Saturday, November 29, 2008
It truly is the most wonderful time of the year (for a long winter's nap after blogging your brains out since summer.)
Best part of the weekend: I discovered the ancient Chinese secret to making the most delicious left leftover turkey soup in the history of the world. Even my kids were inhaling it and rubbing their satisfied bellies. Even Swirl's kids were inhaling it and rubbing their satisfied bellies.
You have no idea how many times I jumped for joy to see my Children inhaling soup.
For that reason I am no longer going to call it left over turkey soup. I will now, from this moment on, call it Turkeyish Delight.
I happened upon the recipe quite by accident. I was just clearing up the dinner table and instead of scraping all the plates into the garbage disposal, I just scraped them into a ginormous pot of boiling turkey broth. Even the cranberries. Even the pumpkin pie. Even the whip cream (hence the delight!)
Sooooo stinkin' scrumdidilyumptious!
Let it simmer for 13 hours then add some brocolli, grated cheese, applesauce and BAM! Turkeyish Deeeeeelightful!
This weekend I also discovered an alternative to Ambien. Tryptphan.
Can't sleep at night? Not a problem. Place a turkey on your nightstand and you'll stop counting sheep in no time.
Can't sleep on a plane? No worries. Stuff a turkey in your carry on and Zzzzzzzzz.
No doubt it will be FDA approved soon.
I think they should start calling Tryptphan Kryptphan, or Tryptonite because I'm sure even Superman couldn't stay awake through Thanksgiving dinner.
I had to take 2 naps to get through the main course and dozed off again during dessert. (Bannana cream pie ain't a bad way to break a face plant, btw).
I seriously slept for 3 hours after the feast. Then yesterday I made turkey sandwhiches and zonked out for another 2 hours.
But have no fear, Turkeyish Delight does NOT make you drowsy. On the contrary, all that delight is like an energizer bunny to the brain.
So go deck the halls! Trim the trees! And be Merry! (and bright).
But leave room to inhale your Turkeyish Delight!
Friday, November 28, 2008
You must decide who offers the biggest bang for the buck. You narrow, narrow, narrow. You lose sleep considering the pros and cons. And then you pray. You search and you ponder and you pray.
You decide Walmart. No, Sports Authority. No, Walmart. No, Sports Authority.
You think about giving Walmart a try and then after the honeymoon, slipping over to Sports Authority to make sure you made the right choice, but you know by then most of the goods will be gone and you'll no longer be a Black Friday virgin.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
And then you had kids.
Or became a teacher.
Just today my son said to me, "you're so mean, Mom!" And he was right. I wouldn't cut an apple for him. But if I'm not mean today his wife will eventually explode and tell me, "If you hadn't cut those apples for him, I wouldn't have to iron all of his clothes or serve him steaming hot chocolate on a silver platter!!"
I reminded him of the mother's day card he gave me last year that expressed why he loved me so much. "Mom, you don't mean to be mean, it's your job."
What a blessing to have a child who actually GETS that (at least on Mother's Day).
If mom's were nice the whole world would have false teeth and skin cancer.
And if teachers were nice the whole world would have false teeth, skin cancer and a 4.0 GPA.
It's not our job to be nice. We must teach our students and our children correct principals and then teach them to govern themselves. (But we know they won't so we must go ahead and rule over them.)
I've been mean to my night class lately. I wasn't at first. At first I treated them like my pets and I called them my honor students because of their sharp minds and even sharper tongues. But then they thought they were brilliant and stopped reading and writing and coming to class.
It's so much better to tell people they're stupid. Put obstacles in their path and give them something to overcome.
And then punish them. Students and children need punishment like a plant needs water.
Tonight I made my class listen to Barry Manilow for a whole hour while I gave them a 50 point pop quiz. And I even took Nevadanistas suggestion that looking at Barry Manilow is even more punishment than listening to him. I projected this photo on the big screen behind me during the entire class.
They deserved it.
Stinkin' smart kids.
One thing I like about my next door neighbor, Martha, is that she knows it's not easy being mean. She knows that sometimes you have to push people around to help them learn their life lessons(and to win a pumpkin pie.)
This is Martha pushing her competition in the Turkey Trot today.
Here she is again. She just smacked the competition in the head and said "Don't mess with me, white girl!"
Then she won the pumpkin pie. Happy Thanksgiving Martha! You go, white girl!"
(There's an object lesson here for those of you paying close attention. Martha didn't actually push that girl. She just looks like she's pushed that girl.)
(btw, ftr, I could totally take Martha down if I wasn't so afeared of her. Once I was beating her 5-0 in a game of tennis and she ran to the net and smacked the ball so hard I had a hole in my chest for a year. I was seriously on life-support for 2 weeks.)
Here's a caution! There's a code of conduct that will help you be mean responsibly, elsewise life lessons can't be learned properly:
You must never be mean spitefully, anonymously or unapolegetically.
Martha understands this. She will knock you down like a champion, but she will lift you back up like a hero.
I'm so thankful for Martha and for all the people who told me I was stupid and poor and ill-dressed and good-for-nothing when I was growing up.
And I'm so thankful I now have the opportunity to share this knowledge with others.
Happy Thanksgiving all you bored, crazy, good-for-nothing Mormon Mommies! LY
And remember, no one ever said being mean would be easy. They just didn't say it would be so hard.
Then they said it would be worth it!
I wrote this whole Barry Manilow concession speech tonight after dinner when I coulda sworn I was losing. Yes. I'm sure I was in 3rd place. Then suddenly the voting booth became possessed by an evil ebay bidder or a satanic stock market trader and numbers were flying off the charts.
And then we went to the pool at Turtle Bay to see some old friends from my husband's basketball playing days and to eat some Macademia cream pie . . . when suddenly! Hocus pocus--Abracadabra--Presto Chango!
I don't know who is responsible for this, but I can only guess it was Tamn. She must have felt guilty for not picking me to win her give away. Muchos mahalo Tamn! (Or whoever rallied the troops).
I just hope I get a congratulations!!!!!!!! from David Santos.
It would be even more super exciting to be a winner if I had prepared an acceptance speech.
But I didn't, so if you don't mind terribly I think I'll go ahead and post my original Barry Manilow big L on the forehead speech:
Yesterday I saw a story on CNN where the police punished people by locking them in a room for an hour and making them listen to Barry Manilow.
What a brilliant idea. I'm going to steal it.
So turn up your volume because you have just been locked in this blog and I'm going to make you listen to Barry Manilow for an hour (or at least until you cry uncle!!)
Don't even think about escaping!
I just wish Mary Tong were still blogging because I think she would've gone insane and I've always wanted to watch someone go insane to Barry Manilow.
(Maybe while you're here we could elf ourselves silly just for the heck of it.)
Why am I punishing us in this Barry Manilow manner, you ask?
BECAUSE! That's why.
Because I feel like it.
And because I can!
And because I didn't win the quilt since I don't know how to recycle cupcakes, I only know how to splatter Ovaltine across my face. That's how important my children's education is to me.
And besides, how can I compete with someone who doubles their votes in 20 minutes? I just ain't that Glindanomical.
But now my husband says we can't have the slumber party in my comment box which made me mad so I already drank all the apple butter nut cider and ate the white chocolate covered pretzels by myself and now every one in my comment box will be cold and hungry. Not to mention Barry Manilow cranky!
Another thing that makes me Barry Manilow cranky is today my son told me he found all the Christmas presents in the garage last year and told my twins what they were getting and then told them there's no such thing as Santa.
I'm so disappointed! My son is such a kill-joy. Why, why, why didn't anyone tell ME there's no such thing as Santa???
btw, for those of you saying to yourselves, What Barry Manilow? I don't hear anything! I programed my playlist so that those of you who voted for me can't hear him. Only those of you who didn't vote for me will be punished Barry Manilow style.
But naw, fo' real, peeps . . . here's a super big Mahalo to all of you who voted for me. I was touched by all 36 of my votes (the other two were me and my husband) (Shhhhhhhh).
How sweet it is to be loved by you!
And whoever gave me those last 14 votes in 5 minutes, you are darling (and daring), but how is that possible? I don't know what voodoo/karmical magic was going on, but how can I can ever fully trust the electoral college again? Seriously.
btw, can I send a HUGE MAHALO HUG to the best BBFF in the world, Lisa the Funny Farmer because she nominated the CTD Diaries to be the December spotlight on Mormon Mommy Blogs! With a best friend like that who needs friends? And who needs Santa either? And who needs Barry Manilow?
(And who needs a new quilt for that matter?)
Let's all go over and Christmas carol the funny farmer right now? (I mean after Thanksgiving so Lo doesn't judge me again.)
Speaking of Lo, I wish I was at Lo's house for Thanksgiving. She is so festive! And Shauna did her the cutest blog makeover!
HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVE EVERYONE!
Okay, that just didn't have the same effect now that I won, did it?
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
I'm not sure how to explain the Christmas spirit thing because usually I'm listening to Mormon Tab, Osmonds and Carpenters Christmas by October, but last week every time I heard Christmas carols I got annoyed.
Thank goodness for my neighbor, Martha, who taught me how to elf myself silly, and to my son who has asthma and stayed home from school then went shopping with me for whip cream and cranberries and pumpkin pie and nutmeg and turkey and apple butter nut cider. Because of them I am at this very moment listening to Bing Crosby and feeling the christmas tingles.
Actually I'm alternating between Thanksgiving tingles and Black Friday tingles. Black Friday is my 2nd favorite day of the year, behind White Sunday (General Conference Sunday, DUH!)
So because I'm finally feeling the tingles, I want everyone to feel the tingles. That's why I've decided to start my very own tingle tag. The Elf Yourself Silly tag.
And because I'm still having a hard time getting into tagging because I don't like to talk about myself and I can barely get my visiting teaching done, let alone my tagging, I'm going to pass the buck on to all of you.
I'm tagging every single last one of you to spread the tingle tag cheer.
If you're reading this right now . . . YOU'VE BEEN TAGGED! (he he he --evil (tingley) laughter in background).
The only rule is you must laugh yourself silly while elfing yourself silly and then . . . pass it on, silly.
According to my calculations, if all 7,000 of you elf yourself silly and then pass it on, the entire world will be full of good will toward man by Christmas Eve (or at least good will towards elves by New Years Eve).
Okay, I get to go first, since I'm the one feeling the holiday tingles.
Are you sitting down? Have you removed all food and drink from your mouth? Have you taken a recent trip to the ladies room?
It's time for me and my silly family to make their big blog dancing debut. You are about to see my husband and I do the bump in our size 0 velour knickers? And my kids do the Hustle and the Ho-down and the Heston? (I mean the Charleston).
And when you're finished watching and laughing yourself silly, and believe me you WILL laugh yourself silly, then elf yourself silly.
But come back to my comment box with a link so we can all laugh ourselves silly too. We'll be waiting (and partying . . . and drinking apple butter nut cider . . . . and eating white chocolate covered pretzels . . . and snuggling in my new quilt if I win today over at blokthoughts. Vote for me if you want to snuggle with us.)
Click here to watch us do The Hustle
Click here to watch us do The Charleston Heston
Click here to watch us do the Ho-Down
And have a nice day!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
P.S. David Santos dropped by my 2nd counselor's blog and told her to have a nice WEEK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And he told her congratulations!!!!! because she's pretty.
All I got was a lousing congratulations on my imagination and have a nice day!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! He's totally shmooozing behind my blogging back.
It just goes to show that you can't trust foreign men.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Vague, ambiguous, enigmatic puzzles. That's my policy.
But I'm about to become a hypocrite and most likely Kristina P. and Mariko will never read me again. Yet here I go anyway . . .
I saw this movie as a Twilight virgin. (And a prudish virgin at that.)
You could say I took the Annie Valentine Stupid Twilight t-shirt approach.
I didn't know what to expect, but I didn't expect to expect the unexpected. Youngblood4ever told me I should go with some goofy friends, but I have no goofy friends so I took my goofy husband.
I had only read one single review, which said the movie was like a taco-burp: the humor came up at all the wrong times. I had nothing more to go on since I had never read the book myself. My daughter did though, in one sitting, then thumbed her nose at it and burned it for a school project.
NOW I FINALLY understand why my daughter burned it. In psychology they call it repression. She has not yet embraced her own inner desires to be fully captivated by a smokin' hot holy--not to mention 100% attentive--vampire.
But not me. I embraced that inner desire as soon as Edward said, "Bella, you stink."
(Bring it ON, Bat Boy!)
As long as he's a good/bad little vampire. Or a bad/good little vampire. Either one works for me.
And as long as he says things like, "I feel very protective of you" and "You don't know how long I have waited for you" while he's electrifying me with one eye and terrifying the town bullies with the other eye.
WHEW! That Edward knows how to make eye contact.
SIGH . . .
Okay, so I'm a bit over critical-ish/over analytical-ish by nature. And by nurture. I've been disappointed a time or two so I feign indifference. But underneath it all I'm just a disillusioned hopeful romantic.
I think Edward totally knew that. (DUH, he can read minds. But seriously, why couldn't he read Bella's mind? Every girl in the audience could read Bella's mind.)
I just have a few statements, disguised as questions:
What is more compelling than a tortured vampire who listens to Debussy, plays the piano and has matriculated at least 100 times . . . plus wants to suck your blood so bad he can taste it? (BONUS!) Yet abstains! (Like every good/bad little vampire should.)
And what's not to love about a vampire family who transcends their own nature? (NICE WORK Stephanie Meyer!)
This movie was soooooo West Side Story meets Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon meets Field of Dreams!
My favorite scene (besides the super hottest kiss on the neck in the history of the world) was the baseball game. Like I always say, vampires who play together, stay together. I'm very certain the Cullen's have a Family Vampire Proclamation framed in the Batmobile. Raise your hand if you think so too.
Overall, I quite liked it. I mean, I quite LOVED it and I want to marry it. Even my goofy husband wants to marry it, so we're good.
I know it's not real or even real-istic or even close to real-ity. But who cares! Reality sucks too! (and bites!)
And you know what? I am so happy I liked it. You don't know how long I've wanted to be part of the Mormon Mommy club.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Today I was thinking of posting a review of Twilight the Movie by a CTD who never read Twilight the book because I know everyone is dying to hear what a CTD who never read the book thinks about the movie.
I thought it would be an appropriate sabbath topic since Twilight will soon be canonized as gospel doctrine, but I think I'll wait until tomorrow because that vampire was righteous, but he was also smokin' hot! (ahem . . . too smokin' hot for the sabbath perhaps--and yet not in a smokin' hot nasty way . . . more in a smokin' hot HOLY way, or at least in a smokin' hot HOLY BATMAN! way, which technically might be within the sabbath boundaries).
But I think I'll still make you wait until tomorrow just for the sake of building the anticipation and excitement (plus that will give me time to write the review during sacrament meeting).
Today, rather than say anything smokin' or substantial or sad or sweet, I think I'll just chatter aimlessly. If that's okay with you.
There are a few things I should clear up about yesterday's post--a few details I added and a few details I didn't add.
First, I didn't really drink a gallon of eggnog or buy a dozen apple pies. I also didn't speak any French to my students. It's a English class and I don't speak French in English. I don't speak French in French either. The only French thing I know how to say is pick your nose, and even though I was sorely tempted to tell my students to pick their noses, I refrained because I'm a professional.
And one more thing. My eyes weren't as dry as a bone on Saturday. I actually cried on Saturday too.
I also went to the temple at 6 a.m. and walked out of the dressing room and down the hall with my dress on backwards. I would have done the whole session with my dress on backwards if the sweet helper ladies hadn't caught me by the arm and escorted me back to the dressing room as they exchanged sweet helper lady smiles.
I also messed up on the words and the temple coordinator had to be summoned to tell me to start over.
But none of these blunders can be blamed on hormonal insanity. I blame the fact that I didn't get to sleep until 2 a.m. because I was sobbing my heart out. Literally. My heart almost popped out from all the sobbing.
Before you think I'm an estrogen wreck, let me explain.
You all know every corner I turned this week brought me face to face with everyone's loss and pain and grief, which was suspicious because I wasn't even preparing for a gospel doctrine lesson. I admit I began to entertain fears that someone I loved, like my sister, who happened to be in the hosptital, might die.
But then she didn't so I went to bed.
I was sleeping soundly until 11 p.m when the phone rang. It was the Elder's Chorum President. He was calling about one of my friends in the ward who's three year old son had put a piece of plastic in his mouth and swallowed it. They couldn't dislodge it.
He was gone.
Inconsolable INCONSOLABLE inconsolable
Heart breakingly heart wrenchingly heart achingly inconsolable
To hear a sobbing mother who has just lost her tender child is unforgettably unforgetable and utterly unutterable
There's a grief that can't be spoken. There's a pain goes on and on.
This line from Les Miserables the musical is all I can think of to say.
I could tell that even my cute husband wad deeply saddened because I found him downstairs watching cowboy movies at 4:30 a.m.
How fortunate we are for every single day, hour, minute, second our children live and breathe and laugh and cry and whine and wear us out and drive us crazy.
Thank God for every crazy moment!
Go and gather your children around you RIGHT NOW! For time is running short. Huddle them together. Kiss them, hug them, LoVe them, read to them, play games with them . . . as if it were the last kiss, hug, love, book, game in the world.
Go borrow some money and take them to Disneyworld. Better yet, rob a bank so you don't have to pay the money back. God will forgive you in the end.
Crowd every corner of your life with as many memories you can squeeze into your soul so you'll have more to cry over when it happens to you. Because it will happen. To all of us. It's the name of the game and we all signed on the dotted line.
(Shucks, I just got all sad and substantial again, didn't I?)
Anyway, Carpe Diem!
And I pinky promise tomorrow I'll be funny again.
LY everyone, LY!!!
And have a nice day!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
p.s. I'm not really blogging right now. I'm in sacrament meeting writing my Twilight review.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
The first time he asked me was when I fixed a deliciously healthy and hearty lunch of Salmon and mashed pototoes, licked my plate clean and then poured myself a bowl of Lucky Charms.
Then the tears commenced. It wouldn't have been so bad except I don't have a lot of frequent cryer miles to my name, so every tear is on the radar.
On Monday I cried crocodile tears while watching a Thomas Jefferson documentary. I also cried when I opened our utility bill for $250 since we don't even have air con or heat and if I want to get warm I have to turn on the oven.
On Tuesday I cried butterfly tears when the-little-butterfly-that-could flew away into the big wide world. Then I got gloomy listening to The Carpenters Christmas album so I drank a gallon of egg nog. (Why doesn't John Mayer make a Christmas album?)
On Wednesday I cried buckets of French tears while reading Les Miserables and I ate French toast for dinner and I had to ask my night class to pardon my French when they all got 3/20 on the quiz.
On Thursday I cried again just because I watched an interview with Ken Burns about his filmmaking process and about Jackie Robinson's funeral. The filmmaking process is so beautiful and Jackie's Robinson's funeral is so sad. I went to McDonalds and ordered a dozen apple pies.
On Friday I cried monstrous tears when I found out my sister was in the hospital in monstrous pain, (after being in and out of the hospital and in and out of monstrous pain all week.) My sister got much more $$$, beauty, talent, grace, charm and Ikea Furniture than I did, but that poor rich, beautiful, talented, gracious, charming girl also got much more pain, so I don't begrudge her the rest.
Today I got the phone call that she's out of the woods and out of the hospital, (and I got my period--you were right, Mariko), and I got a long winter's nap, and now my eyes are as dry as a bone.
I guess I'm not pregnant after all.
(I mean, phew!)
The good news is I will be back to my funny-not-pregnant-dummy self again next week.
P.S. Did anyone see this comment from David Santos of Portugal on my last post? Let me refresh your memory: "Well, well, well! Beautiful posting!!! I love your imagination! Congratulations!!! Have a nice Day!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
First: Has the CTD Diaries gone international or what?
Second: well, well well! What does that mean? Does he think he caught me with my hand in the cookie jar?
Third: What does he mean he loves my imagination? I didn't make that butterfly story up. That was 100% true. I have no imagination. That's why incredible things happen to me, because I can't think of them myself.
Fourth: What is he congratulating me for? My imagination? My butterfly whispering abilities? (please be specific in your comments, people.)
Fifth: Does he TRULY want me to have a nice day or what? That's at least 15 exclamation points. I've never had such a sincere wish before.
Mahalo David Santos!
Friday, November 21, 2008
It's a sweet story if you have the stomach for it. Maybe the sweetest butterfly story ever told, because it's 100% true, without a single embellishment.
It's a story that might make Pat and Lisa cry because they're tender that way. But don't feel bad if like my husband and daughter you giggle and shake your head and say "you are one strange dummy." It won't hurt my feelings.
This story began without any emotional attachment. It was simply a story about life and about ethical dilemmas and choices and hope and faith, but not about butterflies. The butterflies were incidental to the story. They were just there to act out the life lesson.
But as soon as I shed real tears over a real butterfly the story became smaller (as opposed to larger) than life. The story became about the butterfly. The little butterfly that could.
Last week my son brought 2 caterpillars home and placed them in a plastic bucket with a whole lotta love (and a whole lotta leaves).
I had been through this before so I knew the beginning, the middle and the ending to this predictable caterpillar-crawls-around-house-before-cocooning-himself-then-emerging-as-a-butterfly-who-can't-stop-banging-his-head-against-the-sliding-glass-door story.
But then something unpredictable happened. My son accidentally detached the dangling cacoon from it's original dangling location.
Coincidentally, my daughter had just learned about this very thing at church and she immediately informed my son that his butterfly was going to be deformed!
"If a butterfly is taken from it's original dangling location he will not grow properly. He will be handicapped. He won't be able to fly."
This alarmed my son. "I DON'T want a deformed butterfly! I don't want a handicapped butterfly either. I don't want a butterfly that can't fly," he declared. "We have to get rid of it!"
Enter ethical dilemma.
Without going into detail about the butterfly abortion laws in Hawaii, I casually said,"we probably shouldn't get rid of it just because it MIGHT be deformed."
My daughter was right and the butterfly was deformed. (In a beautiful sort of way) She came out with curly wings.
"I told you!" my son kept saying.
Would she be able to fly? We didn't know, but we could see that, despite her handicap, that deformed butterfly had sass.
I took both butterflies outside and deposited them on my bogainvillea so they could be free. But there they sat, hour after hour after hour, and no matter how I coaxed and prodded and pushed, they wouldn't fly.
So I brought them in out of the wind and rain and placed them on my fake plastic plant for the night.
I guess old habits die hard, even for butterflies, because in the morning they were both just dangling there like a cocoon.
"Fly! Be Free!" I told them as I opened the sliding glass door. And the healthy one did.
I perched the sassy handicapped one on my plumria tree. And there she sat hour after hour after hour.
So I worked with her--did a little physical therapy--and gave her a little encouragement, but she would simply flutter to the grass and stay put.
By nightfall she was back on the fake plastic plant.
Then my son and I noticed that whenever we carried her around on our finger she would stretch her wings and flap them up and down slowly (at first). But sometimes they would speed up and almost vibrate.
We said all kinds of crazy things to her like, You go girl! (and other things too that made my teenager raise her eyebrows and my tweener say, "HEY, you never talk to us like that.")
Soon she was flying back and forth between my twins and I and it wasn't long before she flew all the way across the room before dropping in exhaustion.
My heart immediately sent out a warning to my head. Just a silly butterfly, don't go getting all slushy.
But I couldn't help it. Maybe it was the way those little handicapped butterfly legs would reach for me everytime I extended my finger. (Gosh, it's been a while since I've had a baby, hasn't it!)
Or maybe it was the way she played along when we put her on the U.S.S. Constitution and said, "You're FLYING!"
But I woke up the next morning and the first thing I thought of was my butterfly.
My twins and I raced downstairs to play with her (probably because we don't have a puppy (or a baby)).
What a cute butterfly fluttering back and forth between us and giving us butterfly kisses.
After the kids went off to school I took her outside for some fresh air and perched her on a low vine next to my sliding glass door. Every so often I would peek out and see her slowly flapping her wings and I would smile.
But later I went out and she was gone. I searched through the grass and the flowers, but she was higher than that!
She was perched on the plumeria tree where she had spent the previous day. My eyes spontaneously flooded with happy tears. "You did it!" I said out loud. "You flew! On your own!"
(And then I looked around to make sure no one from the hood had seen me talking to a tree.)
"Don't leave without saying goodbye," I whispered before returning to the house.
Within minutes I looked back out and she was gone.
I searched again, the grass, the flowers, the trees . . . I could feel the tears welling again. This time they were happy/sad tears. She was gone.
But she wasn't. Not yet. She was waiting for the dramatic exit. She was too sweet and sassy to simply disappear without a perfect story-book/chic-flick butterfly farewell.
She wanted to jerk some tears for real, not just a-little-dab-will-do-ya tears, but a-tissue-full-of-tears that would make me double check to see if there was an invisible red thread trailing from her curly little wings as she swirled around me a few times before flying up, up, and away over my back fence and into the big wide world.
Tears that would make me return whistfully to the window over and over again all day . . . just in case . . .
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Yesterday I received a lovely baby shower invitation for someone who is in China at this very moment adopting a child.
The invitation shared this ancient Chinese proverb:
"An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but never break."
This ancient Chinese proverb, like all ancient Chinese proverbs, made me ponder deeply.
First, how do the ancient Chinese know the thread is red if it's invisible? And if it's invisible anyway, does it matter if it's red? Why not just say there is an invisible thread, or a clearly visible red thread rather than an invisible red thread?
Second, if the invisible red thread is stretchy and unbreakable, wouldn't that make it more elastic than thread?
Third, wouldn't thread most likely break if it's criss-crossed and tangled across the universe?
All things considered, I took it upon myself to revise this ancient Chinese proverb in order to make it more pointed and realistic.
"Regardless of time, place and circumstance, two materials connect those who are destined to meet--invisible elastic, which stretches but doesn't break (unless you cut it) or clearly visible red thread, which criss-crosses, tangles, then most likely breaks on it's way across the universe."
That's more like it, don't you think?
Remind me sometime to tell you how I really feel about destiny.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
But Kahuku high school can also claim Jack Johnson, who turned the music world upside down with the help of a curious little monkey.
How cute is he with my star-struck daughter? (She's only in 5th grade here and I'm only showing you this to make you jealous. It has nothing to do with polite skinny people.)
Kahuku high school can also claim Cubworld, who is on the verge of turning the music world upside down.
And most recently it can claim Tasha Kai, a member of the USA soccer team who brought back an Olympic gold medal from China.
Here's Tasha last Saturday with her three favorite things (besides soccer and Olympic gold medals) her nephew, her dirt bike and her tattoos.
But this post is not about famous people. It's about polite skinny people (and poi) so please allow me to get to the point.
Let's start at the very beginning (since it's a very nice place to start.)
A few weeks ago my daughter made my husband smile. I mean really really smile. His eyes could have lit the world on fire. The reason is because my daughter accidentally made the varsity soccer team. As a Freshman. On the first day of junior varsity tryouts.
She didn't even mean to do it, which added an element of surprise and excitement that turned us all into a bunch of shiny happy people holding hands.
The varsity coach who picked my daughter is Tasha Kai's sister, Krisha Kai. The whole Kai family are Red Raiders for life, but they don't eat football for breakfast, lunch and dinner. They eat soccer (and poi).
On Saturday my daughter played her first scrimmage as a varsity player . . .and she learned a valuable life lesson.
Here she is on the sidelines learning the valuable lesson from the father of all soccer, Benny Kai. We call him cousin Benny because we're all cousins in Hawaii. Everyone on the North Shore knows cousin Benny eats nothing but soccer (and poi) for B, L & D.
"You're too skinny," he's shouting to my daughter. "You need to eat some poi. Come live with me for a month and I'll fatten you up with poi."
"And you're too nice and polite," he's telling her. "Stop being so nice. And don't apologize when you make a mistake. You should only be polite on Sundays."
Later he told my husband, "Your daughter is too skinny. She should come live with me for a month and I will feed her poi and fatten her up."
Then Benny turned to me and said, "She's too polite. Soccer players should only be polite on Sundays. If she lived with me for a month I would teach her how to be polite on Sundays."
After church on Sunday my daughter wasn't the least bit polite all day so I said "Maybe you should go live with cousin Benny for a month. Someone needs to teach you to be polite on Sundays."
She laughed and ate her poi and said, "Come on, Mom . . . everyone knows polite skinny people are overrated!"
confession: I made that last line up for dramatic effect. I just like to put my own opinion in my skinny daughter's polite mouth.(And I don't even know how to make poi.)
But seriously, who wouldn't want someone shouting "you're too skinny!" at you for a month?
P.S. For the record:
His daughter's kinda twiggy too.
Monday, November 17, 2008
I missed me too! I mean, I missed you too!
I had a very nice blog-restful weekend though and if there's one thing I've learned it's that a girl can't blog her life away. And she can't blog her brains out either. At least that's what my husband always says. Not when there are mouths to be fed and bills to be paid and papers to be graded and houses to be batpized by soft scrub.
Speaking of my husband, I asked him if he wouldn't mind performing the baptism by soft scrub on our house since I don't really have the proper power and authority to do it. He looked at me and rolled his eyes and said, "btw, I read your blog and I'd like you to post a retraction to that statement that there must be something wrong with your husband!"
I gulped and said, "YOU read my BLOG? How R.U.D.E! What I say behind your back is private!"
Then he handed me a list of all the movies that make him laugh and said, "PRINT THIS if you wanna live to see your children get to church tomorrow."
He's usually not that forceful, but it was kinda sexy so here's the list:
1. Caddy Shack
2. Ghost Busters
3. Holy Grail
(He laughed a lot in the 80's.)
But fo' real, you guys know I'm teasing, right? Footloose never made him laugh.
So now I'm calling all people who are acquainted with my husband. Please meet me in my comment box ASAP. And bring your favorite hilarious story about my hubby. I need testimonials that he does have a funny bone and that he might just be the funniest guy on the face of the earth, especially when he plays Taboo or Trivial Pursuit. No one is more hysterical when they say Mary Lou Retna was the first Olympic gold medalist to get lasik surgery.
So ANYWAY, to make up for my misuse of blogging power by poking fun of my husband's inappropriate snoozing choices, I ended up baptizing the whole house by soft scrub by myself over the weekend. I even confirmed it. When my husband called from Costco to make sure I wasn't blogging, I told him "YES, I am cleansing! And I am doing a little bit of scrapbooking too, and a teensy weensy bit of tagging, but mostly cleansing, YES!"
Anyway, glad to be back!
Saturday, November 15, 2008
I found this on Alecia's blog while I was cleaning my house.
Copy and paste the words. Bold the things you have done...
1. Started your own blog (Is this a trick question?)
2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band
4. Visited Hawaii (but only for 16 years)
5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than you can afford to charity (If tithing counts)
7. Been to Disneyland (only a bazillion times)
8. Climbed a mountain
9. Held a praying mantis (uhhh, NO!)
10. Sang a solo (and then my mom told me I should take voice lessons)
11. Bungee jumped (HECK NO)
12. Visited Paris (Heck YES)
13. Watched a lightning storm at sea
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch (does clip art count?)
15. Adopted a child
16. Had food poisoning (every day for 12 weeks while I was pregnant)
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty (a bazillion times)
18. Grown your own vegetables
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitch hiked (but only with the missionaries in Mongolia)
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb
26. Gone skinny dipping (only in the Sea of Galilee. Is that blasphemous?)
27. Run a Marathon (only 1/8th of a marathon, to be precise)
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice (and it's way over rated)
29. Seen a total eclipse (of the heart)
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset (DUH! Is that a consolation question?)
31. Hit a home run (only on my honeymoon)
32. Been on a cruise
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person (she's way thinner in person).
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors
35. Seen an Amish community
36. Taught yourself a new language (does da kine pidgin count, brah?)
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied (I can live on love. But don't ask me if I've ever had enough love to be truly satisfied)
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David
41. Sung karaoke
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant (Do my children count? Because they're pretty strange in restaurants)
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight
46. Been transported in an ambulance
47. Had your portrait painted (my husband had one penciled of me for Valentines Day)
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling (only snorkeling. Every time I sign up to scuba dive I get pregnant).
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theater
55. Been in a movie
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business
58. Taken a martial arts class
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies (I sold all the thin mints to myself)
62. Gone whale watching
63. Got flowers for no reason (except on Valentines Day. All I got was this dumb penciled portrait)
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
67. Bounced a check (several times)
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten Caviar
72. Pieced a quilt (But my MIL won't give it to me because she thinks I'll sit on it)
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job (I suck at waitressing. Plus they found out I faked sick)
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person (he's way bigger in person)
80. Published a book
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car
83. Walked in Jerusalem (and got tear gassed in Jerusalem too. And had watermelon thrown at me in Jerusalem too)
84. Had your picture in the newspaper (6th grade. Hope of America. I hope I haven't let America down since then)
85. Read the entire Bible (Art thou crazy?)
86. Visited the White House
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
88. Had chickenpox
89. Saved someone’s life
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous (Jack Johnson! Oh, and the cast of Evan Stevens. Donny's the nicest and Ren is rude!)
92. Joined a book club
93. Lost a loved one
94. Had a baby
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee
100. Copied this from someone elses blog cuz you're original like that
Friday, November 14, 2008
Last night, for instance. I was busting up all night long. Partly because I always get giddy on Thursday nights knowing The Office is coming, but mostly because I put on season 1 of the original Get Smart series while I was making dinner. (what do you mean? Of course I feed my kids.)
Thursday, November 13, 2008
I'm deficient in anything involving computation, calculation, formulation and frosting.
Unfortunately my next door neighbor, Martha put me in charge of making the cake for Swirl's birthday party today.
"No pressure, but make is special!" she said. "And Swirly."
Usually Swirl helps me with all my swirly assignments, but the party was a surprise so I was on my own.
I tried. I really did. I filled the decorator thingie with frosting and started making my swirls, but within 60 seconds the top popped right off. I tried to smash it all back together, but has anyone noticed how sticky and messy and frostingy frosting can get when it's on the loose?
This is the result of troubleshooting with frosting.
Lucky I had a bunch of sprinkles and smarties and dum dum suckers on hand.This is what cute Swirl looks like now that she's 36.
This is Swirl's son and the reason we call her crazy Laura (besides the fact that she has photographic fashion shows in her bathroom mirror.)
And this is what the bff's, Swirl and Martha look like. Oh, and I'm there too. I'm the one wearing the XP (extra petite) short sleeve cowl neck sweater made in Vietnam purchased on sale from the Banana Rebulican 40% off clearance rack.
Don't you love obedient photographers. "Make sure my face doesn't show, but my undergarments do," I told her.
I'm not afraid to let my religion show. I actually prefer to let my light so shine. That's why I have a candle on my forehead.
Like I always say, a candle under a bushel might burn down the whole barn.
P.S. I think Swirl may have been a little disappointed in the presents I gave her. Call me practical, but you never know when a carton of eggs, a bag of onions and a frozen lasagna will come in handy. Plus I owed her all that stuff anyway.
Today is crazy Laura's birthday--my favorite Girl in a Swirl--and she's having a give-away because for some reason she's super excited about turning 36. She's even got her excitement all broken down into percentages. How cute is that? But crazy nonetheless.
Guess what she got for her birthday? A darling blog make-over! But now she can't stop looking at herself, poor thing (we all know what she's going through). I'm predicting we'll soon see photos of her blog taking photos of itself in her bathroom mirror.
Happy Birthday, Swirl! (Even though I don't know you that well because you're just my cute neighbor who lends me onions and lasagna.)
In honor of Swirl's 36th birthday I'm going to talk about Banana Republic. Not because I want to but because it's boring to give tributes to people on their birthdays and because Swirl and I went to Banana Republic together a few weeks ago to get some classy digs for her much-ado-about-nothing photo shoot. (That was not an insult since I really love Shakespeare).
Swirl has been picked as Mother of the Month by Family Fun magazine.
Just between you and me, I don't see why she gets to be Mother of the Month just because she's a hockey mom with a Russian Doll collection. I saw her Russian Doll Collection when I went over to borrow some lasagna and it say's MADE BY HARRY POTTER on it. Wouldn't that be an English doll collection? Plus she's a ho-hum hockey mom who doesn't even wear lipstick.
So have any of you been to Banana Republic lately? Remember how it used to be all jungle/safari/khaki/outback?
Now it's totally vintage/glam/classic/romantic.
Alyson, you would have been having a stroke over the early twentieth century charm. I know you could have found something amazing to go with your killer boots.
Picture the enchanting cuteness of these BR outfits multiplied by 10 because in Hawaii the BR has more plush swoop necks and cowl necks and double-breasted-bolero's-with-bows than mainland stores due to our high volume of Euroean tourists. (YaY for European tourists!) At least that's what the lovely fitting room attendant told me while I was waiting patiently for Swirl to finish her fashion show.
But remember these shoes from Old Navy?
The lovely fitting room attendent was wearing them! YIKES!
Besides these shoes everything about BR was sassy-cool. Except the music. They probably shouldn't be playing Disco if they're going for vintage. I would suggest something more classic/contemporary like Michael Buble. (I probably would have purchased that double breasted textured tweed jacket to the soothing sounds of Michael Buble.)
But other than that . . . the wood floors, the Pottery Barn toilet paper dispenser, the Glade plug-in's wafting delicious burnt ember flavors through the store . . . nice touch, BR!
They even display their ties on book shelves next to hardback classic literature. I bought the one resting on David Copperfield by Charles Dickens.
The hands-down, number one BEST thing about BR is their sizing system. If you're normally a size 10, you'll be happy to know you can fit into a size 6 at BR. And if you're a large in real life, you're a PS (petite small) in Banana Republic life.
Do they have psychological warfare down to a science, or what?
Anyway, everyone go enter Swirl's give-away and drop 36 birthday spankings in her comment box. I'm going to go make her a swirly, dum dum cake.
And btw, while you're at it go read Pat's last post . It was beautiful. MISS YOU, PAT! GWS, Jared. (Stop trying to figure that out. It's Get Well Soon, DUH!)
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
(You gotta love a successful stalking story.)
btw, just in case anyone thinks Dear Jane is me: 1.) I post way too much to be dabbling elsewhere--my loyalties are to the CTD 2.) I have no imagination for fiction. I'm a truth girl. 3.) I don't have hate/envy issues. I only have trust/abandonment issues. 4.) Why would I claim to be a dummy and stupid at the same time? My self esteem just ain't that low. 5.) Why am I defending myself against accusations that haven't even been made?
Okay, let's move on the the Good News portion of the show.
Anyway, she used to be my Relief Society President. For 4 months (then she couldn't hack it and handed it over to me. Plus our ward split and her husband got called to be a Bishop.) She is a former therapist (a real one, I can vouch) who specializes in post traumatic stress stuff. Or maybe she specializes in family relations. I don't know what she specializes in, I just know she gives me chicken skin whenever she waxes wise.
She's funny too. But she can get really really real because she learned life from life, not from tennis.
Whenever we talk story at Foodland or Costco I tell her, "Oh, wise-one-full-of-fluid, please start an Ask Liz column."
What should we Ask Liz first?
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Have you ever noticed that life is like a game of tennis?
Cheaters do prosper sometimes. Especially when they call a shot out that was clearly in. Several times in a row. At crucial points in the game. This happened to my 10 year old on Saturday. His opponant also lied about the score in a critical game, but my son didn't have the nerve to call him out.
He ended up losing the match.
Life is also like a game of tennis because dinkers are stinkers!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Can you feel the truth in that statement?)
On Saturday my daughter played a match against a dinker. I usually don't get rattled for my daughter but I was so giving that dink-eye the stink-eye!
Dinking my daughter! How dare she!
No one dinks my daughter without getting the stink-eye from me!
Don't get me wrong. I can handle dinking if the player is really just a dink. But when a player can PLAY but chooses to dink simply to move their opponent out of position so they can slam it past them, that twists my knickers up, BIG TIME! (I miss Jami so much when I borrow her phrases like that.)
If you're gonna win, win in good form. And if you're gonna lose, lose in good form.
That's what I always say.
I always say that too.
PLAY UP, Dinker! (You little stinker!)
My husband, who really is the yoda of tennis, disagrees with me. He doesn't get rattled by dinkers at all. He says that's life. Life is about dinkers and you have to learn how to play with them. You have to learn how to stay in control of your own game.
Provide us with the perfect opportunity to learn, dinkers do, says he.
Despise psychological warfare, I do, says me.
My husband was lucky. He got to learn life from tennis instead of learning life from life. By the time he was twelve years old he was the #1 player in Utah. He even played against Andre Agassi, (He lost, but he could have married Brooke Shields if he hadn't switched to Basketball. That's the one joke he laughs about.)
Do you want to see a picture of my cute yoda husband when he was a super star?
Oh, look to your left. There he is.
Look at that focus. Now imagine that picking out a roast at Costco.
I would have married him at twelve if I had seen this. All that focus is kinda sexy (unless you're picking out a roast).
So this is how my husband learned to deal with psychological warfare.
I never got to learn that on the tennis court. I had to learn that from my mother-in-law. If I had learned it on the tennis court, the first 15 years of my marriage would have been so much easier.
It took my husband and my father-in-law 15 years to teach me how to play tennis, and I can't tell you how many times I burst into tears. Well yes, I can. I burst into tears once. But it was embarrassing because . . . there's no crying in tennis!
But then they played each other again in doubles. With her partner, my daughter took control of her game and won. Sometimes things are just easier with a partner.
Redemption is sweet. Can you see it in her eyes?
Redemption is sweet in life too. (Notice I didn't say revenge. I said redemption.)
My son played a girl in a wheelchair. She didn't dink. She played up. She played way up.
Which made my son play up.
The girl in the wheelchair lost to my son. But she lost in good form. If she had dinked it more and called a few shots out, she might have been able to win.
They both received the sportsmanship award.
The moral of the story? Dinkers are stinkers. So play up. In good form. But control your own game. And be a good sport. And know the score, in case you have to call the cheaters out.