Lists

My husband is a list maker.  I am not.  Lists are pressure I tell you. They are proof that you are failing.  For example, what if I actually wrote on a list, write on my blog?  It would be staring at me every day making me feel really guilty when in reality I only feel a snidge guilty but I can usually smother a snidge of guilt with a bit of chocolate.  This is like that whole Pavlov's dog thing only the bell is guilt and the dogfood is chocolate and most of the drooling is ommitted; so how bad can a little guilt be?  Not that bad--at least until you have to buy new pants or undo the button on your pants and wear long shirts.  But I'll tell you what, sweats and pajama pants are oh so nice.  They actually make you feel comfy while your equator expands.

Butt, back to lists.  My husbands puts things on his lists and crosses them off at the end of the day.  Those few times that I made a list and didn't lose it, I usually ended up staring at it at the end of the day and feeling like a LOSER because I couldn't cross off anything because who knew that Pinterest could totally suck me in, or that I'd have to find a math assignment under the couch and run it to school, or that it takes a lot longer to get crayon off a wall than on a wall, or that a hot shower could feel so good and last so long????

At the end of the day when my husband is doing all his list crossing-off with that smug look of satisfaction on his face I sometimes make an end-of-the-day list.  IF I feel like it. 

It looks something like this:

Get up
Make sure the kids go to school
Kill an hour on the computer
Eat a brownie
Brush my teeth
Take a nap
Don't write
Talk on the phone
Pick up some pizza for dinner
Don't go to the gym
Make this list
Go to bed

I then cross everything off the list and go to bed.  My husband says this is cheating while I point out that I crossed EVERYTHING off my list and he still has a few items left.

I Survived Christmas 2011

My "friend" Brittany said a few weeks ago that Christmas was kicking her butt.  My butt has been thoroughly kicked by Christmas and life in general.  But it's been a good butt kicking and I am missing my blogging friends.  Yes, even though I've only ever met 3 or 4 of you, I feel you are my friends.  I share laughter, tears and smiles with you.  It's like having imaginary friends or a mid-life crisis.  You are great because one of you is always there when I need a good laugh and nobody gets all miffed when I ignore y'all while I'm drinking life from a firehouse.  You are cheaper than therapy and I don't need to send you a Christmas card.  So thanks for making me smile and cheering me up so many times.

If I felt like getting off this bed and getting my camera, I would post pictures of all the amazing crafty things I, yes I did this past month.  You would be impressed.  All of Martha Stewart's recent projects must have tanked because I have been totally chanelling her. Except for the prison part.  But prison doesn't sound half bad--3 square meals that I don't have to cook and time to read or write or do whatever I want. . .

But instead of posting crafty pictures, I will tell you the funny things my kids said this past week.

What I'm Trying to Say. . .

Morganne at a party:  Um, um, the ship is in your sea.
Friend:   Do you mean: The ball is in your court?
Morganne:  Yeah, that's what I was trying to say.

The Secret to Success

Luke:  Mom I have armpit hair.
Me:  No you don't.
Luke:  Yes I do; look in the light.
Me:  Gross!  You do have armpit hair.

Later that night
Me:  Luke, I'm sad that you have armpit hair.  It means you're growing up.  You don't want armpit hair do you?
Luke:  Mom, every boy wants armpit hair.  It's kind a sign that he's a real success.

At the Dinner Table

Luke to his brother Quin:  You must be butter because you are on a roll!
Quin:  Luke, that was actually funny.

Luke in Primary (Sunday School) during a sharing time about choices and consequences:

Sister Stout:  When Brother McDonald was a boy, he practiced the piano a whole lot.  What is the consequence of that action?

Luke quickly raises his hand.

Sister Stout:  Luke--

Luke:  He missed out on a lot of other things.

PMA, PMS and the Universe

My husband's all about PMA (positive mental attitude), while I'm all about PMS.  The first involves denying reality, not making contingencies for emergencies (don't you love the way those two words look together?) and thinking that if you don't talk about a problem, it doesn't exist.  The second involves bloating, eating, cravings, procrastinating, brain fog, cramping, irritability and mood swings and chocolate.  Did I mention chocolate?

According to my husband PMA can cure a cold, mend broken bones, lower cholesterol, and make your whites whiter.  Bless his heart.  I wish I had more PMA, not that I'm necessarily NMA (negative mental attitude), I think I'm just mostly MMIA (mentally missing in action--you know the light is on but I'm gone eating chocolate somewhere.)

My husband is also a firm believer in "putting things out in the universe."  This means that if you want something to happen, you think about it, you say it out loud, you write it down and the universe delivers. 

For instance, a couple months ago he thought he would like to go on a foreign trip so he sent his request into the universe and lo and behold within a couple months the universe delivered.  He went on two foreign trips (both work related).  The universe respects my husband probably because he is a serious man--one who dots his i's, and crosses his t's and never j-walks. 

The universe does not take me seriously.  Maybe it's because I wear mismatched socks, sing Captain and Tenille songs and tell your mom jokes to my kids.  If there's something I really want, I am smart enough to keep it on the DL because if I think it, say it or breath it, I will jinx myself and the universe will laugh in my face.

Just this past week, I let this thought escape into the universe: Gee it's been a long time (20 years) since we've  had goldfish.

About 30 minutes later there was a knock on the door.  When I opened it there was a plastic bag containing 3 goldfish with this note: Broil 2 minutes on each side.  Season with a pinch of salt.  Enjoy. 

Dear Universe:

If you get a message from me, just ignore it unless it involves money, a clean house, or buns of steel. 

Respectfully,

Me

P.S. The fish didn't even taste that good.

My Very Own Stick in the Mud

The man who makes my heart beat fast and loves me even though I'm directionally challenged, verbally unfiltered, and physically and mentally challenged is off seeing the world again.  Right now he is in Budapest, Hungary.  He was supposed to go there 2 years ago on Thanksgiving.  (What better place to be on Thanksgiving than Hungary, unless it's Turkey?) But his trip didn't pan out because his mother who always made me feel like I was the best thing that ever happened to her family--now I realize she was just very kind, very patient, and very smart--and I love her for it, decided to take a permanent trip to heaven.

So, while Ric is lecturing in Hungary, which is a better place for him to lecture than the kitchen table, I made an exciting trip to Lindon which is almost like London except it is missing an o, a bridge,  a tower and an abbey plus some blood pudding and bubbles and squeak.  But what Lindon is lacking in towers and abbeys they make up for in exciting things like Kindermusic with Rebecca Hainsworth, because seriously, kinder music has got to beat rap;  First Fantasies Costume Cuzzin  because who couldn't use a little fantasy especially if it involves your cousin???  And my favorite, JUMP ON IT.  At least my sweaty son and his recess-smelling friends said they had some wicked birthday fun there.

But how funny is this?

The picture my husband sent to family members from his trip to the Dead Sea to prove he is not a stick in the mud.

He is the tall stick in case you are wondering. 

No, he is not a stick in the mud.  He is a Ric in the mud.

Halloween Quiz answers before Thanksgiving

Answers to the Halloween Costume Quiz:

Flashlight.  The only kind of flashing I do.

Panty-waist, although my friend guessed chastity belt when I wore it to a par-tay. 

Party-pooper, what my husband has dressed up as every year, only he won't wear the hat unless I photoshop it on. . . along with the brown. . .

Hand-me-down.  Very exciting for someone with three older sisters.

Cactus.  Who knows?  Cactusing could be the new planking.

Ceiling fan.  This is what I wanted Luke to be for Halloween.  But alas, he chose to be a stick man instead.  At least he has the body for it.

Dead end.  Thank you Bree for letting me use your end because well, it's hard to take a picture of your own butt and well, mine has kind of gone south.

Split-end -- although technically Lila doesn't have to worry about split-ends until she gets hair.

Ice cream--do you get it?  There's her eyes (ice) and on her eyelid is the word scream.  It's okay.  My family didn't laugh either.

9.

Your mom.  Okay this one did make my family laugh because we are ALWAYS telling your mom jokes: Like tonight when Luke said, "This dinner's hot," and I said, "Your mom's hot!"

Halloweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen!

Okay, it is time for dinner and time to put on the costumes and I'm still trying to clear the breakfast dishes.  If that's not scary on Halloween, I don't know what is. 

But I thought I'd throw y'all a life line because that's the kind of person I am.  If you need a last, I mean very last minute costume idea, I've got your back.  Or you could consider this really, really early help for Halloween 2012. 

Just to make it fun, I'm not going to tell you what the costume is--use your imagination folks, dust off the cobwebs and make your guesses in the comments section.  :)

Have fun, and happy haunting.

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and the lovely Lila in my arms)

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For the Record

Just for the record, in case you are wondering after my last post, I'm not.  Definitely not.

Cause what could be scarier than this at my age?

That's all.

Blahgging

Blah.  Blahgging.  I mean blogging, which in case you haven't noticed I haven't done for a spell because folks, I've been busy. 

First our whole family spoke in church which requires a wee bit of perspiration preparation.  This phenomenon happens when you think things like, Quin and Bree are blessing their baby, the cute LILA in case you've forgotten, I hope the speakers are good and then your phone rings. . ." 

For the those of you who haven't been to an L.D.S. (Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints/Mormon--and holy canoly if I didn't just find out that my whole life I thought I was a Christian but according to Pastor Robert Jeffress I'm not-- but that's another blog) sacrament meeting/church service we have a lay ministry which means sometimes people like me are asked to speak in church which usually gives people like you a good laugh especially when I don't wear matching shoes or when my daughter, yes Cool Beans, tells the whole congregation that I am pregnant and everybody looks horrified--- and then she says just kidding, my mom's too old to have a baby and everybody laughs hysterically because what could be funnier than the thought of a 46 year old woman with a bun in the oven?

But before I was roasted in church, I spent Saturday cleaning up the Pleasant Green Cemetery in Magna, UT with 150 youth because that's what us Mormon cult members do to raise cain on a Saturday morning in October if we're not making soap with our sister-wives.  Sheesh.

Then that evening, my second oldest daughter who has never had a boy-friend until this past summer, was proposed to by the very charming Landon Benson who treats her like she is the reason he breathes--sigh . . .  So now I am planning a wedding when I can't even plan dinner.  But at the end of the day we eat something, so the wedding will be good, right?  Or at least we won't be hungry.

This is the first time ANYBODY has seen Cassie kiss someone or something besides her pet bird.  It looks like she's knows what she's doing. . .

Next I went to see my cute grandkids in Phoenix, adorable Charlotte who thinks she is a Lion and Marcus who is the epitome of squishy goodness and gets goose bumps when I stroke his cheek.  I also shot some large, powerful assault (is there any other kind?) rifles at targets which I was 100% accurate at missing.  But I looked "bad" which my kids tell me is good.

I also got introduced to this thing called Pinterest which is like Google crack especially when you are planning a wedding, or making thinking about making dinner, or avoiding blogging.

Cool Beans

Tonight I want to blog about my daughter "Cool Beans."  That's the name she uses to comment on my blog because she thinks she is so darn funny. 

After school a couple of days ago, she was stealing Tess' pizza.  Tess had a melt-down because this is what middle-schoolers do after they've spent a day in the middle school jungle of awkward puberty and low self-esteem.  Of course Morganne thinks there's nothing funnier than to watch all 90 lbs. of T fight for pizza.  Tess is yelling and then I chime in with the good old stand-by, "Stop teasing your sister or I'll cut your arms off." 

Morganne looks sullen for a moment then says, "Can't you guys just love me in spite of my, a what's it called, falsies?"

Bwahahahaha.  That girl is a crack-up.  This moment alone is worth the not so stellar score she got on the English section of the ACT.

However, this is the same girl who had her nice, fairly new cell phone stolen and did not make a production of it.  She laughed it off, went to the T-Mobile store and took care of the whole problem herself.  She's complained less about having her cell phone stolen than I complain about misplacing mine.

Ouch.

This is the same girl who in her basketball game tonight, tells the younger guard who has never played in a varsity game (Cool Beans has played varsity for 3 years), to bring the ball up the court and run a play.  The girl says, no, you do it, and throws the ball back to C.B.  C.B. calls time out with 50 seconds left in the game (we're up by 30 points), pumps the younger player full of confidence, who then runs the play and ends up scoring. 

Yes, I like that girl, in spite of her falsies.

And if they had a perspective section on the ACT she would nail it.

Cool Beans with her new niece, Lila

Something Worth Crying About

I wanted to post something really witty and clever that would make you laugh and make you think I was witty and clever but the truth is I just figured out how to work my dvd player this month and how is that witty and clever?

Mostly I am just singing Joseph songs in my head that sound really great in there and then I open my mouth and well, if Joseph could hear me I think he would be mostly glad to be sold into slavery and not have to listen to my singing. . . sigh. . .

I saw Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat on my birthday 6-ish weeks ago.  You probably missed my birthday post because I didn't write it because I was just not feeling celebratory this year because who's to say that avoiding death and gaining a few pounds are great accomplishments?  Anywho, my friend called on my birthday and offered me tickets to Joseph because she couldn't use them.   I snatched those puppies up because that happpens to be my very favorite musical mostly because it is less than 2 hours long and the only corny songs in it are supposed to be corny.

Imagine my great surprise when the opening number started and I felt this huge building and swelling inside  that pushed the moisture right out of me just like the water show at the Bellagio, only it wasn't pretty.  It was mostly blubbery.  I attributed this to old-age, p.m.s., and Joseph's amazingly cut abs. 

But alas, when we took the kids 3 weeks later to see the show because we thought it was so awesome, the same thing happened.  I was a wreck, an emotional wreck.  Now I like to have a good cry, but not so much in public. 

I have since analyzed my emotional state and I have a theory.  This is the part where I wax all religious so I'm warning you.  Anywho, when I wasn't laughing at Joseph's brothers singing silly songs about Joseph wrassling with a goat, or those Canaan days, I was moved by the power of the story.  God knew Joseph.  Even in his darkest hours, God had a plan.  Joseph couldn't see it; I doubt he could fully imagine it.  But the plan was there.  And since God is no respecter of persons, this gives me great hope that God has a plan for me and for my friend in a wheelchair and for the orphans in Mexico and the lepers in India. 

Redemption.  Another powerful theme in Joseph.  Believe you me I was feeling the love when Joseph forgave his brothers and they could escape that awful nightmare of guilt they must have lived the last several years.  I never sold a sibling into slavery, but I did pin my sister to the ground and paint her entire face with peanut butter while I was babysitting.  She deserved it--just like Joseph.  She never told.  I don't think I ever apologized.  Oh, I'm sure I've done much worse.  Forgiveness folks is happy news.  The best kind of news.  The kind of news that leaves you crying for joy in the middle of a crowded theater.