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.

Subbing

Right now I'm wondering why I wrote 40 something in my About Me section of my blog because before I know it I'll have to change it to 50 something then 60 something--and still trying to figure out what I want to be besides old when I grow up.

Currently I have chosen the glamorous job of substitute teacher.  Not a real teacher because then I would have to do lesson plans and go to parent teacher conferences and do beaucoup de paper work which is right up there with shaving my legs and going to the dentist.  But today I subbed in 2nd grade and they said I was the nicest sub they'd ever had (how many subs can you have by the beginning of 2nd grade?) and they wished I could be their real teacher probably because their real teacher does not play the quiet game with them or do the Happy Dance.  And what's not to be happy about when you are in 2nd grade and you get to go to recess and eat corn dogs for lunch and read Junie B. Jones?

But sometimes subbing is not so great like when you are the ONLY teacher on recess duty and somebody is wetting their pants (besides you because you haven't had a break all day) and somebody else has playground gravel in their knees and you cannot let them into the school because you cannot be trusted with a key because you might run to Home Depot during lunch and make a copy of the key and break into the school at night and steal all of the Rubber Cement because man oh man is that stuff fun. But you can be trusted to protect 100 second-second graders from any gunmen or raving lunatics who may invade the playground.  And protect them you will because you are making so much money and they love you more than their own teacher because you can do one mean Happy Dance.

Subbing is also not great when you are at the middle school and your students ask if your grand kids go to their school and you put a big black mark by their names and then try to laugh it off, telling yourself how foolish middle schoolers are, and then the teacher in the next classroom introduces himself and he is one of your children's childhood friends. . . or when you are subbing a special ed class and somebody asks you if you are in the class. . .

But it's all good because at the end of the day you turn in your badge, go home, eat chocolate chips with handfuls of marshmallows because you haven't had time to go to the store and buy anything else, tell your son, who says you are the meanest mom in the world, that Mrs. W's second-grade class thinks you're the bomb-diggety, blog about your day, and wait for that big ol' fat pay check to come.

Not in my Backyard--But Feel Free to Come Inside

Last week I came home from running errands as opposed to real running which makes you sweaty, short of breath and gives you shin splints.The errands I run are mostly things like taking back 2 week over-due library books, buying milk because we've been out for 3 days,and running the kiddy shuttle. 

But I squirrel. . . Anywhoo, in my cul-de-sac there were several police cars, okay two, but it's a little cul-de-sac, another car and a 20 year-oldish, non-hoodlumish looking young man up against one of the police cars having a bright light shined in his baby face.

This was big news in my quiet little neighborhood so I opened the front door and said, "Hello family (minus the husband because he was at work), have you looked outside?  There are police cars in our circle."

They said, "Yeah, we know.  They've already searched the backyard for drugs."

Apparently, our neighbor who is a policeman saw a suspicious car and in the "hood" and pulled up behind it.  He got out and looked in the backseat and I guess the non-hoodlumish looking 20 something-year-old was mixing drugs in the backseat which apparently is not at all like mixing ingredients for cookies or colors for a painting.  He bolted, ran through the school yard, hopped our neighbor's fence and ran across his yard and then hopped our fence and ran through our yard and then was caught in my cul-de-sac.

The police suspected that he tossed the drugs, which were in a red balloon, during the chase.  Hence the search in our backyard.  My kids were all tres excited and participated in the drug hunt with more enthusiasm than last year's Easter Egg Hunt. They found several pieces of balloon from summer water fights, inedible Tootsie Rolls, headless action-figures and tennis balls, but alas--no drugs.  So lucky me I have a drug-free backyard because he threw them in someone else's backyard or maybe this explains why my dog has been so darn happy. . .  

I wanted my children, who never lock the doors, to be just a leetle bit fearful, a leetle bit traumatized, a leetle bit repentant.  I whipped out my trusty pointer finger and commenced with the "What If" lecture.  "What if that crazed druggie had just slipped in the back door?  What if he decided to take hostages?" Point, point, point.

What I wanted, was expecting was this: Oh mom, we're so sorry.  You are always right.  I don't know why we ever ignore your wise counsel.  We'll never leave the door unlocked again.  No NEVER!

This scene should be followed by extreme groveling, crying, and promises for clean rooms, chocolate and foot-rubs.

But alas, this is what I got: But he didn't come in. 

These kids are quick and witty I tell you.

When the biggest kid of all, and the loudest advocate of unlocked doors-- my husband got home, and I told him the whole scary tale ending with the merits of locking doors and a little bit more finger pointing, he said, "I don't think we have anything to worry about."

"How so?" I asked.

"Well, in 26 years of marriage, this is the first time a crazed drug dealer has run through our backyard without coming in the house.  I think we're good for another 26 years," he said.

Help Yourself

I loved reading Brittany's posts last week about gratitude.  Focusing on someone else's problems is always a great shot in the arm for poor-me-syndrome.  It's like the man who feels sorry for himself because he has no shoes, until he meets the man who has no feet.  I have feet and I have shoes--more than one pair, so I am one lucky chick.

A couple of years ago we took a family vacation to Mexico to work in an orphanage.  We took 5 of our 7 children, the oldest being 19, the youngest 8.  We bent rebar, mixed cement, plastered walls, painted out-buildings and did general clean-up.  After a good day's work, we played with our new friends.  We rode bikes with the toddlers and small children and cuddled the sweet babies in the nursery.  We went swimming, played "street" hockey and soccer.  After a week of hard work and sleeping on a cement floor, my children, even the 8 year-old said it was the best vacation they'd ever had and yes, we had been to Disneyland just a few months before.

So, to get to the point, serving is fun and this past weekend my family got to have lots of fun.  Friday evening we were able, with our ward (church group), to help host the carnival for the Kauri Sue Hamilton School.  This is a school for kids with special needs. Saturday we were able to run participate in the Kickin' it for Kendra 5k.  Even my 11 year-old son who complained when we woke him up early and said his body ached all over, had a great time. 

Bottom line is, when you help someone else, you're really helping yourself.

Tess playing "street" hockey

Morganne and Bri riding bikes with the toddlers

Morganne playing soccer--me in the background being goalie

Me and my sister-in-law Robyn standing by a building we just painted

Bri, in the background, plastering walls

Me, visiting the nursery

Cassie, crafting with her new friends

Luke painting rocks

Ric with his brother Rod working with cement

Buckle Up For Safety and Other Reasons. . .

Several years ago when my oldest daughter was 5 or 6, she was in the backseat of the car with her brother while I was driving on a busy road.  We stopped at a traffic light and a white, ghastly butt appeared in the rear window of the car ahead of us.  The mooner was targeting the car to my left.  Unfortunately, we got a better view than the intended victim.

Not being able to do much, I used this as a teaching moment.  "That man is doing a very bad thing.  We should never do that."

From the backseat my daughter agreed with me.  "Yeah, he took off his seat belt."

I don't know why I've been thinking about that story.  Maybe it's because my "baby" turned 11 yesterday and the oldest will turn 25 on Thursday.  Have I taught them anything?  Did they learn what I was trying to teach them?

Or are they picking up all the wrong things like when my 2nd daughter said to me, "We don't say bad words like dang or shoot.  We only say words like crap. . ." 

So, kids, if you are reading, here's some quick reminders:

It's nice to be important but it's more important to be nice. 

Never suppress a generous thought.

Don't hate people.  It takes too much energy and makes you ugly.

Fair is a place you take a pig and you win a prize.  Life is not fair.

Let other people win.  It makes them feel good and it will make you feel good too.

If not now, when?  If not you, then who?

Your integrity and your morals should never be compromised.

Play hard.

Work harder.

Don't do stupid things.

And always wear your seat belt.

I am a Winner Winner

The last thing I won was a French dictionary playing bingo in my 7th grade French class.  The thrill of that victory has kept me going all these years, but alas, I must admit that it was wearing thin.  So, I was tres (that means very in French) excited to be presented with these two awards from Cortney.  Click on her name and you'll be wisked away to her cute blog.

If I knew how in the heck to get these bad-boys on my side-bar, I would.  But I'm sure some of you more experienced bloggers, or my 11 year-old can tell me.

As for my acceptance speech, I would like to thank my husband who serves as my right arm and my left brain and who would be mortified if he knew that I was blogging about him again.  I would also like to thank my daughter "cool beans" for leaving such insightful comments on my blog.  And I certainly have to thank my entire family, immediate and extended, my funny neighbor whose initials are Raelynn, and my many pets and Costco for giving me so many things to blog about. 

Aaahhh, merci beaucoup (Dang where's that dictionary? Does beaucoup have an e on the end???) 

Now it's my turn to pass it on. By accepting these, I agree to:

1. Thank and link to the person who nominated me. -check

2. Share 7 random facts about myself. -will do

3. Pass the award to 5 blogger friends -will do

4. Contact and congratulate the nominated blogs. -will do



7 Random Facts About Myself in addition to the 10ish random facts I previously shared.  (It's a good thing I am so random.)
 
1.  I am terrified of the ocean, but if I could be any animal I'd be a whale.
2.  I have 7 children and between them and me, we've had 18 broken arms.  (My husband does not break things.  He finds and fixes things.)  "Cool Beans" has had 7 of them.  (And yes, I still have custody of my children.)
3.  My favorite vacations have been working in an orphanage in Mexico and re-enacting pioneer treks.
4.  I had a lot of pets growing up.  My brothers and I counted how many animals (of all different sorts and  cow sizes--did I say cow?) are buried in the yard of the house we grew up in and we got well over 50.  Can you say pet cemetery?
5.  I have no sense of direction.  I could get lost in my own house.
6.  I am a Mormon.
7.  I was on the show Romper Room and was reprimanded by Miss Julie for cheating during the game Sometimes I'm Small. . .  It took a long time to get over that one.

Voila, here is who I am passing the awards to:
(drum roll)
And the winners are in no particular order:

Robyn http://campbelltabletalk.blogspot.com/
Madi  http://madilynnslife.blogspot.com/
Brittany http://mylifeherdingcats.blogspot.com/
Eliza http://ourvoiceteen.blogspot.com/
Kathy http://mishmashmom.blogspot.com/

Wednesday's Warrior

Okay, totally corny name for I post I know. . .  But I was just thinking that there are so many people that inspire me that once I week I want to spotlight one of them. 

Kendra is my daughter's age.  They have played on the same soccer team for about 4 or 5 years.  At the end of May, Kendra was in an accident that left her in a wheelchair.  Almost daily I have read reports about Kendra.  Initially she couldn't move at all and could only communicate by blinking.  In one post her mom said, "I used to feel sorry for kids in wheelchairs.  Now I just wish my daughter could be in one." 

Kendra has suffered greatly and accomplished much. Throughout the entire summer while her friends were off to girl's camp and boating and hanging out at the mall, she quietly, uncomplainingly endured.   After lots of hard work, sweat, tears and prayers, she is in her wheelchair and finding her way around.

It has been humbling as she and her family have expressed gratitude for simple things like being able to talk, eat, breath, communicate, bathe, and visit with family and friends.  They have felt blessed.  Knowing them and watching Kendra's progress has blessed my life and helped me see the big picture.    

So thank you Kendra for motivating, inspiring me in oh so many ways.  You are my hero.

September 17th a fundraiser is being held for Kendra.  For more information you can go here,
http://www.facebook.com/#!/event.php?eid=272485906101391.  Or to sign up or make donations, you can go here, http://kickinitforkendra.org/.

Blog Challenge

As I've mentioned, I'm participating in Rachael Harrie's blog campaign and the first challenge has arrived:
 
Write a short story/flash fiction story in 200 words or less, excluding the title. It can be in any format, including a poem. Begin the story with the words, “The door swung open” These four words will be included in the word count.


If you want to give yourself an added challenge (optional), use the same beginning words and end with the words: "the door swung shut." (also included in the word count)

For those who want an even greater challenge, make your story 200 words EXACTLY!

For the record, my story is 186 words, but it does begin and end with the "challenge words."  You can go here to read all the entries.

So here goes:
                            Happy Birthday Leo


The door swung open.



“Surprise!”


Leo blinked and looked at the crowd pressing around him. “Excuse me,” he said.


Silence descended on the guests like winter as he exited the room. A soft click sounded as the bathroom door shut. Bright confetti fell from Joyce’s hand. The small child that had been trying to pop balloons moments before, clung to her leg pulling on her red sweater.


“Where’s Grandpa?”


Stu stepped to Joyce’s side wrapping his arm around her.


“Where’s Grandpa? The small voice asked again.


“Grandpa’s gone,” she said as much for the child’s sake as her own.


Stu’s voice raked the silence. “Thanks for coming everyone. “You all mean a great deal to Leo. He’ll be back shortly. Until then, why don’t we start in on this cake?”






Leo washed his hands and dried them. Then he washed them again and dried them once more.


He opened the door and looked for a familiar face. The woman in red looked pleasant. Maybe he would talk to her. But first, he would wash his hands. He turned to the sink as the door swung shut.

10 Random Facts About Me

I'm taking part in a "blog campaign" and this was one of the challenges.

1.  I don't like to be the center of attention.  This post is difficult because I'm saying, hey everybody these are facts about me.  Sometimes those facts just come out when I blog and am telling a story, but now I feel like you're all looking at me and my fly's down and I have spinache in my teeth. . .

2.  I am not a competitive person but I love to watch sports.  All my kids have played a high school sport--b-ball and lacrosse.  If I played, first of all we'd lose and second, I'd be curled up in fetal position on the court or field.

3.  I have great ideas but have a hard time implementing them.  I'm more of a thinker than a doer. 

4.  I have a hard time making up my mind.  Wait no I don't.  Okay, yes I do.  But just sometimes.  Probably.

5.  I took type in the 7th grade (not on a computer but on a typewriter--your fingers own personal gym and manual return--don't forget the white-out) and I've been typing ever since.  Really.  I type just about everything I hear.  I type on my lap in my head with my tongue or teeth with my toes. . . It's a very subtle movement.  My husband didn't know I did it until a told him a couple years ago.  So annoying (the typing, not my husband).

6.  I can touch my elbows behind my back.  That, and playing the recorder in 3 different languages, is probably my only true talent.

7.  When I was little I made my family call me Cinderella for a few weeks, but the name never stuck.  Today, if I could change my name, I'd change it to Rachel.  But who knows about tomorrow.

8.  I still dream (although not quite as often) that I can't find my locker. . . or remember the combination. . . or remember what class I have when, or that I have a college class that I just forgot to go to all semester. . .

9.  I love the color green.  It makes me feel alive.  And who doesn't need to feel alive at 46? 

10.  I can and will eat just about anything.  Anything that's in front of me.  When it comes to eating, I have no off-switch.  I could easily down a whole pizza or a quart or two of icecream, a plate of cookies, a bag of chips just because it's there. . . But my favorite food is salad.  No, really.

11.  I was born a believer.  I've always felt God's love for me and I love Him.  I have experienced the power of the atonement in my life.

12. I'm not good at math.  I missed it most of 6th grade--would break out in hives and have to go to the sick room.

Hello Costco

Dear Costco:

I was just wondering why you charge me $45.00 to shop in your warehouse as opposed to showroom and are only open from 10:00 a.m  – 8:30 p.m. instead of 6:00 a.m. -12:00 a.m. like my grocery store and then drive that sweeper thing up and down every isle I’m shopping on and then get frustrated when I move to where the sweeper man points when he’s really pointing to where he’s going to go.  If I wanted an experience like this, I would cross the freeway at night wearing black and carrying a 40 pack of Capri Suns. 

Maybe you could sweep while the store is closed.  Just a thought.

Regards,

Me

Dear Me:

Why in the heck do you shop at Costco?  Those little samples are making you fat even if you are walking a mile to the store because there are no closer parking spots and pushing around that flatbed shopping cart with 220 lbs. of rock salt and 3 children on top.  Is gallon sized olive oil, Jack’s Special Salsa, uncooked flour tortillas, 5 lb. bags of broccoli that end up molding in your fridge really worth it?

And what about that lady that comes and scans your card each time you’re in line to make sure you’re on their ultimate, super-duper, uber, Costco mega-plan where you get cash back for paying $45.00 a year plus more $$ that you can’t remember the amount of because the kids were jumping off the rock salt and begging for pizza and churros (who are those people that always eat lunch at Costco anyway?) and the cashier was asking for your Costco card and if you want boxes----anyway, don’t you find her annoying?  I mean every single time.      

But then there was that couch you bought there and ended up hating that you took back a week later out of the box and they gave you a full refund, no questions asked. And then there are all those great deals at the photo center that you are always blowing your money on.   And then there was that time that your kids were hungry and you needed dinner and you went to Costco and ate all the samples and didn’t buy anything

So who am I to ask why you shop at Costco?  But next time you go will you pick me up a big bag of peanut MnMs?

Sincerely,

Me

The Great Blogosphere

I'm kind of new to this blogging thing.  Okay, I've been doing it on and off for 2 or 3 years.  Still not quite sure what I'm doing.  If you like blogging and want to connect with other bloggers and writers, here's a great way to do it.  I've heard it's fun and who doesn't want to have fun?  So, I'm giving it a try.  If you're interested, hop on board quick, because today's the last day to join.

The Snap and Point

My friend Raelynn is a clean, organized, amazing I can-do-anything freak.  You should know that I am not any of these things.  If you have spent any time reading my blog, I'm sure you've figured that out.  The good thing about Raelynn is that she still likes me even though I'm not like her.  She has taught me many great things, one being the snap and point.  I've almost mastered it.  This is not to be confused with the bend and snap which under no circumstances should be done in primary while doing stretching songs according to the handbook.  Ah, but that's another story. 

The snap and point is just what it sounds like, you snap and point.  You should do this after you say something like, "Go clean your room," or "Not until you've finished your homework," or "Get your finger out of your sister's eye."  It's impressive and daunting if you do it right.

Although I can now snap and point pretty well, (it takes a fair amount of coordination), I do not get the same results as Raelynn.  People MOVE when she does the SnP.  Wars are ended, houses are cleaned, broken hearts are mended, the universe comes together.  It's a beautiful thing.  When I do the SnP, I get eye rolling, heavy sighing and yes, laughter.  Mostly my own. I asked Raelynn how she first came up with the snap and point.  She said that when she gets frustrated or angry, all the blood rushes to her finger and out comes a snap and a point, like a perfect spell coming from Hermione's wand.  That woman (Raelynn) rocks.

I on the other hand, when I get angry or frustrated, must have a great deal of blood rushing to my back-side because I just want to sit and eat chocolate.  That is why my snap and point is not truly effective.  It is the snap and point of a  Neville Longbottom.  But he turns out all right in the end.

Raelynn's snap and point looks something like this.  Intimidating.

Okay, this is not me, but if I did take a picture of my snap and point, it would look something like this.  Confusion, bewilderment. . .is this thing loaded???

Regrets Only Today

Things I regret:

1.  Not going back to look at the callback list after I auditioned for BYU's dance company and the play, The Glass Menagerie and another play I can't remember the name of.   I was afraid my name wouldn't be there.  What if it was?


2.  Remaining silent until finally my office partner, Robin, offered to take the side of the office without the window when I worked at WordPerfect 26 years ago.


3.  Not asking Wendall Thayne to Morp even though I ended up being sick and not able to go anyway.


4.  Not asking my mother more questions before she died.


5.  Not taking more math. . . probably. . . maybe. . .


6.  Not asking Laura to live with me my sophomore year at BYU when she couldn't find a place to live.


7.  Not dropping everything and spending a lot of money on a plane ticket and flying out to see my mother-in-law before she died.


8.  Not reading enough with my daughter, Morganne.


9.  Not keeping my pictures better organized.


10. Reading Catcher in the Rye as an adult for a BYU adolescent literature class.  I got an A; I should have taken the F. *


11.  Hiding in my room as a teenager when my parents came home from grocery shopping so I wouldn't have to help carry in the food.


12.  Not being more patient with my sisters.


13.  Kissing about half of the boys I kissed.


14.  Caring too much about popularity in high school.


15.  Not being in a play since high school.


16.  Not being nicer to people in school because I was waiting for someone to be nice to me.

17.  Wearing those teeny, tiny curlers the night before my seventh grade school pictures.  Yikes.

18.  Having ALL those bridesmaids in all those hideous dresses because I didn't want to leave anybody out.  Besides my sisters, I don't talk to a single one of those girls anymore. . .

19.  Asking for that night off when I worked at Golden Golden Gate Restaurant.  Maybe if I had been there I would have given the busboy a ride home and he would not have been found murdered in a nearby field the next day.

20. Telling Quin's 7th grade basketball coach that the tournament was a bad weekend for us and then hearing my son give the real reason, "I don't play on Sundays, coach."

21.  Asking my 9th grade seminary teacher, in front of the whole class, what circumsion meant when we were studying the Old Testament.

What regrets do you have?  If you had a do-over, what would you do differently?

*Regarding Catcher in the Rye, I happen to be very sensitive to language.  Words play over and over in my head.  I can't get them out.  I understand that this book might be a great read for others, but not for me.

The Things You Learn at Church

Last week when Lila was born, Luke my 10 year-old son said, "Mom told me how babies are made, but I don't quite remember."

Tess, his 14 year-old sister said, "I'm still trying to forget."

I've always believed in being straight forward with my children about the facts of life.  If they ask a question, I give an answer.  The answer should be the briefest, simplest explanation to their question.  For example:

Child : "Mom, where do babies come from?"

Me:  "From heaven."

(If they want to know more, they'll ask.)

Child:  "But how do they get here?"

Me:  "The baby grows in the mommy's tummy."

Child:  "How does the baby get in there?"

Me:  "An egg from the mommy is fertilized by the daddy and a baby grows."

You get the idea.

When my daughter Bri was three, she asked me, "What's that one thing that you and daddy do at night for a family?"

My mind began racing.  How does she know we're doing something at night? 

I play stupid, "I'm not sure what you mean?"

"You know," Bri answers rolling her eyes, "that thing you and Daddy do at night in the dark when I'm in bed for a family."

I keep asking questions because how can I tell  my 3 year-old the "she-bam" and not have her end up in therapy?

Bri is getting frustrated.  I'm getting desperate.  I try change the subject.  She will not be deterred.  Finally Bri adds another crucial piece of information.  "You know that thing with cookies."

Cookies?  Cookies?  Ah yes, cookies.  I finally realize that she is talking about the family night phantom--that phenomenon in October that spreads throughout the neighborhood where one family makes another family a treat and leaves it anonymously on the doorstep with a challenge to do the same thing for another family and so on and so on.

So that is what Ric and I had been doing at night, in the dark, for a family.  And since Bri was 3, she had already fallen asleep when we did it. 

I got the ENTIRE speech one Sunday.  We were at church and I was not paying attention.  Feeling guilty, I turned to my mother and asked, "What are they talking about?"  She could have said anything--tithing, prayer, scriptures, or even virtue and I would have been fine.  But instead her face turned bright red and she said, "I'll tell you when we get home." 

When we got home, I was pulled into her bedroom, the door was locked, and I was given the "talk." Every nitty-gritty detail. My jaw dropped, I turned to my mother and said, "They said all that in church?" 

I Feel as Old as Old Man Pants

While I was driving I scratched my right arm with my left hand and felt a small budge in the bicep region.  But alas, when I scratched my left arm with my right hand, nothing.  I want this muscle to have friends.  If my rolls are getting friends, why can't my muscles have friends?

(Okay, nobody really answer that question because I KNOW the answer.  But. . . butt. . .)

Somebody asked me yesterday if I was older than my husband.  This is the same husband that I said to the other day while we were walking, "You cannot wear those sweat pants anymore.  They are old man pants."

Ric looked at me cluelessly.

"Old fart pants," I said.

Ric replied, "Yesterday while I was walking, I heard honking and turned around and there were 3 old men in a car waving at me.  They thought they knew me."

"That's what I'm talkin about," I said.

So, this is the man that I look older than. . . .

It has been a good week.  This is a big reason why.

Lila Emmaline (not Jenaline) Campbell, 8.5 lbs., & 20” of pure miracle. 

Miracle number one: after a couple days of labor, Lila came by emergency c-section with the cord wrapped twice around her neck and twice around her body.  Miracle number two: out of all the times she could have been born, she chose to come during sacrament meeting. 

This is miraculous because I was supposed to lead the music in sacrament meeting for my visiting teachee only we were singing “A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief” which has seven verses and how can you only sing some of the verses?  This song and “I heard the Bells on Christmas Day” are a waste of breath if you don’t sing them in their entirety.  But how could I stand and wave my arm for that long without laughing or crying or scratching my nose?  So thank you Lila.

Mom and baby are doing fine.  I have noticed however that since having grandchild number three, I am more winded on my morning walks, that the real-estate on my lap is being purchased by my stomach, I have a penchant for wearing sensible shoes, and I need stronger reading glasses.  I don’t think I’ll recover. 

Here is my advice to mothers and grandmothers and anybody going through any type of life-change.  “Things” will never get back to normal, so stop waiting for it to happen.      

Just 25 years ago I had my first baby. 

My life has never been the same. 

Thank heavens.