Up, Up and away . . .

Over the weekend I ate lots and lots and LOTS of Japanese rice crackers.  And I made LOTS of SPAM musubi, which made me extremely pop-U-lar on the home front.  And then I made a ginormous pot of orange soup with the leftover Costco Rotisserie chicken.  And then it snowed and my kids went wild with excitement all over the front lawn. 

For 10 minutes. 

But the honeymoon ended as soon as my daughter burst back into the house and declared: 

"Snow is not that fun." 

Shoots.  Why do honeymoon's have to end so quickly?

So we lit the fireplace and snuggled up on the couch and watched UP because I had not yet seen it. 

But now I have seen it.  

And it made me bawl like a newborn baby that gets what it's like to try and fly her townhouse over the Pacific ocean with a bouquet of helium balloons but has to let it go somewhere near Catalina Island because it's not as easy as Pixar makes it look to drag your past behind you with a rubber hose. 

But what a cute movie. I love action/adventure movies about grumpy old men seizing the day with a bunch of helium. (But then I love anything that advocates seizing the day with a bunch of helium. Especially if it involves the Bee Gees.) 

One thing I thought about while watching the grumpy old man get overcome by the spirit of adventure was: Ain't life just so unexpected!  And yet so predictable. 

If you had told me in June if I was going to gain five pounds before Christmas, I would have said, "AND HOW!"  

But if you had told me I would learn to make apple pie and that my twins would go to scouts in FULL uniform and that my daughter would be playing basketball for a high school in Utah where she would be voted team captain, I would have said, "Whatchyou talkin' bout Willis!?" 

My daughter quit playing organized basketball four years ago because no one would pass her the ball. 

Yet somehow, here we are. In Utah. Baking pies and wearing scout uniforms and playing basketball. 

btw, my daughter finished up her soccer season and was voted by her team mates as the Best Defensive Player.

I'm sorry I didn't say as much about her season as I did last year, but, remember how Jack Johnson used to show up at the soccer games when she played for Kahuku? 

Yea, well that never happened this year.  

Insert frowny face here. 

But back to the post . . .

I predicted that my thirteen year old son would play basketball, but I didn't expect him to play in his socks and in the snow and in his socks in the snow, or to watch YouTube (in his socks) so he could master the Allen Iverson killer crossoveror the Steve Nash counter streetball move or the Manu Ginobili jab counter.

And I never would have expected him to be invited to practice with a high school varsity team or to play a whole game without letting his feet touch the floor. 

You just never know what's around the corner, or when a a ginormous bouquet of helium balloons will lift you out of your comfort zone. 

It was a wonderful life in Hawaii, but if they ever make a movie about my life in Utah, Jimmy Stewart could totally play me. 

But he'll have to gain 5 lbs. 

P.S.  For those of you who don't believe me about my twins wearing full scout uniform, here's some photographic evidence:

Kids say the darndest things

Yesterday morning I put on one of my daughter's sweaters for a party.  

"How come you never wear any of these uber cute sweaters I bought you at D.I.?" I asked her as we leaned over the sink together applying our make-up.

"I'm waiting for it to get cold," she said.

What a sassy pants! 

But no worries, I didn't flinch or bat an eyeball or spray Windex in her face or anything. I was a picture of poise. 

You know why? Because I am so done telling my kids what to wear and what not to wear.  If my daughter wants to wear her fuzzy house slippers to Young Women's and to parties and movies and basketball games, that's her prerogative. (No, I didn't spell that wrong, you just say it wrong.)

And anyways, as long as they're not getting skin cancer or cavities, then whatever! 

That's what I always say (now that I'm on valium).  

(j/k peeps!  I'm not on valium)  (I meant to say, now that I'm on helium).  

But don't kids just say the darndest things? 

Like last week my daughter told me that she thinks the young women in the ward are really going to like me as their prezident. 

"Really?  You think so? Really? How come? How come? How come?" I asked.

"Because you're more like a teenager than I am," she said.  

Hmmmm . . . 

Then yesterday one of my twins asked me how old I am.  I told him I was forty, plus two. 

"FORTY TWO!???" He said, his chin hitting the floor.  "You don't look FORTY TWO!" 

"Really? You think so? Really?" I said. 

"Really," he said. "You look THIRTY EIGHT."

 

Hmmmm  . . .

But last night was thee beeessst, as Nacho Libre would say. Last night, over dinner, we were discussing this year's History Day theme, which is Innovation in History, and my kids were throwing out topic ideas.  

"Louie Armstrong would be good," I said.  

Louie Armstrong?" my daughter said.  "The bike rider?" 

I practically choked on my Costco rotisserie chicken from LOLing. 

"That's Lance Armstrong," said my hub. 

"Louie Armstrong is the guy who landed on the moon," said one of my twins. 

More choking and LOLing. 

"That's Neil Armstrong," said my hub. 

 "Louie Armstrong is the father of Big Band Jazz," I finally said. 

"That's not Louie Armstrong," my thirteen year old son--who just so happened to win 2nd place at the National History Day competition last year--said.  "That's Duke Ellington." 

Hmmmm . . . 

I guess mom's sometimes say the darndest things too.

The Pride and the Prejudice

It's been 20 years since I've lived in Utah, but it's all coming back to me now--the pride and the prejudice. People here appear to be compliant and tolerant, but when the weather turns cold their true colors shine through. 

I hate to say it, but around here they discriminate against coats, hats, gloves and scarves.  

The more the temperature drops, the less clothing people wear.  

The first day my kids wore their new coats to school everyone pointed and laughed and called them marshmallows. 

They haven't worn their coats to school since.  

It makes me wonder sometimes if we're in one of Stanley Milgram's psychological experiments because not only do they not wear their coats anymore, they also don't wear their jeans. In fact, since it's now 30-40 degrees outside, they have reverted to shorts and t-shirts. 

And it's because everyone else has reverted to shorts and t-shirts too.  

Or less.

Today at Target I saw a lady in the parking lot wearing nothing but a spray tan and a spaghetti strap tank top.  

What's, uh, the dealio?

A few weeks ago I caught my son riding his bike to scouts in full uniform and . . . BARE FEET! 

I've also caught another son running down the street in the snow in his . . . SOCKS! 

And this is not because they are Hawaiian--I could understand that--this is because they are Utarded.  

It's gotten so bad that my kids now taunt and tease ME when I go outside with a pair of mittens and a scarf, or wear boots to church.  

"It's not THAT cold," they say, yet just a month ago they were saying, "It's freezing!"

I used to try to protect them and force them to bundle up, just like I used to force them to wear sunscreen in Hawaii, but you know what? You can't get skin cancer from frost bite so what's the point?

I came to this conclusion quite suddenly one day last week when I was getting my kids ready for school and found my son sitting at the fireplace tying his shoes . . . without a stitch of clothing on.  

Buck Naked! 

With Shoes! 

I wish I was joking because then I wouldn't have the image burned into my brain.  

I thought of giving him my usual lecture about how he should probably wear a jacket, but I just stood there, speechless.  And then I turned and walked away.  

Some lessons you have to learn on your own. 

An Ancient Chinese Secret Bedtime Story (in bed).

I think some of you may have gotten the impression that I don't want to do personal progress along with my young women.  

It's not that I don't want to. Of course I want to. But do I need to? That is the question.

It's always good to weigh your wants against your needs. At least that's what my hub always says. 

Frankly, I'm worried that I if I progress any more than I have in the past six months I might be translated.  And what good would I be to the young women if I were translated, huh? huh? huh? 

(Unless I were translated correctly.)

(Plus, the leaders don't get medallions anyway, so what's the point?)

Question: do you ever get the feeling you're being watched? 

Me neither, but sometimes I get the feeling that someone somewhere is trying to tell me something.  Via Richard Marx. 

Strangest thing ever. The other night Richard Marx came on the radio as soon as I started the car after my training meeting. He kept telling me over and over that he'd be right there waiting for me. I didn't think much of it--mostly because I was preoccupied with how many times I made out to that song during the 1980's.  

But then yesterday morning, as soon as I started my car, BAM, Richard Marx came on the radio again. This time he was telling me to hold onto the night.  

Either Richard Marx is trying to send me a message via the universe, or the universe is trying to send me a message via Richard Marx.

So I did what I always do when I'm trying to decode a message from the universe (or Richard Marx), I went out for Chinese food. The universe often speaks in ancient Chinese secrets and ancient Chinese secrets are often found in fortune cookies. 

(Plus, I LUB LUB LUB Chinese food.)

When I finished the all-you-can-eat egg drop soup and salad bar the waiter brought me my fortune cookie and I ripped it open.

Learn Chinese--Dry Cleaning, it said, and then there were a bunch of Chinese characters, which I think was probably the secret added ending: (in bed).

But why would Richard Marx want me to learn Chinese dry cleaning in bed? 

I ordered some take-out just to get another fortune cookie. 

This one said, Learn Chinese--Tomorrow. Once again the added secret ending was in Chinese.

On my way out I told the waiter that his fortune cookies were defective. 

"They're telling me to learn Chinese dry cleaning.  Tomorrow.  In bed," I said. 

He took my fortunes, turned them over and handed them back to me.  Then he muttered a few expletives in Chinese that sounded a lot like "dummy."

Apparently I was looking at the flip side of my fortune.  The side that advocates Chinese literacy.

The other side of my fortune said this:

1. You don't get out of life what you want, you get what you are (insert secret added ending in Chinese here).

2. Education is what survives when what has been learnt has been forgotten (and here).

Obviously these ancient Chinese secrets were written in New Zealand or Australia because Learnt is soooo down under.

So then I went to a Mongolian restaurant to get a more authentic ancient Chinese secret.

(BTW, The thing I love most about Chinese and Mongolian restaurants is that the employees aren't afraid to vacuum around your table while you're eating.)

This time my fortune said, Commitment is what turns a promise into reality.  

I've got major commitment issues, which stem from my abandonment issues, which stem from my lack of sleep issues. 

So I went home and took a nap. 

And I had a dream (if that's what the universe wants to call it (wink wink)). In my dream (wink wink) Richard Marx was vacuuming and dry cleaning.  Then suddenly he was in a red curly wig and he was singing The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow in Chinese.  Then suddenly he turned and looked right at me with his piercing eyes. Closer and closer he moved towards me until I was afraid he might just lean down and make-out with me.  

But instead he poked my eyes out and said, "I told you to hold on to the night, dummy"  

And then in Chinese he added the secret ending.   

That's when it finally clicked for me.  All of my fortunes had one thing in common--the secret added ending.

The universe is trying to tell me to get more sleep.

(Either that or I need a new vacuum).