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.