This and That

The difference between 6:40 AM and 7:40 AM is much bigger than just an hour.

A hot bubble bath and a fascinating book do wonders for the soul.

A frigid morning is intoxicating and delicious when coupled with candy cane hot cocoa and mittens.

Bing Crosby's voice will never fail to make me smile. Nor Dean Martin's. But a lot of the time I can't tell the difference between the two.

Crayon really can make a mark on a person's face - if you press hard enough.

PMS is a scary thing.

Having help making dinner creates a much more enjoyable experience.

Kids are a lot of work.

Kids should probably not be allowed to brush their own teeth until they are twelve.

I will never understand the conflict of being utterly fascinated by a book that I felt may have been the most painfully slow novel I have ever read. Love Is Eternal was so, so good, and simultaneously nearly insufferable. I'm so confused!

I think that, along with ADD/ADHD, PMDD goes into the category of often being a scapegoat for ridiculous behavior.

Time alone is so rare, I can't figure out why I'm sitting here writing a pointless blog instead of watching The Office episode from Thursday and eating a bowl of Cocoa Crispies.

Me.

I will peel the skin off of apples for my kids, but I will not cut the crust off their bread.

I think that just because it's true love does not mean it's easy.

Standard bathtubs should be bigger.

Grilled cheese sandwiches are much better when made with that fake, waxy cheese than with real cheese, unless you're also putting sauteed onions and tomato on it.

No matter how hard I try, I cannot spell 'restaurant' correctly without spell check.

I am neither Democrat nor Republican.

I wish I could go back to high school and actually pay attention this time.

I love libraries.

Even in the dead of summer when it's 100 degrees outside, I can't sleep without at least a sheet on me.

I consider buying 2 weeks worth of groceries for a family of six for under $200 a talent.

If I could do one thing to make the world a better place, I would make people pay money to watch television. Commercials would be history and everyone would spend less time watching.

I don't have any friends that I see at least once a year who are not family. I'm not sure how I feel about this.

I've never had a root canal.

I cannot cut a straight line. This is evident in my previous scrapbook attempts and in my sister's memory of the time I tried to cut her hair.

Everyone says that it's better to give than to receive. I'm going to have to be honest and say that they are about equal in my book.

I hate sports.

Peaches are the best fruit in the world, but only if it's ripe and juicy.

I think that all of my siblings have chosen spouses (and potential spouses?) that fit in with our family quite nicely. I like them all.

I don't understand people who care about the lives of celebrities. Not to say that I don't laugh at them when they treat us to a sorry display of humanity's most idiotic specimens.

Did you know that Wheel of Fortune is still on the air?

I swear too much. A lot too much.

My mailman is a jerk.

I can't stand to have my window blinds closed. It's depressing. Unless it's dark outside, and then they must be closed because we don't like to be peeped at. There are three daytime instances when the blinds must be closed though: When the house is imitating a hurricane casualty, when I have a migraine, or when we're watching a movie in the afternoon and the sun is glaring on the TV screen. All other times, blinds open. So if you come to my house in the daylight and the blinds are closed, you may as well just go away because I'm either watching a movie and don't want to be interrupted, battling a headache and don't want to be bothered, or the house is in such a mess that I won't let you in anyway.

I made a delicious apple pie on Friday. Also, caramel corn. That was good, too.

Sometimes, when someone is talking to me, my mind wanders and fixates on one of their facial features or body parts, and then I snap out of it and have to hope they didn't notice my freakish staring.

I own ten pairs of shoes, none of which are actually suitable for church because I hate dressing up and therefore spend no money on such things. I regularly wear two of those pairs, and never undo the shoelaces. No one in my family owns a pair of crocs.

I have not dressed up for Halloween since I was in my teens. I am thinking about it this year though. We'll see.

I did not weed my yard adequately this summer. I would have, if I'd been able to complete it uninterrupted.

The last book I read was My Sister's Keeper. Next on the list - whatever I find at the library today.

I have almost nothing hanging on my walls because I have not yet found anything that fits me and also costs less than Andrew's monthly salary.

I almost never shower before 1 PM. If I did, I'd have to shower twice. After the walk, you know.

My favorite color is orange.

Given the choice, I would rather be deaf than blind. And I would read people's lips and be greatly amused.

Manhood

Every time I am forced to carry my cell phone in my jeans pocket, I am reminded what a terrible burden it must be to have the male anatomy. Constant lopsidedness would drive me bonkers.

Just For Clarification

In case there is anyone out there who uses the term "SNAFU", but is unsure of it's meaning, let's have a little lesson. SNAFU is an acronym which was employed during World War II by the American soldiers. It stands for "situation normal; all effed up". (You're welcome for the censoring.) I apologize for the necessity of this post, I just think that maybe people should stop using the term in church. For example, when one is sitting in Relief Society and the sister conducting asks if anyone has a Good News Moment to share, it may be inappropriate for you to raise your hand and say, "My daughter had her first baby on Thursday! There was a little snafu in the delivery room, but everything turned out ok, and the baby is darling!" Just a thought.

A Goody

Check out everydaygiveaway.blogspot.com

You might just get lucky.

A Few Thoughts Before I Get My Rear In Gear

I just had a few thoughts rolling around in my head and wanted to get them out. First of all, I am finding so much joy and satisfaction in working on Grandpa's history. I am 3/8ths done, (believe it or not, that's encouraging to me!), and every time I turn the tape player on to type I get excited and can't wait to see the finished product. I feel like I know Grandpa so much better. What a blessing it's been to be able to do this!

Secondly, if my sister, Kellie, ever posts something on her blog about her desserts, I will have to remember to keep my drool from dripping on the keyboard. We went to their house to play games on Sunday night and she was providing the sweet treats while I covered the salty. Well, I did my standard store bought chips and dip, and she did her standard make me feel like a slacker fancy-schmancy chocolate dipped strawberries and chocolate covered gummy bears. Yeah, they were oh, so good. Each little bear looked like it was snuggling up with a little brown blanket, with just their gooey heads poking out. But we really didn't stop and admire them for long. We ate them. And the strawberries...dipped in chocolate and drizzled with white chocolate. All this for a game night! Makes me wonder what she does when she's really trying to impress people?

And finally, Andrew and I watched "Seven Pounds" last night. I love a thought provoking movie that spurs debate and lively discussion. Andrew and I didn't actually do that, but I've been discussing it with myself ever since the credits rolled. I just don't know how I feel about suicide being made to look noble. Good thing it was only a movie or I would have to go on and on about how one cannot redeem themselves from negligent manslaughter by killing themselves, even if other people get to live longer because of that act. Yeah, good thing it's just a movie.

Oh, and Drew just knocked on his bedroom door, where his is supposed to be taking a nap, to tell me that his finger was dirty because he picked his nose and there was a booger on it. Kids are disgusting, but it's a funny disgust! (Knocked on his door because it has a child proof knob cover so he actually has to stay in there and sleep. I find his knocking very polite considering that screaming or pounding the door are his other options.)

Weird Brain Defects

Is it possible to wear a certain sweatshirt, (or any item of clothing really), that causes you to get nothing done? I have this blue, fleece type sweatshirt with a half zipper and a collar that is constantly in my way. And when I wear said sweatshirt, nothing gets done. It almost makes me feel like I'm sick and should therefore not be working. Is it possible for my brain to trigger such a subconscious reaction to a piece of clothing? And I've only noticed this today, so maybe it's the pants? Warm-up pants should make one think of exercise and activity, so it would be strange for me to react with slothfulness to them. (Yes, slothfulness is a word.) Either way, the sweatshirt or the warm-up pants, I must get changed so I can repair the damage done by a day of subconscious wardrobe disease. I fear that I am weird beyond help.

Possibilities and Observations

I got a new white canvas for my birthday yesterday, and money for paint...oh, the possibilities. Nothing is quite as fun as taking something plain and white and putting something on it. Anything I feel like. Maybe I'll paint when I'm in a better mood this time so the thing comes out looking happy. A thought... I better start using smaller canvas. The only place I can hang my orphan art is in my bedroom where very few people will have to see it, so I guess I should start using smaller pieces or I'll run out of room. So excited just thinking about what it could turn into!

More possibilities... Susie is here this week, and aside from needing to accomplish a few minor tasks, we have a whole bunch of days to fill with whatever suits our fancy. Oh, how I miss the Rose Garden in Portland. And the Japanese Garden... And the beach... And the Washington Park Zoo...
I'm sure we could find something just as spiritually and whimsically stimulating here in Utah. I'll need to think on it.

I saw the most beautiful tree yesterday. It was just beginning to bloom with amazingly deep purple flowers! I almost drove my car into someone's yard while I craned my neck around to stare at it. I love spring. There should be no snow involved in spring, however, so I find myself feeling hostile towards the flakes falling from the sky this morning. When will the sun come to stay?

And a final observation - Cameron's birthday party was two days ago, and I can't decide if it was enlightening or disheartening to see the difference in some of the kids. There were some who were very concerned with being "cool", and contrastingly, some who had obviously been trained in the art of kindness and gave no thought to how their behavior might be perceived by their peers. So, as second graders, where does the desire to be "cool" come from? Who teaches these kids their teenage vocabulary? Who teaches them to flirt with skills beyond what I have seen in kids 8 years older than them? Who teaches them to look with disdain on children who are meek and don't bother with things like pop culture and clothing brands? But what I am more interested in, is how do the parents of those kind and humble children teach them to put others before themselves and to show charity in the simplest of acts, like complimenting someone on the gift they brought, or helping someone smaller than them pick up the popcorn they dropped? That's the kind of child I want to have.

It was all so sudden

On Friday night I had one of those things that I think people call an epiphany. Looking around at my house and taking inventory of my life I realized that I had lost myself. For the last who knows how many years I have felt sad, ashamed and embarrassed that when someone asked me what my hobbies or interests were, I had no answer. I used to like a lot of things. I haven't pursued a hobby in years, it seems like. Whoever it was that first said you have to take time for yourself or you have nothing to give, they meant it. I always thought that was a lovely tid-bit of wisdom, but I never applied it, obviously. So that night when I first realized that I lacked a personality and had nothing left to give, I broke out a canvas and some paint and I went to town, just releasing years of pent up creativity and emotion, and I felt better almost immediately. I am by no means a talented painter, but I enjoyed it. And I enjoy photography, so I intend to learn more about how to do that right. And I'm going to buy more paint. And I'm going to get up earlier in the morning and get a hold of my day before the bog of tedious responsibility steals it from me! I'm going to take my whole life back because being a mother and wife shouldn't mean I have no self. I'm going to love my life again, and it's bound to make me a better person, better wife and a better mother. Woooo! Here I go....

And I thought I was all grown up.

I am about to admit some things that will probably make me seem pretty immature, but I'll do it anyway.

Yesterday, in church, I walked into Relief Society and sat next to a woman who looked about my age whom I had never met. I'd seen her in church, but I don't know her name. I asked her if I could sit next to her and she nodded. So I sat. And then I observed several things which I considered to be odd.

For instance, when I sat, she didn't move her legs which were angled across her chair and into the space that would have been where my legs should have gone. So it was a bit awkward as I tried to take up only what little space was left. Then the woman shook all over in what I suppose was a rather violent shiver, then she looked at me with huge eyes and said, "I got a chill." OK, so that happens...maybe I haven't ever had a chill that caused the person next to me to worry that I might be having a seizure, but it could be that most people do.

Next we sang a hymn, and I smiled every now and then because this woman obviously loved to sing, but couldn't carry a tune. (I know the feeling.) I had a hard time staying close to the proper note with her singing so loudly off key next to me, but she sang with vigor...that's admirable. When the song ended she closed the hymnal and looked at me with a bewildered grin on her face as if to say, "Wasn't that amazing??" Yes. Yes, it was.

Right about then I started to think, "This woman is a big time freak."

About halfway through the lesson, the woman leaned forward, flipped her hair over and rubbed her hands through it like she was shampooing herself. Then she sat back up and slapped herself three times, and I realized she was just trying to keep herself awake. OK, a little strange, but we all have our moments. We sang again at the end of the lesson and I got the same bewildered grin, and that was that. She never moved her legs.

As I told my husband about this experience in the car on the way home I started to wonder if I really knew what "odd" was? Do any of us? All we know is what we are used to. So I decided that that woman was perhaps quirky, but definitely not a freak.

Then today I got into a cyber fight with a family member, which I've never done before and would not recommend. It started out as a difference in opinion over a movie that came out not long ago. I thought it was terrible and my co-debater loved it. The argument, to me, was over whether or not I should be entitled to my opinion without being called a snob. I think the other person thought the argument was about the actual movie, but I'm not sure.

So in the course of our heated on-line discussion, I was told that I tend to not like something just because there is a lot of hype about it. I denied it. I like what I like because I like it, not because other people do or do not share my views. But I think that's only partially true. I thought about my Facebook account, (which I'm starting to think about doing away with), and how I refused to put on my "info page" that I enjoyed tremendously the Harry Potter books and the Twilight books. I find it embarrassing, and I wasn't sure why until today. Those books are excellent examples of creativity and are well written. My embarrassment comes from fear of being considered a fanatic. Yes, I like the books, but so far I don't have a t-shirt that says "I Belong In Gryffindor" or a poster on my wall brandishing a photo of Edward Cullen sporting some sultry eyes and sparkling skin.

I don't think any movie is worth going to see at midnight, and I have long thought that anyone who stands in line for a movie wearing a costume should have a one-way ticket to a deserted island for freaks and nutcases.

So do I dislike things that other people love because I don't want to be a follower? No. I do like some things that are wildly popular. Do I judge people for going all out and wearing capes to the theater or plastering their Facebook page with vampire flair? Yes.

And I thought I was all grown up.

I've decided that labeling those people as freaks or losers is much more immature than whatever they have done to deserve that criticism from me. A person who truly does not care what other people think of them does not judge others. It's a bit hypocritical. So I guess I have some growing up to do. I need to figure out if I really care what others think of me or not, and I need to cut the stereotypes from my mentality. People who love something, anything, with a passion, are better people for finding happiness and goodness in the world. Me judging them just means that I am looking to find fault in others. I want to be a seeker of good. (But that still doesn't mean I like that movie.)

So what is a freak? I suppose there is no such thing. People are different and like all kinds of things for reasons that are their own. So to all you people who have slept in a tent in a theater parking lot or at this very moment have a Legolas action figure on a bookshelf in your living room....power to ya!

Legacy

I'm about to start transcribing my Grandfather's personal history, and I can't help but feel blessed to be able to do it. I have now spent many hours with Grandpa interviewing him and listening to him talk about his life, and it's been a pleasure to learn more about him. Sometimes when I'm sitting there listening to him tell a story I can see the wrinkles melt away from his face and there in front of me is the young man he used to be so many years ago.
When talking to Grandpa, it's not hard to tell that he is most proud of his posterity. He keeps track of his children's children and their children on a pedigree chart that he hangs in his living room. He speaks fondly of each of them and looks forward to visits and phone calls from any of them. He mentioned the last time I was at his house that he had just spent time with his sister in California and was looking forward to a visit with another sister in Oregon. But he thought it was interesting, and perhaps sad, that neither of his two sisters have anywhere near as many grandchildren as he does. It made me think of my own life and where I might be in sixty years, and I have to say, I hope I will be in the same place he is now. It seems like in this day and age there is so much emphasis put on career, seeing the world and being the biggest success you can be. I look at my friend's and family's photos on the internet of all the places they are traveling to and all the amazing things they've done, and until that day at Grandpa's, I felt jealous of them. I have never been to most of the places I would like to see, never fulfilled many of the dreams that I had when I was younger and was envisioning how I wanted my life to be. But now, with Grandpa's observation about family, I know I am blessed beyond what I could have wished for for myself. I have four beautiful children and a husband who puts us before anything else. Sixty years from now I hope I will be reaping the benefits of a large posterity, just like my grandpa. When my face is aged with wrinkles, I would rather have a whole crowd of loved ones around me than a passport full of stamps.