Thursday, December 28, 2006

Post-Christmas Blues

I hate the days following Christmas! They are so depressing. Decorations just seem sad and pointless. Our Christmas tree is just a fire hazard taking up a lot of space in our little family room. I'm in that state of limbo where it seems too early to switch back to regular music but weird to be listening to Christmas music still. Where the excitement of Christmas made the cold drab winter seem okay, now it's just cold. And drab. And depressing.
Okay, so are you catching on that I am totally one of those people that gets the winter blues? Except I get it December 26th, not when winter first kicks in. This is especially sad, as it is my brother's birthday. But it's okay, because his excitement about Christmas comes in such mass amounts, I'm sure it lasts til at least July.
I can honestly say I have stayed in my pajamas every single day since Christmas. I shower just before Bill comes home and run around picking things up so he can't tell I've been on my couch watching movies with the kids all day. He's been wanting to go out shopping with our Christmas gift cards each evening, which means I put on makeup at 5:30 in the evening, only to take it off six hours later. Okay, who am I kidding? I don't take it off before bed.
We have so much junk food in this house it's embarassing, but people just kept bringing it to us, what are we gonna do? And of course we have to have it all gone by the new year, when the good old diet starts. Oh, you don't believe me? Why would you have reason to doubt that I am actually going to diet and lose this weight? Oh, because my baby is three and a half and I still look like the Pillsbury Dough Boy? Okay, I give you permission to doubt me.
So the gist is, I'm being totally lazy, gorging myself on Christmas candy and leftover appetizers (I haven't eaten a real meal since Saturday), my house is a disaster, and my kids know that they can do pretty much whatever they want as long as it doesn't involve me getting off my couch.
So don't be alarmed if the next time you see me I've gained fifty pounds and my pajamas are actually attached to my skin....also, that stench would be me.

Friday, December 22, 2006

Time To Get The Ears Checked I Guess

Last night Bill and I were watching the First Presidency's Christmas Devotional that we had recorded and not watched yet as we sat and wrapped presents. President Monson was speaking, and suddenly Bill said, "He always reminds me of a lobster." I looked at Bill like he was crazy and said, "Huh?" And he said, "He looks like a lobster." So I look at the tv screen and think to myself, I guess his face is kind of red, but I don't know if it's enough to warrent being called a lobster. So I'm sitting there thinking, my husband is a whack job, when Bill says, "You know, like Al Capone or someone in the mafia." I burst out laughing. "You said a mobster!" I was laughing so hard I could barely tell Bill what I thought he had said, and when I finally told him he was dying. I'm not sure which is worse, though, calling President Monson a lobster or a mobster. Either way, it made for a good laugh.

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

A Bit Of Christmas Cheer, Straight From My Heart, To The Jerks Last Night At WalMart

It's Christmas time, the time of year when you give that extra little bit of love and kindness to your fellow neighbor, when everyone is cheerful and in the giving mood, relishing the spirit that comes from such a glorious holiday.
Apparently this doesn't apply to the customers of WalMart. See, what a decent human being does when witnessing a poor, frail little person (please keep all remarks about size to yourself) trying to fit a giant box into her space-challenged mini van is offers to help. Clearly the patrons of WalMart last night missed Common Decency 101 class in the pre-existence.
So I go to WalMart last night to buy my husband the one thing he asked for for Christmas: a ginormous tool box for the garage. I had to get the biggest one they sold, because that's what he wanted. I was there by myself, and I thought for sure I'd need help from a sales clerk to even get it off the shelf. I did a test slide to see how heavy it was, and was surprised to find it was much lighter than I thought. I slid the huge box off the shelf (thank goodness it was the bottom shelf) onto the floor, and then looked at my shopping cart. It was luckily not too big to lay across the cart, but it was a matter of getting the thing up there. Fortunately for me, there was a Bill Gates look-alike standing just a ways down the aisle from me studying torque wrenches. (Between you and me, I'm fairly certain he was standing there trying to look manly, but secretly wishing he could have been shoe shopping with his wife.) Realizing it was him or nobody, I politely asked if he could help me. He obliged, and thanks to what can only be a miracle, the two of us got the box on the cart.
I had no problems with the box at checkout, the cart was almost the same height as the conveyer so I just slid it over and then back on my cart.
Then I get to my van. Somehow, I manage to get the box off my cart onto the ground. Okay, now where to put it?
Not a problem, it will go nicely in the back.
Nope, two huge boxes containing the kids' trampoline/side enclosure were still there from Black Friday.
Okay, I'll slide it between the front bench seat and the two front seats.
What I failed to remember is how retarded our van is when it comes to storing anything. It's a challenge to fit two bags of groceries in there, let alone a box the size of a small swimming pool.
Wedging myself between my van and the car next to me, I was barely able to lift it up onto the footstep of my van, and then up onto the floor of my van, and began to slide it into place.
I could almost hear my van laughing at me, "You idiot woman, you really think that's gonna go there?"
So now it's in limbo. It won't go forward, and I'm holding it to keep it from falling backward.
Meanwhile, I'm thinking, "It would be really nice if a strong man walked by right now and offered to help. I'd even take Bill Gates' clone. Or a big-boned woman. Anyone!"
I can hear a man and woman talking two cars away. He's standing outside his car sucking on his cig, just chattin' it up with what I can only assume is his common-law wife, who's sitting there applying her Wet n' Wild Pink Passion lipstick.
Oh, what's that? You're fighting about which tailgate party to crash? I NEED HELP HERE!!!!
I realize I can get it in if I can slide my passenger seat forward. One problem: I can't let go of the box to do so.
Then, a nice-looking lady walks by. I breathe a sigh of relief. Finally, some help.
She takes one look at me, laughs, and keeps walking. I kid you not. Are there really people like that? I thought people were only that heartless in movies. Oh, do you find this funny, lady? Well, I hope you get kicked in the head by a reindeer.
So I am forced to shimmy the box down onto the ground once more. So now it goes: car next to me, me, huge box, my van, all squished together. I slide my front seat forward, muster every last bit of strength and energy in me, lift the box back up into my van, and slide it perfectly into place.
This whole escapade lasted one half hour. Of me, standing in the parking lot of WalMart, in the freezing cold, without a coat, making a fool of myself. Are you telling me that in that half hour not one person saw me struggling and thought they might help? That is exactly what happened, my friend.
So to all the jerks last night at WalMart who failed to show their Christmas spirit by offering to help me, I say Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year and you know exactly where you can shove that lump of coal you'll find in your stocking Christmas morning.

Friday, December 15, 2006

Another One Bites the Dust

Be careful what you wish for. Wasn't it just a few weeks ago I was complaining that Kim had all the exciting stories to tell on her blog, that nothing interesting ever happened to me? Since then my sweet little girl got her heart broken over a scooter, a guy got his face bashed in, and now Pasyon has a gash over his left eye. Okay, maybe having nothing to write about was better after all.
Tonight was our ward Christmas party, and it was amazing. They put so much time and effort into making it so awesome. We went "Back to Bethlehem," where we had to come all dressed in biblical garb, pay for our food with coins, eat on the floor around legless tables, etc. It was so cool. We left for the evening feeling spiritually uplifted and chipper.
But before we could even make it out the door, Payson, who runs everywhere he goes, sprinted past us all into the darkened hallway by the primary room, tripped on one of those huge rugs (or maybe it was his toga, I'm not sure) and fell, head first, into the metal frame sourrounding the bottom glass window of the door leading out of the church.
The scream was a tip-off that something was not quite right, and before I even realized what had happened, Bill was holding Payson's head in his hand, blood pouring between his fingers, yelling, "We have to get him somewhere NOW!"
Bill doesn't often talk like that, so when he does I know it's something serious. I freaked out, and I mean freaked. I sputtered a sentence fragment to my cousin Michelle that came out something like "Payson's head....take them ("them" was Macy and Ally, who was coming to spend the night).....Kim......take them......" and I was running out the door. Bill's standing next to our van saying I had to hold the wound shut, and that's when I realized I left my purse in the church with the keys. The wind was insane, it's been like Little Chicago here, and it was freezing cold, especially wearing nothing but a sheet and some safety pins. I sprinted down the sidewalk to the other end of the church (in my panic and haste I somehow still managed to pray that no one could see me running, sheet flying, boobs bouncing all over the place....) and sprinted back to the van (later Bill told me he was impressed at my speed.)
We decided it made more sense if Bill continued to hold the wound (which I had yet to see) and I drove, which I did, like a bat out of hell. I almost hoped I would get pulled over so I could yell at a policeman (paybacks, you know, for all those tickets) and get an escort to the hospital, but no such luck. (Where are those guys when you need them?)
We carried Payson (who amazingly enough had stopped crying before we even got in the van) into the hospital, dressed like Joseph and Mary and little shepherd boy bleeding from the head. I can only imagine what the hospital staff thought.
Fortunately, the cut was "perfect", nice and clean (thanks to the razor sharp metal edge) so they were able to glue it shut instead of stitch it. After one glance at the gaping gash, (I know I exaggerate a lot, but I am so not at all about the size of this sucker. Once I figure out how, I'll post a "before" picture I took on my cell phone.) I went to extreme lengths to not look again, it made me queasy.
Payson loved having it scrubbed out with soap, especially when they shoved the sponge inside the cut to make sure it was really sterile. Yeah, that was tons o' fun.
An hour and a few remarks about our attire later, we were out of there with a happy boy and fatty hospital bill. Macy has not looked at her brother yet, but we think in a week or so her curiosity will get the best of her and she'll just have to look, like everyone else.
My apologies for yet another lengthy story, I promise as soon as all these crazy things stop happening I'll keep it short and simple. Ha!

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Not Too Shabby

Well, it only took a week, but we got it done. The new tree stand was the saving grace, holding that sucker in place. And lo and behold, we finally have a straight, decorated tree. I'm thinking that after all this work to get it right that we might leave it up through January to make it all worth it. Yeah, right. Can you say "fire hazard"? Now all we need is to get some presents under it (besides the fake little decorative ones that are under it now) and we're good to go.

Friday, December 8, 2006

The Leaning Tower of Pine

Heather, you inspired me. When I realized my Christmas tree was deformed, I just had to post a picture of it so people could get a good laugh from it like yours gave me. I think it must be a curse...maybe everybody who picked out their Christmas tree for FHE last Monday wound up with a less-than-perfect tree.
It looked so beautiful when we bought it. Until we took it home and put it in the tree stand. I stood eyeballing it, telling Bill "right" and "left" to get it level, while Landon lay under it ready to screw it into place. At last it was perfectly straight from all angles, except the bottom of the trunk. In order to get it to look straight on top, the trunk had to be almost diagonal in the stand.
Apparently our tree grew straight and narrow for a few years and then decided to be rebellious and change directions.
Since Monday, we have had absolutely no time to decorate our tree. It has sat, barren and pathetic since then. Payson and Macy have asked incessently every day, "when are we gonna decorate it?" Every day we said, "We'll try and do it tonight." And every night something was going on, one of us was gone, etc. So last night we said, "Tonight for sure, we promise!" We cancelled any commitments, went to Target to buy a cool new tree-topper and some new, awesome ornaments, and went home all pumped up to decorate. We put on some Christmas music to get in the decorating spirit, and got up on a chair, excited to adorn the top of our tree with our new, beautiful, sparkly star. That's when we heard the pop, and slowly the whole tree started to fall.
We knew the pop had to mean it had broken away from the screws. I jumped down and wiggled under the tree reconassaince-style, and worked the screws while Bill lifted it up from above. Finally we realized it was hopeless, it would never stay up at such an angle. The only way to keep it up was to put the trunk straight up and down, which, as I stated before, made the top of the tree slant sideways.
One hour and a couple of Mormon-substitute-swear-words later, we had a fuming, walking time-bomb named Bill, and me, picking pine needles out of my hair that were stuck there with tree sap, but at least we had a tree that would stay up, even if it was at an angle that made it look like it would fall at any second.
It was at that point that we got to tell the kids for the fourth time that we couldn't decorate the tree tonight.
So, our deformed tree that has been sitting in its sad, naked state for four days is still un-adorned, except for five Hello Kitty ornaments that Macy picked out at Target and insisted on hanging. And now it points to our kitchen instead of the sky.
Merry Christmas.

Monday, December 4, 2006

Mall Walking For Dummies

So, my friend Kim asked me if I wanted to go walking today. This worked out perfectly, since it was Monday and of course "the diet started today." I was determined to eat healthy today and exercise would fit right in with my determination to lose weight.

We decided to walk at the mall because it's warm inside. I have never walked at the mall, but I figured, walking is walking.


My first problem was that I could have sworn I heard Kim say that three laps around the mall was one mile. See, the way my brain works when it comes to numbers is I don't remember detail or order. So what my brain chose to retain was the number three. That's it.

So we get to the mall, each with our strollers, raring to go, and I start walking brisquely at my usual "walking" pace, meaning, the quick pace I always use when I'm walking to exercise. That's when Kim turns to me and says, "Okay, you ready to speed walk, like, fast walking?"

Uh, crap. This is my speedwalk.

Not wanting to hold Kim back I say, "What's your normal speedwalking pace?"
Kim takes off and two strides later is several feet in front of me.

Um, this is not good.

Trying to come up with a way to make this work and save myself at the same time, I pointed out that my legs were quite a bit shorter than Kim's, and she immediately said, "No problem, we can totally go at your pace."

Well, of course I didn't want to be the reason that Kim had to waste a perfectly good walking session by going at a snail's pace, so I started walking as hard and as fast as I could. My little legs have never moved so fast.

We started down by the movie theater. By the time we were in front of Macy's I was gasping for air and blinking to keep the sweat out of my eyes. Kim is chatting away, her voice totally normal.

Kim: "So then I decided to....."

Oh my gosh my ankles are on fire!

Kim: "and then the funniest thing happened..."

That pain in my chest and down my left arm, that can't be good, right?

Kim: "and I couldn't believe that..."

Keep nodding and smiling and maybe she won't know that your body is going numb.

Two laps around the mall later I begin to see light at the end of the tunnel.

Only one more to go, I can totally do this. I will spend the rest of the day dead on my couch, but I will make it throught this last lap.

And that's when Kim said, "Yeah, we figured out that five laps around the mall is three miles, so let's get some water before our last three laps."

Did she just say three miles? Three miles??!! That was the "three" that I heard, miles?! How could I have been so stupid?

But of course I was not about to be the reason that Kim had to stop early, and besides, you know how you hear about people who are subjected to torture or cruelty or anything else horrible for a long period of time and they sort of go into shut-down mode and their body becomes like a robot and just kind of goes on its own? Well, I had reached that point. I don't know how my legs were still moving, but they were. Somehow I made it through three more laps around the mall. The last three laps were kind of a blur, but I remember Santa saying something to us about "gettin' a lot of laps in."

So, I can't bend my ankles, I pulled something in my left hip, and I had a nightmare during my loooong nap today that I was running on a treadmill that wouldn't stop and Santa was standing there with his reindeer whip saying, "Three more! Three more!"
I think the diet and exercise will resume again next Monday.

Thursday, November 30, 2006


I'm done! I'm finally, finally done. It only took me six years, but I finished it. For those of you who don't already know and can't tell by the picture, I cross-stitched this Thomas Kinkade picture. I started it roughly six years ago and have done it on and off since then, but I have been going like mad for the last few months and I'm finally done. I'm going to take it to a framing place to have it cleaned and flattened and matted and framed. Anyway, just wanted to share my excitement and my masterpiece with you!

Tuesday, November 28, 2006


Just the newest on Poor Football Interceptor Guy. He had is surgery consult yesterday, back home, and it turns out he has several more cracks and breaks than they initially found here. Since he can't hardly open his jaw, he's having reconstructive surgery in a few days, having pins and screws put it. Oh, and his four little daughters won't look at him because they're too freaked out by the way he looks. Bill is sinking into the depths of despair, he feels so bad. He (Bill) said it just keeps getting worse and worse, and if he hears one more "surprise" problem they find he probably won't be able to live with himself. So please keep Football Guy in your prayers and cross your fingers that he gets McSteamy for his doctor.

Sunday, November 26, 2006

Turkey Bowl Gone Bad

There is nothing Bill looks forward to more than the Turkey Bowl, otherwise known as the Thanksgiving Day morning football game thrown together by members of the Elder's Quorum. He wakes up early every Thanksgiving Day, ready to catch some passes, knock some guys down, and maybe score a touchdown (which he had 4).

Last Thursday started out like all the others. He was gone for a few hours, and when he came home, I asked him if he had fun.

"Yeah, I guess. I think I broke a guy's cheekbone, though."

"What?!" I asked. He proceeded to tell me about a play in which he went to catch the ball that was being thrown to him, and a guy from the other team tried to intercept it.

Just as Bill felt the ball touch his fingertips, he felt an explosion of pain on the side of his head, heard a loud CRACK and blacked out, only for a second. When he came to, he was on the ground, face down. When he cleared his head and realized he was "okay" (and by that I mean no blood, no broken bones, no obvious injuries) his focus turned to the other guy.

The other guy had no cheekbone. The right side of his face was caved in. His nose was bleeding, and he looked pretty bad. He left immediately, and Bill played the rest of the game feeling horrible, not because of the raging headache he now had, but because he was pretty sure he had just been the cause of this guy having to spend Thanksgiving Day in the hospital.

All day we speculated about how the other guy was doing, to what extent the damage was, if he was in surgery yet or not. (We didn't know the guy. Bill played with 8th ward, and it was a guy in 8th ward's brother-in-law from out of town.)

Bill had so much guilt about the fact that all he had was a slightly red cheek and a small red dot on the white of his eye where he had obviously burst a blood vessel. And of course, the pounding head. I watched him closely, worried that the worst of it was going on somewhere we couldn't see. (I've watched way too many episodes of ER and Grey's Anatomy where people come in with head trauma and think they're totally fine, only to find out they're bleeding on the brain and suddenly their life is hanging by a thread.) He was nervous to take a nap, but of course he had to, he was so exhausted and in pain. I checked on him every so often to make sure he was breathing and, you know, not seizing or something.

Well, the next day Bill wakes up with the headache still, but we're pretty certain he's okay. We head to Yakima to visit his family, and at about 7:00 in the evening, my brother-in-law John, calls and says that the sister of the guy who Bill had collided with (his sister and her husband are in 8th ward, so John knew them) had called John and told him to what extent he was injured.

Bill's head had managed to break not only the guy's cheekbone, but also his eye socket bone and sinus bone. Tomorrow he goes in for a consult for reconstructive surgery.

We could hardly believe it. Bill felt sick. Fortunately, this guy seems like the nicest man on the planet. He told his sister to tell Bill how sorry he was (!) and to make sure Bill was okay, that he knew it was his fault, for going in for the interception.

His sister sent us several pictures of him, including his catscan, which is, needless to say, a little disturbing. You can see every broken bone, and it shows where the whole side of his face is filled with blood, where it shouldn't be. (It's black and white, but she explained what we were looking at.) The whole side of his face is completely distorted, and he has no white to his left eye. It is blood red. I wanted so badly to post the pictures on here, but the stupid blogger site wouldn't let me, I don't know what the problem is. If anyone would like to see them, I can e-mail them to you. They're a little graphic, but not too bad.

So, 4 days later, Bill still has a bad headache (which worries me), but more than that he has a lot of guilt. He is calling the guy today to see how he's doing and apologize and all that good stuff.

So, the lesson here is, don't mess with Bill or he'll bash your face in.

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Life is Beautiful

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I thought I'd take the time to list a few things that I'm thankful for. No! Don't stop reading, it's not going to be sappy and cheesy, I promise.

(These are in random order)
1. peanut butter Double Stuff Oreos dipped in milk
2. The smell of my kids when they first wake up in the morning
3. IPODs
4. anti-depressants
5. family, who have to love me even when I'm going a little psycho
6. friends, who don't have to love me, but I hope do anyway
7. comfy beds
8. celebrities (they make life so entertaining)
9. finding things when you've totally given up hope of ever finding it
10. gum
11. seasons
12. 2:00 church (I get to sleep in and lounge all day)
13. pop
14. my tv shows
15. beautiful music, music that rocks, and any other music that makes me feel good
16. Clive Owen
17. People magazine
18. a husband who loves me despite certain qualities I possess that he is not too fond of
(oops, did I just put Clive Owen before my husband?)
19. movies
20. fast food
21. Saturdays
22. the sweet innocence of precious little kids
23. a clean house (I haven't had one yet, but I imagine it's pretty awesome)
24. scrapbooking
25. staying home each and every day with my kids
26. girls' nights out
27. crafts and anything I can do with my hands
28. things that make me burst out laughing, my hard laugh, without holding back at all
29. summer evenings
30. digital cameras
31. naps
32. holidays
33. a church calling that keeps me awake on Sundays
34. cell phones
35. living so close to family, my kids growing up with their cousins
35. chocolate fudge brownie ice cream
36. down blankets
37. swapping baby-sitting days
38. medicine
39. two healthy, happy kids
40. the internet
41. good jokes
42. snowy days
43. Christmas bonuses
44. good books
45. baths
46. Kindergarten/pre-school (nice break)
47. temples
48. chocolate
49. sisters (includes sisters-in-law)
50. blogs

So, what are you thankful for? Hope everyone has a Happy Thanksgiving.

Sunday, November 19, 2006

The Saddest Story You Will Ever Hear, But With A Happy Ending

Okay, get out your tissues, this is a tear-jerker. Friday night was Macy's school's Grandparent Bingo Night. She was so excited about it I thought she was going to wet herself. Her Grandma and Grandpa from Yakima were coming just to be there. Grandparent Bingo Night is only for the students and their grandparents, not parents or siblings, so we weren't there. I had to hear this story from three seperate witnesses, each one revealing yet another heart-wrenching detail that the others had not.

Well, at Bingo night, they have all kinds of prizes and raffles and stuff. Each student is given so many tickets to put in whichever box they wanted. For example, if they wanted a chance at all the prizes, they could put one ticket in each box that sat in front of the desired items. Or, they could put all their tickets in one box, hoping to win a particular item.

Well, Macy has been wanting a scooter for some time. And lo and behold, one of the prizes was a hot pink Razor scooter. Without hesitation, she put all her tickets in the box in front of the scooter.

Later on in the evening, the person drawing the tickets stood up and announced it was time for the winner of the scooter. Without saying anything, my sweet little girl quietly slid off the end of her bench and started to walk up to receive her prize. (They hadn't pulled a name out yet.) My mom and mother-in-law see what is happening, but are momentarily frozen, horrified as they realize what is happening. Fortunately, Amy was up by the front of the room taking pictures and also saw what was happening, so she pulled her aside just before she got to the front and explained that they had just pulled another girl's name out.

Then my precious little daughter walked back to her seat with her bottom lip quivering, trying not to cry. Amy later told me that Macy had said, "But I was supposed to get the scooter."

See, no one had explained to her that by putting all her tickets in one box didn't mean she automatically got the prize. She had no idea how a raffle worked. The next day she told me the whole story, still confused by the whole ordeal and said, "But Mommy, I put all my tickets in the box, I was sure to win." Her exact words. I wanted to start bawling.

Well, that night, after Bingo night ended, my in-laws brought Macy back to our house, and after Macy was in bed, told us the story. As I listened to the story, trying not to cry, I suddenly had this image in my head: My mom, out at some store at that very moment, buying Macy her very own scooter.

Oh, how well I know my mom. Sure enough, as soon as my in-laws left (it's 10:30), there's a knock on our door. What a surprise, my parents, standing there holding a Barbie scooter they had just bought, probably as soon as Bingo night ended.

My mom wanted to see Macy's reaction when she saw it, but that girl could sleep through a hurricane, so we ended up just laying it next to her in bed, up against her wall.

I fully expected to be woken up early the next morning with cries of "I got a scooter!" But never did. Not until I finally got up did I walk out to see Macy flying around the kitchen on her scooter. (She must not have wanted to wake us.)
"Look Mommy! My very own scooter!"

Bill says, playing dumb, "Did you get your own scooter?" And Macy says, "Yeah! It was in my bed when I woke up! I don't know who put it there."

And Bill says, "I know who." And Macy says, eyes open wide, "Santa?!"

We explained who it really came from, and I asked Macy when it was that she first saw it, hoping to hear about her reaction. She told me she got up with Payson (yeah, Payson has two moms) really early and when she went back to bed she saw it. "But I didn't go back to sleep, I just kept looking at it." She was so excited about it she couldn't go back to sleep, and it was probably 4 in the morning.

So, there it is, the saddest story I have heard in a long time and it was about my own daughter! I was so relieved it had a happy ending. You can always count on grandparents to give presents and make everything alright! (Thanks again, Mom!)

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Too Much TV?

I'm so ashamed to admit this, but my favorite part of the day is when I've put my kids to bed and I can finally sit down and relax and watch my favorite shows! Why is it that fictional people's over-dramatic, totally unrealistic, totally un-relatable lives are so fascinating to me? I don't know. I don't dislike my life, it's not like I'm looking for an escape, trying to live vicariously through these fake people. I guess I just love drama. And besides, it's fun to look at all the pretty people.

However, being the long-time watcher of dramatic series that I am, there are things that are standard about these shows that make me crazy. They are purely for the sake of keeping the story going, not having the viewers get bored, but sometimes I think it does the opposite because it makes me so mad I don't want to watch.

So what the heck am I talking about? Well I'll tell you. For example. Will Meredith and McDreamy get together any time soon? NO!!!!!!!!!!!! Why? Because, then we wouldn't be on the edge of our seats any more wondering when they'll hook up. But in their attempt to be totally unpredictable, they have become completely PREdictable. It's so typical. Every time something happens to allow them to get together (McDreamy finally divorces McWife) something happens that keeps it from happening (oh, look at that, Meredith is with Finn.)

You will find this in every dramatic series. For all you O.C. watchers, (you know who you are, come out of the closet) didn't it start to get a little old that every time Ryan and Marissa got together, they were broken up within two episodes? So predictable, so annoying.

This is exactly why the secondary characters and their sub-plots become my favorites, the ones I am most connected to. (Izzy and Karev, anyone? Seth and Summer?) I think these t.v. producers just need to realize we're not a bunch of dim-witted idiots. We are intelligent, analytical people who dissect the plots and themes of each show and develop theories and feelings about each one. (Okay, maybe idiot was right.)

And yet, despite my anger and frustration, there I am, night after night, on my couch, eyes wide open, on the edge of my seat, lost in a world full of fake doctors helping fake people in a fake hospital, wondering if maybe this episode McDreamy and Meredith will hook up.

Speaking of Lost.....

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Ode To The Flu

Well, despite my best efforts, I got it. I had finally relaxed and decided I wasn't going to, and then I heard this rumbling "ha, ha, ha" come from the sky and BAM! I had it.

Fortunately, I am doing well. Well, not physically well, but otherwise doing okay. I am just waiting to see if it's over yet. I really don't want to miss teaching the class tomorrow night, so cross your fingers that I'm better tomorrow.

On the plus side, I don't have to worry about my kids getting it from me! And I can stop worrying that I"ll get it. (That'd be pretty pointless now, I think.) Always look on the bright side, right?

So, I am so ready to get back to life and be able to write fun, meaningless posts again. (Today is day 9 of people throwing up at our house.) Thanks so much for all your support and well-wishes. It helped a lot.

I'm regretting my decision to not get a flu shot right about now.

Saturday, November 11, 2006


I promise the majority of my posts will not be about vomit, but seeing as that is what my life seems to be all about lately, I can't help but write about it.


Just when I think it's over, and by that I mean a good few days has gone by without any episodes, it happens again. Only this time it's Payson, who hasn't thrown up since he was 18 months old. Oh, the misery. My stomach doesn't even know what it feels like to relax anymore. It is a permanent ball of knots. And the worst part of it is, literally five minutes before Payson threw up, I was sharing my water bottle with him.

Oh, kill me now.

If anyone has anything to share along the lines of "I never get sick from my kids" I would love to hear it.

Friday, November 10, 2006

Where Did That Come From?!

There have been a few times in the past when Macy has just made up a word when she didn't know the actual word. It totally cracks me up, because she just throws in this random non-word with such a straight face, as if that's what everyone calls whatever it is she's referring to. I have to try my hardest to not burst out laughing, so as not to hurt or embarass her.

Well, she hadn't done it in a long, long time. I figured she was getting older, her vocabulary is more expansive, she knows most the words. But yesterday she treated me to a wonderful little gem of a made-up word.

We were sitting on our couch playing Polly Pockets and I had three dolls and she had three. Well, she's very anal about the fact that I can only "talk" for my three and make them move, and she can only do it for her three. Well, for anyone who currently resides in Polly World, you know that Polly and all her friends are identical. The only difference is their hair color and style. And even those can be very similar. The weird thing is that some of them have the "real" doll hair (like Barbie) and some have molded plastic hair (like Ken).

Well, I kept getting confused about which were hers and which were mine. Finally, in complete exasperation at her mother's cluelessness, Macy says, "Mommy. All of yours have the "real" hair. See, it's soft. And all of mine have the hard, fugly hair."

Excuse me?

I have never in my life worked so hard at keeping a straight face. I knew exactly what she was trying to say. She has always had a hard time describing textures, and that's usually when she throws in a made-up word.

The funniest part is that I've heard that word before! When I was in middle school, it was a very horrible way to say someone was ugly (I can honestly say I never used it. Just heard it used.)
Ugly melded together with a very famous, very horrible four-letter word that starts with an F. You get "fugly".

I hadn't heard the word since then and I cannot even begin to describe the shock at hearing it come out of my daughter's mouth.

I instantly had to turn my head and stifle a laugh, while Macy chattered on about the different types of hair. I quickly turned back to her, so as not to give myself away, but my daughter misses nothing. (I think the shaking shoulders gave me away.) She kept on talking, but her voice faltered for a second and she was looking at me as if to say "I think you were just laughing at me, but I can't prove it."I quickly pulled my best innocent "I'm listening to every word you're saying and couldn't be more intrigued" look, and it must have worked because she was off coordinating their next outfits.

I'm terrified to see what word she'll "make up" next.

Wednesday, November 8, 2006

The Curse of the Phobia

It had been at least five months since Macy had thrown up and I knew we were due. I could feel it looming in the near distance like a hideous beast, a hideous beast bent over the toilet. I have a vomit radar, if you will, and no later than a week before the dreaded event, I begin to sense what is coming.

Sure enough, early, early Sunday morning, it happens. I did my best to do the mom thing, hold the hair back, get the bucket, make up the bed on the couch, and go back to sleep on the family room floor within sight of the inferm, but at a safe distance. However, inside, I was crying for my mom.

I made it through Sunday as best I could. I couldn't stay home and nurse my fears, although that is exactly what I wanted to do, because it was our last practice for the program, and the control freak in me was not about to hand it over to someone who didn't have a clue.

And then I commited the cardinal sin.

I took Macy to church. Now before you judge me and condemn me to a fiery death, you have to know that she threw up at like, 4 in the morning and was instantly laughing, talking, totally normal. She was playing, running around all day until church, and I was going to leave her home except that she HAD to know where to go on the stand to sing her special number in the program or she would be totally clueless the following Sunday. Besides, the emetaphobe inside me had me convinced it wasn't anything contagious, just a fluke thing.

Okay, I know. I'm a big fat hypocrite and the guilt I felt was tremendous, but, what are you gonna do?

So the next two days were filled with me trying to talk to myself that I wasn't going to get it, waiting for the darn incubation period to be over. I put on my happy face, I kept myself busy, but even Bill could see right through me. He'd look at me suddenly and say, "You're totally freaking out right now, aren't you?" Caught red-handed.

Finally, Tuesday morning came like the beautiful dawn of a glorious day. My stomach untied itself from the double-knots it had been busing tying the last two days. I relaxed, I genuinely smiled, and I got back to life. Oh, to be done with it. No more obsessing, no more worrying, no more stomach made of jello (at least not on the inside.) I was free from all of it for at least a while, if I was lucky, a good few months.

Tuesday night I lay in bed, happy with the world, savoring every vomit-free moment, when Macy walked in.

"Mommy, my tummy feels yucky again."

Put on the smile, get the bucket, make up the bed on the couch.

Here goes round two.

Tuesday, November 7, 2006

Jumping on the Blog Bandwagon

Okay, so I just want to be like everyone else, really. No, in all seriousness the prospect of having a place to just way whatever I want and have people read it was just too appealing. And I keep hearing people say how addicting and funny they are, so apparently whatever I write will be entertaining.

So I want to apologize to all the people on my contact list in advance for the pluthera of forwards you got from me today. I can't seem to check my e-mail more than once a month, so I sit and forward all the really good stuff in mass amounts, overloading everyone's inboxes. This is the price you pay for being my friend. I apologize, but I can't help it if people send me jokes about scheming little old ladies and stories about little lizard "winkies". This is good stuff, folks, you want to read it. And I have to say, the Tickle Me Elmo joke made me laugh so hard my kids started to whimper. Two test tickles. Classic.

Anyway, I hope I have something, anything to say that you find worth reading. Even if I don't, read it anyway. Just be a friend, okay? I'd do it for you.

So anyway, don't be a stranger.