Monday, February 20, 2006
Friday, February 17, 2006
Nacirema
When I started college I had no idea what I wanted to study. So, naturally, I took a variety of different classes for no apparent reason. One of my favorite classes was Anthropology. In this class we studied a culture/group of people called the Nacirema.
These people are masochistic, narcissistic and barbaric. They have hundreds of odd rituals that are done on a regular basis. Here is an excerpt from an article about them.
So why am I telling you about these people? Well, I did something yesterday that I hated. I went to visit a holy-mouth-man and had my teeth scraped with a metal hook. Yup, the dentist.
The good news is I still don't have any cavities (26 years and counting). Although my kids have 4 between the two of them. Poor things.
And in case you havn't figured it out yet, read Nacirema backwards. If you're interested you can read the whole article here. It's pretty cool.
These people are masochistic, narcissistic and barbaric. They have hundreds of odd rituals that are done on a regular basis. Here is an excerpt from an article about them.
The daily body ritual performed by everyone includes a mouth-rite. Despite the fact that these people are so punctilious about care of the mouth, this rite involves a practice which strikes the uninitiated stranger as revolting. It was reported to me that the ritual consists of inserting a small bundle of hog hairs into the mouth, along with certain magical powders, and then moving the bundle in a highly formalized series of gestures.
In addition to the private mouth-rite, the people seek out a holy- mouth-man once or twice a year. These practitioners have an impressive set of paraphernalia, consisting of a variety of augers, awls, probes, and prods. The use of these items in the exorcism of the evils of the mouth involves almost unbelievable ritual torture of the client. The holy-mouth-man opens the client's mouth and, using the above mentioned tools, enlarges any holes which decay may have created in the teeth. Magical materials are put into these holes. If there are no naturally occurring holes in the teeth, large sections of one or more teeth are gouged out so that the supernatural substance can be applied. In the client's view, the purpose of these ministrations is to arrest decay and to draw friends. The extremely sacred and traditional character of the rite is evident in the fact that the natives return to the holy-mouth-men year after year, despite the fact that their teeth continue to decay.
It is to be hoped that, when a thorough study of the Nacirema is made, there will be careful inquiry in to the personality structure of these people. One has but to watch the gleam in the eye of a holy-mouth-man, as he jabs an awl into an exposed nerve, to suspect that a certain amount of sadism is involved. If this can be established, a very interesting pattern emerges, for most of the population shows definite masochistic tendencies.
So why am I telling you about these people? Well, I did something yesterday that I hated. I went to visit a holy-mouth-man and had my teeth scraped with a metal hook. Yup, the dentist.
The good news is I still don't have any cavities (26 years and counting). Although my kids have 4 between the two of them. Poor things.
And in case you havn't figured it out yet, read Nacirema backwards. If you're interested you can read the whole article here. It's pretty cool.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Neighbors
I was reading about Linsey's neighbors and it got me thinking about mine. I don't know any of them. I don't know their names, I don't know their interests, I really don't know anything about them except for what I've observed. And we all form opinions on observations...right? lol.
We have lived in our house for 20 months. We don't live in what I would call a nice neighborhood, but it's not quite the ghetto either. (although it definitely leans more towards the latter). So, everyone, meet my neighbors....
Smoking Guy - This is an older fellow who sits just at the corner of our lawn nearly every day and smokes. He's tried to bum a cigarette from both Dave and I at least once, cuz apparently he noticed us smoking it up on a regular basis... (please note the dripping sarcasm). Dave spoke to him once and found out his schedule. Every morning he takes the bus to a casino and hangs out until he takes the bus back every night. If I'm not outside to smell Smoking Guy, I can usually hear the bus as it comes and goes.
Kids Across the Street - Three boys live across the street with their parents. Every day during the summer they play in the middle of the street with mom and dad watching from folding chairs under the tree in their yard. I try to be careful driving by my house because they tend to pop out from nowhere. We wave occasionally.
Sisters - Okay, I don't actually know if they're sisters or lesbians, but I tell myself they're sisters. They live next door and have 2 dogs that my kids like to look at through the fence. The Kids Across the Street visit them sometimes.
Teen Skaters - Our backyard neighbors have teenage boys. I don't know how many because those boys have friends. Lots and lots of friends. The sound of skateboarding is heard on a regular basis. Late night hoops are not uncommon and last summer they dabbled with a garage band. That was a fun one. Two summers ago they shot a bottle rocket through our kitchen window on the fourth of July.
Teen Skaters Girlfriends - They live across the street. I don't know which ones actually live there (the friend thing again) but Teen Skaters and these girls are always together. For some reason they also like to hang out in the middle of the street. Don't these people know that cars drive on the street? Once I was sitting in my car waiting for Dave and had quite the entertaining show put on in my rear view mirror. Girlfriends were actually doing some kind of cheerleading routine for Teen Skaters. It was hilarious. Too bad there was no one to share it with. Me and the rearview mirror had a good laugh though.
Landscaping Pot Smokers - They live next door. I don't actually know who lives there. There are about 5 cars that come and go on a regular basis. Everyone seems to be in their twenties. They really like landscaping. They made the house look nice on the outside (they moved in a year ago). Even at Christmas time they had lights up that were quite aesthetically pleasing. But the smell...not so nice. Just the other night we could smell pot coming from their chimney. I don't actually know why they're burning pot, maybe it gets everyone high faster?
John Deere Boy - A few houses down lives a family that think they live on a farm. They have 2 large John Deere tractors that they drive up and down the street for kicks. There's a cute little boy that usually rides along. Last week that cute boy was riding a dirt bike down the street in full gear.
So, those are our neighbors. Did I mention we're moving in 2 weeks?
We have lived in our house for 20 months. We don't live in what I would call a nice neighborhood, but it's not quite the ghetto either. (although it definitely leans more towards the latter). So, everyone, meet my neighbors....
Smoking Guy - This is an older fellow who sits just at the corner of our lawn nearly every day and smokes. He's tried to bum a cigarette from both Dave and I at least once, cuz apparently he noticed us smoking it up on a regular basis... (please note the dripping sarcasm). Dave spoke to him once and found out his schedule. Every morning he takes the bus to a casino and hangs out until he takes the bus back every night. If I'm not outside to smell Smoking Guy, I can usually hear the bus as it comes and goes.
Kids Across the Street - Three boys live across the street with their parents. Every day during the summer they play in the middle of the street with mom and dad watching from folding chairs under the tree in their yard. I try to be careful driving by my house because they tend to pop out from nowhere. We wave occasionally.
Sisters - Okay, I don't actually know if they're sisters or lesbians, but I tell myself they're sisters. They live next door and have 2 dogs that my kids like to look at through the fence. The Kids Across the Street visit them sometimes.
Teen Skaters - Our backyard neighbors have teenage boys. I don't know how many because those boys have friends. Lots and lots of friends. The sound of skateboarding is heard on a regular basis. Late night hoops are not uncommon and last summer they dabbled with a garage band. That was a fun one. Two summers ago they shot a bottle rocket through our kitchen window on the fourth of July.
Teen Skaters Girlfriends - They live across the street. I don't know which ones actually live there (the friend thing again) but Teen Skaters and these girls are always together. For some reason they also like to hang out in the middle of the street. Don't these people know that cars drive on the street? Once I was sitting in my car waiting for Dave and had quite the entertaining show put on in my rear view mirror. Girlfriends were actually doing some kind of cheerleading routine for Teen Skaters. It was hilarious. Too bad there was no one to share it with. Me and the rearview mirror had a good laugh though.
Landscaping Pot Smokers - They live next door. I don't actually know who lives there. There are about 5 cars that come and go on a regular basis. Everyone seems to be in their twenties. They really like landscaping. They made the house look nice on the outside (they moved in a year ago). Even at Christmas time they had lights up that were quite aesthetically pleasing. But the smell...not so nice. Just the other night we could smell pot coming from their chimney. I don't actually know why they're burning pot, maybe it gets everyone high faster?
John Deere Boy - A few houses down lives a family that think they live on a farm. They have 2 large John Deere tractors that they drive up and down the street for kicks. There's a cute little boy that usually rides along. Last week that cute boy was riding a dirt bike down the street in full gear.
So, those are our neighbors. Did I mention we're moving in 2 weeks?
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Slacker mom of the year award goes to me!
Valentines day is not my favorite holiday. It's last in a long line of way more fun celebrations. (Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, my wedding anniversay plus several birthdays among those). By the time Valentines day gets here, I'm burnt out. I don't want to write another card, I'm sick of buying candy to hand out, and it annoys me that the price of flowers gets jacked up every year at this time.
So today was Nathan's pre-school valentines day party. You know how it goes, everyone makes a little envelope and then each child brings valentines to school to share with each member of their class. Check out what Nathan brought home!
There's the fancy grab bag. Little candies, a card and a pencil...
There's the lovely handmade valentine, stuffed with candy and completed with some nice ribbon from the $1 spot at Target.
There's the mom that's willing to spend a little more money for the "candy in a card" variety.
There's the homemade printouts (note the personalization from the child who made it on the left hand side). And of course, a conversation heart for good measure.
And there's me. $1.99 at Big Lots. The extent of my help was handing Nathan the list of his classmates names. He wrote their name and his name, fold and go. Ta-da! Slacker mom in all her glory!
Not only do I slack there, but all my good intentions go unrealized. I bought this heart shaped box last valentines day. I had this great plan to fill it with personalized little notes from me and the kids and give it to my mom so each day she could pull out a note. A year later, I still have the box and I didn't make a single note. (It's the thought that counts, right mom?)
As for Dave...we'll probably watch American Idol and hope the kids go to bed early. Happy Valentines Day, sweetie!
So today was Nathan's pre-school valentines day party. You know how it goes, everyone makes a little envelope and then each child brings valentines to school to share with each member of their class. Check out what Nathan brought home!
There's the fancy grab bag. Little candies, a card and a pencil...
There's the lovely handmade valentine, stuffed with candy and completed with some nice ribbon from the $1 spot at Target.
There's the mom that's willing to spend a little more money for the "candy in a card" variety.
There's the homemade printouts (note the personalization from the child who made it on the left hand side). And of course, a conversation heart for good measure.
And there's me. $1.99 at Big Lots. The extent of my help was handing Nathan the list of his classmates names. He wrote their name and his name, fold and go. Ta-da! Slacker mom in all her glory!
Not only do I slack there, but all my good intentions go unrealized. I bought this heart shaped box last valentines day. I had this great plan to fill it with personalized little notes from me and the kids and give it to my mom so each day she could pull out a note. A year later, I still have the box and I didn't make a single note. (It's the thought that counts, right mom?)
As for Dave...we'll probably watch American Idol and hope the kids go to bed early. Happy Valentines Day, sweetie!
*Slurrrp*
I have a food connoisseur in my home. She's three and looooves to eat. Unlike my picky 4 year old, she'll try anything at least once.
It seems like she's always hungry. Not terribly surprising because she's already over 40 inches tall. (Basically she's taller than nearly 100% of other girls her age) She even has growing pains in her knees.
What's my point, you ask? Well, her reactions to food are fantastic. Her eyes light up and she rubs her tummy when she likes something. When she doesn't she'll make a face and promptly spit it out. A couple days ago she started a new reaction for good food. So, I'm sharing it with you.
click here to hear my little Aria slurp
It seems like she's always hungry. Not terribly surprising because she's already over 40 inches tall. (Basically she's taller than nearly 100% of other girls her age) She even has growing pains in her knees.
What's my point, you ask? Well, her reactions to food are fantastic. Her eyes light up and she rubs her tummy when she likes something. When she doesn't she'll make a face and promptly spit it out. A couple days ago she started a new reaction for good food. So, I'm sharing it with you.
click here to hear my little Aria slurp
Monday, February 13, 2006
The tapestry of my life
In August of 2004, I had a miscarriage. Up to this point, that event is the hardest thing I've dealt with in my life. I had an amazing support system throughout that trial and I learned a lot about myself. During that time, I had some spiritual experiences that molded and refined me. I was allowed to receive answers about the child I lost. This is something I wrote shortly after the miscarriage.
She would have been 1 year old this month. This got me thinking about the tapestry of my life. Our lives are an intricately woven design. How could we ever pull out a thread knowing that it would change the whole pattern? How can I wish for Gracie, when I have Gabe now? You see, Valentines day of last year is when I found out I was pregnant with Gabe. And I could never wish him away. He fits perfectly into our family right where he is.
Every event of our lives somehow patterns the following events. We learn from our trials and our mistakes. And how could we wish away the knowledge that we gain? Without experience, without knowledge, what else do we have?
So, I guess when it comes right down to it, God knows what He's doing, and he'll tell us, if we ask. He'll prepare us, comfort us, get us through and bless us. Nathan and Aria remember those balloons and still associate them with their sister. Just a few days ago, Nathan saw a purple balloon in the store and asked Dave if he could buy it and send a valentine to Gracie. So he did. Man, I love my kids. All four of them.
It just occurred to me that Jesus spilt His blood for me. Somehow that strikes a chord with me. It makes me feel closer to Him, knowing that He knows what it feels like to bleed for someone. I bled and lost my child. He bled and lost children too. But His bleeding also saved us all. Perhaps losing Gracie now and the suffering we are going through by losing her in this life will serve a greater purpose that I’m not aware of. If nothing else, I’m learning to appreciate the atonement on a deeper level than ever before.
I opened my scriptures tonight and they fell open to the Topical Guide subject that said “Salvation for Little Children”. My baby is with Jesus. She is “sanctified
through the atonement of Jesus Christ.” (D&C 74:7).
Tonight we let some balloons go outside. We drew a heart on one and Nathan and Aria both colored on one. We stood outside together gave the balloons a kiss and said “I love you, Gracie” and let them go. I told Nathan we were giving them to her in Heaven so she would know that we love her and miss her. I think it gave him some closure. I miss her. But I am feeling comforted and I have so much support. Through it all, I am very blessed.
She would have been 1 year old this month. This got me thinking about the tapestry of my life. Our lives are an intricately woven design. How could we ever pull out a thread knowing that it would change the whole pattern? How can I wish for Gracie, when I have Gabe now? You see, Valentines day of last year is when I found out I was pregnant with Gabe. And I could never wish him away. He fits perfectly into our family right where he is.
Every event of our lives somehow patterns the following events. We learn from our trials and our mistakes. And how could we wish away the knowledge that we gain? Without experience, without knowledge, what else do we have?
So, I guess when it comes right down to it, God knows what He's doing, and he'll tell us, if we ask. He'll prepare us, comfort us, get us through and bless us. Nathan and Aria remember those balloons and still associate them with their sister. Just a few days ago, Nathan saw a purple balloon in the store and asked Dave if he could buy it and send a valentine to Gracie. So he did. Man, I love my kids. All four of them.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
A lesson gone horribly wrong
My husband just tried to teach Nathan the evils of gambling. They went to Fred Meyer together and Nathan saw one of those stuffed animal machines as they walked in. You know, the ones with the claw that you move around and try to grab an animal.
Nathan immediately launched into begging mode. He has a favorite stuffed elephant. His name is Loeshie. In the animal machine Nathan saw another elephant and just HAD TO HAVE IT because Loeshie needs a little brother.
So the lightbulb in Dave's head goes off. It's a perfect teaching moment! They're walking through the store and Nathan finds a coloring book that he likes. Dave gave him the choice. He could buy the coloring book or he could have 50 cents to put into the stuffed animal machine. (Because we all know that they're rigged and nobody ever wins on the first try. Or the second.)
Nathan chose the 50 cents. So, they walk out of the store to the machine. The whole time Dave is prepping Nathan. Nobody ever wins, you're just throwing away your money, you're not going to end up with anything. He was trying to avoid the inevitable 4 yr old meltdown that would happen when he lost his money and didn't get anything for it. He figured this would teach him that people who gamble, generally will leave with nothing. No money, no prize.
So Nathan feeds his quarters into the machine and starts manipulating the claw. 50 cents later, the lesson failed. Loeshie now has a little brother and my son is the claw master.
Nathan immediately launched into begging mode. He has a favorite stuffed elephant. His name is Loeshie. In the animal machine Nathan saw another elephant and just HAD TO HAVE IT because Loeshie needs a little brother.
So the lightbulb in Dave's head goes off. It's a perfect teaching moment! They're walking through the store and Nathan finds a coloring book that he likes. Dave gave him the choice. He could buy the coloring book or he could have 50 cents to put into the stuffed animal machine. (Because we all know that they're rigged and nobody ever wins on the first try. Or the second.)
Nathan chose the 50 cents. So, they walk out of the store to the machine. The whole time Dave is prepping Nathan. Nobody ever wins, you're just throwing away your money, you're not going to end up with anything. He was trying to avoid the inevitable 4 yr old meltdown that would happen when he lost his money and didn't get anything for it. He figured this would teach him that people who gamble, generally will leave with nothing. No money, no prize.
So Nathan feeds his quarters into the machine and starts manipulating the claw. 50 cents later, the lesson failed. Loeshie now has a little brother and my son is the claw master.
My little thugs
I'm raising artists. But not just any old artist. Nope, they're graffiti artists. No surface is safe from their creative abilities. Naturally, walls are their preferred canvas but they will branch out. Take the dryer, for example. It's the perfect place to draw a rendition of an iron.
Then there are their favorite books. Many artists start by copying ideas from other artists. For example, where's Waldo?
Here he is!
Sometimes they'll decide that it's time to explore another style of art. Who knew nursing pads could be so versatile?
Then there are their favorite books. Many artists start by copying ideas from other artists. For example, where's Waldo?
Here he is!
Sometimes they'll decide that it's time to explore another style of art. Who knew nursing pads could be so versatile?
All artists sign their art and my little thugs are no different. Here is one of the first times Nathan added a signature. This was a chalk drawing on the outside of the house. He had just recently learned to write his name. (it's been rained on quite a bit)
Now Aria is learning to sign her art too. She's testing out a few different signatures. This one is short and sweet. (I guess she can't decide if she should write it upside down or not.)
And this one is a bit more arteestic.
My favorite part is when they've completed a masterpiece, signed it and then when I discover it they point to their sibling and say s/he did it!
Monday, February 06, 2006
Girlfriends
Women can be a funny bunch. Especially in groups. More than once my husband has rolled his eyes or left the room when I have other women around. Although, I hosted a baby shower last week and when it was over he said it was the quietest party he'd ever heard. There's a reason for this, which I'll get to in a moment.
However, we women need other women. We understand each other. We often know what the other is going through and we can empathize. We validate each other, we offer our shoulder to cry on, we call just to chat. We even adapt to each others cycles when we spend a lot of time together. These are things that women need. In my life there are different catagories of girlfriends. Let's explore them.
The Old Friends.
My oldest friend is someone that I met when I was 2. We were best friends until she moved away right before we turned 12. We did everything together. I have pictures of us at easter egg hunts when we were toddlers (wearing foofy dresses and hats). Our birthdays were only 2 weeks apart. We went camping together, we had sleepovers, we spent our pocket change at this little store by her house and we got into trouble together. There was this one time that we called Santa Clause. My friend said she had his number, so we dialed it. I have no idea who we called, but they totally played along. We spoke to Mrs. Clause and Santa. Later my friend's mom told us that information called and told her we were playing with the phone and to stop us. (looking back, I'm not sure how that's possible...she probably made it up so that we'd listen.) Even after she moved away we kept in touch. We wrote and called. The summer of our sixteenth birthdays she came to visit and we went to EFY together. Now we tend to just email with major updates, but she'll always be my first and oldest friend.
The High School Friends
High School is a strange time. It's a time when many of us are trying to define ourselves. These are years when we'll probably lose as many frienships as we gain. Other girls often represented competition in high school. There were the pretty girls, the smart girls, the funny girls, the athletic girls, the musical girls and the girls that were after our boyfriend. ;-) I havn't stayed in touch with many of my high school friends. I occasionally swap updates with some, but no more than that. Fortunately, the turbulance of high school can also produce the next catagory of girlfriend.
The True Friends
I came out of high school with two true friends. These two girls saw me at my best and my worst. We were in many of the same school activities and we became very close over the years. We were inseperable. Their homes were second homes to my own. We are actually three very different personalities, but we complimented each other well. We went on after high school to be roomates and we still do our best to stay in touch. These are two women that I could call after any length of time and still have a friendly ear to talk to. Distance and time don't matter with true friends. They'll always be there for you.
The Aquaintance
The aquaintance is generally someone whom you have a common bond with and enjoy each other, but don't make an effort to spend time together or keep in touch. This was the reason for the quiet baby shower. The women that came were all very nice women and we had a common bond (in this case our religion). We had plenty to talk about and we very much enjoyed ourselves as we ate "girl food" and chatted about inconsequential things. But there's no depth with an aqaintance. Aquaintances come and go throughout our life with no real sorrow as we move on with our own lives.
The Sister
The sisters in our lives are those friends that we'll always have. These are women that accept you no matter what. It's okay to disagree and argue with these women because you always forgive each other. Our sisters care about our day to day joys and struggles. Our sisters know everything about us and love us anyway. We feel like something is missing if we go more than a few days without talking to our sisters. There are 5 women in my life who fall into this catagory.
First, my mom. My mom has been through more than I even know in her life. She's risen up to become a strong and amazing woman. She's kind and loving and will drop anything for me if I need her. She's like an older sister only better.
Second and third are my real sisters. Growing up we had normal sibling relationships (including some serious rivalry), but now they're two of my best friends. We talk on the phone almost daily. When we get together we talk and laugh and cry. We have so much fun together and soon we'll all be living in the same city!
Fourth is a friend that I had an instant bond with. We were paired through our church as visiting teaching companions almost 6 years ago and we became fast friends. We've talked about everything under the sun, we had our kids at the same times, I was even at one of her births! I've never wondered if I could call her for a favor. She has always delivered.
Fifth is actually someone that I've never met in real life. We met through an LDS moms internet message board and found a deep friendship. We email almost daily and have talked through all sorts of things. She's been there for things that I couldn't talk to others about and we found so much in common. Which leads me into one more group of friends.
The Internet Friends
This is not a catagory for everyone, but I've found a deep fulfillment with my internet friends. For five years now I've been posting with the same women on various LDS moms message boards. They provide my daily dose of grown-up conversation. They have helped me make many little decisions over the years. They have debated parenting tactics, politics and even religion with me. They've sent cards and RAKs (random acts of kindness). They provide a space to share silly trivial things and things that I can't talk about in real life. Sure, I can admit that I'm addicted to the internet. But I would truly miss these women if I wasn't able to post with them anymore. In fact, it was one of these friends that challenged those of us with blogs to write about our girlfriends.
So, here's to my friends. Old, new and in between. I love you!
However, we women need other women. We understand each other. We often know what the other is going through and we can empathize. We validate each other, we offer our shoulder to cry on, we call just to chat. We even adapt to each others cycles when we spend a lot of time together. These are things that women need. In my life there are different catagories of girlfriends. Let's explore them.
The Old Friends.
My oldest friend is someone that I met when I was 2. We were best friends until she moved away right before we turned 12. We did everything together. I have pictures of us at easter egg hunts when we were toddlers (wearing foofy dresses and hats). Our birthdays were only 2 weeks apart. We went camping together, we had sleepovers, we spent our pocket change at this little store by her house and we got into trouble together. There was this one time that we called Santa Clause. My friend said she had his number, so we dialed it. I have no idea who we called, but they totally played along. We spoke to Mrs. Clause and Santa. Later my friend's mom told us that information called and told her we were playing with the phone and to stop us. (looking back, I'm not sure how that's possible...she probably made it up so that we'd listen.) Even after she moved away we kept in touch. We wrote and called. The summer of our sixteenth birthdays she came to visit and we went to EFY together. Now we tend to just email with major updates, but she'll always be my first and oldest friend.
The High School Friends
High School is a strange time. It's a time when many of us are trying to define ourselves. These are years when we'll probably lose as many frienships as we gain. Other girls often represented competition in high school. There were the pretty girls, the smart girls, the funny girls, the athletic girls, the musical girls and the girls that were after our boyfriend. ;-) I havn't stayed in touch with many of my high school friends. I occasionally swap updates with some, but no more than that. Fortunately, the turbulance of high school can also produce the next catagory of girlfriend.
The True Friends
I came out of high school with two true friends. These two girls saw me at my best and my worst. We were in many of the same school activities and we became very close over the years. We were inseperable. Their homes were second homes to my own. We are actually three very different personalities, but we complimented each other well. We went on after high school to be roomates and we still do our best to stay in touch. These are two women that I could call after any length of time and still have a friendly ear to talk to. Distance and time don't matter with true friends. They'll always be there for you.
The Aquaintance
The aquaintance is generally someone whom you have a common bond with and enjoy each other, but don't make an effort to spend time together or keep in touch. This was the reason for the quiet baby shower. The women that came were all very nice women and we had a common bond (in this case our religion). We had plenty to talk about and we very much enjoyed ourselves as we ate "girl food" and chatted about inconsequential things. But there's no depth with an aqaintance. Aquaintances come and go throughout our life with no real sorrow as we move on with our own lives.
The Sister
The sisters in our lives are those friends that we'll always have. These are women that accept you no matter what. It's okay to disagree and argue with these women because you always forgive each other. Our sisters care about our day to day joys and struggles. Our sisters know everything about us and love us anyway. We feel like something is missing if we go more than a few days without talking to our sisters. There are 5 women in my life who fall into this catagory.
First, my mom. My mom has been through more than I even know in her life. She's risen up to become a strong and amazing woman. She's kind and loving and will drop anything for me if I need her. She's like an older sister only better.
Second and third are my real sisters. Growing up we had normal sibling relationships (including some serious rivalry), but now they're two of my best friends. We talk on the phone almost daily. When we get together we talk and laugh and cry. We have so much fun together and soon we'll all be living in the same city!
Fourth is a friend that I had an instant bond with. We were paired through our church as visiting teaching companions almost 6 years ago and we became fast friends. We've talked about everything under the sun, we had our kids at the same times, I was even at one of her births! I've never wondered if I could call her for a favor. She has always delivered.
Fifth is actually someone that I've never met in real life. We met through an LDS moms internet message board and found a deep friendship. We email almost daily and have talked through all sorts of things. She's been there for things that I couldn't talk to others about and we found so much in common. Which leads me into one more group of friends.
The Internet Friends
This is not a catagory for everyone, but I've found a deep fulfillment with my internet friends. For five years now I've been posting with the same women on various LDS moms message boards. They provide my daily dose of grown-up conversation. They have helped me make many little decisions over the years. They have debated parenting tactics, politics and even religion with me. They've sent cards and RAKs (random acts of kindness). They provide a space to share silly trivial things and things that I can't talk about in real life. Sure, I can admit that I'm addicted to the internet. But I would truly miss these women if I wasn't able to post with them anymore. In fact, it was one of these friends that challenged those of us with blogs to write about our girlfriends.
So, here's to my friends. Old, new and in between. I love you!
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Honesty
Apparently, I stink. How do I know this? Because Nathan informs me of it on a regular basis and everyone knows that kids are brutally honest.
I can always count on my kids to tell me the truth when I least want to hear it. I shower (with soap), I wear deodorant and I change my clothes almost daily. But something about my scent will occasionally cause Nathan to wrinkle his face in disgust and insist that I stink. It's not always that bad though. Sometimes he tells me that I look pretty and sometimes he compliments my macaroni and cheese skills. But usually, I stink.
Aria is also quite honest. She says she loves me. She says I'm the best maker (that means cook). She even misses me when I'm gone. But, alas, she is a fickle child. If I scold her or say she can't have a twelfth popscicle, suddenly she doesn't like me anymore and she tells me so.
She used to love this one babysitter, until I started calling the babysitters younger sister to babysit. Last night Aria told the younger sister that when she babysits, Aria doesn't miss her mommy. But when the older sister babysits, Aria misses her mommy a lot.
How much you wanna bet this younger sister went right home and was brutally honest with her older sister about what Aria said?
I can always count on my kids to tell me the truth when I least want to hear it. I shower (with soap), I wear deodorant and I change my clothes almost daily. But something about my scent will occasionally cause Nathan to wrinkle his face in disgust and insist that I stink. It's not always that bad though. Sometimes he tells me that I look pretty and sometimes he compliments my macaroni and cheese skills. But usually, I stink.
Aria is also quite honest. She says she loves me. She says I'm the best maker (that means cook). She even misses me when I'm gone. But, alas, she is a fickle child. If I scold her or say she can't have a twelfth popscicle, suddenly she doesn't like me anymore and she tells me so.
She used to love this one babysitter, until I started calling the babysitters younger sister to babysit. Last night Aria told the younger sister that when she babysits, Aria doesn't miss her mommy. But when the older sister babysits, Aria misses her mommy a lot.
How much you wanna bet this younger sister went right home and was brutally honest with her older sister about what Aria said?
Friday, February 03, 2006
Five Things Meme -- I'm it
I was tagged by Musical Mom.
Remove the blog in the top spot from the following list and bump everyone up one place. Then add your blog to the bottom slot, like so.
1) Statgirl
2) ScienceWoman
3) Professor Me
4) Musical Mom
5) My Inner Aria
Next select five people to tag:
1) Stacy
2) Heather
3) Andrea
4) Onica
5) Lee
What were you doing 10 years ago?
Ten years ago I was 16 and in High School. I was working at Pizza Hut Delivery as a cook. This month is the 10th anniversary of the big floods we had in my home town. There's a creek running through my parents back yard and we were up for 3 days sandbagging to try to save the house. Very scary. But I distinctly remember when my dad blessed our house and I believe that our house was saved not only because of all the work we did but because of that blessing.
What were you doing 1 year ago?
Trying to get pregnant. We got our positive test on valentines day last year.
Five snacks you enjoy:
1. Chocolate and peanut butter
2. Ding Dongs
3. Ice cream
4. Chips and salsa
5. Creme (no coffee) Frappacinos
Five songs to which you know all the lyrics:
1. Summertime (Gershwin)
2. Fever
3. Ain't Goin' Down til the Sun Comes Up
4. Redneck Woman
5. All the songs on Barney
Five things you would do if you were a millionaire:
1. Give 10%+ to my church
2. Help out my family members
3. Give to neighbors and other community members in need
4. Pay off our house
5. Build my photography business
Five bad habits:
1. Procrastinating
2. Cracking my knuckles
3. Staying up too late
4. Spending too much time on the computer
5. Sleeping in too late
Five things you like doing:
1. Taking pictures
2. Reading
3. Playing the piano
4. Posting on message boards and my blog
5. Doing things with my family
Five things you would never wear again:
1. Tapered jeans
2. A marching band uniform
3. A couple of my dumber halloween costume ideas
4. A cowboy (girl?) hat
5. Chunky earrings
Five favorite toys:
1. My camera
2. My digital piano
3. Photoshop
4. The internet
5. My kids
Remove the blog in the top spot from the following list and bump everyone up one place. Then add your blog to the bottom slot, like so.
1) Statgirl
2) ScienceWoman
3) Professor Me
4) Musical Mom
5) My Inner Aria
Next select five people to tag:
1) Stacy
2) Heather
3) Andrea
4) Onica
5) Lee
What were you doing 10 years ago?
Ten years ago I was 16 and in High School. I was working at Pizza Hut Delivery as a cook. This month is the 10th anniversary of the big floods we had in my home town. There's a creek running through my parents back yard and we were up for 3 days sandbagging to try to save the house. Very scary. But I distinctly remember when my dad blessed our house and I believe that our house was saved not only because of all the work we did but because of that blessing.
What were you doing 1 year ago?
Trying to get pregnant. We got our positive test on valentines day last year.
Five snacks you enjoy:
1. Chocolate and peanut butter
2. Ding Dongs
3. Ice cream
4. Chips and salsa
5. Creme (no coffee) Frappacinos
Five songs to which you know all the lyrics:
1. Summertime (Gershwin)
2. Fever
3. Ain't Goin' Down til the Sun Comes Up
4. Redneck Woman
5. All the songs on Barney
Five things you would do if you were a millionaire:
1. Give 10%+ to my church
2. Help out my family members
3. Give to neighbors and other community members in need
4. Pay off our house
5. Build my photography business
Five bad habits:
1. Procrastinating
2. Cracking my knuckles
3. Staying up too late
4. Spending too much time on the computer
5. Sleeping in too late
Five things you like doing:
1. Taking pictures
2. Reading
3. Playing the piano
4. Posting on message boards and my blog
5. Doing things with my family
Five things you would never wear again:
1. Tapered jeans
2. A marching band uniform
3. A couple of my dumber halloween costume ideas
4. A cowboy (girl?) hat
5. Chunky earrings
Five favorite toys:
1. My camera
2. My digital piano
3. Photoshop
4. The internet
5. My kids
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Terrible...fours?
Everybody warns first time moms about the terrible twos. We're regaled with stories of their little monsters and the destruction they are capable of. Two year olds can destroy anything. Toilets? No problem, try to flush an entire roll including the cardboard tube. Walls? Easy, just take a permanent marker to them! Dishes? Drag a chair to the counter, get a plate out and drop it. DVD's? They make great frisbees! And don't even think about letting a 2 year old have scissors. Anything is fair game. Bean bags, pillows, clothes, hair, pictures, etc.
Then they graduate to three and the "fun" intensifies. This is the age of pointless, screaming temper tantrums. My daughter actually screams "WAHHHHHH" over and over with her face clenched up and forcing tears out. She, throws herself down on the ground, punching and kicking, with the occasional glance around to see if she's getting the attention that she's apparently starving for.
But four is a whole new game. Four year olds are a mystery. There is no rhyme or reason to their actions. Nathan is four and I never know what to expect from him. I find myself holding my breath around him. Just today he fell in the same spot 2 times. The first time, he collapsed into a sobbing heap. The second time, his eyes widened, he said "I'm okay" and he got up and went about his business.
One minute, he'll be walking around roaring like Alex the Lion and it's a game. We can all pretend to be animals with him. Then, without warning, the game is over and everyone must stop being an animal but him and if we do not desist immediately, he will let us know. And not gently either. His screams of injustice can be heard for miles.
Hugs and kisses are up to him. Sometimes it's okay to touch him, other times it's not. And then there's the "silliness." ("he knows we like the silliness"...name that show!) His version of being silly is climbing up on your lap, getting right in your face, raising his hands into a claw gesture and making odd noises at the top of his lungs. It's quite entertaining, let me tell you. (do you hear my sarcasm?)
Finally, choices are not limited to what is offered.
Me: "Nathan, would you like Fruit Loops or Lucky Charms for breakfast?"
Him: "Life"
or
Me: "Nathan, would you like to leave now or in 5 minutes?"
Him: "10 minutes"
Any argument with his choice is met with the aforementioned screams of injustice. Either that or intense, award winning, whining. No one can whine like a 4 year old.
Terrible twos, my foot. I'd take those any day over the furious fours.
Then they graduate to three and the "fun" intensifies. This is the age of pointless, screaming temper tantrums. My daughter actually screams "WAHHHHHH" over and over with her face clenched up and forcing tears out. She, throws herself down on the ground, punching and kicking, with the occasional glance around to see if she's getting the attention that she's apparently starving for.
But four is a whole new game. Four year olds are a mystery. There is no rhyme or reason to their actions. Nathan is four and I never know what to expect from him. I find myself holding my breath around him. Just today he fell in the same spot 2 times. The first time, he collapsed into a sobbing heap. The second time, his eyes widened, he said "I'm okay" and he got up and went about his business.
One minute, he'll be walking around roaring like Alex the Lion and it's a game. We can all pretend to be animals with him. Then, without warning, the game is over and everyone must stop being an animal but him and if we do not desist immediately, he will let us know. And not gently either. His screams of injustice can be heard for miles.
Hugs and kisses are up to him. Sometimes it's okay to touch him, other times it's not. And then there's the "silliness." ("he knows we like the silliness"...name that show!) His version of being silly is climbing up on your lap, getting right in your face, raising his hands into a claw gesture and making odd noises at the top of his lungs. It's quite entertaining, let me tell you. (do you hear my sarcasm?)
Finally, choices are not limited to what is offered.
Me: "Nathan, would you like Fruit Loops or Lucky Charms for breakfast?"
Him: "Life"
or
Me: "Nathan, would you like to leave now or in 5 minutes?"
Him: "10 minutes"
Any argument with his choice is met with the aforementioned screams of injustice. Either that or intense, award winning, whining. No one can whine like a 4 year old.
Terrible twos, my foot. I'd take those any day over the furious fours.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
In honor of my sixth anniversary
My anniversary was actually a few days ago, but that's okay. I'm going to share with you my husband's version of our courtship. (I stole it from a gaming message board that he posts on). My additions to his story are bolded.
my wife's name is Misty Dawn and she unfortunately hates today's video games (she will play anything up until super nintendo with me) in her mind 2 buttons (A and B) were perfect 6 buttons (A, B, X, Y, R, L) were tolerable and anything with triggers or more controls than that is a silly waste of time.
that's all true.
Misty Dawn? Is that really her name? Yes.
Does she have a sister named April Sunshine? Yes.
Are her parents hippies or something? Yes. no, they're not.
okay enough with the self interview.
our story began one week before i met misty. i was singing in an institute choir and overheard the instructor talk about a new piano player that had just been called to play the music for us. she had been a traveling photographer and recently quit her job so that she could take on a church calling. oh yeah that was one of those evesdrop sessions that brought a good warm feeling. one of the first questions i would always ask on a first date out at college was do you play the piano? and if the answer was "no" there was rarely a second date. so i instantly knew that she was second date material. it's not that i have anything against non-piano playing women, however, i just don't like them is all.
the following week i showed up casually late to choir practice and checked out the back of the person sitting on the piano bench and i knew instantly that she would be my wife. than she turned around and looked at me giving the late arrivals (me and my roommate) an annoyed look and i was still pretty certain she was the one. then i noticed a ring on her left ring finger while she played the music and was now down to about a 50/50 chance.
so my roommate leaned over to me and said hey that new piano player is pretty hot huh? i shrugged she's okay. just okay, huh? good to know! then i said i'll bet you $10 i can get her to kiss me before you. so the bet was on. little did my poor roommate know that she was destined to be my wife and not his. he owed me some money anyway so i figured i may as well get $10 bucks out of him.
as soon as choir practice was over he rushed up to the piano along with all the other guys it was just dave and his roomie...no one else came to the piano. and started flirting with her. *sigh* what an act of desperation. i, on the other hand, would impress her with my skills. i had been known as somewhat of a piano player (in napolean's voice: probably the best that i know of) Dave does have a good ear for music, but I found out later that he sat down and played the only song he knew. He doesn't read a note of music. once i saw her look at me and wade through all the other guys and sit next to me on the piano bench we made beautiful music together (I played some jazz/blues riffs and he did some improv on top of it) and the rest was history. except that he left the institute bldg without getting my number or anything. He happened to see me write my name and email address onto the teachers roster. He left to go home and actually made his roomate turn around and go back and he copied the info off the roster. He emailed me the next day and it was the day after that that we had our first date. (which he was late for...) the next night, i took her to see the christmas lights at a local amuzement park and 2 weeks later we were engaged (oh yeah she had to break things off with that other guy getting ready to go to the MTC which is why i had to wait 2 weeks before proposing) and then 5 weeks later we were happily sealed in the Seattle Temple. He was also late to this...lol.
the whole process was streamlined since she already had a wedding dress and all we had to do was basically cross the other guys name off the invitations and write in my own. I did have a dress partially made (it wasn't finished yet) but there were no invitations! lol.
------------------------------------------------
And now for your reading pleasure...the lyrics to a song that my husband wrote while he was attending BYU. He wrote it to make fun of the whole instant marriage phenomenon that sometimes occurs among Mormons...and then he practically lived it when he met me.
I was walking down the street and I saw the girl of my dreams.
When our eyes met it was love at first sight, so it seemed.
My tongue got all tied up, I didn't know what I should say
So I blurted out the words "will you marry me, today?"
What do you say?
She told me that she would 'cause she was in a good mood.
She didn't want to hurt my feelings by being rude.
I was so excited that she would be my wife!
We would be together eternally and for life!
Now that we're engaged, tell me, what's your name?
You told me once before, but to me they're all the same!
Is marriage eternal or just some kind of game?
The Bishop said we can save a lot of pain,
if we just get hitched and skip the waiting game.
Oh yeah...
my wife's name is Misty Dawn and she unfortunately hates today's video games (she will play anything up until super nintendo with me) in her mind 2 buttons (A and B) were perfect 6 buttons (A, B, X, Y, R, L) were tolerable and anything with triggers or more controls than that is a silly waste of time.
that's all true.
Misty Dawn? Is that really her name? Yes.
Does she have a sister named April Sunshine? Yes.
Are her parents hippies or something? Yes. no, they're not.
okay enough with the self interview.
our story began one week before i met misty. i was singing in an institute choir and overheard the instructor talk about a new piano player that had just been called to play the music for us. she had been a traveling photographer and recently quit her job so that she could take on a church calling. oh yeah that was one of those evesdrop sessions that brought a good warm feeling. one of the first questions i would always ask on a first date out at college was do you play the piano? and if the answer was "no" there was rarely a second date. so i instantly knew that she was second date material. it's not that i have anything against non-piano playing women, however, i just don't like them is all.
the following week i showed up casually late to choir practice and checked out the back of the person sitting on the piano bench and i knew instantly that she would be my wife. than she turned around and looked at me giving the late arrivals (me and my roommate) an annoyed look and i was still pretty certain she was the one. then i noticed a ring on her left ring finger while she played the music and was now down to about a 50/50 chance.
so my roommate leaned over to me and said hey that new piano player is pretty hot huh? i shrugged she's okay. just okay, huh? good to know! then i said i'll bet you $10 i can get her to kiss me before you. so the bet was on. little did my poor roommate know that she was destined to be my wife and not his. he owed me some money anyway so i figured i may as well get $10 bucks out of him.
as soon as choir practice was over he rushed up to the piano along with all the other guys it was just dave and his roomie...no one else came to the piano. and started flirting with her. *sigh* what an act of desperation. i, on the other hand, would impress her with my skills. i had been known as somewhat of a piano player (in napolean's voice: probably the best that i know of) Dave does have a good ear for music, but I found out later that he sat down and played the only song he knew. He doesn't read a note of music. once i saw her look at me and wade through all the other guys and sit next to me on the piano bench we made beautiful music together (I played some jazz/blues riffs and he did some improv on top of it) and the rest was history. except that he left the institute bldg without getting my number or anything. He happened to see me write my name and email address onto the teachers roster. He left to go home and actually made his roomate turn around and go back and he copied the info off the roster. He emailed me the next day and it was the day after that that we had our first date. (which he was late for...) the next night, i took her to see the christmas lights at a local amuzement park and 2 weeks later we were engaged (oh yeah she had to break things off with that other guy getting ready to go to the MTC which is why i had to wait 2 weeks before proposing) and then 5 weeks later we were happily sealed in the Seattle Temple. He was also late to this...lol.
the whole process was streamlined since she already had a wedding dress and all we had to do was basically cross the other guys name off the invitations and write in my own. I did have a dress partially made (it wasn't finished yet) but there were no invitations! lol.
------------------------------------------------
And now for your reading pleasure...the lyrics to a song that my husband wrote while he was attending BYU. He wrote it to make fun of the whole instant marriage phenomenon that sometimes occurs among Mormons...and then he practically lived it when he met me.
I was walking down the street and I saw the girl of my dreams.
When our eyes met it was love at first sight, so it seemed.
My tongue got all tied up, I didn't know what I should say
So I blurted out the words "will you marry me, today?"
What do you say?
She told me that she would 'cause she was in a good mood.
She didn't want to hurt my feelings by being rude.
I was so excited that she would be my wife!
We would be together eternally and for life!
Now that we're engaged, tell me, what's your name?
You told me once before, but to me they're all the same!
Is marriage eternal or just some kind of game?
The Bishop said we can save a lot of pain,
if we just get hitched and skip the waiting game.
Oh yeah...
Monday, January 30, 2006
I have a whole new empathy for Noah
We've all heard the story. Noah and his boys (and their respective wives) board a ship that we commonly refer to as the Ark. They loaded this huge boat up with every animal on the planet then climbed aboard and waited for rain. There they are, hanging out on a boat in the desert. I imagine everyone else thought they were pretty dang crazy.
Then the rain began.
40 days and 40 nights of rain. Noah and the boys waved goodbye to their friends (short ones first, I'm sure) and watched as everything sank out of sight. For a while they probably amused themselves with some games. Run sheepie run, cow tipping, maybe a little pin the tail on the donkey. They probably tried their hand at some deep sea fishing, but eventually they had to have gotten bored.
The incessant drip drop drip drop of rainfall can really begin to grate on your nerves. Getting soaked when you step out for fresh air is no picnic. You can't wear sandals, and the bottom of your pants (did they wear pants back then?) are always wet. You can forget about your new hairdo lasting long enough to impress the hubby (or misses in their case). Not to mention the depression that sets in from NEVER SEEING THE SUN. Ever.
How do I know this? Because I'm living it. It's been well over 40 days of rain now. I havn't seen the sun in ages. I hydroplane every time I get on the freeway. I fall asleep to the pitter patter of rain on the roof and the wind blowing it against the windows. Then I wake up to it. There's flooding, mudslides, avalanches, road closures and puddles. Oh, the puddles. You'd be amazed how quickly a 3 yr old can get to the middle of a puddle. Especially when she's wearing a dress, tights and clogs and we're on our way to church.
I feel for Noah, I really do. But I feel for his wife even more. Seriously, who do you think was mopping the deck, cooking the meals, drying the clothes and cleaning up after the animals? And all the while, she didn't even get a tan. And then, when the rain finally did stop, they had to wait for the water to recede before they could get off! At least around here if the sun ever comes out again everything will dry up fairly quickly.
Then the rain began.
40 days and 40 nights of rain. Noah and the boys waved goodbye to their friends (short ones first, I'm sure) and watched as everything sank out of sight. For a while they probably amused themselves with some games. Run sheepie run, cow tipping, maybe a little pin the tail on the donkey. They probably tried their hand at some deep sea fishing, but eventually they had to have gotten bored.
The incessant drip drop drip drop of rainfall can really begin to grate on your nerves. Getting soaked when you step out for fresh air is no picnic. You can't wear sandals, and the bottom of your pants (did they wear pants back then?) are always wet. You can forget about your new hairdo lasting long enough to impress the hubby (or misses in their case). Not to mention the depression that sets in from NEVER SEEING THE SUN. Ever.
How do I know this? Because I'm living it. It's been well over 40 days of rain now. I havn't seen the sun in ages. I hydroplane every time I get on the freeway. I fall asleep to the pitter patter of rain on the roof and the wind blowing it against the windows. Then I wake up to it. There's flooding, mudslides, avalanches, road closures and puddles. Oh, the puddles. You'd be amazed how quickly a 3 yr old can get to the middle of a puddle. Especially when she's wearing a dress, tights and clogs and we're on our way to church.
I feel for Noah, I really do. But I feel for his wife even more. Seriously, who do you think was mopping the deck, cooking the meals, drying the clothes and cleaning up after the animals? And all the while, she didn't even get a tan. And then, when the rain finally did stop, they had to wait for the water to recede before they could get off! At least around here if the sun ever comes out again everything will dry up fairly quickly.
Sunday, January 29, 2006
10 years later...nothing has changed
The year is 1996. I am 16 years old. Songs like "Cotton Eye Joe" and "YMCA" are playing loudly. Large groups of people are doing the electric slide or the macarena. The walls are lined with teens. There is a couple holding hands in the back. The adults are manning the entrance/exit and the refreshment table.
"Sing, Sing, Sing" comes on and there is a cheer, followed by a mad rush to the floor where everyone tries to swing dance. The boys are trying not to drop the girls who are willingly being tossed around by an adolescent male. The song ends and "Everything I do, I do it for You" begins.
Suddenly the girls fall back. The boys scan the crowd of waiting maidens and begin their plan of attack. The braver souls go right into the mass of estrogen and make eye contact. They walk right up to their choice of partner for the song and ask her to dance. They offer their arm. She breathes a sigh of relief, shoots a glance at her friend who is still waiting, takes his arm and goes to the dance floor. Once there, they assume the acceptable ballroom style stance (only they stand practically at arms length) and begin a slow rock, turning in a circle in one spot.
Some of the left over girls will snag the boys that are too shy or too cool to ask someone to dance.
The adults perk up now that slow song has begun. The more suave chaperones will grab their spouse and begin to dance around the floor. They step and spin, weaving through the teen dancers. If a couple is closer than the accepted standard of "a Book of Mormon width" apart, the husband will spin his wife close to the couple where she'll whisper "a little too close, kids" before spinning back.
There's at least one socially awkward young man still trying to find a girl to agree to dance with him. (fortunately for him, "Everything I do, I do it for You" is like 8 minutes long).
The slow dance ends and with the next song a large circle is formed and everyone takes a turn embarrassing themselves by dancing solo inside the circle. Eventually the circle becomes a jostling mass of dancers jumping and flailing around.
Fast forward to 2006. There is a stake youth winter ball and I was asked to attend and take your standard prom style pictures and candids of the kids dancing. I entered to the sounds of "Cotton Eye Joe." I then observed and had flashback after flashback of my own youth. There were the kids that could dance, the kids that pretended like they could dance and the ones that just stayed seated or hovering around the punch table.
There were the chaperones, the cool ones and the not so cool ones. (including my husband who entertained himself by walking around with my baby and thrusting him into the couples who were slow dancing and exclaiming, "this is what happens when you dance too close!!!")
There was the socially awkward boy who followed people around, jumped into people's pictures, got rejected more than once, and spent some time in the corner with a Gameboy Micro.
There was swing dancing, line dancing, circle dancing, mob jumping and slow dancing a "Book of Mormon width" apart. (Although sometimes it was more like a stack of quads width apart.)
And then there was me, observing the whole thing behind the lens of my camera.
"Sing, Sing, Sing" comes on and there is a cheer, followed by a mad rush to the floor where everyone tries to swing dance. The boys are trying not to drop the girls who are willingly being tossed around by an adolescent male. The song ends and "Everything I do, I do it for You" begins.
Suddenly the girls fall back. The boys scan the crowd of waiting maidens and begin their plan of attack. The braver souls go right into the mass of estrogen and make eye contact. They walk right up to their choice of partner for the song and ask her to dance. They offer their arm. She breathes a sigh of relief, shoots a glance at her friend who is still waiting, takes his arm and goes to the dance floor. Once there, they assume the acceptable ballroom style stance (only they stand practically at arms length) and begin a slow rock, turning in a circle in one spot.
Some of the left over girls will snag the boys that are too shy or too cool to ask someone to dance.
The adults perk up now that slow song has begun. The more suave chaperones will grab their spouse and begin to dance around the floor. They step and spin, weaving through the teen dancers. If a couple is closer than the accepted standard of "a Book of Mormon width" apart, the husband will spin his wife close to the couple where she'll whisper "a little too close, kids" before spinning back.
There's at least one socially awkward young man still trying to find a girl to agree to dance with him. (fortunately for him, "Everything I do, I do it for You" is like 8 minutes long).
The slow dance ends and with the next song a large circle is formed and everyone takes a turn embarrassing themselves by dancing solo inside the circle. Eventually the circle becomes a jostling mass of dancers jumping and flailing around.
Fast forward to 2006. There is a stake youth winter ball and I was asked to attend and take your standard prom style pictures and candids of the kids dancing. I entered to the sounds of "Cotton Eye Joe." I then observed and had flashback after flashback of my own youth. There were the kids that could dance, the kids that pretended like they could dance and the ones that just stayed seated or hovering around the punch table.
There were the chaperones, the cool ones and the not so cool ones. (including my husband who entertained himself by walking around with my baby and thrusting him into the couples who were slow dancing and exclaiming, "this is what happens when you dance too close!!!")
There was the socially awkward boy who followed people around, jumped into people's pictures, got rejected more than once, and spent some time in the corner with a Gameboy Micro.
There was swing dancing, line dancing, circle dancing, mob jumping and slow dancing a "Book of Mormon width" apart. (Although sometimes it was more like a stack of quads width apart.)
And then there was me, observing the whole thing behind the lens of my camera.
Friday, January 27, 2006
An air purifier?....or the mosquito zapper from hell?
I spent the last (CRACK) 5 days at my little (SNAP) sisters house. (CLACK) We were staying (SNAP) with her (CLICK CLACK) while Dave looked for a job (CRACK) and we looked for our new house.
Let me tell (CLACK) you a little about her (SNAP) house. It's approximately 900 (CRACK) square feet. It has 2 bedrooms and (CRACK SNAP) 1 bathroom. For three of those (CLACK) days there were 8 people in this little house. My sister and her husband, my (SNAP) mom, my husband, our three kids and me.
My sister (CLACK) and her husband don't have kids yet, so there was nothing (SNAP) for my kids to play with but things like shoes (SNAP), pillows, blankets, my cell phone, and toilet paper. So really, (CRACK) they were adequately entertained. I, on the other hand, was not.
If you've ever (SNAP) been cooped up with 2 rambunctious toddlers and an infant in (CLACK) 900 square feet with NO toys and (CRACK) no where to escape to, then you might have an idea of the insanity that I was dealing with. Not to mention (CRACK) my sister has hard wood floors all through (SNAP) her house. My kids were rounding corners at top (SNAP) speeds and crashing into (CRACK) everything and giving me (CLACK) all sorts of heart attacks!
And then there (CRACK CRACK) was this mysterious noise that happened randomly (but often) all day and all night. You know those poppers that kids (SNAP) throw on the ground on the Fourth (CLACK) of July? That's what it sounded like. It would pop (CRACK) and everyone would look at the vent it was coming from. It was (SNAP) capable of stopping conversations (CRACK) in their tracks. It was, (CLACK) in a word, annoying.
Supposedly (CRACK) it's an air purifier. My sisters swears she doesn't hear it any more...but I have my (SNAP) doubts. You think this (CLACK) entry is bad? Try listening to it for 5 (CRACK) days straight!
But in brighter news. Dave got a second interview! I keep waiting for something to mess everything up. It's too all been too easy!
Let me tell (CLACK) you a little about her (SNAP) house. It's approximately 900 (CRACK) square feet. It has 2 bedrooms and (CRACK SNAP) 1 bathroom. For three of those (CLACK) days there were 8 people in this little house. My sister and her husband, my (SNAP) mom, my husband, our three kids and me.
My sister (CLACK) and her husband don't have kids yet, so there was nothing (SNAP) for my kids to play with but things like shoes (SNAP), pillows, blankets, my cell phone, and toilet paper. So really, (CRACK) they were adequately entertained. I, on the other hand, was not.
If you've ever (SNAP) been cooped up with 2 rambunctious toddlers and an infant in (CLACK) 900 square feet with NO toys and (CRACK) no where to escape to, then you might have an idea of the insanity that I was dealing with. Not to mention (CRACK) my sister has hard wood floors all through (SNAP) her house. My kids were rounding corners at top (SNAP) speeds and crashing into (CRACK) everything and giving me (CLACK) all sorts of heart attacks!
And then there (CRACK CRACK) was this mysterious noise that happened randomly (but often) all day and all night. You know those poppers that kids (SNAP) throw on the ground on the Fourth (CLACK) of July? That's what it sounded like. It would pop (CRACK) and everyone would look at the vent it was coming from. It was (SNAP) capable of stopping conversations (CRACK) in their tracks. It was, (CLACK) in a word, annoying.
Supposedly (CRACK) it's an air purifier. My sisters swears she doesn't hear it any more...but I have my (SNAP) doubts. You think this (CLACK) entry is bad? Try listening to it for 5 (CRACK) days straight!
But in brighter news. Dave got a second interview! I keep waiting for something to mess everything up. It's too all been too easy!
Thursday, January 26, 2006
After 26 years...I'm now a grown-up
Little girls often dream of their grown-up life. We picture our wedding, our children, and our house. In our dreams our wedding is on the perfect day with flowers everywhere. We're wearing an exquisite gown, our ring is a huge diamond and our husband is Prince Charming. He has no faults.
Eventually, we get hormones and when we find that perfect connection, those hormones blind us to his faults until we have that ring on our finger. Over time we learn to love him in spite of those faults, and later we may even love him because of his faults.
Then the dream of children becomes a reality. We gaze longingly at pretty pink dresses and bows and we imagine our little sweetheart smiling up at us and loving us unconditionally. Then we get pregnant and reality hits. The puking, the heartburn, the swelling to unreal sizes...not to mention the stretch marks from head to toe, the acne, and the saggy boobs. And we don't even want to think about labor.
Somehow it all works out, though. I've always thought that God sends us our kids in the form of babies so that we'll fall for them so hard and fast that the love we feel for them will get them all the way through their teenage years.
Then there's the house. Many grown-ups do things in a different order and start with the house, but that wasn't the case for us. We've been married for six years. We have three darling children and we're squished into a 2 bedroom rental house with mold, drafts and rats. (not kidding)
For six years we've dreamed of our first home. It would be big enough to live in for many years. It would be in the perfect neighborhood, close to parks, schools and church. Our neighbors would become our good friends and we'd live happily ever after.
Well, yesterday it all began! We made an offer on a house that is the perfect blend of my need for a somewhat unique home (no HOA's for me, thankyouverymuch) and Dave's need for functionality and good use of space. It's big enough and it's in the perfect neighborhood, close to parks, schools and church! Later that night our offer was accepted and now the ball is rolling.
And since I married prince charming, and my body is still the model of perfection, and my children are perfect....well, there won't be any problems with my house! Right?
Eventually, we get hormones and when we find that perfect connection, those hormones blind us to his faults until we have that ring on our finger. Over time we learn to love him in spite of those faults, and later we may even love him because of his faults.
Then the dream of children becomes a reality. We gaze longingly at pretty pink dresses and bows and we imagine our little sweetheart smiling up at us and loving us unconditionally. Then we get pregnant and reality hits. The puking, the heartburn, the swelling to unreal sizes...not to mention the stretch marks from head to toe, the acne, and the saggy boobs. And we don't even want to think about labor.
Somehow it all works out, though. I've always thought that God sends us our kids in the form of babies so that we'll fall for them so hard and fast that the love we feel for them will get them all the way through their teenage years.
Then there's the house. Many grown-ups do things in a different order and start with the house, but that wasn't the case for us. We've been married for six years. We have three darling children and we're squished into a 2 bedroom rental house with mold, drafts and rats. (not kidding)
For six years we've dreamed of our first home. It would be big enough to live in for many years. It would be in the perfect neighborhood, close to parks, schools and church. Our neighbors would become our good friends and we'd live happily ever after.
Well, yesterday it all began! We made an offer on a house that is the perfect blend of my need for a somewhat unique home (no HOA's for me, thankyouverymuch) and Dave's need for functionality and good use of space. It's big enough and it's in the perfect neighborhood, close to parks, schools and church! Later that night our offer was accepted and now the ball is rolling.
And since I married prince charming, and my body is still the model of perfection, and my children are perfect....well, there won't be any problems with my house! Right?
Monday, January 23, 2006
Ohh, to sleep again!
When your existence is consumed by ankle biters, sleep becomes a novelty. Not only that, if mom is overly tired, energy demons will invade all the kids and said mom can kiss that shut-eye good-bye. Let's just examine last night, shall we?
Aria fell asleep watching a movie at 6 PM. This is the worst time for a child to fall asleep. It forces the mother to make a decision. Wake up the child, causing a melt-down followed by a cranky 3 yr old for the next 3-4 hours when she'll finally crash again. Or, let her sleep, move her to her bed and pray she was so tired that she'll stay asleep all night. I chose the latter. It was the wrong choice.
Her nap was over at 9:30 PM and she came bopping out of her room, all refreshed and ready to play!
In the mean time, Nathan (age 4) fell asleep on the couch. Now he's tricky too. When he falls asleep somewhere besides his bed, you must give him at least 30 minutes of un-interrupted sleep before trying to move him. Not doing so will result in a screaming, kicking tantrum that begins while you're trying to move him. If you've ever tried to carry a 45 lb cat who wants nothing more than to get away from you, then you may understand the danger I was facing at moving him to soon. Fortunately, I remembered the last time this happened and I let him sleep for 30 minutes before moving him.
So it's now 10 PM, Nathan is asleep, Aria is wide awake and Gabe(3 months) is screaming to be fed. So, I nurse him, fully expecting him to fall asleep, which he does. I held him for a few extra minutes to savor his baby-ness and laid him down. I pulled his blankets around him, all the while holding my breath and moving as quietly as possible. I back away, and his eyes pop open. His little baby grin absolves him of any wrong doing and I pick him back up.
Fast forward to 1 AM. Aria finally crashed again and I'm laying down and nursing Gabe in my bed hoping he'll fall asleep and stay that way. Apparently he did because when I woke up again at 3 AM to a noise from Aria, he was asleep. It didn't last long though. Aria had decided to come join Dave and I (and Gabe) in our bed. In the process of climbing in, she stepped on Gabe. The screaming didn't last too long and we all fell back to sleep.
I woke up at 5 AM to flip over and nurse Gabe again. Then at 7 AM, I woke up yet again. Only this time I was laying in a puddle. Now I wasn't totally shocked. After all, I am the resident cow, and leaking is not uncommon. But there was something different about this puddle. For one thing, my back was soaked. So, I checked the next likely source of the puddle. Aria. She hasn't wet her bed in months. Murphy's Law states, however, that when she does decide to wet her bed, it should not be her bed, it should be mine.
Did I mention my dryer is broken?
Aria fell asleep watching a movie at 6 PM. This is the worst time for a child to fall asleep. It forces the mother to make a decision. Wake up the child, causing a melt-down followed by a cranky 3 yr old for the next 3-4 hours when she'll finally crash again. Or, let her sleep, move her to her bed and pray she was so tired that she'll stay asleep all night. I chose the latter. It was the wrong choice.
Her nap was over at 9:30 PM and she came bopping out of her room, all refreshed and ready to play!
In the mean time, Nathan (age 4) fell asleep on the couch. Now he's tricky too. When he falls asleep somewhere besides his bed, you must give him at least 30 minutes of un-interrupted sleep before trying to move him. Not doing so will result in a screaming, kicking tantrum that begins while you're trying to move him. If you've ever tried to carry a 45 lb cat who wants nothing more than to get away from you, then you may understand the danger I was facing at moving him to soon. Fortunately, I remembered the last time this happened and I let him sleep for 30 minutes before moving him.
So it's now 10 PM, Nathan is asleep, Aria is wide awake and Gabe(3 months) is screaming to be fed. So, I nurse him, fully expecting him to fall asleep, which he does. I held him for a few extra minutes to savor his baby-ness and laid him down. I pulled his blankets around him, all the while holding my breath and moving as quietly as possible. I back away, and his eyes pop open. His little baby grin absolves him of any wrong doing and I pick him back up.
Fast forward to 1 AM. Aria finally crashed again and I'm laying down and nursing Gabe in my bed hoping he'll fall asleep and stay that way. Apparently he did because when I woke up again at 3 AM to a noise from Aria, he was asleep. It didn't last long though. Aria had decided to come join Dave and I (and Gabe) in our bed. In the process of climbing in, she stepped on Gabe. The screaming didn't last too long and we all fell back to sleep.
I woke up at 5 AM to flip over and nurse Gabe again. Then at 7 AM, I woke up yet again. Only this time I was laying in a puddle. Now I wasn't totally shocked. After all, I am the resident cow, and leaking is not uncommon. But there was something different about this puddle. For one thing, my back was soaked. So, I checked the next likely source of the puddle. Aria. She hasn't wet her bed in months. Murphy's Law states, however, that when she does decide to wet her bed, it should not be her bed, it should be mine.
Did I mention my dryer is broken?
Sunday, January 22, 2006
My Inner Aria - the meaning behind my blog name
Aria is 3. She has a natural zest for life that the rest of us just wish we had. She expertly blends a happy-go-lucky, fun personality with the ability to whisk away other people's problems with no trouble at all. Whether it's with a hug when you most need it or an unexpected smile, she'll deliver. (And usually with all the flair she can muster.)
To Aria, rules were made to be broken. Even the English language is a necessary evil only to be used when she needs to get her point across to us mere mortals. She's quite verbose and has been talking our ears off since she was 1, but when she gets bored with English she'll switch to her own language and start babbling away. However, if you ask her what she just said, she'll pity you and repeat herself in English.
Aria means melody. And Aria does not dissapoint in that department. She constantly makes up songs and walks around serenading us. If only the rest of us could get away with that.
Yes, Aria is only three, and I'm plenty scared of what she'll be like in 10 years. But for now, she's my best girl.
So, my inner Aria is my inner melody. It's my inner rebel, my inner 3 year old, my inner compassion, and if you want to get real technical, at one point Aria was inside me.
To Aria, rules were made to be broken. Even the English language is a necessary evil only to be used when she needs to get her point across to us mere mortals. She's quite verbose and has been talking our ears off since she was 1, but when she gets bored with English she'll switch to her own language and start babbling away. However, if you ask her what she just said, she'll pity you and repeat herself in English.
Aria means melody. And Aria does not dissapoint in that department. She constantly makes up songs and walks around serenading us. If only the rest of us could get away with that.
Yes, Aria is only three, and I'm plenty scared of what she'll be like in 10 years. But for now, she's my best girl.
So, my inner Aria is my inner melody. It's my inner rebel, my inner 3 year old, my inner compassion, and if you want to get real technical, at one point Aria was inside me.
Saturday, January 21, 2006
The walls of my cell of sunshine and flowers have fallen
That's right. My inner rebel has been released from prison. But not just any old prison. You see, I love my life. My prison was not steel bars and a concrete floor, in fact, it was a prison full of happiness. I love my children and I love my husband. I've been well provided for and really should have no complaints.
But I did.
The problem was, I didn't know what the problem was. Until today. And with this moment of clarity, it all came together. It all started with what my husband called my "Witch tights." As in the wicked witch of the west. I remember them fondly. They were thigh highs with purple, green, and black horizontal stripes. I had 4 inch, black, chunky heels that I wore with them. (They were from Paris. I wish I still had them.)
Now, you may be asking yourself where in the world does a good little Mormon girl wear witch tights with 4 inch heels? (did I mention with the heels on, I became 6'2" tall?) Well, I'll tell you. I wore them to church. Now, don't get the wrong idea. I did not pair them with a mini skirt and a halter top. Nope. I would wear a very tasteful, long black skirt with a modest sweater. You could only see about 3 inches of my witch tights around my ankles. But it was enough. With those tights on, I made a statement of non-conformity. And that is something that defines me.
However, my husband was not fond of the witch tights. In fact, they embarrassed him so badly that he didn't want to be seen with me. He was holding whispered conversations with his mother trying to figure out how to get rid of the horrid witch tights. No good little card carrying Mormon girl should be wearing those! Where are the eggshell pantyhose with the tasteful button up floral dress? Where are the understated beige pumps and the oversized sweater? WHAT DID HE MARRY? And that's when the walls were built.
In spite of my need for non-conformity, I loved my husband and I knew he was incredibly uncomfortable with my witch tights. So I threw them away. I eventually donated my beautiful black heels to Good Will. After all, they made me quite a bit taller than my 5'10" husband. And that might draw attention, and I didn't want to embarrass him.
Now, there was no malice and no bitterness in these decisions I was making. I truly felt that if he needed me to dress like a school marm in order to be happy and comfortable, then that was something that I could handle. After all, it's just clothes, and our love is much more important than that!
Over the years, however, I began to convince myself that this was me. I really believed that as a wife and mother I had to fit in a certain mold. I was mentally berating myself for what are failures to some people. My house does not stay clean, I don't cook balanced meals, and "craft" is a 4 letter word to me. But I felt like that was what was expected and the pressure started to build. For 6 years I've kept my inner rebel in prison without knowing why I wasn't fully happy.
Today I tried yet again to figure out what the problem was. I was trying to explain to my husband that I was happy and I love my life, but something was wrong. Somewhere along the way I lost part of myself and he said 5 little words that broke down the walls.
"It was the Witch tights."
After 6 years, my darling husband, the one that was so embarrassed by my need for non-conformity, was able to recognize that that was what was missing.
I feel so free! I feel like I can wear funky heels again! I can put a streak of an un-natural color in my hair, I can insist that crafts are NOT art, I can embrace my macaroni and cheese skills, I can shun all things jello and IT'S OKAY!
I think I'll start with a new pair of witch tights.
But I did.
The problem was, I didn't know what the problem was. Until today. And with this moment of clarity, it all came together. It all started with what my husband called my "Witch tights." As in the wicked witch of the west. I remember them fondly. They were thigh highs with purple, green, and black horizontal stripes. I had 4 inch, black, chunky heels that I wore with them. (They were from Paris. I wish I still had them.)
Now, you may be asking yourself where in the world does a good little Mormon girl wear witch tights with 4 inch heels? (did I mention with the heels on, I became 6'2" tall?) Well, I'll tell you. I wore them to church. Now, don't get the wrong idea. I did not pair them with a mini skirt and a halter top. Nope. I would wear a very tasteful, long black skirt with a modest sweater. You could only see about 3 inches of my witch tights around my ankles. But it was enough. With those tights on, I made a statement of non-conformity. And that is something that defines me.
However, my husband was not fond of the witch tights. In fact, they embarrassed him so badly that he didn't want to be seen with me. He was holding whispered conversations with his mother trying to figure out how to get rid of the horrid witch tights. No good little card carrying Mormon girl should be wearing those! Where are the eggshell pantyhose with the tasteful button up floral dress? Where are the understated beige pumps and the oversized sweater? WHAT DID HE MARRY? And that's when the walls were built.
In spite of my need for non-conformity, I loved my husband and I knew he was incredibly uncomfortable with my witch tights. So I threw them away. I eventually donated my beautiful black heels to Good Will. After all, they made me quite a bit taller than my 5'10" husband. And that might draw attention, and I didn't want to embarrass him.
Now, there was no malice and no bitterness in these decisions I was making. I truly felt that if he needed me to dress like a school marm in order to be happy and comfortable, then that was something that I could handle. After all, it's just clothes, and our love is much more important than that!
Over the years, however, I began to convince myself that this was me. I really believed that as a wife and mother I had to fit in a certain mold. I was mentally berating myself for what are failures to some people. My house does not stay clean, I don't cook balanced meals, and "craft" is a 4 letter word to me. But I felt like that was what was expected and the pressure started to build. For 6 years I've kept my inner rebel in prison without knowing why I wasn't fully happy.
Today I tried yet again to figure out what the problem was. I was trying to explain to my husband that I was happy and I love my life, but something was wrong. Somewhere along the way I lost part of myself and he said 5 little words that broke down the walls.
"It was the Witch tights."
After 6 years, my darling husband, the one that was so embarrassed by my need for non-conformity, was able to recognize that that was what was missing.
I feel so free! I feel like I can wear funky heels again! I can put a streak of an un-natural color in my hair, I can insist that crafts are NOT art, I can embrace my macaroni and cheese skills, I can shun all things jello and IT'S OKAY!
I think I'll start with a new pair of witch tights.
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