Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas Everyone!!!

Writer's block?

So, many of you have mentioned my novel that I was once writing. I was doing this when Mia was a baby and I was stuck at the house most of the day while she slept, which is a magical and really boring time of motherhood. I got about 50 pages written of a delightful murder mystery that I never really thought I would try to get it published or anything, it was just for my own amusement. After that point, however, Mia grew into the "hey, what's up with you ignoring me? aren't you suppose to be interacting and doing mom type stuff?" phase. So the book got put on the back burner and mostly forgotten about. I tried to find it a couple of years later, when she started to go preschool and I had a few minutes to myself every day, but it was gone, I couldn't even remember if I had written it on my current laptop or the previous one. So sad.

Here's the kicker though. I thought maybe I would just start over again, because i had a really good, intricate plot all thought out with lots of twists and surprises and many fabulous and amusing characters....but I can't remember how it ends. I've been wracking my brain for weeks and weeks and I have no idea who did it and why.

As frustrating as this is, I think it points to a bigger problem. What other incredibly brilliant things have I forgotten? Who knows, I may have cured cancer and solved world hunger on a lunch break a few years ago and just forgot to write it down. I've always embraced my absentmindedness and tried to convince those around me that it was a charming quirk that just made me more lovable. But no, it is a serious character flaw that will probably lead to my demise, and maybe even the destruction of the world someday. Man, try walking around with that burden on your shoulders. Being me isn't for the faint of heart.

I've tried to correct this problem by buying various PDA's and calendar systems, but the catch is that you have to remember to use them. I once got this awesome day planner from the UVU bookstore, that had lots of Mormon and Utah themed jokes and quotes that cracked me up and kept me awake while I was in my really boring physiology class, but I never remembered to write anything down, other than the family birthdays and stuff that I really didn't need reminders of. And it isn't even that I forget everything. I can remember completely trivial and useless details to a fault. I am a genius while playing Trivial Pursuit and if you ever need to know any details about the career of Danny Kaye or the use of Jello throughout history, I am a handy person to have around. But for actual, useful information that is relevent to anyone's life, you may want to ask that Mom-mannequin that I wrote about in the previous blog.

stylin' mom

Alright, so I am not one to buy into all the latest trends, by nature...plus you have to actually be paying attention to stuff, which I don't normally do in order to be trendy so, whatever. But with all this new "mom gear" you are suppose to have I have been doing a little research and have come to the conclusion that people are dumb.

This is not a new conclusion, I will admit. But come on, do people really need all this stuff? I mean honestly, has anyone ever been in desperate need of a diaper stacker? This is my second kid (a little girl, named Eliza, for those who were wondering) and I have yet to actually use one of these. There are a bunch of other things, like bedside bottle warmers and wipe warmers which seem like a good idea, except that you actually have to be in a state of mind to remember to use these things, which doesn't happen when you have a baby screaming at you at 3 a.m. so, those are also off my wish list.

Ooo, here is one thing that I love though. The Moby Wrap ( I tried to insert a link to it right here, but I am still a technological idiot and it didn't work. Sorry)
Granted, I had to look it up on youtube and watch a bunch of instructional videos to figure out how to put the dang thing on, but as I do have a baby that insists on being held all day, and a job that requires the use of both hands, not to mention the need to brush my teeth once in a while, it's pretty darn useful. Now if only someone would invent some sort of shield so that when I eat while "wearing" my baby I wouldn't drip and get crumbs all over the poor kid. Or, maybe someone would invent some sort of mannequin (except not creepy) version of a mom so that the mannequin could wear the baby and the baby would never know, and I could just take a nap. Hey, maybe it could even somehow trick older kids, like Mia, into thinking that I was playing with her at the same time so I could take a real nap, not the kind where she comes in every 10 minutes to explain to me that she is bored and the TV does not count as a playmate. Hmm...yes, inventors of the world need to get right on that idea. I'll be here waiting.

I figured out my password!!

Sorry, it's been a while, having a baby and all that. But mostly it's been a while because I couldn't remember my password and had to spend a couple weeks hacking into my own account. Woo hoo! I will write a real post soon, I just needed to let you guys know I am still breathing and stuff. Love your guts!!

Hiding the Crazy

I apologize. Not for abandoning you for so long, oh faithful blog, but for unloading all the crazy that I have been trying to conceal for months now. As you know I have previously hinted that I may not be in my right mind due to all these lovely pregnancy hormones so I have mostly kept my sporadic thoughts to myself as much as possible. But today I am bored. And I can't watch one more episode of Backyardigans with Mia or I will beat my TV.

Yesterday was a fun day. It started off with Charlie getting up early with Mia so that I could sleep in (Charlie is so awesome) and then 30 seconds later my darling unborn baby started kicking me in the bladder, again, so I had to get up anyway. So, I ventured downstairs and realized that I had to clean my pigsty house up because there was a BYU football game on that night. No, I am not a crazy superstitious football fan who thinks we will lose the game if my house isn't spotless. It's just that Charlie (who is very friendly and sweet) invites people over at random to watch the game with him and I never know how many are showing up expecting a party. So, I pleaded with Charlie and Mia to help me scrub stuff. I cleaned the kitchen as they vacuumed all things that would hold still.

Then I decided to make cinnamon rolls (shut up it makes sense). Except about half way through the baking time I remembered I have a horrible cold (courtesy of stupid charlie and his germs) and I can't smell. What is the point of baked goods if you can't smell. So I screamed at the oven and decided to go hide in the shower until I calmed down. So I locked my bedroom door, and then locked my bathroom door and hopped in, enjoyed the steam and tried to chill out for a few minutes. It lasted all of 2 minutes until Mia, with a nail file in hand, picked through both locks (who taught my 4 year old to pick locks? Dang Charlie) so that she could come tell me, with her face full of fury, that her dad had sprayed her with cold water. I asked her calmly, (while inwardly chanting a soothing yogic phrase that I made up because I don't speak yogic) to tell him that was very mean and that I would be down in a few minutes to talk to both of them. She sounded satisfied that her dad was going to get in trouble and ran away (Man, I really want some seven layer bean dip right now.) Then, she came in again to say that dad was in bigger trouble now because he was tickling her when she was yelling at him. Then he came in to say that Mia was totally just trying to get him in trouble and was only crying when I was around to hear it. (I'm still in the shower at this point, trying not to scream). No wonder I am so freaked out to have another kid, I already have two of them that I can barely handle.

So, after my super relaxing shower (man I really want bean dip....I don't have any chips though. And now I am going to cry, Darn Charlie and his non-chip buying). My dad and Charlie's mom and brother showed up for the game. I served my cinnamon rolls with tears in my eyes because I wasn't even tempted to eat them. Then I got a lecture from my mother in law on random and various things such as daring to schedule my induction, delivering at the wrong hospital. Why was I so thoughtless as to breath in Charlie's germs and get a cold? Oh, and my favorite was "why on earth are you naming your daughter Elijah? How do you spell that? is it a family name? (for the record, that isn't happening, but I was having fun with this topic so I let her go on for a good 20 minutes, even arguing that Elijah was my great grandmother's name and she was an amazing woman, before Charlie decided to step in and explain that no one had even considered that name and she must have made that up herself.) (Ok, bean dip is gross, never mind)

So, dear blog...you see what you are missing? Not only are my emotions random and inconsistent, but they aren't even particularly entertaining. Oh, we lost the game last night, but that is ok.

total cop out

Ok, I know it's been a while, but honestly, I am one grouchy grouchy hormonal woman right now and I have been afraid that if I write something it would be horribly offensive to someone and then I would have to gravel apologetically and that is irritating.

So, in lieu of an Amy post, I have hijacked a recipe Russ sent me. He figures that since he lived in France for a couple years he has magically absorbed the ability to bake. Those of you who know my cute little brother understand how this is completely logical in his world. Those of you who don't...enjoy getting to know a truly individual character.


Title: Russ's French Bread Bowls

Description:
Bread Bowl Recipe- Made with patience and love. He just emailed it to me because he is super helpful

Ingredients:
5 ¼ cups of flour

1 Tbs of Kosher Salt (or normal salt if you are poor)

1 Tbs of yeast (good yeast)

1 ¾ cup of warm water

1 Tbs of Sugar


Directions:
Put hot water in your mixing bowl. Add the sugar, then sprinkle on the yeast. Let the yeast yeastify for like 5 or 10 minutes- you will know when it has yeastified. Okay, now you put in the salt and add the flour a cup at a time. Mix until beautiful. Cover and let rise for an hour. Okay, an hour has past…move on. Now you want to divide the dough up, I have no freakin clue how many bowls you can make from this recipe, but just make the dough balls an adequate size, maybe about half the size you want the final product to be. Kind of roll and tuck the dough balls until the top is smooth like a nasty mushroom. Let it rise. You can glaze the dough with your favorite glaze. Egg whites work well with a pinch of salt. Even just salt water works. Some people like milk, milk will make it a softer crust. Okay I should have told you earlier to preheat your oven to 445 F. you should have done that dang it. 445 you say? Yes, I say 445. You see this will cook the crust good, what you do is cook it at 445 for 10 minutes, then reduce the heat to 390 degrees and continue cooking for another 15 minutes or so. If you tap your bread and it sounds hollow, then you are done. …but are your done? NO!!! let your bread cool until you can touch it without swearing. Cut the top off, scrape out the middle, then, if you want to eat paradise then you will mix garlic etc with butter or olive oil and brush that inside the bowl then place it back into the oven at a reasonable temperature to toast it. So you get a garlic bread bread bowl. Fill the bread bowl with your favorite bread bowl filler and eat. Perfect way to show your family that you love them.



Number Of Servings: some

Preparation Time: a while

First day of preschool, part II

Yes, it is that time of year again, even if the 90 degree weather doesn't know it. Mia just made her first trek of fall to her preschool class. And yes, she was just as giddy as last year, but somewhat more confident since she had done this before. In fact, she tried to get me to stay home and let her walk the half a block by herself. She said that I could watch her through the window, but that was all the supervision she would need. I didn't fall for it, don't worry. We walked together, stopping every 20 feet or so because Mia needed another picture taken of her cute new school out fit. Once again, she stopped me at the door of the classroom and stated firmly that preschool was for kids, not mommy's. I wonder if I'll ever get used to that.

As she walked into the class and greeted her teacher I lingered by the doorway and listened to her instruct Miss Nicole, the lead teacher, that this year she was to be addressed as AMELIA,not Mia, and she would really like to learn to read this year. She carefully placed her backpack in her cubby hole and sat at a table with her hands folded as Miss Nicole met my bewildered gaze from the doorway. I guess she was trying to decide if she should just let AMELIA take over the whole class as she sat in the back and played with the classroom pets, a small tank full of frogs. I understood as I have had this feeling when dealing with AMELIA several times in the past few months.

Make no mistake, I am happy that my daughter seems to be turning into a confident young lady and stuff, but she isn't the boss of me, Gosh! So, while walking home thoughtfully by myself I decided that perhaps I should spend as much time trying to instill confidence in myself as I do my child. Then I thought that sounded like a lot of work so I probably will just fake being in charge like I normally do. Plus I can still be in charge of bribing her because I am taller and can reach the cookie stash. It's going to be ok.

Maple Syrup Tidal Wave

You know how every once in a while you feel like you actually have a grip on life and may actually be getting into somewhat of a groove, and then something comes along and, not unlike Nelson in the Simpson's, trips you and points and lets out a hearty "Ha Ha!" That happens to me a lot. I had just begun feeling that I had somewhat of a grasp on how to do this working pregnant mommy gig until yesterday. I forgot to feed Mia and myself breakfast before making our daily trek to my place of employment to pick up tapes to transcribe. At first blush this didn't seem like much of a problem. I knew we wouldn't starve in the 30 minute round trip, but then I thought, "Hey! (always my first mistake) Let's go to Sonic" So I took a quick detour and ordered up a breakfast sandwich for me and French Toast sticks for Mia (Kids like dipping things, it's a whole sub-culture). This seemed like a brilliant plan until I opened the bag and pulled out the packet that held two tablespoons of maple syrup and started handing it to Mia. A nagging little voice in my head tried to stop me, because syrup + child + car ride did not seem like a brilliant move. But I shrugged and handed it over thinking "so she gets a little sticky, we'll be home soon and it's only a smidgen." I'm an idiot.

20 minutes later I was hauling Mia, covered from head to toe in syrup up the stairs to the shower peeling maple soaked clothing off her as we went. And once that chore was done I got to attack the entire back seat of my car with the steam cleaner...twice. It still smells vaguely like an all night diner, but at least there is no sticky residue left.

So, now that the wind is out of my sails I have given back in to the feeling of merely muddling through one alarming incident to another. But that is ok. It keeps me humble.

Bad clowns=Bad hair?

So, today my hair looks as though it has been struck by lightening and then tenderly styled by a blind psychopath. I blame the rodeo. Don't look at me like that, I could have blamed Celine Dion, but that would have been weird.

So, last night I got to go to the Spanish Fork Fiesta Days Rodeo. Woo hoo!! In theory a rodeo is lots of fun. Lots of cowboys and the summer crowds swarming around you while you eat deep fried things, plus the added bonus of the chance of mayhem should an errant hoof connect with human flesh. Sounds pretty awesome, right? Well, now add 100 degree weather, three cranky preschoolers, two fighting married couples, a cute but sticky baby boy and a generally hag like pregnant lady. Yep, that was my night. Kind of takes the awesome out of it. And so does that stupid rodeo clown who thinks a urinating car is funny....you had to be there. Needless to say, Boom Boom the clown is not on my list of favorite performers ever. He was pretty lame. And he didn't even get attacked by a bull, so he was lame without a purpose, which is even worse.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Before my clan struck out for cowboy heaven, Charlie and I painted my living room. I've been trying to decide on a color for the better part of a year, and finally I just closed my eyes and picked a grayish blue. It is very nice. But, when Charlie and I do projects together we generally aren't friends for a while afterward. We have good intentions, but after about an hour of working we both are pretty sure that the other one is completely wrong in their approach and bossy beyond reason. And neither of us is ever willing to back down and apologize so we are not the most fun couple in the world for a day or so afterward. Apparently my brother and his wife had some sort of ordeal going on as well because there were dirty looks being thrown in all directions. Poor Dad was trying desperately to make this a joyous experience for us all so we were pretending (with varying degrees of success) that we were thrilled to be sitting on medival torture devices they call wooden stadium benches.

Oh, so back to my hair. When I finally crawled home at about 11 p.m. (which is about 4 a.m. in a pregnant lady's world) I dragged myself into the shower because my lower extremities were covered in spilled snow cone (courtesy of my loving daughter and nieces). And promptly started crying because I then saw that my feet resembled a kindergarteners efforts of shaping clay into a human form. Stupid heat and hormones. So I just crawled into bed, with no forethought of what my half wet hair would look like in the morning. I blame Boom Boom and his dumb rodeo clown ways for all of it.

Idaho and Michael Jackson

Ok, I need to tell you about my fourth of July, but with all this MJ hoopla going on I have to mention one little thing that's been bothering me...It is always sad when someone dies, but isn't this the guy we were all afraid of with his penchant for young boys and his ever melting face? Why is he suddenly beyond reproach? Ok, I've never met the guy, and I do like one or two of his songs, but he really hasn't had an impact on my life. (except in fifth grade when we named our class hamster after him because he had one white paw...or that one Simpsons episode where the 300 pound white guy in the mental institution thinks he's Michael Jackson and then writes that birthday song for Lisa because my cousin Lisa wandered around singing it for weeks "Lisa it's your birthday, Happy birthday Lisa" over and over and over until we were ready to commit her.) That's all I'm saying. Isn't suddenly being a Michael fan like suddenly liking whatever sports team just won some big title?

Ok, so Idaho. Yep, it's still there. I've only been to Idaho a handful of times in my life. Once for a color guard competition in Pocatello, and I've been to Lava Hot Springs once or twice, so I really don't have much of a reference base. It was awesome to see my Uncle Tebbs (all of my uncles have bizarre names, it's just one of those things). I love my Uncle Tebbs because he is my dad's older brother, and he is the one person who can reduce him to tears from laughing so hard in less than a minute. Also, my dad seems to revert to being a little boy when they are together and it makes me giggle to watch.

Aside from that awesome bonus, I mostly spent my weekend being irritated. Since it was all my siblings (at least the ones who care, Wendy) that were there with their families it was kind of intense with all the tiptoe-ing around my schizophrenic brother and bipolar sister and emotionally fragile brother in law....and Russ. It was downright exhausting, come to think of it. And perhaps it was because I was in a hormonal/murderous mood, but the fireworks that were touted to be the best this side of the Mississippi were just...meh.

I already acknowledge that I need to give it a fairer shot...maybe next time I'll go by myself and actually get a chance to pay attention instead of trying to keep my nieces from jumping into the Snake River every time I turned around. Or maybe when I am not pregnant so that I don't have to be cursing the fact that the bathroom was a 15 minute walk.

Better than Neil

yeah yeah yeah, lots of time has gone by, lay off man, I don't need this hassle.

Here's what's going on lately. We all had the swine flu. It was fun. I (of course) just assumed that it was pregnancy + a cold of death. And then Mia got it so we went to the doctor after a week of her not getting better. (No, I am not a neglectful parent, I was just trying to not be one of those obnoxious parents that panics at every little cough, gosh.) Anyway, in the end the doctor decided that what started out as swine flu for both of us had just evolved into a harmless sinus infection. So we were appeased with antibiotics and sent home to wallow in self pity.

Then we got home, and guess what!! Charlie was passed out on the couch looking like a corpse and moaning (so I knew he wasn't dead). Since I knew that he was suppose to be at some workshop on how to teach tesselations to ESL kindergarteners (or some other such random skill set) for at least another 4 hours I had a hunch that he did not feel well. So I banished him to the spare bedroom and started Lysoling everything that would hold still. I was only slightly upset by this, firstly because I knew Mia and I were just fine, and secondly, we were scheduled to speak in sacrament meeting in just two days (WOOHOO!!! the bishop had no argument when I called to tell him we were quarantined. Totally worth the trade off.) It's been a little awkward since though, I know that the neighbors around here that have heard that we have the plague are afraid of us, but since we are all fine now it's been pretty boring to just hang around the house. I even went out with Mia on the slip n slide yesterday because I didn't dare invite any of the other kids over in case their parents shunned us. But seriously, people of Spanish Fork we are just fine with no plague any more. Thank you for your concern.

Now, here is what I actually wanted to discuss with you all. I love Nathan Fillion. And I am not ashamed, even though he is technically Canadian. I first discovered this love back on Firefly, but I recently rewatched (or listened too mostly because I am a multitasker) Dr. Horrible's Commentary: the Musical! Yes, it is a rather obscure art piece...but totally worth tracking down for one song. "Better Than Neil". It is a heartwrenching tune that delves into the unusual rivalry between Nathan Fillion and Neil Patrick Harris (or NPH as his friends in a hurry like to call him). I'm not sure why this makes me giggle uncontrollably and sashay around my kitchen, but it does. Listen to it, you will thank me.



That is it for now. I'm off soon to Idaho!!!! for fourth of July...No I am not sure why either. Hopefully I'll figure it out on the way.

At this very moment I am questioning my judgement in writing a post right now. I'm a little...not myself, due to lack of sleep, and nourishment, and the fact that I just watched the movie "Honey" on VH1 out of sheer boredom which I believe has cost me at least ten IQ points. So, who knows what I might type? (Oh, speaking of typing, I just hooked up my new fancy ergonomic keyboard all by myself and it actually works! I accomplished a feat of technology without adult supervision!!! I will do a dance of superiority later when I am able to move without severe vomiting.)

So, I just got back from another "vacation". This time the soccer extravaganza was in Cedar City. So, yeah, that was just great. And I thought I would be all kinds of excited to come back to my own cozy home and be amongst my own stuff that didn't include those hideous bedspreads they always have in motels to hide whatever bodily fluid stains they are hiding. Yet, as I walked into my own, cherished home a thought struck me....the maid didn't come to my house magically while I was gone. Stupid fictional maid. The dishes that I was just too in a hurry to wash the day we were leaving were still sitting in the sink and various other little chores that I had blocked out in my four days of soccer games in the Southern Utah rain (that would be a good name for a rock band) were still waiting patiently to be done by your truly. So, instead of being the cheerful little camper I usually am after riding all day in a car with a really hot but sweaty and rain soaked referee who had just yammered on about the subtleties of corner kicks for four hours, I was a little bit...deflated. I went to my room and shut the door and started singing Disney songs to myself (because that is always what i figured I would do in the midst of a mental breakdown, it was very soothing). Apparently my eerie singing and lack of verbal response was a warning to my family to leave me alone because I didn't hear the hesitant little knock at my door until a good 15 minutes later (15 minutes is an eternity to Mia). She slowly poked her head through the doorway and said "Mom, are you ok? I think it's my bedtime and I can't read my books myself" Such a cute little thing when she is nagging.

So, I put my nevous breakdown aside to enjoy later and started a batch of laundry on the way to Mia's room to put her to bed. I must of still looked a little deranged because when I was done she asked for her dad to come check on her because she was scared...but when I asked of what she just looked at me and said "Uh, get dad please". So I did, and then I started cleaning the kitchen and went to bed without another word to anyone,

Today I feel much better, and no one seems to be afraid of me, at least not in my home, some of the neighbors have always been a little nervous around me and I don't see that changing anytime soon. And that is my homecoming story. Thanks for listening to my rant.

so nice of you to drop by

While I still maintain that Jenny the visiting teacher is so unrealistically nice she probably has cartoon birds come and help her fix her hair in the morning, I have held my own today. I took dinner to a neighbor in need. And I actually cooked it...not out of a box or anything.

Here's how it went down: Tuesday night I get a call from my local compassionate service guru. She frantically explained that I had a new visiting teachee, who turns out is one of my good friends. "Yay! Lisa (names have been changed to protect the uncoordinated) already knows I'm a slacker" I thought, "but why is this pertinent right now?" Turns out this was a good question because the compassionate service chick then said "she broke both her arms last night...go do nice things and stuff." So, my first thought was to laugh, because it totally sounded like something that I would do and yet I wasn't the one in casts. Then I felt bad and called her and demanded an explanation. She fell down. Not even a good story. My heart went out to her and I did my best to not laugh while I talked to her. Because, really, it is horrible. She has a 1 year old and a 4 year old at home, how the heck is she going to handle that? It's awful, but still I was morbidly amused. So to make up for my inappropriate humor I vowed to make her an actual meal on my assigned night to feed her and her family.

Now, this hasn't happened in a while because I still have a strong aversion to...food. Unless it is a Popsicle, then bring it on. So I went to the store...three times because remembering things isn't my forte. I laid out the mise en piece (see! I am a chef being smothered by a lazy personality, I know the fancy french way of saying ingredients) and made chicken kabobs. You see, Lisa (again, name has been changed to protect the allergic) doesn't eat gluten or dairy. So sad for her. I usually get my kicks out of making cookies and eating them with milk when she comes over to visit. But, since I was being nice I decided to actually go with the flow of her diet restrictions today instead of taunting her. I grilled them on my Foreman grill and packed up a salad and was ready to go do my best Florence Nightingale impression.

My family had hot dogs for dinner. I'm aiming for niceness, not sainthood. So, yes, it was a baby step in my quest for finding my inner compassion for others, but I am still proud of me, paying back my debt to society, as it were. Now if only I can continue resisting the urge to sit on my porch and throw chips at all the cute little relief society ladies that go jogging by on a regular basis....

how nice is too nice?

In general I think I am a pretty nice person...at least outwardly, on the inside sometimes I am tripping old ladies and pointing and laughing at funny looking children (not yours, of course, they are beautiful in every way). But every once in a while I run into someone that can run circles around my kindness and not even get winded while they run bake sales for the homeless. One such person that comes to mind is my visiting teacher (whom shall remain nameless, although I know that she reads this when she gets really bored so Hi Jenny!!!). A few weeks ago I was placed on bed rest for the first trimester of my current pregnancy because...umm...my doctor likes to see how far he can push me, (seriously, I used to work for the guy and he once sent me on a hunt through the hospital for a condom catheter, even though it was an OB office, just for his own amusement.) So I was really quite frustrated and bored and nauseous all at the same time and this made me a wee bit unpleasant to be around. Anyway, I shared this with my visiting teachers and Jenny decided that she was going to bring me dinner once a week, just because that is how she rolls. And she's a good cook so I only argued with her a little bit. My other visiting teacher is also filled to the brim with human kindness, but she was too busy going to Hawaii and stuff, without me.

Finally after weeks of atrophy the "Amy doing anything" ban was lifted and I was once again allowed to move. I celebrated by taking a three mile walk, which quickly taught me that weeks of laying around doesn't do much for your muscle tone. So, after caring for my gelatinous like body I made cookies so I could return some of Jenny's recent dishes full of goodies. Today, I packed Mia up in the car and drove to her house where Mia quickly spotted Jenny's son in the back yard preparing to make a mad dash down his slip and slide. That is all Mia needed to know, she bolted out of the car and made a B-line for the back yard before I could even knock on the door to announce our presence. I tossed the plastic containers at Jenny and explained that my daughter was rampaging in her back yard and I had to go catch her. But instead of rolling her eyes and helping me contain my child, she said "why don't you just leave her here and I'll bring her home when they are done getting wet." Nice. Way Too Nice. So, instead of carting a grumpy preschooler around with me on my errands for the afternoon I got to take a leisurely stroll through the grocery store and come home with enough time to write in my blog before I had to be a responsible parent again. Now, Mia is home with a huge smile on her face and a warmth in her heart, and shoulders because the poor little girl is an albino like me and shouldn't be in the sun for more than 30 seconds at a time. All of this thanks to the un ending kindness of my cute friend. I keep trying to think of ways to pay her back but I already know that if I try to do something for her she will "out kindness me" and end up re-roofing my house or something, and this has all got to end somewhere.

And Jenny, if you are ever in an actual bad mood...the kind that makes you want to kick puppies, please call me so I can come see. It would do my heart good to see that even you have bad days.

Excuses Excuses...

Ok, you know how when you should really be doing something but you just can't make yourself do it? Right now I should really really be working, but I have been listening to the turtle doctor (that is what I call the particular doctor who's dictating to me today because he sounds like he is 103 years old and is covered in cobwebs and dust, sitting at his desk in a dark corner, forgotten by all office staff) and I just can't take it any more. Well, that and the violent nausea that has been caused by either trying a new Mexican restaurant for lunch or my rapidly fluctating hormone levels. It's a tough call. I really just want to go to bed, or sit on my circle couch and nap while Mia is watching WordGirl. (Have you ever watched that show? I have a crush on Chuck the Evil Sandwich Making Guy.) But instead of crashing into a coma like state I am sitting here at my computer, willing myself to put my headphones back on and type just a little bit more so I don't have to work all mother's day weekend.

Yeah, it's not going to happen. Good effort Amy. Time for a break. I did promise Mia I would take her to the smelly stuff store (aka Bath and Body Works) She likes to try on everything and comes out of there smelling like an over ripe fruit basket. Perhaps a trip to the mall will recharge my motivation to work.

homecoming

Ah, my dear neglected blog. How I have missed thee. Work is finally returning to a normal pace, and all that other stuff that comes up in life has seemed to calm down a bit. I believe I am beginning to feel like my old neurotic self again, instead of like a wrung out dish rag.

Now, I must explain that today's entry is purely a writing exercise for myself because I'm fairly certain that after a month or so of silence most of you guys have stopped checking for updates. And that is ok, less pressure for me. I'm not one of those people that thrive on pressure. I mostly shut down and try on disguises and fantasize about starting over in Puerto Villarta as a bar owner on a beach that sleeps under a palm tree. I guess I would be an albino one compared to the natives due to my complete lack of pigmentation, but eventually they would get used to me and my bathing in sun block.

On the other hand I know people who are pretty much just useless masses of flesh until pressure is applied, then they swiftly meld into functional human beings who are capable of multitasking and herculean feats of organization...mostly I'm talking about Russ. He can be amazing when the impossible is demanded of him. However, if you gently remind him to pick up his socks, you suddenly feel you are talking to a lost puddle of primordial ooze. Now that I am not living in the same house as my dear little brother I find this amusing and consider it part of his charm. But when we were teenagers and I had to wait for him to be ready to be composed enough to go to school this usually created what we liked to call hostility in my family...I think in warfare they call it a massacre. Some day when I write my book I am planning a character based on my brother. Technically he is a mental patient, but a lovable one who is mostly harmless.

Is this attack on him too cruel? Probably, I've kind of lost my perspective on such things. He gets all squicked out when I am nice to him because he thinks I am planning his death, so in a weird way this is me letting him know I care.

Nothin but blue skies...

Ladies and Gentlemen, I feel we are on the cusp of Spring, finally. Here I sit with a diet coke in hand (thanks for the validation Pat!!!) (actually it is not literally in my hand, have you ever tried to type with a beverage in hand? Honestly, you people will believe anything.) where was I...Oh yes, so here I am on a sunny Saturday afternoon with a bit of quiet free time thinking about how I really shouldn't get my hopes up for warmer weather because it is bound to snow at least once more and crush my fledgling spirits. Stupid winter. If you were a person I would stomp on your neck. ( I get a little violent after being couped up for a few months.)

So, a few days ago (on my birthday, woohoo) I went to a darling little restaurant called Gloria's Little Italy in Provo. It was delightful. I'm a huge fan of eating things that I personally didn't have to cook, so I'm pretty easy to please as far as restaurants go. But I really liked this place, it was yummy. Until desert. (I need to take a moment and breathe deeply because of the bitter disappointment crushing my lungs) Ok, Gloria's has an overwhelmingly large desert selection. So much that they can't carry little plastic molds of the deserts on a tray to show you, instead you can meander (I say meander because if you walk briskly in a trattoria people assume something is wrong and might panic and choke on their lasagna, and I don't want to be responsible for that) over to and stare in amazement at the glorious little delicacies displayed behind the glass case so as to prevent any drool contamination. Now, everyone has their own happy place, and I am starting to think mine is a bakery, where you can just gaze upon the pretty pink frosted baked goods and let the sprinkles sooth your troubled soul. I stood in front of the case and just let the wave of happiness sweep me away for what could have been hours, I don't know. I went to the restaurant with the intention of ordering gelato for dessert, because I have been told by many sources that it was amazing. But when juxtapose cannolies and chocolate cake and eclairs and layers and layers of filo dough, it just didn't seem adequate. So I ordered some chocolate encased chocolate cake with chocolate dipped strawberries lovingly placed on top. It looked so good I almost cried at the site of it. Then I took a bite. It wasn't bad, it was just....meh. A huge let down. I ate it anyway, because it was there and it was so pretty, but next time I really am going to order gelato. I will not be seduced by the smell of powdered sugar and buttery flaky layers that you can just melt through with a laser like focus. I will be strong.

Time After Time

On this day, thirty whatever years ago, the world was blessed by my birth...

Yeah, ok, it is my birthday. yippy. However, that is not what I want to write about today. Today I am reminiscing about articles of clothing that have vanished. I go through clothing pretty fast, between my innate ability to spill on everything and my other innate ability to rip holes in anything because of my penchant for tripping, clothes just don't last long around me. But there are certain items that have simply vanished from my closet without explanation. For example, a year ago I bought a sweater that was the cutest thing ever and I wore it all last winter with joy in my heart from knowing how adorable I was...and then it was gone. Not thrown away, not given to charity, not lent to a friend, just gone. So now I am not only left with a gaping hole in my wardrobe that only that adorable sweater will fill, but I don't have any closure of knowing why it decided to leave. (Yes, I know it is just a sweater, I'm not crazy, I just get kind of attached to certain things).

Ok, and on the other hand I have a green hoodie from my sophomore year of high school that is still hanging around my closet. I wear it whenever I am having a sick day. It's from colorguard, so it has a disturbing cougar on the back holding a rifle and flag and my name embroidered on the front. Because of it's advanced age it has a couple of holes and bleach spots, but I still cherish it, because it has lasted longer than almost anything else in my life and you have to honor that kind of fortitude...I'm not sure how you honor a hoodie, but I do try. There was a pair of green sweatpants that said ASST CAPT down one leg (I really wanted them to leave off the T(the T in ASST, not CAPT), but my advisor nixed that idea, I'm still disappointed) and it has also disappeared. I don't think I would have thrown them away since they were half of an ensemble (whenever I say the word ensemble I think about that Cribs episode with Mariah Carey where she was having a full blown breakdown, it was awesome), and who would want to borrow them? They are a particularly hideous shade of Kelly Green. I think there was a cougar paw print on the butt of them, so maybe that was what attracted whatever thief stole them.

So, this post is dedicated to items from my closet that have decided to take their leave of me, my sweater, ASST CAPT pants, flowy dusty pink blouse that was way too feminine for me to pull off (please pretend that orchestra music is playing in the back ground as these items are flashed on a big screen in a hushed theater, a la the memoriam section of the Oscar ceremony). You will be missed.

Motivational techniques

yes, I know, stop lecturing me. I have had my work load double in the past couple of weeks so by the time I am done with that my poor little fingers and my poor little brain just can't handle any recreational typing. But this morning when Mia decided I needed to get up at 6:00 I could feel my blog chiding me for neglect. Sorry about that. I don't even have a topic today, I just couldn't handle the fact that my last post was over two weeks old. It hurt my heart to see. But then I started looking at all my friends blogs and realized that once a month seemed to be the average posting schedule for others. So gosh, get off my back, I'm kind of a blogging super hero, I'm just stretched a little thin at the moment.

Let's see, what did you miss in my absence...Charlie bought a Mazda6, (his last car was purchased in the year 2000 and was a 1995 Hyundai, poor little car) We sold that car to my brother Russ because apparently he needed a rally car, or he just wanted to see if his manly, bear like frame would fit into our tiny clown car, either way, at least I don't have to figure out where to park it anymore. So all is well with our transportation needs...

Ok, see, I told you my poor little brain was overtaxed from too much transcribing, I can't even think of a decent post for you all. But at least when I post this I can ignore the guilt for another week. If only I could do the same thing with dishes, half heartedly put a few token dishes into the sink and call it done for the week.

Amelia the Ballerina

A few weeks ago I enrolled Mia into her very first ballet class. Despite the fact that it was through community ed and there were pretty much no expectations besides that she would show up and probably stand in the middle of the dance studio at the local high school staring into space, perhaps picking her nose, we were both very excited. We made a day of going to Shopko (or maybe Kmart, it had to be one of them because those are the only stores in Spanish Fork) and bought her cute little pink tights and the whole ballet she-bang. I even bought the sparkly pink legwarmers, just because I knew I would never get away with wearing them, so I had to live vicariously through my daughter. Want to see the adorable picture? Ok


Tee hee....

Ok, so here was the surprise, from the very first class Mia had a laser like focus reminiscent of one of those freaky good Chinese ping pong champion players. She was going to learn everything that poor overworked teacher was going to throw at her and then do some kind of Vulcan mind meld and learn some more. It's kind of adorable, that she takes it all so seriously when all the other girls in her class are just happy to stare at themselves in the mirror as they slide on their leotarded booties across the wooden floor, or stare at their parents sitting along the wall and wave at random intervals, just to make sure they are still conscious. I'm expecting Mia to correct her teacher's posture any time now.

And it isn't just in my "my-child-is-a-prodigy" mother blinded imagination either. Her teacher actually stopped me after class and asked if Mia was really only three ,firstly because she is as tall as most adults by now, but also because of her amazing concentration and coordination (which must be a result of a genetic mutation because I once tripped over a leaf and dislocated my shoulder). Of course, she just meant that Mia has yet to run head first into the mirror like some of the other girls and in my logical mind I knew this was just a mild observation. But in my latent stage mother mind I started planning her career, starting with her playing Clara opposite Mikhail Barishnikov (I know he is really like 60 years old and retired,but he is the only ballerina boy I know.) Yep, it turns out I'm one of THOSE mothers. I will try really hard to suppress this, but my sudden certainty that Amelia (that is her name in ballet because Mia says it sounds more like a ballerina name, whatever) is a brilliant talent just waiting to be formed kind of came as a surprise. I'm going to have to check out Brittany Spears' mom's book out at the library and read it for pointers.

"Vacation" Time

This weekend I get to go on another "vacation". Yippy. At least this time the soccer tournament is in St. George, so it will be a good 10 degrees warmer than here. Not exactly laying out by the pool weather, but beggars can't be choosers. This time I have schemed to leave Mia in Salt Lake to play with her cousins for three days instead of trying to entertain her in a foreign city while not spending any money. So this means I will get a lot of reading done. And maybe I could even go see a movie or two...by myself.

I actually don't mind seeing movies by myself. I mean, you can't really have a conversation with someone else during a movie anyway, but it is kind of creepy to see someone sitting alone in the dark glow of a movie theater. So here are my tips on attending a movie by yourself without having security escort you out.

1. Try to go to a crowded movie, then no one will even notice you're alone.

2. If you end up in a deserted theater, put your coat on the seat next to you so people think your date just went to the bathroom...and then ditched you, then they will pity instead of suspicion.

3. For heaven's sake, do not go to a kid's movie alone, ever.

4. Show up after the previews have started, then it is a little bit darker and most people aren't paying attention anyway. And then leave the minute the movie ends, don't wait for credits and make sure you sit on an aisle so you aren't sprinting over old ladies and their giant purses in the dark.

5. If you accidently arrive early, keep checking your watch and looking around you, then people will assume you are waiting for someone again, and that you got ditched. Which is pathetic, but again will not creep people out.

6. Rent a movie and stay home, theaters and kind of sticky and gross anyway.

So there you go, you can go see whatever movie you want without having to wait for someone to consent to go with you. You could go the more risky route of taking a dummy with you, or piling a bunch of paraphanelia in the seat next to you and talking to it like it is a really short person, but that takes a lot of practice, so that isn't really something I would recommend for novices.

The month of love

Happy February everyone! February will always be known in my mind and the month of freezing cold disappointment. Let me first clarify that statement by stating that this is in no way my husbands fault, he makes a herculean effort every year to make Valentines day special. It's just that Valentines day sucks no matter what. There is too much pressure on one little mid-February day. (February has too many r's in it.)

In my youth I always made it a point to not be in a relationship on Valentines day, because that was just too much to plan and execute, and you know, care. There's no way you could meet expectations of a grand sweeping romantic gesture that your partner is sure to have. Especially for guys, poor little fellas. And when I began dating Charlie, I made a point of letting him know that I really wasn't a fan of flowers, because they cost lots and then they just die, and not to buy me a heart shaped box of chocolates because that was just way too cliche and I am too cool for cliches.

So, really it's my own fault that the flower delivery guy never knocks on my door. Now that I have a little more experience in my relationship with my husband I know that he will never magically understand that while my logical, non-emotional mind I think flowers are a huge waste, in my I'm-a-girl-and-want-you-to-buy-me-pretty-things-anyway state of mind I really want to be showered with lame over-sold gifts. He's a guy, and therefore doesn't know anything, unless I tell him in direct, monosyllabic words. But, this won't happen, because I am a woman. I never tell anyone what I actually want, but I reserve the right to be ticked off if I don't get it. That's what makes us so intriguing, and none too scary.

with deepest sympathy

You know how you never react to tragedy the way you think that you will? Well, I'm the exception to that rule, because I am pretty predictable. The first thing I did after my mom died was invest in a new tube of waterproof mascara, because you know, that is how I roll. Then I wandered around Walmart and had an anxiety attack and frightened the old ladies in front of the popcorn aisle. So, to calm myself down I bought a hot chocolate maker, because I could hear Wendy's voice in my head telling me it was cozy. Yay for schizophrenic hallucinations, because she was right, it is very comforting.

Now that I am armed with my mascara and sugar fix, I need a plan to make it through the viewing and funeral. I HATE viewings. Alot. So very very much. So far my best idea has been to create an elaborate chart assigning points to every platitude people try to comfort you with on these occasions. For example, "She is in a better place" is worth two points. My siblings and I can discreetly keep score and whoever has endured the most comforting phrases, and thus collected the most points, at the end of the evening will win a special treat, perhaps an extra helping of funeral potatoes.

Yes, I know that this makes me sound callous and a bit jaded, but we all grieve in our own way and my way happens to involve distracting myself with ridiculous games, which I will totally win and rub all my siblings faces in it.

Resolution This

On the whole, I think New Year's resolutions are lame. Why suddenly strive to fix your flaws just because you turned the page on the calendar? I say embrace your flaws at all times, even in January.

However, I have to admit I have actually attempt to make and keep one resolution this year. Usually I make a few token ones just to join in the fun. One year I gave up shellfish.(I hate any sort of fish, especially those that come in a shell, because shells freak me out, they are an exoskeleton. Eww.) So...where was I? Oh yes, I have resolved to give up Diet Coke this year. Not completely, I just finally admitted to myself that it has gotten out of hand. I usually polish off my first can by 8:30 a.m. and then just keep going throughout the day. And last week my darling little brother came up to me with tears in his eyes and told me that I need to stop it. I felt like I was having an intervention. I was waiting for him to pull out the letter he had written to me about how my substance abuse was tearing our family apart. Darn him and his Maybelline lashes.

So, since I am not a fan of migraines, here is my plan: Last week I limited my Diet Coke intake to three 12 ounce cans every day. This week I am down to two cans, next week is one can a day and then maybe one can every other day. Yes I am a woman with a plan. Nothing can stop me...except maybe the refills for 25 cents on Tuesdays at my local Texaco.

Now. On to more pertinent topics. My mother died last night. I only mention this as kind of an excuse as to why I am a bit incoherent and basically absent from this blog for the past few weeks. It has been a rough time, especially for Charlie whom has had to feed himself and figure out how the washing machine works for the past two weeks while I was at my mother's bedside. More on this later, as soon as I can compartmentalize it and make it a bit more palatable.

I survived In-Law week and all I got was this T-shirt

So, Charlie's youngest brother got married yesterday...Yay! But because of this event there were Hanoseks swarming the greater Wasatch front area for the past week. They were everywhere, like in a horror movie, except not really that scary and generally more eloquent than your run of the mill horror movie monster. We kicked off the week with Charlie's sister and her family coming to stay with us. I love Charlie's little sister and her kids are so well behaved it's kind of unnerving, so that was exciting. But then, the festivities began in earnest with more relatives arriving every day and with each family that showed up we had to have another celebration. By Wednesday every meal was proceeded by an intense round of negotiations about what, where and when we would eat that stretched out to about four hours and involved at least 67 phone calls, some to the Vatican.

In my philisophical musings I like to ponder the difficulties of merging with a new family. I know most people have to tread lightly when it comes to their in-laws, but I have found it particularly difficult to delve into the culture and secret world of my husband's family. There are nine siblings spread out over the continental U.S. They only see each other once every two or three years but when they get together they suddenly meld into a giant unit that moves and thinks with an unsettling single-mindedness. Like a beehive. Or military clones in a sci-fi movie. Or victims that have survived some intense catastrophe together. The rest of us that have married into the family all sit on the outskirts of their activities with a bemused look on our faces listening to them speaking in their own specific dilect of english. It is kind of like when you are in a foreign country and you don't want anyone to know that you don't speak the language or understand what it is you just ordered for lunch but you can't admit to locals that you need help, so you end up with a cow tongue and pickled gnats, but you pretend that is exactly what you wanted.

During these little family get togethers I tend to vacillate between my I-feel-left-out-and-therefore-cranky mood and my isn't-Charlie-so-cute-when-he-is-playing-with-his-big-brothers mood. It's a little bit draining and I usually need a day or two to recover. But this time since the festivities have gone on now for eight days with no signs of slowing down I am considering asking my doctor for a Xanax prescription. Or a month in a spa retreat.