Why Not New Zealand?

There's not enough crime in Utah to go around. The cops here are seriously! so! bored!  

SERIOUSLY!

I first suspected it when I got sent to traffic school for stopping after the stop sign rather than before the stop sign, because you can't see the oncoming traffic if you stop before the stop sign. 

"I know the stop sign is in a weird location," said the cop, "but the law is the law, and it's my job to enforce it. Besides," he added, "I'm bored silly." 

And then my hub got pulled over for going 7 miles above the 20 mph speed limit.

And then a fight broke out in the park behind my house between a couple of Junior High boys.  My thirteen-year-old son saw the whole thing go down and said, and I quote, "it wasn't even a good fight." (This from a boy who grew up in Hawaii.) Apparently there weren't any big Samoans involved or any punches thrown. It was just two scrawny kids rassling around on the grass. Someone alerted the proper authorities and within minutes seven cop cars were swarming around the boys.  

Saw it with my own two eyeballs. 

I like to imagine the cops all lounging around the station playing solitaire when they got the call and suddenly sprang into action, all seven of them at once, fumbling with their jackets and tazer guns and handcuffs and numchucks shouting, "I GOT THIS ONE!" over each other.  

Hee hee hee 

What we need is more crime. And less seminary teachers. 

Was that rude? 

It's just that my daughter's seminary teacher is a little . . . intense. 

In Hawaii the 6 a.m. seminary hour was her favorite part of the day, but here in Utah she comes home saying things like "ARG! The church has too many rules," or "UGH! My seminary teacher says the weirdest things. They were never this weird in Hawaii."  (This from a girl who is nearly finished reading the Book of Mormon for the 5th time.)

"Well honey," I said, "They go to school and get paid to be weird here in Utah. In Hawaii they just volunteered to be weird." 

This conversation took place on Friday afternoon while we were stretched out on our backs across the trampoline soaking up something unfamiliar.  The name escapes me, but it's that warm, bright, burning ball of gas that sits high in the sky.

Anyways, point is, it was a particularly lazy conversation in which our eyeballs were closed but our minds were open.  

"My seminary teacher says that you have to be worthy to see Christ.  Is that true?" 

"Hope not," I said. 

"He says it's sorta like we're going to need a ticket to see Jesus." 

"What like a concert ticket?" I asked. 

"Like you have to get an interview with the bishop to make sure you're worthy to get a ticket to see Jesus." 

My hub was there too, but he was snoring on the other side of the tramp so he was of little use to me as images of a meadow of wild flowers and me running in slow motion to greet my Savior danced in my head.  In my head Mozart was playing in the background, but he stopped suddenly as soon as Jesus asked me for my ticket.  

I'm sure I will have a ticket when the occasion arises, although I probably won't be able to locate it, or, with my luck, it will be expired.

Sometimes professionals make me want to poke my eyes out. 

I tried my best to navigate the complexities, as my hub was busy sawing logs, but there were other things my daughter was not pleased to learn. The location of the Garden of Eden in particular.  "Ewww," she said, "of all places . . . Missouri? Why not New Zealand?" 

That's what she wanted to know. Why not New Zealand. 

I've since heard her ask a few different people this why-not-New-Zealand question, but my MIL had the best response by far.

"Missouri is really beautiful from what I hear," she told my daughter, and then she paused, but not for dramatic effect, "although frankly I would have been thrilled if the Garden of Eden had been in Provo.  Just saying." 

Sometimes unprofessionals make me want to poke my eyes out too. 

To me it seems like such a straight forward answer. "New Zealand? Really?  The Gads would be crazy to have Middle Earth and The Garden of Eden share the same venue!"

You get me?

Friends Forevah . . .

It's been a long time since I've just upchucked onto the page without thinking about structure and organization and theme and conflict and word choice and timing and punch lines, yada, yada, yada.

Would you guys mind terribly if I just upchucked here tonight?

I was going to say, would you guys mind if I just crashed here tonight, but I crash here every night, (ba dum bum) and besides, that would be focusing on the pun rather than on the simple regurgitation of my thoughts and feelings.

Speaking of word choice though, upchuck is definitely appropriate because I've been sick today.

Homesick, that is.

The warmer it gets, the more time I spend outside, and the more time I spend outside, the more I miss Hawaii.

Sniff

Plus, it's OIA Tennis Tournament/State History Day competition weekend in Hawaii.

Sniff

Does anyone have a tissue?

Do you guys remember last year when my life was full of ironing costumes for History Day and buying Gatorade for tennis tournaments?

Remember how I got all Braggedy Anne on you guys and told you to start spreading the news because, nani nani boo boo, I was going to NYC and DC with my kids who qualified for the national competition?

And remember how I saw the Jonas Brothers and Regis and Kelly and Jim from The Office and Denzel Washington and those nasty Black Eyed Peas and the naked cowboy and that guy from the double decker bus brochure?

And remember how I fell in lub with John Adams and my hub fell in lub with the GPS lady and how I got a serious case of post vacation depression after I got home because Michael Jackson died and we decided to move to Utah?

Remember? Huh? Huh? Huh?

Neither do I.

It was probably all just a figment of my imagination.

(I would do links, but nobody does links while they're tossing their cookies. Even if they're just tossing emotional cookies. It was a year ago, go look it up.)


Well, this morning I woke up and put on my Hawaii History Day t-shirt (the fitted one, with the Kim Taylor Reese Hula dancer silk screen) for good luck. And then I concentrated real real hard on all of my favorite people in Hawaii who were about to pop out of bed and try to win themselves a History Day competition or a tennis match. I would have put on my tennis skirt for good luck too, but . . . well, I look like a freakin' idiot in a tennis skirt, so instead I just kept my fingers crossed all day long.

Just between me and you, I MISSED MY FRIENDS SO MUCH TODAY.

And then the coolest thing in the history of the world happened. They missed me too.

So if you don't mind, I'm going to upchuck a quick thank you note to them:

Kameron, thank you for texting my son, your best friend forevah, ten minutes before you went on stage. And ten minutes after you qualified for nationals. And thank you also for sending me a Facebook message telling me how much you missed my ironing skills. YOU Da Bombdiggity and I LUB you!

Terina, mahalo for sending my daughter, your best friend forevah, all those goofy photos and videos of you, Ethan and Josie chilling before you went on stage, and for calling and texting after you guys qualified. I MISS YOU ALL like MAD and I LUB You!

Colleen, my best friend forevah, THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH for calling me TWICE today to keep me in the loop and tell me how much you miss me being there to help. That made my day! I MISS YOU too, and I LUB LUB LUB you!

Martha, my best best friend and x-door neighbor forevah, HUGE HUGS for always giving me the play by play of what is happening in the hood and on the tennis team (congratulations to Josh) and in your exciting Hawaiian life. I MISS YOU SO MUCH and LUB your whole famdamily.

Swirl, aw shucks, thank you for sending me that uber long email today inviting me into your wonderful world of projects and making me feel like a ROCKSTAR. I needed that today. LUB you, girl.





Oops, did I just split my stone-cold heart wide open for a sec?


That felt kinda weird.

Lots and lots of kissing. (And that owl-eyed guy)

My daughter and I had a fist fight this morning over The Great Gatsby.

As many of you know, I'm somewhat of an expert on the subject, being as I did my senior project on it in college and all.

Well, last week, a funny thing happened at the public library. I discovered a 2000 version of the movie in which Mira Sorvino plays Daisy, so I eagerly checked it out.

I finally got around to watching it yesterday.

"The newer version changed things up a bit." I told my daughter this morning. "There was kissing."

"There was kissing in the Robert Redford version too," my daughter said. "Lots and lots of kissing."

"No, there wasn't. And anyway, this version makes it look like Daisy and Gatsby had a . . . fling."

"They did have a fling," my daughter said.

"Well, they didn't have a fling in the book." I told her. "And I should know, I did my senior project on it, which makes me somewhat of an expert."

"Mom, are you kidding me? They kiss over and over in the book too."

I don't know how my daughter would know this because she still covers her eyes every time two people purse their lips together, but maybe we remember the things we look away from more vividly than the things we watch.

"You probably didn't even read the book," I said. "You probably just read the spark notes."

"Mom, I read the whole boring thing," she told me. "Gatsby gets rich and then stalks Daisy and then he wants Daisy to tell Tom that she never loved him, but she can't because she did love him, and then Daisy runs over Myrtle and Gatsby takes the blame and Wilson shoots Gatsby and no one even goes to his funeral. Except for that owl-eyed guy."

"What owl-eyed guy?" I asked.

"You know, that owl-eyed guy who was always in Gatsby's library reading his books."

How did I miss that owl-eyed guy? And all that kissing? I did my senior project on it, for goodness sakes!!!!

I remember everything else about the novel. All the heat. And all the boredom. Not my boredom, but the character's boredom. I also remember the curtains constantly fluttering about, and Jordan Baker constantly lying around. I remember them driving a lot. East to New York City, and then West back to Long Island, which to me was a very significant detail as I was sure it summed up F. Scott Fitzgerald's opinion about the Industrial Revolution and the Nouveau Riche of the Jazz Age.

"But New York City is West of Long Island," one of my professors raised his hand and said, in front of all my classmates and teachers, during my senior presentation.

"Well . . . " I said. "That all depends. On how you look at it. If you're looking at it from, say, Canada, New York City is East of Long Island."

Sometimes you just need to turn things upside down. That's what I learned from The Great Gatsby.

But anyways, good news! Very good news. Baz Lurhmann, director of Australia and Moulin Rouge, bought the movie rights to The Great Gatsby so it will soon be turning the movie world upside down.

You all know what that means, don't you? It means that Nicole Kidman will be playing Daisy--mark my words--and that there will be lots and lots of kissing.

Car Five and The Magic School Bus

Can I just say that the cops in Utah are anal retentively challenged!

SERIOUSLY! My hub got pulled over a few days ago on BYU Campus for going 27 mph in a 20 mph zone.

ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha

Isn't it against the law to have a 20 mph speed limit? I'm pretty sure I learned that in traffic school.


Okay, so besides that, there are some amazing things happening to my family here in Utah.

My 13 yr. old son is almost as tall as my 15 yr. old daughter!


And he can now palm a ball!


And he can now pick out his own apparel!


Also, my daughter has her Learners Permit, which she got before she even learnered how to drive.

This week she has to drive on "the range," as they call it, every day after school for two hours.

Hee hee hee

How can I get me one of those range dude jobs because I can't think of anything more gratifying than sitting up in a tower and yelling over the loud speaker at kids who are learnering how to drive.

Did I already say hee hee hee?

Oh my goodness! My daughter was in such a bad mood when she came home yesterday and for some reason that really tickled my funny bone. I actually laughed longer and harder than I did on Sunday when I looked down in Sacrament meeting and saw that one of my twins was wearing a mismatched pair of my daughter's scalloped-edged socks.

Imagine my daughter sitting in car five and suddenly realizing that she doesn't know how to start it (snicker snicker). And neither does her partner.

Imagine the range dude guy coming over the loud speaker, "Car five, please turn the ignition on and start the car." Then imagine my daughter turning the car to the "on" position, but not the "start" position and thinking it's all good, but it's not all good because the car won't move. And finally, imagine the range dude's chagrin over the loud speaker before he has to come down from his tower and help my daughter start her car.

hee hee hee

I'm sure it was much like a John Hughes film, maybe Ferris Bueller's Day Off, as the range dude continued to call out over the loud speaker "Car five, what are you doing? Car five, you've got two brains in that car, one of you should be able to figure it out. Car Five you are three drills behind. Pick up the pace, car five. That's not how you parallel Park, car five. You're supposed to reverse into it not drive into it. It's not that hard, you pull up, you left signal, you check your blind spot, you reverse . . ."

hee hee hee

Poor thing, you can't drive in Hawaii until you're 18.

For the record, I sat in the car with her today as she drove her friend home and she did a grrrrrrreat job (after she realized the reason the car wouldn't start was because she has inserted the wrong key and the reason the car wouldn't reverse was because she had her foot on the brake).

Okay, now for the most amazing thing in the history of the world. But first I want to show you a photo.

This is my daughter's English teacher. His name is Mr. Wienershnitzel, I think, and this photo can be found on his class website with a caption above it that says, "Welcome to Mr. Wienershnitzel's class, Enjoy the ride!"

Or something like that.

When we do our Blog Across America, should we ask Mr. W to be the bus driver? All in favor say 'ay'.

Not only is Mr. W on the cutting edge of magic school bus technology, he's also on the cutting edge of essay grading technology. If only I had known about this technology back in the day when I had English teacher eyeballs.

Are you sitting down?

CHECK. THIS. OUT.

WAIT! Before you check it out, let me offer some background.

Mr. W. gave an essay assignment to take something universally accepted as VERY POSITIVE and make a strong argument for the negative. My daughter chose living in Hawaii, even though she recently wrote a poem about how much she misses roaches, geckos, ants and head lice (Poor thing, she has had a bug-free winter). She chose Hawaii because every single day she gets asked the same question:

Are you freakin' crazy? WHY would you leave Hawaii?

Okay, now go check out the link. It's Mr. W's space age feedback to her essay.

Whodathought you could give feedback without a red pencil?