Friday, October 29, 2010

Who's Your Dentist?

Last year I had an eensy-teensy-weensy procedure done on my heart. As I laid on the table, waiting to go under so the hole in my heart could be patched, a 20 something year-old guy, whose most serious life injury to this point was probably a cut he got shaving, leaned over and said, “Don’t worry. This isn’t as bad as the dentist.”

“Yeah,” I thought, “but the dentist doesn’t make you take off all your clothes and lie naked on a cold metal table.” That’s the last thing I remember before I woke up with drool running down the side of my face and a warm blanket on top of me and my husband holding my hand (he didn’t mind the drool. I think.) I went to Costco on my way home from the hospital and took pictures at a wedding the next day.

Flash forward to last month. I went to the dentist to get a crown which is just another word for expensive porcelain to cover your own crappy-looking, nonfunctional tooth that you did not floss. I took valium before I went to the dentist. When I asked my husband to drive me, he said, “You can do natural childbirth three times, but you can’t go to the dentist without valium??” “Exactly,” I said. “Drive.”

Although I walked into the dentist office like a drunk, the valium helped. Yes, I was aware that spit was flying all over my face, that broken parts of tooth were sliding down my throat and that my mouth was open so wide my eyes were going to pop out, I just couldn’t do anything about it because I was in a valium stupor. Yes I love that drug and yes I will be taking it next time I get my teeth cleaned. And if I were having another child, I would name him Valium.

However, I did not wake up with a warm blanket. First of all because I was already awake, and secondly because the dentist does not warm up blankets and make you all comfy. I did stagger out with spitty-huge-numb face. I did end up getting a big canker where I’d been nicked with something sharp which I did not feel at the time because I was not in my right mind or my left mind and had spitty-numb face. And eating, my favorite thing to do, was a chore for a week.

Trust me, the dentist, no matter how nice he seems, is not your friend. Who in their right mind would choose to spend the rest of their life sticking their hands in peoples’ mouths? I’ll tell you, the same type of person who becomes a proctologist. That’s who.

Monday, September 6, 2010

Grandmas Only

Dear Morganne:

Thank you for exclaiming loudly in Relief Society yesterday, "You're a Grandma!" when they announced the For Grandmas Only class.  You explained later that you were thinking, 'How pathetic.  A class for old ladies,' when you realized that that included me.  I think I am flattered that you didn't automatically put me into the old lady category.

However, I hope you will not think less of me if I do go to the For Old Ladies Only, I mean, For Grandmas Only class.


your OLD mother

Random Thoughts About Ikea

I really want to go to Ikea today, but nobody will go with me.  I am too scared to go alone.  Last time I went, it took me 30 minutes to find my way out and I never did find what I was looking for even though I thought I knew exactly where it was.  But I did get some great coasters for $1.99.  AND you will love this great idea I got from my smarter-than-me sister-in-law.  I put a family member's name on each coaster so  they can put their cup on it for the day and I now only have 5 or 6 cups on coasters on my counter instead of 30.  Voila.

Dear Ikea:

You overwhelm me.  You are like a hypnotic drug.  I wander around with my basket, never putting anything inside because I might find something better.  When I know I passed "better" I can't find it again.

Just thought you should know why I'm always wandering around with that glazed look, never buying anything.



Wednesday, August 18, 2010

What Were You Thinking????

(This was actually written in April of 2009, but thought I would post it now because I love my son, I’m craving popcorn, and having brain cramps.)

I used to think that when my kids were older, I would no longer have dings and marks on my walls, that I wouldn’t clean up spilled milk and that I would stop saying, “What were you thinking?” The dings and marks are still on the walls, they’re just higher. There are more spills and crumbs to clean up because they eat more now, and more than ever before I find myself saying, “What were you thinking?”

After the movie Holes came out, my husband and I came home to a 5x5x5 hole in the backyard. We said, “Son, what were you thinking?”

He shrugged and said, “nothing,” and filled the hole back in. I thought about suing Disney. They should have put a warning label on the movie.

This same son has amazing leadership ability. He served as 9th grade class president after winning a tough election with a video of him standing in a field. The dialogue went something like this, “Quin Campbell, outstanding in every field. Well, he’s standing in somebody’s field.” He served as 10th grade class president doing a comic routine involving a mop. And to think all these years I’ve been using a mop to clean my floors. He served as student body president with the catchy slogan, “It’s not my RHS, it’s not your RHS, it’s (R) HS.” Did you get it?

His leadership skills continued in college. After seeing the movie Patch Adams, (there should be a warning label on this movie also), he bought a large wading pool, spent $120.00 of his own money and got everybody in his apartment complex to cook spaghetti. I’m sure you can picture the rest.

When asked, “Why??” His response was somewhat to the effect of “Why not?” Maybe this explains the quote that was written in pen on his wall until he moved out, “If not now, when?”

After serving a 2 year mission for our church where he proved to be very obedient and successful, we expected a changed man. We left him home so he could work and save money for college while the rest of the family went on a service vacation to La Mision, Mexico. There we worked in a few different orphanages loving the children and repairing old buildings and building new ones.

Exhausted and on our way home, we get a call from our son. After exchanging small talk, he says, “you’re on your way home, now? You’ll be home at midnight? I thought you’d be home at 2 or 3 a.m. I guess you should know that I’m having a party.”

I’ve met his friends. They are all great kids so I am not too concerned.

“I can call off the party if you want, or cut it short. . . There’s something else you should know. I’m filling the hot tub with popcorn.”

“What?” I question, not sure I have heard him right.

“Popcorn,” he responds. “I was going to have it cleaned up before you got home.”
“Why,” I ask.

He answers, “I thought of that before I saw Patch Adams,” as if this is a logical, rational explanation.

We arrive home at midnight to a house full of nice kids who help us carry in luggage, sleeping bags and dirty laundry and politely ask about our trip. The house is clean except for a few cans of pop on the table and a small smattering of popcorn around the door that leads to the hot tub.

I haven’t told my husband or children about the hot tub. The 14 hour car ride from Mexico was all the excitement I could take. However, the kids immediately see the popcorn in the hot tub. I tell them under no circumstance are they to tell their father about it. Of course it’s all they can do not say anything, the secret jumping around in their heads just like, well popcorn.

My husband discovers the popcorn the next day when he’s not so tired. He rolls his eyes, sighs and wonders where this changeling child came from. I discover that my son used an entire gallon of Olive Oil ($20.00) to pop most of it, and that he popped every night after work and all day Saturday to get enough popcorn. My other kids enjoy playing in it for a couple of days and showing their friends. About a week later my son loads it all into the back of the pick-up truck and takes it somewhere. . .

With such amazing creativity and leadership skills, I know he’ll grow up to be something. . . I just hope it’s not an inmate at the point. After all, this is the same child who mows my lawn and the neighbor’s lawn without being asked, spends time with his cousins weekly who are being raised by a single mom, and cleans the kitchen as well as he messes it up. In the meantime I find myself asking, “What were you thinking?”

Friday, August 6, 2010

Lost and Found

After staying in a hotel for 3 1/2 days, who can't find their room from the parking garage?  Me.  Okay, I did find it after ending up back at the parking garage and 3 more failed attempts.

I have made an appointment to go to the vet and have a locator chip placed in my ear, because one day I am going to end up somewhere that I know not, where I will not have cell phone coverage. 

Who goes to girl's camp and forgets the bag she packed?  Me!  How do you go camping and forget all your stuff?  How do you go to a camp you've been to 3 times before and make 2 bad turns?  And I'm just saying, if you don't have a bag of stuff to look after, how is that you lose your watch and your cell phone while you're there?  Yes, thank you very much for trusting me with your girls at camp.

You see this is why I married my husband.  He saves me from embarrassing moments like when he said to me a few Sundays ago, "They both look great; just choose one."  I wasn't sure what he meant until I looked down and noticed I had on two different shoes. He is my right arm and my left brain and happens to be a very good kisser although he is VERY practical and not very spontaneous.  When I first met him, I thought he was a stuffed shirt.  (I still think this sometimes.)  This almost kept me from marrying him.  After all, how could I go through life with somebody SO organized and SO perfect and SO right all the time?  And then one day (when we were engaged) as we were walking across campus and the thought was running through my head, 'Can I really marry this "Ric" in the mud?"  Out of the blue, he picked me up and set me down in a mud puddle and I have been deeply, madly in love ever since.    

Monday, July 26, 2010

Airbending and Bad Lyrics

I just took a road trip with 5 family members. Road trips with family are great except for the part where you are in the car for 10+ hours with a son who is an airbender. If you do not know what an airbender is you should watch the movie The Last Airbender, only wait until it comes to the dollar theater or to RedBox or if you are rich go see it anyway and play games on your cell phone or watch another movie on your iPod, not that I have ever done that mostly because I don’t have an iPod, or you could take a pillow so you could have a more comfortable nap than I did. Or, better yet, watch the cartoon, Aviatar because it is somucho better than the movie; however, I think you need NetFlex to do this or relatives that have NetFlex or somebody that has bought seasons of Avatar on DVD.

For those of you who are not going to watch Avatar or The Last Airbender, in a nutshell, an airbender is someone that can move air in a destructive manner, at least it is destructive if you are the BAD guy who is having air bent at you because there is only one airbender and he is a good guy and bald and has an arrow on his head.

Anyway on this long road trip with much airbending, we listened to music. My son played a song from a band, which fortunately I don’t recall the name of else they would be ruined by this post, who he is familiar with because he is friends with one of the band members. The reason I am writing all this is because the lyrics to their song went like this: “I’m digging you like a grave. . .” Really??? Really??? Why not, “I’m picking you like my nose,” or “my seat,” or “I’m holding you like my breath,” or “my bladder.” The bladder came up because as I said, it was a long trip.

However, there are much more famous bands with equally bad lyrics. Some of my favorites are:

“I'm never gonna dance again
Guilty feet have got no rhythm” (Wham)

I wonder how this would hold up in a court of law. I’d like to cross examine the witness your honor. (To the witness:) DANCE you fool. Ah ha, so you can’t dance. Guilty! I knew it was you all along!

“Having my baby
What a lovely way of saying
What you’re thinking of me”—(Paul Anka’s (You’re Having My Baby)

Personally, I just send a card or flowers.

“Someone left the cake out in the rain
I don’t think that I can take it
Cause it took so long to make it
And I’ll never have that recipe again - - oh no!” (MacArthur Park, lyrics by Jimmy Webb)

So many questions. Why did he bake a cake in the first place? Why did he take it out in the rain? Why did it get left there? And why oh why did it take so long to make? And where did the recipe go?

And one of my all time favorites:

"I am," I said
To no one there
An no one heard at all
Not even the chair (Neil Diamond)

Neil maybe you should come to America, marry a Kentucky woman whose name is sweet Caroline and stop talking to furniture. Or maybe you just need a new chair, but then again, my furniture never listens. However, my fridge does talk. It calls me and I obediently come running.

For more great lyrics like the ones below, check out the following link:

I Bought the Shoes that Just Walked Out on Me

I Went Back to My Fourth Wife for the Third Time and Gave Her a Second Chance to Make a First Class Fool Out of Me

If I Were In Your Shoes, I'd Walk Right Back To Me

Her Teeth Were Stained, But Her Heart was Pure


Tuesday, July 20, 2010

We Gotta Go

            It’s important to keep moving.  If you’re moving, you are winning.  This is the motto of the Campbell men.  However, I’m not sure what the prize is.
            The object of arriving at any destination is to leave said destination and go someplace else.
            I have evidence.  Documented evidence.  We have this on again off again family tradition (depending on if the Campbell men have to go) of decorating a Christmas tree in the wild with food for the animals.  We got this idea from a picture book called the Night Tree.
            I recorded our first outing.  The children gleefully hanging peanut butter dipped, bird seed sprinkled bagels from evergreen branches, long chains of popcorn, pretzels and cranberries hung from snowy boughs, kids excitedly talking about the critter Christmas feast they are preparing.
            In the background the Campbell men look like a couple of race horses trapped inside the starting gate.  They uncomfortably shift their weight.  I believe there are some snorts and whinnies.  They begin rubbing their hands together and saying things like, “Good job guys.  Let’s go,” and “okay, one more bagel then we gotta go.”  Now their voices are less patient—“Hurry up!  We gotta go!”
            Then my little niece turns to said Campbell men who are stomping and foaming at the bit and asks, “Where do we gotta go?”
            This question is followed by a long silence because the Campbell men have no idea where they have to go.
            On road trips the car not only serves as transportation, but as a cage.  On a car trip to Mexico, I got a desperate text from my sister-in-law, “The “cat” has the “mice” trapped and won’t even let them out to pee.”
            When attending any type of formal function such as a wedding reception, luncheon, family gathering, church potluck, etc., an exit strategy is always planned.  These strategies include all sorts of ploys like pinching small children to make them cry, spilling food, induced vomiting, starting small fires. . . Okay, maybe it doesn’t get to that point.  But, I know what’s going through their heads.
            So, here is my list of advice to all men:
1.         We’ll be there when we get there.  (This also applies to children.)
2.         Rome was not built in a day, so don’t expect to get there in a day.
3.         If you have taken a 1-hour detour to avoid a 30 minute traffic jam, you are not winning. 
4.         It’s okay to stop and take a break, go to the bathroom, stretch your legs, make out with your wife. . .Enjoy the journey.
5.         The one who gets to said destination without pee stained, vomit reeking car is the real winner.
6.         Be where you are when you are there.  If you are in the car wishing you were there and then there wishing you were in the car and then in the car wishing you were home and then home wishing you were someplace else, you are never really anywhere and you’re giving everybody else a headache.  P.S.  you are not winning, you’re whining.
7.         And finally, if you can’t abide by these rules, take some Dramamine, sit in the back, and let me drive.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Dakota, the Death Screaming Dog

In my Marley and Me post I wrote that I had bad dogs. Did you catch the “s” at the end? That means more than one bad dog. However, I only mentioned exhibit A, Toby, the rose-bush, collar eating, almost inside-out frying pan escaping dog. I really do hope he is happy chilling with the biker.

Shortly after doing the big victory-dog-gone dance, that little voice inside my head started saying I need a dog. (Who are you little voice??? Why are you little voice???)

So after Toby, I got another dog, actually I got three more dogs, just not at the same time. Next dog, exhibit B., Dakota. Cute, adorable, fluffy and small. Small poop. Big dog, big poop, small dog, small poop. Big difference.

Dakota was a great dog. Lots of people thought so, mostly people who didn’t know him. They’d see him on his leash, gush things like, “Oh look at the cutsey wutsey little doggie woggie.”

People who knew Dakota, hated him. He barked. And, if he didn’t bark, he whined. Actually he didn’t whine he screamed. He could perfectly replicate the sound made by Wesley in the movie The Princess Bride when they suck all the life out of him. And I don’t think he ever saw the movie. . .

He made this sound to torment me. No other reason. And when I went outside and told him to stop, he got louder. If I tried to go to him to make him stop, he would run and scream louder. Then I would run faster, even if I was in my pajamas and had serious bed head.

Then people passing by would hear the dog death scream and yell things like, “Hey what are you doing to that cute little dog?” or, “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”

I would tell the helpful spectator where he could get off, then recruit my children to help. Now we are all running around the backyard with brooms, fly swatters, light sabers and the spatula from the bar-b-q grill, while I am wondering if I can get the dog in the house before the Humane Society or CPS shows up.

I could look forward to repeating this ritual every time the dog needed to go out. Remember, small dog, small bladder.

(I should interject here that if you do decide to get a yappy, death screaming dog, or actually any kind of dog, don’t give it a person’s name. Big mistake. You don’t want to be yelling things like, “get that rose bush out of your mouth Molly.” Or, “how many times do I have to tell you not to pee on that bush Sam?”

Friday, July 9, 2010

Some Things Never Change

My husband and I, but mostly my husband, are currently working on the monstrous project of transferring all of our vhs, mini dv, and super 8 tapes to DVD. I say mostly my husband unless you count sitting on the couch laughing, crying, and yelling, "Ric, this one's finished!" as helping.

Things I have learned:

1. Mom jeans have never been flattering, not even in the 80's or 90's.
2. Baggy does not look cool, just sloppy.
3. All those times I thought I was having a good hair day, I wasn't.
4. My son, who I thought was cute, was really just obnoxious.
5. Do not tape an entire school play. You think it will be fun to watch in 10 years, but trust me, it won't.
6. When your children want to dress themselves, don't let them. They will blame you for it when they are older.
7. Make sure your children all get equal screen time, or you will hear about it.
8. My house was cleaner when my children were smaller.
9. I used to have not as many wrinkles.
10. And my favorite::: The me on video started to sing to the music in the video background, just as the me today started to sing with the me in the video to the music in the video background, just as the Morganne in the video turned to the me in the video and said, "Stop singing," just as the today Morganne turned to me and said, "Stop singing," just as the me in the video and the me in real life turned to the Morganne in the video and the Morganne in real life and said, "I can't help it." After all, how can I keep from singing? It was kind of a time-warped, surreal moment for all four of us.

Some things never change.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

Sick Hamsters

My hamster is sick. You know, that little hamster that lives inside my head and turns the wheels, well he is not turning any wheels. Most of the time he is lying on his back in a corner of my brain with his cheeks stuffed full of sunflower seeds. No wheels turning here, only an occasional leg twitch.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Why I haven’t blogged for 5 months.

  1. Had some swine flu.
  2. Had some mysterious meningitis type illness.
  3. Had a funeral.
  4. Had a wedding.
  5. Had a daughter leave for Mexico.
  6. Had a new grandson.
  7. Had a mid-life crisis.
  8. Was busy growing out my hair.
  9. Also I always stressed tht I had a typo or spelled somthing wrong or said something weird.  Okay, now I don’t have to stress anymore.  Right?

            Swine Flu is a nasty thing, and seeing as our family started the whole epidemic, it is only just that we ended up with it.  We took the swine flu to Mexico last April while there for spring break.  We took my daughter who was very ill with a fever, cough, runny nose, sore throat, etc.  She breathed on people, she occasionally forgot to cough in her elbow, and she petted some goats who probably had swine friends.  By the time we left Mexico, she was better and the first cases of Swine Flu were officially reported. In fairness to the pigs, the flu should probably be called Morganne flu or at least Monki flu which is my daughter’s nickname.
            We were feeling like we had cheated the swine flu gods and dumped our poor health on Mexico, until November came and the swine flu attacked my 12 year old daughter, Tess, who happens to love bacon.    
            Tess does not do sick well.  Tess has to be moving, has to be doing.  If she’s not, someone is going to pay and it’s usually me.  She was throwing up, lying on the couch, burning up with fever, coughing, complaining of a sore throat, too sick to move. Literally.  Yet she was moaning, “I’m bored.  There’s nothing to do.”  How can you do something, when you can’t even lift your head???  And I thought that was bad until she gave the flu to my son. 
            The problem with giving the flu to Luke is that he does not have as many years of “sick” experience.  Therefore he is not as familiar with the feelings of nauseousness and such.  I found this out the hard way as I was driving with him in the back seat and he started spewing.  I have seen Old Faithful erupt and I have seen Luke erupt.  Both are forces not easily reckoned with. 
            Now, you should know one thing.  I do not do throw-up.  I throw up when people throw up.  I throw up when I hear other people throw up.  I throw up when I smell throw up.  My husband and I have a long standing agreement.  He handles things that come out of the top half of the child, I handle the bottom half. 
            Once when my husband was out of town, our dalmation dog threw up in the house.  I closed the door to that room.  My husband cleaned it up 3 days later when he got home and we got new carpet which you should know we were planning on getting anyway.
            So, when Luke threw up in the van and Ric was out of town and wouldn’t be home for several days, my options were: 
1.                  I could go buy a new car although somebody would have to drive me there since I couldn’t drive myself in my car.  Also, my van is fairly new, and doing something like that would likely end my marriage and then who would clean up the next time Luke threw up?
2.                  I could call my visiting teachers, the same ones that are always saying, “Can we do anything to help you?”
3.                  I could not drive anywhere until my husband got back several days later. . .
4.                  Or, I could clean it up myself, which I did, thank you very much.

            So, yes I cleaned up the vomitous puke all by myself.  Yes I dry heaved in my driveway several times.  Yes, I threw away one fleece blanket and a jacket, but hey, I did it. 
            So this got me to thinking, what good is a college education when it comes to situations like these?  Come on Algebra, Biology and Humanities, how can you help me now?  Physical Science and English 312, you’ve got nothing on this.  This is real life for pete’s sake.  (Who is Pete anyway?)  Where’s a manual for this?  Did I learn anything useful in school?

            --Oh, did I mention that after I'd cleaned up the van, I came inside, sat by Luke and said, "Buddy, are you going to throw-up again?"
            "No," he replied and then puked in my face.