Thursday, April 30, 2009

Oops, I did it again!

I fell in lub.


With my Spring class.

Every time I begin a new semester I tell myself "They're just students. NOTHING MORE!"

I read the roll. I set the rules. I draw the boundaries.

Each morning I get in their faces and shout, "WHO'S YOUR BOSS?" And they shout, "YOU ARE!"

And then I shout "WHO'S YOUR DADDY?" And they start blinking and shrugging and squirming in their seats. (I love that part. hee hee).

I want to make sure they know this isn't kindee-garden anymore. This is the REAL world. This is BYU-Hawaii!

But then something starts happening. They start morphing into real people. Smart people. Funny people. Insightful people. Then oops, there I go again . . . catching a wave on the aloha spirit.

I really couldn't help myself this term. For goodness sake, they love Tim Tams and Paulo Cuelho and they've read The Secret. How much can one girl take before folding?

Speaking of how much can one girl take? Is it just me or has anyone else noticed that EVERYONE is meeting and greeting EVERYONE ELSE right now!

Bloggers all over are blurring that fine line between the virtual and the actual.



I'm going to start breaking some commandments any second, peeps! And I mean it!



That's right.

Sorry, I was busy turning glinda green and I forgot I get to see EVERYONE ELSE too!

July 11th @ the Provo OLIVE GARDEN! ( I'll be in St. George the following week, btw).

Can't wait for the salad and the breadsticks. (And Kristina P's snuggaroo.)

I'm going to bring a black sharpie so you all can autograph my candy apple red purse. I can autograph your purse too if you want.

And I'm going to order a round of Code Red for everyone. ON ME!

(You're welcome.)

That reminds me, The Nutty Hamster Chick thinks we should plan a cruise and I get to be Richard Simmons.

I can totally do that.

Especially if I get my big hair Japanese straightened like I've been wanting to. I can't wait to teach you guys how to sweat to the oldies, Kung-Fu Panda style.

So start losing weight for our summer Blog-Across-America cruise, peeps. I've already reserved the Hudson River.

And I've already rented The Lub Boat!

Oh, and P.S. Those of you worried about that nasty Swine Flu, my hub, who works in the medical profession, thinks we should all chillax. Did you know that between 30,000-40,000 people die every year from the People flu.

Instead of worrying about avoiding this:

Perhaps we should be more worried about avoiding this:

Look to it, peeps.

(Well you can look to it. I might go ahead and take the risk).


Okay, I have a few announcements to make before the closing prayer. (ah shucks, I haven't said that since I was released as Relief Society president).

LoW is playing some food storage game thingie. Click here to find out about it. She's really into food storage and she's really creative and she SAYS her prize is going to be really cool.

Swirl is talking about food storage with her peeps too. They're planning 10X10 menus together and I've been taking notes. You might want to poke your nose into the conversation too.

And finally, Shelle is letting everyone unload their dirty little secrets in her comment box. You don't want to miss it. And she said if you don't have any dirty secrets you can bring your dirty laundry and she'll wash it for you. I'm going to do that because I just washed all of my dirty secrets.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Big L on the Forehead

Sometimes I wonder if being a mom loosens your grip on reality.

Like one time at an assembly at the elementary school someone pulled me up on stage at the last minute saying they needed a bunch of cool moms to dance. I was totally up for it. I mean, if there's one thing I can do it's shake my groove thing. 

So I rocked out. I was thinking Man my kids must be like, "Oh,yea, that's my MOM! Ain't she jus' da bomb!" But when I actually made eye contact with one of my kids in the crowd I immediately recognized that deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face and that big L on his forehead.

Reality check!

This morning I arose extra early (before my 7:30 a.m. class) to pack my twins a home lunch for their field trip.

I made it from scratch.

I made it with my own two hands.

I made it with love sweet love.

Piping hot musubi and freshly baked banana muffins. (Well, I nuked the rice and SPAM the banana muffins were day-old, but still!)

And then I mixed up some lemonade, poured it into a couple of old Propel bottles and shoved them in the freezer so they would be all slushy.

I was so proud of myself.

I went to class with visions of my twins high-fiving and chest butting each other when they opened the freezer door.

I imagined them spontaneously combusting into herkie kicks upon seeing the nuke warm musubi and day old banana muffins. "Wahoo!" they would shout. "Our mom is the bessssst!"

As it turns out they felt jilted. In fact they confessed they were even a little bit mad a me. Apparently everyone had more lunch than them.


Every. Every. Everyone!

That's what they said anyway.

Every single person in the entire 4th grade had either a bigger or better lunch than my twins.

Except Haley.

Haley just had a sandwich (thank heavens).

Misery loves company and so do losers. Losers LOVE company. Right now I'm just thankful I'm not the only big fat loser mom in Laie (who can bust a move.)

I should have just taken the extra time to buy their love like I usually do.

My Decongestant Daze

I wasn't going to mention this, but I've been sick. Nothing big. Just a head cold. You know da kine. Da kine that leaves you feeling like that grandma who got run over by a reindeer.

I was going to stay home from church so I could lay in bed and blow my nose all day but I received word at 8:30 a.m. that it was up to me to teach the Miamaids what it means to support and sustain the priesthood--a topic for another post (perhaps about how the Young Women manuals haven't been updated since the middle ages).

I had to wing it BIG TIME and then distract them girls with some cookies (made by my friend's husband) and some girly talk about the new Zach Ephron movie 17 Again. Can you ever say enough about a cute 17 year old boy who promotes abstinence and tells a couple of glammed up smutty girls to R.E.S.P.E.C.T themselves.

Of course you can't say enough, especially when you're in a decongestant daze and you're trying to wing a lesson.

And anyway, that Zach Ephron! He's so cute. Now there's a boy I could tell my daughter to support and sustain.

But seriously, it's a slippery slope this topic. But it feels more like a long and winding road when you've got kleenex shoved up your nose.

Admittedly I wandered off topic. Just like I'm going to wander off topic here too.


You could say support is a lot like an onion--it's made up of many layers.

Or you could say support is a lot like a box of chocolates--you never know what you're going to get.

Or you could say support is like a lot like love--it has 5 primary languages.

Lets just say, you can feed and clothe your kids. You can provide a safe, warm place for them to hang loose. You can drive them to every practice and show up at every game. You can sit in the front row and snap photos of their every performance. You can buy them a hundred books or a thousand Yugio cards or a million pogs, but don't miss a last minute, optional lunch-on-the-lawn at the elementary school or they'll accuse you of being unsupportive.

And don't poke them in the eye every time they bring home a stray rooster.

And don't ever ever ever say the word PSYCHOLOGICAL WARFARE after your daughter plays a tennis match, lest she races from the room with her hands over her ears screaming, "See why I don't tell you anything! YOU NEVER SUPPORT ME!!!!!!!"

Kids these days!

But our kids are just God's way of saying "Muwaaahahaaaa! Open wide! Wider! WIDER! Here comes a taste of your own medicine!"

I've dished those words out myself a hundred times to my hub after I tell him I want to quit working and cleaning and cooking so I can write all day long (and eat bon bons and drink Mountain Dew).

Poor guy. He tries, bless his heart. It's too bad my primary love language isn't That's-just-not-practical or Okay-but-we'll-have-to-tighten-our-belts.

But once in a while he does these cute things that make me feel little twinges. Like last week at the dentist.

He knows I envy him because his hygienist is coo coo for cocoa puffs. Mine doesn't notice the tears streaming down my cheeks while she bad mouths Old Navy and laughs about her favorite fish fillet commercials, but HIS! She's got a tooth loose somewhere in that noggin' of hers (and I'm not talking about her mouth).

So last week after my cleaning my hub was waiting anxiously for me in the hallway.

"Come 'ere," he said with his eyes as big as quarters. "I have to show you something."

He led me to his hygienist's room where several recent glossy 8X10 photos had been pinned up on the wall.

"Look. My hygienist just got back from Taiwan," he told me.

And I looked. And there she was lounging with a couple of tigers in a monastery. They looked as if they were discussing the pros and cons of celibacy.

Next to the photo of her cat in a hospital gown in a coma was a photo of her playing pick-up ball with a couple of arangatangs in yellow basketball shorts.

By the dental floss flo charts was a photo of her waving to the camera as if she'd just won Miss America, completely unaware that she had a ginormous albino boa constrictor hanging from her neck.

And near the photo of her dog in a dental chair getting his teeth flossed was a photo of a couple of elephants with paintbrushes perched in their trunks.

"They're painting their self portraits," my hub whispered with a grin.

"And see this picture here" he pointed to a picture of a lovely bouquet of flowers. "One of the elephants painted this for her."

I saw the painting with my own two eyes, peeps. I'm telling you, Monet's got nothin' on the Taiwanese elephants.

"Isn't this great!" My hub said.

And then he squeezed my arm. "I thought you'd love this stuff for your blog."

Suddenly I felt all flushed.

Now that's what I call support!

Monday, April 27, 2009

Crush on Crash?

First of all, I am suddenly aware that there is way too much SPAM and seaweed ignorance in this world. Because intolerance is rearing it's ugly head I am officially taking it upon myself to start the NAASS (National Association for the Advancement of SPAM and Seaweed.)

Let me appeal to your intellect if not your taste buds. Do you not realize that seaweed is the highest source of calcium of anything you can put in your mouth? And SPAM is the highest source of . . . SPAM!

I have a dream that one day all men will be able to sit at the same table of brotherhood and eat green eggs and spam. (And that the Broadway musical Spamalot will play twice a day in Broadway Heaven.)

Okay enough about SPAM! Let's talk about my hub.

I have reason to believe he's been reading my blog.

He must have an ulterior motive, right?

Maybe he's trying to make sure I don't say something wrong. Or worse yet, something right.

Or maybe . . .

Do you think he could have a crush on Crash? (fingers crossed. please please pretty please!)

It's just little things that make me wonder, like Friday while I was making dinner he pulled me aside, backed me up against the wall and said, "Hey dummy, you wanna play chips and dip? You can play the chip and I'll play the dip."

You have to have read my Potato post on Venus and Mars to get that. (But HE would have had to read it toooooooo, if you get my drift.)

My mind was racing, but I acted cool. "You don't have to play the dip, honey, you are the dip."

He reached out and gripped my shoulders. I mean he really gripped my shoulders. Until I said "OWIE!"

Then he let go and said, "You wanna go on a date?"

A what? We haven't been on a date in like forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever.

So we went to the beach and we walked and walked and walked and walked. AND walked. Seriously, we felt like a couple of pioneer children.

Then my hub said, "You wanna do some water therapy?"

So we dove in and tread water like our life depended on it. We couldn't think of anything to argue about so instead we tilted our heads back, closed our eyes and started singing Cheryl Crow.

When I opened my eyes my hub was staring me down with a big goofy grin on his face.

"You wanna play would you rather?" he said.

"You wanna get divorced?" I said.

He just grinned like he didn't believe me. "Would you rather make spagetti for dinner or tacos for dinner?"

"Would you rather me poke you in your left eye or your right eye?" I said.

"Would you rather go to a movie tonight or go to a movie tonight?"

It was a hard choice, but I picked the movie. And so did he. Finally we agreed on something.

He was a bit coy on the way to the movie. After casting a few sidelong glances my way he finally said, "thanks."

"For what?" I said.

"You know . . . for breaking up with yourself. You've been getting in our way for a while now."

"Uhhhhh . . . you're welcome . . . (I guess)."

His eyes lingered on mine in an appreciative way and my stone cold heart skipped a few pebbles. I batted my eyes and slipped into my uber cute voice, "Hey, uh, Crash is having a meet and greet on July 11th at the Provo Olive Garden. You want to come? I bet she would give you her autograph."

He laughed and laughed and laughed. "No way!" he said. "I'm not going to some silly meet and greet!"

(Okay, so maybe he doesn't have a crush on Crash, after all.)

Anybody else have a crush on Crash who wants to come?

Anyone? Anyone?

Friday, April 24, 2009

Speaking of mysteries of the universe . . .

It's no surprise that I like to ponder the mysteries of the universe. Well lately I've been pondering some of the deepest and most profound questions of my adult life.

Like why do good things happen to bad people?

And why can't money can't buy happiness when we all know it can rent it?

And if Time is such a great healer, why does it kill all of it's pupils?

And why didn't anyone tell me my skirt was on backwards until AFTER my class this morning?

And why do mainlanders think SPAM is a four letter word?

Kristina P.'s last post was complete and utter blasphemy.

Kristina P!!!! For goodness sake, you don't put mustard on SPAM then shove it between two pieces of WHITE bread! (Or haole bread as we call it in Hawaii.) Don't you mainlanders know anything?

You bathe SPAM in rich, zesty soy sauce, gently lay it to rest on a fluffy bed of rice then tuck it in with a piece of succulent seaweed.

It's called musubi, peeps. Everyone knows that! (Except for those of you who DON'T know that.)

Let me attempt to be the Pioneer Woman of the Pacific and show you the recipe.

Here are the key ingredients:

You all have soy sauce right? (If not, you can lift it from your local diner.) The only items you will have to go out of your way to find are:

Seaweed (and shaka). (Always better when they're together.)

A musibi maker, which you can pick up for .99 at your local Longs Drugstore. (Or at least at MY local Longs Drugstore.) If it starts to crack you can hold it together with a sturdy rubber band. (Even a flimsy rubber band will work if you don't have a sturdy one.)

Oh, and don't forget the rice.

A 25 lb. bag of NO.1 extra fancy California calrose works best.

Oh, and some SPAM and PAM.

A good way to remember how to make musubi is to think: First PAM then SPAM then CRAM then JAM.

A lot of the mysteries of the universe rhyme like that.

First spray the musubi maker with PAM so the delicate seaweed wraps don't tear.

Then gently boil your SPAM in soy sauce . . .

until they form a lovely caramelly glaze.

Tenderly place the succulent seaweed wrap into the musubi maker.

Now cram in one layer of fluffy rice.

Topped by two pieces of zesty soy glazed spam.

Topped again by one more layer of fluffy rice.

Then JAM it, baby! Jam it down as hard as you can.

Normally a jammer is included with your .99 musibi maker, but I used my husband's hands because he's a former hand model.


Now would you rather cram it or jam it down your throat? Totally up to you.

P.S. Speaking of would you rather. It appears my hub read my post about our near divorce, which incited a heated argument. He claims that he said he would rather live with two ostriches than 12 Benjamin Buttons. Apparently I misunderstood him.

"Why would I want to live with 12 OLD people?" he keeps insisting. (Not a very politically correct thing to declare out loud if you ask me!)

You should always keep your prejudices to yourself.

That's what I always say.

P.S.S. I just thought of one more mystery to ponder. Why in the world would Wolfgang post a video of himself on his blog screaming like a little girl while his girlfriend waxes his chest? Ewwww. I'm washing my mind out with soap right now.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

How the Rockstar saved my marriage

As you know, yesterday I was on the verge of divorce after eating a whole McDonald's big and tasty and playing Would You Rather with my hub.   

He's crazy that one.   We can't agree on anything.

My SIL, Skeet posted a comment saying she was on my hub's side.  And then I remembered the time I played Would You Rather with HER and how I had to keep saying "YOU are sooooo Weird!" 

She's crazy too!  Of  COURSE she's on my hub's side.  

But then I got this mysterious comment from a mysterious stranger named Rockstar:

Have you ever seen the Seinfeld where he falls in love with the girl that's just like him. He says, "Now I know what I've been looking for all these years... Myself. I've been waiting for ME to come along and now I've swept myself off my feet."  

He eventually breaks it off because he can't stand to be with someone just like himself. 

Wow!  Rockstar is right.  I'm in love with ME! 

But if I was married to ME there would be twice as many open, earmarked, half-read books scattered around the house and double the piles of papers and projects on the counter.  

And my children would all be dummies.  

And who would take care of the kids and clean the house so I could blog and read and ponder the mysteries of the universe?  

I've decided to break it off with myself and stay with my hub. 

And as for the mysterious Rockstar.  I only know one, besides Jack Johnson, and that's my brother, Dan.  Not only does he have a rockin' band, but, what a coincidence, he's also a marriage and family therapist.  

Wouldn't you know it!  My own mysterious, rockstar, therapist brother saved my marriage on his first try!

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

My post party party post

After we found out our kids had made it on to the National History Day competition in Washington D.C. and that our daughter had made the quarter finals in the OIA tennis tounament I said "let's go crazy!" And my husband said "let's get nuts!'

So we ate at McDonalds.

I seriously ate a whole big and tasty without saying EWWWWW.

And then I downed my root beer and inhaled my fries with a giggle.

And then I said "LET'S PARTY like it's 1999!" And my husband said, "Let's throw our hands in the air like we just don't care!"

Then we fell asleep.

We didn't organize anything or put anything away. 

We didn't coordinate or make arrangements for anything.

We didn't iron or print or staple or glue or tape or polish or hem a single thing.

We didn't even put on our PJ's. We simply walked up the stairs and fell into a deliciously luxurious sleep.

Until I woke up at 2 a.m. in a deep fried stupor.  I couldn't move because I was pinned in on either side by my 10 year old twins who must have said, "Look at mom and dad partying like rockstars! Let's crash the party."

When I got up the next morning I had a super-sized carbonation hang over, my eye lashes were stuck together and my living room looked like it had been sneezing itself silly.

Why do things always fall apart just as other things are coming together?  Huh? huh? huh?  

A few nights later we decided to give the celebration another try so I bought a chocolate haupia pie from Ted's Bakery, which I'm both addicted and allergic to, and busted out our latest family game Would You Rather.

It was delightful until my hub and I had a startling realization. We should not be married. We have absolutely nothing in common.

Get this:

He would rather be liked by everyone in the world than be loved by half and hated by the other half.

He would rather brave a sandstorm than a hailstorm.

He would rather live in a country run by football players than live in a country run by supermodels.

And worst of all, he would rather let 6 ninety year old women and 6 ninety year old men share our house with us rather than let 2 ostriches share our house with us.

What the what?

We are pretty much on the verge of divorce now.   (I did not sign up for 12 Benjamin Buttons when I said
I do! )

Am I right, or am I right, peeps?

I'm just waiting for confirmation from the universe.

Monday, April 20, 2009

How girlz day really went down

Remember when I was a bad mommy because I missed that last minute, optional, lunch-on-the-lawn at the elementary school?

Well a week or so ago I got a phone call at 9:30 a.m. It was one of my twins. He informed me that there was going to be another last minute, optional lunch-on-the-lawn and if I didn't want to pay for years of therapy, I had best get my booty planted on that lawn by 11 a.m.

"And bring Musubi!" he added.

For those of you who don't know what musubi is, let me show you:

I'm not ashamed to admit I let my twins guilt trip me into proving my love with a bit of spam and rice wrapped in seaweed.

And with a bag of Bongos.

I documented that I was there in case my twins ever try to sue me for neglect.

My next door neighbor, Martha was there in her pants. (You can call her M-dog because that's her tagging name.)

And guess who I found in the cafeteria sitting comfortably at a table with chairs!

Anjeny, Swirl and Swirl's cute mom, Jane.

I didn't judge them, but I did offer a gentle smack upside the head and a friendly "HELLO!! Lunch-on-the-lawn doesn't entail tables and chairs!"

We had so much fun sitting at the table and chairs that all 4 of us, at the exact same instant, said "Hey, let's have a girlz day next week!"

And so we grabbed Martha and we hit the open road like Thelma and Louis (If Thelma had a 2 year old and Louis had a cute mom and a couple of cute friends who needed to go to Sears and the bank).

I always love girlz dayz with Swirl. Just the drive alone makes it worth it because no one tells a quirky story quite like Swirl, (except Swirls cute mom, Jane). You wouldn't believe the hilarious things I could tell you about Swirl's college roomates, and Swirl's ward chorister and Swirl's X-fiance that she left at the alter.

The amazing thing is they're all true. No embellishments.

Like did you know that Swirl grew up thinking her name was Charlie and that she lived in a chocolate factory? Every canister/drawer/cupboard/plastic bin in her house was filled with mini Hershey bars or candy kisses or bite size Snickers. She even had to brush her teeth with chocolate ice cream.

It was fun to have Swirl's cute mom, Jane along for girlz day because the ride was double the quirky fun.

And the quirky fun didn't end with the ride.

First stop was Borders where I was shocked to find Anjeny and Swirl in the crafting section. I knew the were into crafts . . .

but I had no ideas they were into (what my mom would call) Big-Behind crafts.

When I said, what the what? Swirl showed me what they were looking at.

Oh my goodness. Oh my goodness. And just look at cute Jane, enabling her daughter's dysfunctional crafting like that.

Martha confessed that it was her first time at Borders.

And Anjeny confessed that she wants world peace.

Then I ditched the crafting section and bought me my first David Sedaris book after reading this post from Wesley's Mom. (I'm totally HOOK, LINED and SINKERED now, btw!)

I also bought this book to help me translate the universe.

In case you haven't noticed the universe often speaks in ancient Chinese secrets.

After Borders we walked past the pet store where Swirl tried to show us the difference between guinea pigs and bunny rabbits, but to no avail because, well . . . who the helk cares, right?

My favorite part of the day was when cute Jane felt sorry for all the puppies because everyone of them was sleeping. She was sure the pet store manager had slipped them some Tylenol PM.

They weren't real dogs, but I humored her. And then I laughted my behind off at her. And then I told her we better let the sleeping dogs lie.

And then her purse accidently hit me on the back of the head.

And then Swirl was like, "HEY LOOK, that smoothie shop stole my name!!"

I think she could sue, don't you?

And then we all got our walkers and canes and hobbled to the bank and to Sears and then hobbled to Arby's for lunch.

I got a Turkey sandwhich, but this is all I could eat before M-dog started telling TMI about some of the odors emitted behind closed doors at her house.

See I personally subscirbe to the notion that odors emitted behind closed doors, should stay behind closed doors.

It was in Arby's that the girlz bound and gagged me and lit my pants on fire fire and called me a liar liar.

I was totally going to come clean about this post and how Swirl didn't really boss me around or try to steal Kute Kasey from me, but I'm not going to bother setting the record straight after she called me a Jim Carey.

So that's my story truth. And I'm sticking to it!

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Start Spreading the News!

If I was Jimmy Stewart I would say It's a wonderful life!

And if I was Nacho Libre I would say my life is gooooooooood!

If I was Michael Jackson I would say it's a thriller!

(And then I would say Peace OUT peeps!)


Okay, put your ear muffs on because I'm about to turn into my alter ego.

No, I'm not going to say nani nani boo boo and do a touchdown dance on my daughter's social studies teacher's face even though she told her and her performance group that she would have a heart attack if they made it past the school History Day competition.

But they DID make it past schools. (nani nani boo boo) And then they DID make it past districts. (nani nani boo boo) And today they DID make it past states.


They're going to Nationals in Washington D.C. because they won 3rd place.

And so is my son because his group won 1st place!.

And so am I because I gave birth to both of them.

So start spreading the news because . . .

I heart New York, New York with all my heart.

And it's only 5 hours from D.C.

You connect the dots . . .

P.S. Today my daughter also won her first two OIA championship tennis matches. She's now in the quarter finals.

Touchdown! Dance!

Okee dokee, I'm done bragging my brains out. You can remove your ear muffs now.

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Mariko and Me (oh, and Swirl and Martha and Anjeny)

So I met my daughter's hoity toity English teacher, Mariko at a History Day dress rehearsal.

And guess what!

She's got a sexy voice.

It's like butter. Country Crock butter.

Or cream. Whipped cream in a can.

If whipped cream in a can was made of velvet and country crock butter was made of silk that would be her voice.

You wanna see photographic evidence that I met her?

This is me and Mariko if I were a smokin' hot sparkly vampire and she were a tub of country crock butter. (Can you see me glittering?)

I take that back. This is me and Mariko if I were a creepy hot sparkly vampire.

This is me and Mariko if I had Betty Davis eyes.

And she had Pantene Pro-V hair.

This is me and Mariko and our History Day guru friend, Colleen.

Did you forget to wear your 3-D glasses too?

Okay, stare at the photo for 30 seconds without blinking.

You are getting sleeeeeepy.

Now move to the left at super sonic speed.

Now the right.

Left again. Up. Down. Up. Down. To the left. To the left. Everything you own in a box to the left.

Faster! Faster! (Is that really EVERYTHING you own?)


(Btw, is it just me or does Mariko seem a bit intolerant of the dummy?)

(Snobbity can of spray whipped cream!)

So in my last post I started telling you about my big day out with my girlz in the hood.

All my girlz already told their versions of the day (see my last post for links).

They told it like it was. Exactly like it was.

I call that happening truth (because Tim O'Brien calls that happening truth).

The thing about happening truth is WHO CARES?

Except those rare souls who want to know if you cleaned out your car before you went to Arbys.

Swirl told the happening truth. And Martha told the happening truth plus a bunch of TMI about her husband's sock drawer, her addiction and her fat retirement check which she safety pinned to her bra as soon as the Arbys cashier extended her palm.

Martha, try to get to girlz day before page 200!

Oh, and Martha, must you make us sound like a the Golden Girls taking our first field trip away from the nursing home?

At least Anjeny used the word crazy ladies enough to make us sound like Golden Girls gone wild!

So who wants to hear the story truth raise your hand?

Okay, but can I get through History Day first? pretty please!


W!DM (Wait! Dont' MOVE!)

ISSRTYAUFI! (I said, stay where you are until further instruction!)

AYSH? CIN (Are you STILL here? Cuz I'm not.)

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Soft & Dry (plus a guest post from Swirl's mom)

Aloha everyone!

Guess what! My eyes are dry!

I'm still soft, but now I'm Soft & Dry. (hee hee) Get it? Soft & Dry? Sweaty eyes?

Ahhhh, sometimes I just think funny thoughts. (A million dollars to the first person who can tell me what movie that came from.)

Okay, first things first:

One of our friends has a broken heart and she needs us ASAP! I kid you not! Her heart has been ripped right in half because her baby has been taken away. It's Tiffany over at The Lowe Crew.

Tiffany was raising a foster son from birth. She had already adopted his two sisters and was trying to adopt him as well, but his mother has changed her mind and now he's gone. POOOR TIFFANY!

This is not a test of the emergency broadcast system. This is an actual emergeny! Calling all cars! Please make your way to Tiffany's comment box ASAP for a group hug and a family prayer.


That means YOU, Nutty Hamster Chick. You know the ropes to this drill, girlfriend.

Okay, second things second:

Girlz day in the hood.

Two days ago my neighbors, Martha, Anjeny, Swirl and her cute mom, Jane went on a girlz day and I tagged along. Apparently Martha, Anjeny and Swirl hurried and blogged about it in quote/unquote italicized "self defense."

Apparently they wanted to get the story straight before I twisted it all up into knots.

AS IF!!!

Truthfully, the day was just okay. Better than the last girlz day to Fabric Mart where I ditched out early and went to Abargios by myself to drink Mountain Dew and listen to George Michael. (All that fabric makes me itchy.)

The only thing I didn't appreciate was when all the girls backed me into a corner at Arby's, lit a match, tossed it at my new Savers jeans and started chanting "Liar! Liar! Pants on fire!"

I think they think you think I tell the truth on my blog.

Did anyone miss the memo that I never claimed my blog to be true.

I only claimed it to be true as far as it is translated correctly.

I can't be held responsible for any mistranslations, peeps.

Am I right or am I right?

But there's one person who hasn't told their side of the story yet and that's Swirl's mom, Jane. In all fairness, she should be allowed her say . . . so I've taken it upon myself to guest post as Jane.

Okay, here I go, guest posting as Jane:

The first time I met Crash was a year ago before she was cute and funny and famous. Seriously she wasn't cute or funny or famous when I met her. Swirl was in the hospital and near death and Crash was about as dull and listless as a potato.

Now that she's famous though I have to admit she is kinda cute and funny in person (when she tries).

I totally dig her candy apple red bag, but her green cordorouy jacket could use some POP! POW! PIZAZZ! If I were her mom I would teach her a thing or two about getting bedazzled.

OMGOSH! Can I finish this story tomorrow? I've got to run to my daughter's History Day dress rehearsal and guess who's going to be there? Her hoity toity English teacher, Mariko! Eeeek. So excited. I've never talked to her face before. I've only talked behind her back.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Today I'm in a tender way . . .

It happens to the best of us, I know.

I was going to defend myself against Swirl and Anjeny's account of our girlz day yesterday, but I can't seem to muster up any gumption so I'm going to put that off 'til tomorrow so I can wallow in my tender way today.

It's April 15th and we all know what that means. It's that other-dreaded-three-letter-word-that-ends-with-X-day.

It also means it's my nephew, Matthew's 10th birthday anniversary, which means his birthstone is dangling from my ears. He was born on this day, and then he slipped away 12 hours later.

Happy Birthday baby Matthew. Don't forget to send a hug from heaven to your mommy and daddy.

Ain't loss just the saddest word in the dictionary? If I ever write my own dictionary I promise to leave that word out.

(If anyone is grieving the loss of a child this site, Stepping Stones may bring you comfort.)

Today is also Jackie Robinson day and anyone who knows me knows my heart belongs to Jackie Robinson (and Jack Johnson and Jack Bauer and Jack Shepherd).

I'm vehklempt just thinking about the day I was overcoming a tired problem and I prayed to him and he took the time to answer me with a bottle of rubber cement. You have to read this post and then this post to fully understand.

For some reason Jackie Robinson day is making me think about my daughter's tennis match last week. While she was playing my husband kept sneaking out of work to watch her. He positioned himself outside the fence directly behind her where you couldn't see him well because of the wind screen. But you could hear him cheering her on and giving her advice:

Keep your eye on her racket . . . Watch your swing . . . That's it! . . . Beautiful topspin . . . Okay, now move your feet . . . You can take this girl . . . there you go, you've got her . . . NICE RALLY!

That's my girl!

My eyes got a little sweaty and my mind went back to the day I found out I was having a baby girl. My poor husband didn't know what to make of me when he found me crying on the couch in the middle of the night.

"What's wrong?" he said.

"I'm scared."

It took him a lot of coaxing to get me to blurt out that I was afeared of him being a good dad.

He didn't understand what it felt like to worry that I might be jealous of my own daughter because she would have a daddy who made her feel loved and adored.

Surprisingly I have never felt jealous when watching my husband shower my daughter with love and attention, just profound gratitude that I married a man who wasn't constantly battling his own demons.

The thing about people who battle their own demons all their life is they don't have any time and energy left to nurture the ones they love. And little girls need a lot of nurturing. They need water and sunshine so their hearts won't turn to stone.

Little girls need someone to stand behind the fence and say That's my girl!

Oh Fathers! Take heed to John Mayer and be good to your daughters!

My dad has been gone for 27 years. Maybe he stands behind the fence now and roots for me to move my feet. I don't know. Sometimes I try to imagine him sneaking out of work to be there. Sometimes I even try to feel him there. But when I turn around and search for him among the sea of souls from the universe that I know surround us and lift us and encourage us, I can't ever find him.

He's so NOT there.

Is that too much information for a dummy to share?

I know I'm not s'pose to leave you all here today without saying something hopeful like but I know he's there somewhere and I can't wait to see him again someday.

Or something compassionate like I understand he had his challenges which kept him absent yet absent.

Or something dismissive like but that's okay, that was then, this is now.

But what was then is always now. You get me?

FYI, FTR, BTW, I have forgiven him his weakensses, his trespasses and his neglect. My anger and disappointment is gone with the wind. But so is my shot at saying my heart belongs to daddy.

Now I just say my heart belongs to Jackie Robinson (and Jack Johnson and Jack Bauer and Jack Shepherd) and call it good.

(Thank goodness for all the great Jacks in the world who not only conquer their own demons, but also jump in and wrestle everyone else demon's too!)

P.S. My Crash Test Dummy tender moment theme song for the day is track 33 by Motion City Soundtrack.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

This is NOT a dream!

Today I told my husband "I can't believe you let me sleep for 3 days straight!"

He gave me a puzzled look.

Then I told him how I felt like sleeping beauty, minus the handsome prince to kiss me awake, and how I had a bunch of crazy dreams about History Day dress rehearsals and soccer games and tennis matches and seeing Iwa at Costco.

When I got to the part about the kids finding carrots and broccoli and Burger King sweet and sour sauce in their Easter eggs he started laughing himself silly.

I was like, "I know, right?"

But he kept laughing his head off.

So I was like, "WHAT?"

Apparently, as it turns out, by the way, for your information, and for the record, I wasn't dreaming after all.

And he has photographic evidence to prove it:

Apparently I filled their eggs with McDonald's ketchup too.

And apparently I'm losing it so my husband, in his infinite love and wisdom, took it upon himself to grab my shoulders and shake some sense into me--with great zest.

"Enough already of the dream interpretations! IWA is NOT your favorite blogging friend!" He yelled, "You DID see her at Costco, fo' real!"

Then he pointed to the stacks and stacks of papers and final exams on the counter and said, "This is not a dream either. This must be completed and cleared out of here by Thursday at noon."

"And History Day dress rehearsals? NOT a DREAM! Our two oldest children are competing in the state competition on Saturday! "

By this time he was shouting in my face like Chris Farley.

"And your daughter? She's also competing in the state tennis tournament on Saturday! This is your reality! WAKE UP Little Suzy! Get'cha Get'cha Get'cha Get'cha head in the game!"

And then he broke into a choreographed musical number.

So thank you to all who have been offering dream interpretations (especially my next door neighbor, Martha, who sent me this link) but apparently, by the way, for the record, I am living the dream!

Which is to say I'm living the vida loca!

YaY me!

Monday, April 13, 2009

And the winner is . . .

On Friday I administered my last final.

(Administered. Does that make me sound smart? That's how we speak in the academic world when we're pretending not to be dummies.)

So anyway, Friday I administered my last final to my morning class. And I was right. They didn't hug me. Some of them didn't even say goodbye. Some of them didn't even let the door hit them on their way out.

But I was also wrong. Some of them DID hug me. And Erin gave me a beautiful flower lei. Inside I was crying tears of joy, but outside I was like a James Joyce novel--unreadable (without cliff notes). I didn't even crack a smile when I looked at her and said "thanks, but I'm allergic."

See that's the secret to being a really good teacher--never let them see you sneeze.

After the class was over I went home and fell asleep.

And I didn't wake up until 5 minutes ago. Three days peeps! You can call me sleeping beauty if you want. I slept and slept and slept and all the while I had these crazy dreams that I was at History Day rehearsals and soccer games and then Costco! I even saw Iwa at Costco. Iwa, are you happy I dreamed about you? I wonder if it means that you're my favorite blog friend?

I also dreamed that my kids were whining because their Easter Eggs were filled with carrots and broccoli and Burger King sweet and sour sauce.

And then I woke up in a jelly bean forrest surrounded by fake grass and egg salad sandwiches.

Now that I'm wide awake and I don't have to stand in front of my morning class and listen to them boo me anymore, it's time to come out of the closet and confess my favorite student.

Half of the class has already been disqualified. The other half are models of perfect human behavior.

Take these three girls, for example:

And compare them to Ben and April in the background who can't stop being in love.

This is Jasmine! She's a lovely and she's from Ideeho!

She looks like a Jeanie. She talks like a Jeanie. I'm pretty sure she is a Jeanie.

I just wonder where she's hiding the Jeanie bottle?

Because I want my three wishes.

This is Dani. She is a stinkin' smarty pants, and she means business, peeps. Don't try to get her to crack a smile while she's concentrating because her brain will start smoking like a chimney.

This is Ebony and Emily. Right now they are listening to Kyle Kyle tell them a good wife should shave her legs everyday


I caught Ebony dancing at the PCC, but I'm willing to overlook it since it wasn't Tahitian dancing.

Emily could easily be my favorite because she has her own nonprofit organization called Emily's Children founded while she was in the Philippines. I'll give you each a million dollars if you check her out and make a donation.

And here's will, the Elder's Chorum President--polite, pleasant and respectful, like every good student should be. Notice he's the only one offering you guys a donut?

Then there is Curtis and Danica. Wouldn't they make a cute couple? I mean just look at cute Curtis . . . what's not to love? Plus he's on the school golf team. But Danica says NO NO NO!

She just sent a missionary out and she's already written him 75 private steamy love letters on her blog. I have to bring a fan when I read her blog. Danica and I have twins souls, and not just because I married my missionary, but also because she LOVES to write and I LOVE to write. And she calls herself Old Lady Palmer and I call my self Old Lady Dummy.

Twilight Zone-ish, I know.

And last, but not least, is J.J. who is super sarcastic, (but with a smile) writes amazing poetry, and, best of all, is married with children, which means he's all grown up.

(Teacher's like that.)

Soooooooooooooo . . . these are the nominees.

Oh, it's such a hard choice.

Envelope please . . .

And drumroll please . . .

And the winner is . . .


I am my own favorite student?

Wow! I'm honored!!

And shocked, of course!!!

But I prepared a speech just in case:

I'd like to thank the academy.

They say the teacher learns more from teaching than the students. Therefore it stands to reason that I should win this spot in my own heart.

From the outside it may seem self indulgant, but any teacher will tell you that the only reason they went into teaching was to hear themselves talk all day long, day in and day out.

Well, that and the $$$.

And the shot at world domination.

OH PEEPS! Come on! Did you really think I had a favorite student?

Teachers don't play favorites.

You silly goose eggs!