Quiz' came from, which made the Quiz family even wealthier & school even harder for the kids."
Kid: "Wow, Dad, you know everything."
Dad: "I know."

Ahhhh, Memories....

Hey, Amy, remember our first apartment?

Hey, David, remember how we told the landlord about the hole in the carpet & he said he'd let us replace the carpet if we wanted to, so we just put a rug over the hole?

Hey, Amy, remember how the maintenance guys dropped the toilet & broke it when they were replacing the tile? And then they just glued it back together?

Hey, David, remember how the water to the building would get turned off with no notice & so we'd have to go without showering?

Hey, Amy, remember the kitchen/hallway? And the oven we had to light every time we used it?

Hey, David, remember how the blinds were broken & people walking past the apartment could see into our bedroom?

Hey, Amy, remember the time I was on my way to an interview, dressed in my suit, and I walked out of our apartment & the police were frisking a guy right outside our building?

Hey, David, remember the time when the police chased a guy through our apartment building?

Hey, Amy, remember the time our next door neighbors threatened to kill each other? And how her boyfriend got deported?

Hey, David, remember how the same next door neighbor left her 3 & 5-year-old kids home alone & one time the 3-year-old wandered into some stranger's house down the street?

Hey, Amy, remember how our neighbor downstairs talked the police out of taking the kids away from her?

Hey, David, remember how she never vacuumed her apartment. Ever? And the floor was, literally, covered with food? And how there was a rumor that she was running a brothel from her apartment?

Hey, Amy, remember when her 5-year-old took a nail to the hood of my car?

Hey, David, remember how we were supposed to water the grass & shovel the snow for the apartment building? Except we didn't have a hose, sprinkler, or shovel?

Hey, Amy, remember the time some guy parked right behind our car while you were at work, so I had to call our friend to drive me to pick you up from work?

Hey, David, remember how the washer & dryer in the basement only worked about half the time & so we'd have to go drive to the laundromat to do our laundry?

Hey, Amy, remember how we had a window in our shower?

Hey, David, remember how there were 5 single Mexican immigrant men living in a studio apartment in the basement? And they worked for the landlord and were given permission to turn the water off whenever the sewer backed up into their apartment? Without notifying the other residents?

Yeah, those were the good old days....

When Imagination Meets Memory

Today as I was out running some errands I saw a can of the chocolate hazelnut Pirouline wafers that my grandma used to sometimes buy when I was little. Once in a while she would let me have one & I remember thinking they were the most glamorous thing I had ever eaten.  My memory convinced me to buy a can to bring home.  I waited with great anticipation to taste one again.  I opened the can & bit into the flaky wafer.  It was good.  That's all.  Just good.  And I didn't feel glamorous at all. Of course nothing can live up to that many years of being placed on a pedestal as "the most glamorous thing I have ever eaten."

I can remember being quite distraught when Jell-O Pudding Pops were discontinued.  I have heard people kept asking Bill cosby if he could convince the company to reintroduce the pudding pops (as if CEOs listen to actors) & I even considered submitting a petition of my own.  An entire generation mourned the loss of those puddingy, chilly treats & couldn't move on to something else.  One day a few years ago I was in Aldi & saw-- but couldn't quite believe my eyes-- a box of Jell-O Pudding Pops!  Of course I bought them!  Who wouldn't have bought them?!  I brought them home & broke into the box right away, ready for the resurrection of my childhood.  Well, they were good-ish.  Actually, they tasted kind of like fudgesicles, which I just like, not love.  They might have been a step up from fudgesicles, but just a small step (like the kinds you find in old homes built when people were shorter on average).  There is not a frozen treat in the world that could live up to the anticipation & imagination of an entire generation of people mourning its loss & celebrating its resurrection.  That pudding pop probably tasted just as good as it did when I was a kid, but it was ruined by decades of trying to recapture how delicious it had been.  My imagination had met up with reality, and reality rarely lives up to my imagination.

Whenever I am in Utah I do everything in my power to visit a restaurant chain called Cafe Rio.  Why?  Because, in my head, Cafe Rio serves the absolutely most delicious food.  Ever.  At least that's how good it is in my memory, especially after the food has time to simmer in my imagination.  Then it comes out tasting like bites of heaven, or what I imagine heaven would taste like-- of course I'm thinking of the southern provinces of heaven.  As soon as I take the first bite of actual food from Cafe Rio I know that it is very good-- and even the angels might enjoy it-- but it is not made of heaven.  The first time I ate at Cafe Rio it surpassed my expectations.  Every other time I have eaten there I have been disappointed.  It's just simply impossible for the poor souls at Cafe Rio to cook food that could satisfy my memory, especially when my imagination has had a year or more to work on my memory.

The fact is that we humans have a tendency to idolize experiences & people from our past & whenever you make an idol out of anything or anyone, it (or they) can do nothing but disappoint.  So perhaps we should stop viewing our past with such rose-colored glasses & see it for what it is.  Shrinky dinks, once all was said & done, were just shriveled-looking creations.  Easy Bake Oven just made underdone brownies & took forever to do that much.  College was fun, but there was a LOT of homework.  High school was a time of confusion, acne, and self-centeredness.  Babies are snuggly & cuddly & they don't talk back, but don't forget about the crying & the diapers & the sleepless nights.  Nothing was as good as we remember it being, so maybe we should stop remembering anything as wonderful so we don't ever feel disappointed.

Or maybe it's good we can look back with such rose-colored glasses.  Rose-colored hindsight is good for morale.  We can forgive our imaginations for running away with our memories, because that is the part of the fun of living.  Imagination makes life-- whether past or present-- more colorful, more memorable.  There is no reason to regret moments of disappointment amongst a lifetime of high expectations & pleasant (if inflated) memories.  If we never experience disappointment, we'll never appreciate the moments when our reality actually proves to be as good as reality can possibly be.  And, true, reality will rarely live up to our imaginations, but then I am not so sure I want it to.  Reality, with its ups & downs, its triumphs & its disappointments, is a much fuller & self-actualizing experience than I could ever dream up.  So go ahead & buy the Rainbow Bright movie for your daughter, but don't be surprised if you fall asleep this time around.  But you will sure enjoy the memories &, even more, you will absolutely LOVE watching your daughter make some memories of her own.  

Confessions of a Semi-Fertile Woman

So, I'm in kind of a weird place.  I don't fit the category of infertile but I am far from being one of those women who have a conversation with their husbands about how it might be nice to have another child & the next thing they know the other child is on its way.  Part of the trouble with me getting pregnant is related to the extreme demand Ernst & Young puts on David's time.  But the other part is just that getting pregnant is not simple for me.  I often marvel at teenagers who accidentally make babies. There is such a small window of opportunity.  Anyway, that's why I put myself in the semi-fertile category.  I'm neither here nor there.

The women who are truly infertile, who have never had the experience of being pregnant & giving birth, don't really want to hear me whining when I have been blessed twice with a child of my own.  The super-fertile women don't get it.  Once I complained that I wished Michael had a sibling to play with & a woman said, "Well, just have another baby," as if it were as simple as going to the baby store & picking out one that looked good & ripe.  I want to tell my story because I know there are other women out there who can relate to this sort of in-between state of being & would probably like to hear that someone else can relate.

What we feel....

THE GUILT

Oh, the guilt.  Women can feel guilt about anything, so I know guilt is not something we semi-fertile women have exclusive rights to.  We just have different guilt.  That's all.

We feel guilty because we know we should be happy that we have any children at all & not long for another one.  But when I tuck my children in & see their sweet sleeping faces I think to myself, "This feels good.  I want to feel more of this.  I want another one of these to love."  And loss is loss.  Every month when you think you might be pregnant and you get that clear sign you are, in fact, definitely NOT pregnant--  that is a moment of loss.  When you've been imagining this could-be baby, wondering if it would be a he or a she, what would he or she look like.... and then he or she is no more... it's as if you've lost that child that never was.

We feel guilty if we complain about our children.  Ever.  We should be eternally grateful for the children we have & never complain about them or underappreciate them or feel frustrated by them.  We should, somehow, be perfect parents to the children we feel we don't deserve, in order to earn the right to have them.  And, maybe, if we're perfect, we'll be worthy of another such blessing.  Maybe.

Our friends feel guilty when they get pregnant & wonder should they tell us or not.  And we feel guilty that we caused such a conundrum for our friends on their special occasion.  (Of course they should tell us & of course we should feel happy for them; it's not as if they got the baby we were meant to have.  It doesn't work that way).

THE LONELINESS

We don't fit into the ranks of the infertile.  We have been blessed too much to understand their pain.  And, besides, even if we find the infertile woman who understands we have suffered the same feelings, WE will feel guilty trying to pass ourselves off as one of them.

Spending time with the super-fertile can be painful.  They just don't get it.  This is, I understand, the same problem the infertile women have with the super-fertile. They are on another end of the spectrum, trying to figure out how to STOP getting pregnant while we would like them to teach us their secret.

And then when it takes us many years to get pregnant we will find ourselves in a weird place.  People our age will have kids much older than our kids & they will not consider us their peers.  We have small children, they have older children. So we find ourselves trying to hang out with women much younger & find that they just don't have the same life experiences we do.  We try to force friendships that just don't always work out.  We struggle to know where we fit in.

THE INCONVENIENCE

For those of you who have ever decided to try to get pregnant, imagine the changes you make in your life & imagine making those changes permanent.  Because that's basically what it's like for us.  We are forever afraid to stand near the microwave, just in case.  We have taken enough prenatal vitamins to supply a small city.  We worry about medicines & whether they could be harmful, whether or not we should be in the room when our kids have x-rays, avoiding caffeine.... the list goes on. We don't like birth control, because we might be missing our one opportunity.  We go along from month to month thinking this could be IT & we'd better be extra careful & extra diligent.

THE PARANOIA

If we stock up on feminine hygiene products, are we jinxing ourselves?  Are we not pregnant because we're not trying hard enough?  Are we not pregnant because we need to lose weight?  Are we not pregnant because we don't love our current children enough?  What's the problem?  What did we do wrong?  Surely it's our fault, because that's what the comments from other people lead us to believe.  Even people who are just trying to be helpful are just telling us there is something we're not doing that we should.  "Hold a baby," "Try to adopt," "Try bellydancing classes".... they all have a magical cure for us.  These "helpful" suggestions just tell us we're the problem in the equation. It's not just a fact of life or something we can't control, but something in our power to change & that we need to figure out what that one thing is so we can fulfill our duty as future mothers.

THE ACCEPTANCE

After all these years I have finally, personally reached a place of acceptance.  I accept that I am not destined to have piles of children.  And part of me understands that is probably the thing that is best for me.  There's still a little part of me that feels a bit of a loss for those piles of children I won't have.  But then I remember how hard motherhood is, how hard life is, and understand that Heavenly Father has given me exactly what I can handle & nothing more.

There are some women in this world who I know personally & love dearly who have not been blessed in the same way I have & they would wonder if I'm saying Heavenly Father does not think they can handle even one child.  That's obviously not true.  I don't know why they've had to deal with that particular struggle in their lives & it is certainly not because they're undeserving.  I only have to hope, for them, that they will be compensated in some way in this life or the next.