Fruitcakes

My Life is Just Different Variations of Poop

2011-07-10T18:46:00.005-05:00

Lest you think my life has gotten easier, I give you these photos.

And this is only part of it. There were two more walls in the hall that had hand swipes and a couple more toys in his bedroom. His face, belly, legs, and bum were all covered in it as well.

The culprit is still in his room. Possibly until forever.

A Letter to a Number

2011-07-01T10:19:00.005-05:00

Dear 30,

Let's be honest with each other shall we? I come closer to meeting you with each passing day...really, there is less than a year and half left... and I find myself alternately excited and terrified for that day when we have to reconcile with one another. Perhaps we will embrace as sisters. Perhaps I will slap you upside the head and deny your existence. Perhaps a little of both. I'm not sure I will be able to full know how I feel about you until I am off to greet 40-- and we all know how I feel about 40.

You know, you are kind of big deal; a rather rotund number, if you'll allow me to say it. I have been taught to harbor anxiety about you my whole life. I'm serious. I believe the wrinkles, weight, and responsibility, all have something to do with it, though I know that is not all of it. There is something unseen and unfixed about you that adds to the anxiety. Maybe it is purely the uncertainty of change...of knowing I will never be friends with 20 again and that maybe I didn't do all I could to make 20 more beautiful. Because, let's face it, I've been a little rough on 20. She needed some shaping and molding and some figuring out who she was and how she fit into the world. And she's still not there yet.

Maybe that's where you come in, 30. I hope that's where you come in. Maybe you can be the fairy dust that gives a little confidence to 20. Makes her less concerned with what other people think. Please tell me the day I meet you is the day 20 stops worrying about every word she says. The day she makes choices for herself and not for other people. The day she loves her body because it a beautiful miracle, instead of wishing this was toned and that was thinner. Can you do that for me 30? Can you have this whole life thing figured out? Please say yes, because if you can't do it, is there really any point in appealing to 40? She's so far away and I'm not sure 20 can wait that long.

I'm counting on you 30 to do your part. I'm counting on you to be beautiful and lovely and wise. If you aren't, I'm pretty sure 20 is going to throw a fit. Did you know she still does that?

Keep in touch.

Me

Well, crap.

2011-04-05T17:41:00.007-05:00

Dear Jacob,

The walls? Really? I know you are tactile and curious and that often those things don't end well, but I'm beginning to think you might have a problem. Can you please take up another form of artistic expression? Or at least use another medium--like Vaseline.

Love from,
The one who has to clean it up.

P.S. Please don't really use the Vaseline, Mommy might die.

Healthy Eating Habits for Kids

2011-04-04T10:42:00.006-05:00

I haven't shared this website yet, but lately it has been my go-to site for ideas on healthy meals that are also kid friendly. Amy has some FANTASTIC ideas on presenting foods in a way kids will eat them (or at least try them) and I'm trying to incorporate her menu planning ideas as well so that we can amp up our vegetable intake.

Anyway, without further ado, here is the fabulous: SUPER HEALTHY KIDS

*Check out her Healthy Habits plates as well. I think I'm going to order four so the kids can have two each.

Answered

2011-03-26T16:04:00.002-05:00

Chris has this nasty habit of getting all road-ragey on people if they do stupid stuff while driving. He wholeheartedly believes he has to be the one to let them know they are dumb. For instance, if they cut him off, he will cut them off on purpose to let them know how inconsiderate it was of them to do such a thing. Thoughtful eh?

I won't lie, sometimes this scares the innards out of me.

When we were first married, I used to be all gaspy about it. I gasped so often though that it started to sound like I was hyperventilating every time he drove the car and it annoyed him further.

So, one evening, a couple of years in, I was gasping again and white-knuckling the please-don't-let-me-die bar and I started to pray in my head and in my heart. I prayed harder than I've ever prayed in my life. It was more begging than praying really, but still, I was petitioning the Lord to come to my aid.

I didn't pray for us not to die.

I didn't pray for Chris to slow down and come to his senses.

I prayed specifically for him to get pulled over for wreckless driving and get a big fat ticket and possibly even go to jail for 24 hours and that this would make him never want to drive fast again. I knew if we were going to live and if the Lord was going to help Chris overcome his weakness, He was going to have to do it through his pocketbook and his pride.

Every single time after that when he would let his anger drive the car, I would brace my feet against the floor, grab the seat with one hand and the bar with the other, and I would silently plead with God for a cop to pull Chris over and give him a ticket.

Maybe it is dumb to pray for something like that, but I knew that either:
A) we were going to die in a fiery car crash from hell and I had to be okay with going out like that

or

B) I needed help to get this fixed

I chose B.

Welp, it took about five more years, but the Lord finally answered my prayers. Chris got pulled over a couple of weeks ago going 51 in a 30 mph zone. He got a fat $238 speeding ticket and a court date.

When he came home mopey about getting the ticket, I tried not to be too overtly happy. But seriously, I was just giddy with delight! I stopped then and there and gave a silent heartfelt prayer of thanks.

His pride is a little injured, but he has slowed down and been super careful lately. We might just live long enough to find a new and seriously painful way to die without all the skidding on the road and being impaled by car parts. I couldn't be more joyous!

Repeat

2011-03-14T14:12:00.004-05:00

There was one time when Luke was two-years-old that he flooded the upstairs bathroom. He had somehow splashed enough water out of the tub to create a shallow pond on the tile floor.

Today it was Jacob's turn. I went to clean up his other mess, involving playdoh and the grout downstairs, while he splashed around in the tub for a minute. Suddenly, I heard the distinct sound of the toilet lid being played with. I rushed back to the bathroom and pushed open the door.

He was giddy with joy while bailing water out of the tub with the hair-washing cup at the rate of a sailor whose dingy is sinking. There was no less than ankle deep water the entire length of the bathroom. It was seeping through the carpet on the other side of the door and down through the downstairs ceiling.

I froze. Oh no! Oh no! Oh no! Oh no! Clearly I'm a wiz in situations like this.

I grabbed the cup from him and tried to bail the water back into tub. He got mad, then he got even. Now out of the tub, he started jumping in the man-made mischief. Water splashed halfway up the walls.

I yelled for Luke to come bail water so that I could get some towels. He deserted his post on the grounds that he didn't want to get wet. Traitor. I ran downstairs and ran back up. It took about 9 towels and 15 minutes of bailing to get the water absorbed.

I'm trying to remember why I thought Luke was harder at the age of three instead of two. If the last month is any indication, Jacob may kill me if he follows trend and becomes even more difficult at three.

You Can't Make This Stuff Up...

2011-03-10T06:36:00.005-06:00

Hi Ladies and Gents! Let's round out Poop Week, shall we, and continue with more stories you never wanted to hear...

Story #1

A day after the go-in-the-woods incident with Luke at the park, we went to a new park the next day (I won't tell you which one in case you don't ever want to go back). This park also lacks bathroom facilities for reasons I can't explain. Unfortunately, it also lacks proper woods-y-ness (that's a word). Ten minutes into being there, Luke had to go potty.

Looking around uncomfortably, I hissed, "Luke, scoot closer to the tree, buddy, there are a lot of other people here."

He moved two inches and proceeded to pull his pants down around his ankles. I could tell his bare bum was still visible to the passersby.

"Don't go! Don't go!" I said urgently, while at the same time trying to pull him closer to the tree. Lamentably, this action coincided with the exact moment that he started to pee and caused him to fall forward and turn sideways so that I was in the line of fire.

He peed all over my leg and foot.

I trudged off toward the car and retrieved some diaper wipes and cleaned myself up as best I could. I didn't want to leave yet, the weather was too nice and Luke was already frolicking around like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Ten minutes later he had to go again. I sent him behind the tree by himself.

"Mom! Mom!"

He had sidled into view with his bare bum.

I hurried over.

"What's the matter?"

Then I saw it. He had gone number 2. For a second I didn't know what I was going to do...I couldn't just leave it there. So I ran over, grabbed the wipes, wiped Luke's bum, and sent him off. I then proceeded to pick up the stuff and put it in one of Jacob's clean diapers so that it could be thrown away. I wiped down the dirt around the tree as best I could, hoping no unsuspecting child decided to hide back there.

That day was the highlight of my week.

Story #2

A few days later, Jacob was wet so I managed to take off his diaper and wipe him down before he ran away from me. I spent a few minutes trying to wrestle him into a new diaper before I gave up and decided he would be okay for a minute while I ran down to throw the diaper away in the outside trash.

As soon as I came in the door he was calling to me and I knew I had made a mistake.

"Bum! Yucky! Bum! Yucky!"

I took the stairs two at a time and he grabbed my hand to lead me into his room. I think he was genuinely a little bit frightened of what had happened. There in the middle of his floor was some poop. It looked eerily similar to something a cat would leave behind.

I'm just that lucky.

Story #3

Last night I had a couple of very vivid dreams. The first involved my children and I staying the night at my high school boyfriend's parent's house. I'm not sure why. The high school boyfriend wasn't there, just his parents and a couple of his sisters.

A little background info... I'm pretty sure these people thought I was the devil in high school.

So back to the dream.

As I laid Jacob down on their carpet to change him, he squirmed around and poop got all. over. the. floor. I frantically asked for carpet cleaner. They didn't have any. So I tried to wipe down the floor with wipes, only to make the carpet a wonderful shade of mustard yellow. All the fears about them hating me in high school washed over my brain as I woke up.

I drifted back to sleep after a few minutes of reassuring myself that it was just a terrible nightmare, only to find myself in another dream that I'm pretty sure is the manifestation of my feelings for this week.

A very large alligator was thrashing around in a shallow river while unconcerned children were floating in inner tubes dangerously close to it.

Do you have weeks like this?

Remember when...

2011-03-01T19:24:00.004-06:00

Remember when I wrote on Saturday that Jacob had entered the realm of playing with the stuff in his diaper?

Remember when he did it again today and put it all over the front of the entertainment center...sort of like he was coloring with sidewalk chalk...and then how he put it on the folding table we play games on and how he mushed it all over Luke's Thomas the Tank Engine?

Remember when I had to clean all that up, but I couldn't really get it out of all the spots on Thomas and I might have to kill Luke a little bit by throwing it away?

Then remember when I had to help Luke squat in the brush today at the park that doesn't have toilets and wipe his bum so he didn't get it on his pants and how I almost wanted to throw up because he is five and that is almost like wiping an adult's bum?

Remember when my life didn't revolve around my children's bowels?

I don't either. It was soooooo long ago.

And I Think I Prefer This to Potty Training

2011-02-26T08:04:00.005-06:00

Jacob's dirty diapers usually come with timed regularity. I can almost always count on one within a half an hour of him waking up in the morning. And, I can usually count on another one the moment after I have given up in frustration that I have spent an hour and a half trying to get him to take a nap and he is still bouncing around in bed and calling gleefully at the top of his lungs, "Maaa! Maaaaaaaa!"

Actually, it is kind of nice to know when he is going to need changing. The frustrating part is that it takes me a half an hour to wrestle him down to actually do the deed. He runs behind furniture, crawls under his bed, and when I finally get him pinned on the floor, he twists in such a manner that I know if I actually remove the diaper, there will be a bigger mess on the floor for me to clean up.

So, I was utterly shocked and amazed when he came to me the other day, smelling oh so pleasant, and pointed at his diaper and wanted me to change him.

Finally, finally! he was not going to fight me on the changing of the diaper! I was as exuberant as one can be when about to change a diaper.

I covered my nose with the front of my shirt, laid him down, opened up the dreadfulness, and found some unexpected surprises.

There were two lime green mini porcupine balls and one of Luke's "rocks" to his dragon fortress all entrenched in the masses of filth and little bits of undigested olives.

For one alarming second I thought that the boy had somehow swallowed all of these balls and lived to tell about it. It then dawned on me that there was no way he could have swallowed the fortress rock when he couldn't even fit the thing in his mouth and that in actuality, the boy had entered the realm of finding it fun to play with his dirty diaper and stuck the objects into his cake-like mess through the sagging leg hole of his bum cover.

I gagged as I tried to salvage the fortress rock by plucking it out, wiping it down thoroughly, and disinfecting it with chemical spray. The porcupine balls simply could not be saved and I left them in the depths. Luke was heart broken that I wouldn't save them from such a fate.

Later that night after dinner, I tossed Chris the rock ball and let him roll it around it in his hands for a minute before I took it, put it in his shirt pocket, and patting it said, "Guess what I did today?"

Irrational-Sensibility

2011-01-27T15:09:00.015-06:00

Like most people, I have a multi-faceted personality. From what I've observed, this is fairly normal...just some people get better traits than others. For instance, I got forgetfulness and social inadequacy, while my younger sister got likable and charming. What can I say? It's really just how the dice roll for the most part.

Though a single trait may be more dominant at one time or another, in general, they all keep each other pretty well balanced. However, every once in a while, personality traits within the same person clash horribly and create some sort of malformed offspring which really doesn't have a place within the carefully balanced human...kind of like a chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. It tries to be lovely and delicious, but is more or less just sort of overwhelming and gross .

In my case, irrationality and sensibility created just such a vagabond that has threatened my mental health more than once. I like to call this trait Irrational-sensibility...great name huh?

Irrational-sensibility is a characteristic that is sort of grotesque and it hits me over the head more times than I can count in a day and usually involves food...like the time it made sense to eat a whole coconut cream pie by myself. And the time it made sense to eat 18 out of the 24 cookies that I baked for other people. You see, it makes me do things that are irrational, but that I can twist into being uber sensible in the moment.

The I-S came upon me silently this morning when I was trying to be a good mother and feed my children breakfast.

I ended up feeding them a half a pan of brownies.

I KNOW.

Let me explain.

If I were gifted the single trait of irrationality, this morning it might have cheerfully said, "Feed your children brownies for breakfast." Hopefully you see how that's irrational. Irrational, but oddly free of any guilt because there is no sensibility to go along with it.

Whereas, the single trait of sensibility might have said something along the lines of,"Feed your children oatmeal. Children need a wholesome breakfast to start their day off right and nourish their growing bodies." See how that's sensible?

BUT, I don't have either of these traits. I have irrational-sensibility. Which sort of morphs the two into something that makes sense in my head, but is in all respects irresponsible...like what I did this morning.

See if you can follow the thought process.

"My children and I need to eat breakfast. I want brownies for breakfast. I'm allowed to eat brownies since I'm an adult and am fully capable of such decisions. But, my children will want brownies too and that's not a wholesome breakfast for children. I should feed them oatmeal. But, they will be upset if I get brownies and they don't get brownies. So, it makes sense that we should all eat oatmeal. I'm a good mom. I am happy."

And just as I was pulling down the oatmeal, my stupid personality swooped in and turned a good thing into this:

"Eating oatmeal makes me happy. Eating brownies makes me happier than eating oatmeal. I want to be happy so that I can be a good mom. I want my kids to be happy too. I should give my kids brownies so that they will be happier than if they ate oatmeal. So, it makes sense that we will all be happy and I will be a good mom if we have brownies for breakfast."

And that's what I did. See how it makes sense and is irrational at the same time...we all get brownies for breakfast, so we are all happy (sensible), but we all ate brownies for breakfast (irrational).

Ugh.

Any good ideas on forming new personality traits?

Rainbow

2011-01-02T21:56:00.022-06:00

The colors of the rainbow according to Luke. Illustrated by me.

The One With All the Pants

2011-01-01T14:32:00.004-06:00

In our house, we've made a non-verbal pact to only go clothes shopping for Chris once every two years. There are several reasons for this.

First, Chris. Hates. Shopping. (Let me rephrase that). Chris hates shopping for anything non-electronic or entertainment related. He would give up eating for a month in order to deck out his PC with a new power supply and graphics card, but he gives a compulsory mouth-vomit every time I mention the s-word (shopping) and goes into full on dry heaves if I tell him we are going clothes shopping for him.

Second, I hate shopping for Chris. Now, Chris is a manly man, a guy's guy and all that, but when it comes clothes, he can throw down the picky princess card faster than a 15-year-old girl. It always ends with both of us wanting to go postal on retail outlets and each other. It's just not pretty.

Finally, two years is enough time for hubby's clothes to wear out to the point that he is forced to buy clothes, by sheer lack of any other option, without me having to do anything at all. Our marriage wouldn't survive if we had to go any more frequently.

The week before Christmas our two year statute was up. One of his two pairs of pants got worn enough through the knee that we both knew the jig was up. I told him I refused to wash his one pair often enough for him to wear them every day and he, thank goodness, refused to just wear them out of spite, regardless of smell.

We loaded up the kids, went to Kohl's, and parked the car. I sent Chris in alone to grab the exact same style of jeans as the ones that were worn out and I sat in the car with the boys. (Luke knows all the stores in our area and refuses to go into a single one that carries only clothing or home decor).

I didn't encourage him to try on other brands or styles, I knew from previous experience that he wouldn't like them. He sticks with what works and I'm okay with that. After 45 minutes of trying on jeans, he came back with a single pair of jeans, exactly like the ones he already had. We were set for two more years.

The next day Chris wore the pants to go see Tron and when he came home he immediately told me that he didn't like the pants. "They just don't feel like the ones I had. They fit weird," he explained. I nostril flared him so he would know the extend of my disdain for what he was telling me.

We went back to Kohl's the next day and I sent him in alone to return the pants, while the boys and I waited in the car. Half an hour later he came back empty handed. "I'll get some another time. I'm too tired right now". Um kay, fine.

After Christmas it became painfully obvious that he needed pants NOW. We loaded up the kids for a third time and went back to Kohl's. This time, after much whining from everyone, the boys and I went in with Chris. The boys ran around the store like banshees while I gave Chris every single pair of jeans I could find in his size. He tried Comfort Fit, Relaxed Fit, Regular Fit, Boot Cut, Straight Leg, Low Rise, Mid Rise, and every other fit, cut, and rise available.

TWO HOURS LATER, battered, tired, and weak, we walked out of the store with his size in Relaxed Fit, Straight Leg Levi's, the exact same style and color of the jeans that had worn out.

"That's so weird," he said "maybe it was just that one pair that didn't fit right. Maybe something was wrong with them."

"Maybe something is wrong with you", I thought.

But this tale doesn't end there my friends. No, the next day when Chris went to work, he reached into the pocket of his perfectly fitting, fantastic pair of jeans and felt a piece of paper. When he pulled it out, it was none other than HIS ticket stub from the last time he went to see Tron.

That's right folks.

He bought the same pair of jeans TWICE! And for MORE MONEY!

And that is the tale of how it will now be four years before we go clothes shopping for Chris again.

The end.

Oh.

And Happy New Year from the Fruitcake side of town!

On Raising Geeks

2010-12-19T17:30:00.010-06:00

With Tron: Legacy in theatres, and Chris salivating over it and all things Tron, I've been reflecting a lot lately on how I got to this point in my life. The point where my house is full of geeks.

While we were dating Chris hid his geek side very well. There were no overt Star Wars themed conversations or long periods of time spent at his apartment watching him play video games (I had done that before...stupid, I'll admit...and didn't want anything to do with it again). In fact, I thought the fact that I could wipe the floor with him at Techmo Bowl on the original Nintendo was an all-in-all good sign and I relished in it heartily.

After we were married, I quickly realized the fullness of the geek I had married and for the most part, I thought it was cute and I (heaven forgive me) encouraged it. I wanted to be the cool wife who didn't nag her husband constantly about his video game playing and how he never spent time with me, so I did the best thing I could and I spent time with him in his own "private Idaho". We discovered the world of MMORPGs and World of Warcraft. Now, I'll concede that I have a little bit of geek in me too, but to a very defined point. I'll even disclose that I got so good at playing WoW that I would wield my Paladin powers in the online universe while nursing my newborn son in this one. Impressive huh?

HOWEVER, what I will not own to is the fact that it is partly my fault that our children also turned out to be geeks. You see, what I failed to realize while encouraging this behavior instead of quashing it the moment it reared its ugly head, was that really, I was nurturing the very characteristics that would be most prevalent in my own offspring.

Case in point. The other day Luke was doing his imagination thing...fighting off bad guys and what not, when he came up to me and very seriously said, "Mom! We've got to fight the MCP!"

And that's the moment I realized I'm raising my husband's clone in child form.

MCP??? Really? Now for those of you who don't speak geek, the MCP (Master Control Program) is from the original Tron movie (mediocre movie, even given leeway for it's 1980's first-of-its-kind computer graphics-- but we won't go there). Chris loves original Tron in all its light cycle glory. So does Luke.

What I'm wondering is how did I let it get to this point? Why didn't I see it coming when Chris's list of names for boys included Luke Boba Bailey and Lucius (as in Lucius from Harry Potter and/or Batman)?

A few days ago Chris came into the room, pure joy in his eyes, and told me he had earned enough points on some website to get three free posters.

"What kind of posters?" I asked.

People, I sucked in a whole lotta air when he told me, "Legend of Zelda posters!"

Naturally it begged the question, "So, where do you plan on hanging those?"

"In the study!"

"Oh."

With that one word his expression became crestfallen and I knew I had crushed a little piece of him.

"Well, I thought that's where I would hang them." he said slowly while hanging his head.

I couldn't do it. So I said, "Sure babe, it's your space, you do what you want to do with it" and I smiled.

Sigh.

I can't help it. I've got Star Wars Legos spilled over into every space of my house, but I take the geek out of him, he just wouldn't be the same. So, I guess I'll just resign myself to the fact that I'm raising geeks in this house and they might get teased, but dang it, I'll keep filling their hearts with visions of the MCP, Zelda, and Darth Vader and hope for the best.

Now, if anyone wants to reactivate my WoW account for Christmas, I think I'm gonna need it.

Does Anyone Else...

2010-12-12T17:10:00.002-06:00

wonder why Sundays have become the least restful day of the week? And ask Santa for a nap? a really really long nap...like three days worth...with no interruptions? That's what I want in my stocking.

And I leave you this epic comedy until next time.

Halloween

2010-11-04T15:19:00.010-05:00

Pumpkin Carving

Jacob was unsure about the feel of the pumpkin guts...

...until Daddy showed him how to throw them on the table (...and the floor...and the walls...)

Luke refused to touch the inside of the pumpkin altogether. Notice how he barely has his arm around it.

Luke's preschool costume parade

Tent or Treat

Our ward had a "tent or treat" instead of a "trunk or treat" this year so we took the boys to that instead of doing trick or treating. I couldn't get any really good pics of the boys. It was getting dark and they kept pulling off various parts of their costumes...hats, buttons, mustaches.

Luke had initially wanted to be Luigi so I built a family theme around him, but after changing his mind a million times, he settled on Mario. Since I already had Jacob's costume, we just had a "big" Mario and a "little" Mario.

Chris and I wore these:

I was the "big" and Chris was the "1 up". Not as creative as in the past, but it works.

Succotash

2010-11-02T18:19:00.003-05:00

Can I just say that we had THIS for dinner tonight and it was so UNEXPECTEDLY YUMMY.

You'd think a bowl full of vegetables would be bland, but this is full of flavor.

Don't know what succotash is? I didn't either. Look here.

My family thinks I'm killing them with all of these veggies, but someday they will thank me, I'm (almost) sure of it.

Recipe alterations: I don't like raw onions as much as I like them cooked, so I sauteed them with the corn and squash. Also, I'm not sure what a pattypan squash is(... nevermind, I just looked here), so I used a regular yellow summer squash.

One for the Grandparents

2010-10-24T17:06:00.016-05:00

Through the SPARK program in our school district we got to go on a firestation tour. Daddy got to come with us since he took the day off so that we could go to the temple. We got to sit inside the firetruck, tour the station, and Luke got to hold the fire hose and let water out.

My sister, Amanda, sent the boys a box of cowboy goodies. These mustaches were in the box and they've had fun playing with them. We are going to use them as part of their Mario Halloween costumes next week.

Painting Pumpkins

Luke started soccer this year. He is a pretty good little player, though he likes to take the ball away from his own teammates. I love seeing him in his soccer uniform. Jacob has a hard time at the games, he wants to be out on the field with everyone else.

Jacob and Daddy

Jacob playing in the sandbox. Yes, those are sand-caked boogers dripping down his face. He sneezed and before I could clean him up he face planted in the sand. Then I took pictures instead of wiping him off. I'm great like that. He didn't mind.

The Whys Behind our Eating

2010-10-06T11:34:00.003-05:00

We've recently changed the way we've been eating for a variety of reasons, mostly related to that we don't want to die anytime soon and maybe this will help. When I mention that we are eating more vegetarian meals and more organic foods people inevitably ask why we do it and so, dear internet, I'm going to not only answer them, but every one of you too. Don't you feel lucky?

Reason 1:

We are Mormon. If you want to learn more about Mormons and what we believe, go here. In a nutshell, there is a revelation that was given by God to Joseph Smith in 1833 called the Word of Wisdom. In it we are told how to keep our bodies physically and spiritually healthy. To learn more go here.

Specifically this revelation says, "...all wholesome herbs God hath ordained for the constitution, nature, and use of man. Every herb in the season thereof, and every fruit in the season thereof....flesh also of the beasts and of the fowls of the air, I, the Lord, have ordained for the use of man with thanksgiving; nevertheless they are to be used sparingly....all grain is ordained for the use of man and of beasts, to be the staff of life..." (DC 89:11-14). To read the entirety of the revelation go here.

With this revelation comes amazing blessings if we follow this Word of Wisdom, blessings of health, wisdom, great treasures of knowledge, and that the destroying angel shall pass by them. Blessings I surely want, especially since I've been suffering from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (that's a whole other post).

When I evaluated how we were eating, I realized that we were eating meat-centered meals. Every meal contained meat of some kind and rarely vegetables and grains. We were, in my opinion, ignoring some of the benefits and blessings that come with living in line with this revelation.

So, what have we changed? We eat more grains, lots more...whole grains. We eat more fruits and vegetables and we try to eat them when they are in season. We eat less meat...trying to only eat meat twice a week. Granted, this is still in transition mode and we aren't able to always follow this, but we are trying and I believe we are aligning ourselves more fully with this revelation.

Reason 2:

I get obsessed with things. Have you seen this movie? I'm not going to lie, there is some scary stuff in it and I became obsessed. It is a movie I believe everyone should see. The basic premise is to educate Americans on where there food comes from.

After this movie, I only buy organic where I can. I try to by free range chicken and beef, that is raised without antibiotics or hormones. If I can't afford it, I stick to buying the dirty dozen organically.

Reason 3:

We don't want to die. I can't exercise much because of the Chronic Fatigue and husband doesn't exercise much for a variety of reasons. We were both gaining weight and with hubby's history of high cholesterol and triglycerides we were putting ourselves at risk. Enter diet change. It's helped us both lose a little weight already and we've only been at it for about a month and a half.

So that's it, mostly. The whys. I promised a post of other things we've changed and tips on certain additives that are in food. I'll add that and then some resources I've turned to for finding information and healthier options. Hope this helps answer some more questions.

Recipes

2010-09-22T15:28:00.007-05:00

I've had some people ask for recipes, specifically vegetarian ones, so I thought I'd post them in a central location of sorts. We aren't vegetarian, but we eat a fair number of vegetarian meals. I'll probably post later on some of the reasons why we eat what we do and some tips I've learned to make choosing what we eat a little more healthful. For now, here are some recipes that I think are really really yummy!

Quinoa and Vegetable Pilaf

Ingredients:

1 bag frozen diced mixed vegetables
2 teaspoons olive oil
1 cup dry quinoa (rinsed)
2 cups chicken broth (or vegetable broth)

Directions:

Thaw frozen veggies by running them under water in a colander. Shake off most of the liquid, add to a medium saucepan with olive oil. Saute for 5 minutes. Add quinoa and broth, and bring to a boil. Cover, reduce heat, and simmer for 15-20 minutes, or until liquid is absorbed.

Season as desired. Try garlic salt, pepper, and parsley.

Asparagus Cashew Rice Pilaf
--on this I don't boil the asparagus as it gets soggy, I like to saute it in a little bit of olive oil and garlic until it is just tender.

Black Bean Burgers with Lime-Cilantro Mayo
--The Kicker: You have to like cilantro. If you don't, cut the cilantro down or cut it out completely, but if you leave it, you won't be disappointed, I promise!

Quinoa and Black Beans
--Only use one can of black beans. Trust me, its plenty.

Whole Wheat Spaghetti with Garlic, Zucchini, and Tomato
--Got this from CuisineNie as well, but I've changed it up some.

Ingredients:
Whole wheat spaghetti
2 Tablespoons olive oil
coarse salt and pepper
small red onion, chopped
3 garlic cloves minced
1 large zucchini cut lengthwise into sticks
2 plum tomatoes cut lengthwise into strips (I use whatever tomatoes I have on hand and dice them instead)
1/2 cup parmesan cheese

Boil noodles in salted water. In the meantime, sautee garlic in 2 Tablespoons of olive oil for 3 minutes.
Add zucchini, 1/2 cup water, and onions. Let sit on medium for 10 minutes. Drain off water and put zucchini and noodles in large bowl. Add tomatoes and cheese and lightly mix everything together. Salt and pepper to taste. (I add a little garlic salt).

*What I really like about this one is the flavor the fresh tomatoes bring along with the parmesan. In the original recipe she doesn't cook the onions. Try it both ways and see what you like.

Mushroom Stir-Fry
--This one takes a little time, but it is soooo worth it! I leave out the asian chili sauce and have been known to use apple cider vinegar in place of the rice vinegar. Also, I use low-sodium soy sauce to try and make it a little more health friendly.

Well, there you have it. These are ones we've tried and liked. I'll add some more later that are not vegetarian, but are still yummy and healthy.

Double, Double Toil and Trouble; the House Will Burn, the Toilet Bubble

2009-03-25T10:51:00.005-05:00

Eldest child has been in a weird mischievous funk.

For instance, in the span of the last two weeks he’s taken to licking things---the carpet, the walls, the baby’s head.

Yep.

The baby's head.

I’m talking full on droolage all over little brother’s slightly misshapen noggin. Not that it matters much I guess, since the baby’s always wet from his unending string of spittle, but still…it’s unnerving, you know.

Like he’s tasting him.

Now, I’m fully aware that Jake’s head looks slightly like a giant lollipop on a stick, but I’d still rather not have my three-year-old trying to figure out how many licks it takes to get to the center.

In other news, the mysterious funk that has encapsulated my son has also put him on the track to having “Felony Arson” attached to his name forevermore. About the time the licking weirdness began, I started finding a variety of highly flammable objects in my oven --- a kitchen towel, a pie tin full of soft plastic baby toys, the LINT from my dryer screen. Can you say FLAMING. BALL. OF. DEATH? Fortunately, I haven’t had occasion to use the oven because my gourmet cereal dinner doesn’t involve any actual cooking.

And to top it all off, what mischievous child is void of toilet curiosity?

Luke’s had a little fascination with trying to see how much TP will actually go down the toilet all at once. The other day I overheard him in the bathroom cheering, “C’mon! Go down! C’mon! Go down!” I ran in and found him staring down into a bowl brimming with an entire roll of unrolled toilet paper.

On separate occasions I’ve also had to fish out an entire roll of TP still on the roll, his underwear, and a hand towel from the depths of toilet-dom. Who knows what might have actually made it through? The baby does happen to be missing a conspicuous amount of pacifiers. Maybe he'll do me a favor and flush the dirty laundry down the toilet.

Sigh.

I think I need a job transfer.

As Long As He's Uncomfortable Too...

2009-03-06T08:27:00.002-06:00

I’m cold. It’s 73 degrees inside my house and I feel like I’m in a meat locker.

There is this ongoing battle in our house for temperature control. It’s a nasty one too…with all sorts of mock guilt trips being tossed around like salmon at a fish market. The problem? Chris is perpetually sweating-to-the-oldies hot at any temperature above 67. I am perpetually hell-just-froze-over cold at any temperature below 77. And so, we both end up being perpetually uncomfortable because the definition of “compromise” always means lose/lose at our house.

In the battle of wills, that Chris is a wiley one.

I woke up a couple of mornings ago to all the windows in the house completely open.

I promptly began to close all of said windows.

“What are you doing?”

“Closing the windows.”

Whining like a baby, “Ahhh, it was finally starting to get comfortable in here.”

Also whining like a baby, “Baaabe! I’m soooo cold. It’s like 40 degrees outside and the thermostat says 65!”

Trying to guilt-trip me, “I guess what I want doesn’t matter.”

Unphased, “You’re right, it doesn’t.”

3 Seconds

2009-02-24T21:18:00.001-06:00

Do you ever get distracted?

Turns out, I have the attention span of a goldfish. Shiny objects and other such things tend to make me….

Ooooh, a quarter!

Anyway, so I couldn’t remember if I put conditioner in my hair yesterday while I was showering…it’s also possible that I don’t remember if I did it twice. Then I put face scrub in my hair. I have very clean hair.

See, I spend almost the entire day of most days in my own mind. That amount of time spent in the fantasy land of my brain is liable to distract me from reality….a lot.

It wouldn’t be such a problem if I were solving the great mysteries of the universe, but more often than not I’ve got a song playing in my head like some movie theme while I imagine all sorts of situations that could possibly….maybe….probably not….happen. But seriously, you never know when you might end up as a character on LOST (only for reals, because we all know that could totally happen) and have to run away from the smoke monster.

This trait isn’t something new. When I was little I knew exactly what sort of super-human fighting moves I’d do if a robber ever came into our home. And I could fly.

Chris hasn’t learned his lesson yet. He still asks all the time, “What are you thinking about right now?”

I got tired of making up fake normal thoughts so I started telling him the truth.

“I was just thinking that if I killed someone and I had to hide the body, I would put it back in those trees. I mean, that area looks like no one’s been in there in months.”

“Really? That’s pretty creepy.”

“Yeah, haven’t you ever thought about stuff like that?”

“Never.”

Awkward silence.

(Darting eyes around furtively) “Oh…me neither.”

So, what do I do in the rare moments when reality comes knocking? I shut the door in its face and continue washing my hair with my face scrub while mentally practicing my “hi-ya” moves on ninja monkeys.

What Did I Just Say?

2009-02-18T15:42:00.003-06:00

Toilet-training has been hard. The kid stubbornly refused to go number 2 in the toilet for a solid month (and that’s not counting the first attempt back in August). I had entered the desperate begging version of praying when at long last he got it. Finally. Finally.

After the long, arduous, terrible ordeal that is potty-training, there’s only one response you can give when your three-year-old proudly yells out everyday from the bathroom, “Mama! Come look at my poo poohs!”

You sigh. You run in. You say,“Gee whiz buddy! Look at that poop! It’s yellow today!” And you remember how one month ago you would have given anything to see that version of food at the bottom of the toilet.

Then he turns his wide eyes and big grin toward you and says, “It makes Mama happy again.”

Yes it does, Gooba.

Every. Freakin. Time.

The Post In Which Fence-Sitters Get Violently Shoved to the Correct Side

2009-02-16T13:49:00.003-06:00

If any of you have been questioning whether I’m the queen of all idiots or just the village idiot, wonder no more.

I give you my dreadful tale of embarrassing woe:

But first, a little back story. Luke has been charismatically disrespectful as of late. Megan came to see me a fortnight ago. After witnessing some gnashing of teeth, a suggestion was made to turn Luke’s doorknob around so that I could contain the little bugger whilst mothering the other one. Megan, I totally blame you for what follows. (Not really, I’m just kidding. Kind of. Almost.)

So, yesterday (and by yesterday I mean several days ago---why can I never do things on time?) started out deceivingly good. No real gloom and doom on my end, a rarity in recent months. We enjoyed the late morning at the park and when we came home the two critters and I headed upstairs to play “trains”. (I like to try out the ‘good mother’ role every once in a while.) (It never sticks.)

I walked in first with the baby, laid him on Luke’s bed, and sat down for some track construction. In the meantime, Luke came in and shut the door. Heh heh. This is where it gets good. Luke asked for milk. I tried to leave the room, but the doorknob was alarmingly immovable.

Jiggle.

Jiggle…jiggle…JIGGLE.

Huh. Not good.

I rummaged around in Luke’s toy box for something to pick the lock.

Nothing.

I opened his closet door. Ah ha-- a wire hanger. I can do this! I’ve read WikiHow on picking locks.

Twenty-minutes later…yeah, WikiHow, not so helpful.

I quickly calculated my options: Break legs while jumping out window, wait three hours for Chris to come home, open windows and yell hysterically until someone comes to help.

I opened the window and braced myself…

You thought I was going to jump didn’t you?

I was. But, I had no idea if the front door was open and what good would my daring act of bravery have been if I was unconscious from blood loss and locked out of the house? I mean, how stupid do you think I am?

So, I put my pride aside and picked the next best option. I hung myself out the window like a lady of ill repute and called out to the weed-whacking workers across the street…

and the man jogger with the headphones…

and all the cars with the windows rolled up…

I finally got the attention of one of the workers across the street who stopped what he was doing, hit his buddy on the arm, then did the “man nod” in my direction. After some misinterpreted signaling, they stayed put.

Stupid man workers.

Finally, 45 minutes into the ordeal, our neighbors’ lawn care guys pulled up in a truck and I did my best blonde damsel-in-distress gig.

It worked. One of them came over and freed us from the awful nightmare.

“Boy, that’s not something you come across every day. I’ll have to remember this one,” he said as he chuckled out the door.

Gee thanks.

After he left, I picked up the shattered pieces of my self-respect and put both kids in front of a Baby Einstein video…they’ve got to get smart somehow…I’m only going to give them the idiot genes.

Jacob Kimball Bailey

2008-12-11T16:08:00.005-06:00

Baby Jacob made his debut Tuesday, December 2nd, 2008 via c-section. He was 6 lbs. 3 oz. and 19 1/2" long. We didn't have any complications, though he did have the cord wrapped around his neck 4 times. I'm slowly adjusting to having another baby around the house and the exhaustion that comes with it. I love my boys.

Because I'm Always Late

2008-11-26T09:54:00.011-06:00

Okay, so I know it has been two whole months, plus some. I’m just like that. I keep thinking of things to blog about, but wouldn’t ya know…it’s hard to blog when you have other things to do and besides, I’m pregnant (and that excuse covers everything).

So, just a quick update, and then hopefully some meaningful---whelp---okay, I won’t lie to you---just some straight shot dull blogging after this.

RECAP:

September--nothing happened.

October--a few things happened.

November--some more stuff happened.

FINE.

I'll do a quick recap.

I’m now 36 weeks pregnant and very fat. Behold. The. Glory. These are only because Erin Faun insisted on humiliation. I'm going to go poke my eyes out now:

I think tomorrow will be the official day in the timeline of pregnancy that I had Luke…so pray we don’t have a turkey-sized baby for Turkey Day. Pictures are coming of the nursery and Luke’s room—eventually…I can’t promise anything soon because, well, read the title. Both are painted, neither are quite finished. We are painting our living room/entry way this weekend...pics to come probably next year. Wow. We are SO. NOT. DULL. And here are a few pictures to catch you up.

Luke carving his pumpkin and then smelling it. He didn't like touching the guts, but he was willing to stick his face in it?? Go figure.

He liked putting the pieces back in like a puzzle. He was so excited for the finished product...

...and the moldy finished product a few days later.

Costumes: If you can't figure them out then I'm ashamed.

Me stuffing my face at the ward Halloween party. These were half of Costco-sized pumpkin pies. Enormous. I was pretty proud of myself for not upchucking the pie and the baby---Gabe on my left, yeah, total pukage that night. Sorry Gabe...he ate all of his and took one for the team by eating a small slice of mine too.

Still---I didn't puke---I can totally eat like a champ.

Okay, enough with the family-bloggy-ness. This blog is supposed to be about me and my thoughts and, oh yeah, me some more...so thank your lucky stars you got updates AND pictures---they were mostly still about me, but, hey, what did I just tell you?

I'm sure tomorrow will be fun...we'll talk about my first Thanksgiving disaster! Woohoo!

Your Poop Bag is SO CUTE!

2008-09-20T22:57:00.009-05:00

I noticed a couple of women outside walking today. One of the women was walking a large dog and they seemed to be having a friendly, animated conversation. I normally wouldn’t have given much thought to such a scene except for one little detail that I can’t get out of my head.

As I watched my eyes went to the woman with the dog. She was gesturing dynamically as she was speaking—one hand wrapped up in the dog leash, the other flailing a white plastic bag full of—um—poop.

(Now, don’t get all huffy on me just yet.)

(I’m not OPPOSED to people picking up their dog’s odorous droppings. In fact, I’m sure if I think about it long enough that I will be quite ECSTATIC that I don’t have to STEP IN it, or SMELL it, or SEE it.)

THE THING IS, I was just curious if she was AWARE she was waving around a giant bag of POOP??

AND---did her friend observe the foulness that was swinging closer with every enthusiastic statement??

I watched in wonderment and yet, neither of them seemed to acknowledge the stench encased in a thin layer of plastic. They just kept talking like it was a NORMAL thing for people to have bags of poop around their wrists.

I mean its POOP for heaven’s sake! POOP!

And she was WAVING. IT. AROUND.

NONCHALANTLY.

Like she was carrying something UNOBTRUSIVE. Like a water bottle. Or a grenade.

Call me a stick-in-the-mud, but I get appropriately embarrassed when I carry poop around. I don’t FLAUNT my bags of poop. No siree.

Brandishing sizable bags of poop---now that’s just downright boastful.

Where I Plead For Pity Laughs

2008-09-20T08:38:00.003-05:00

Okay peoples. I need your help.

So the always funny Sue over at Navel Gazing is putting together this book to be published called Sometimes Life is Funny. It is going to be a collection of essays that are supposed to be humorous on some level and all of the proceeds from the sale of the book are going to the NieNie Recovery Fund. This fund is to benefit Stephanie and Christian Nielson who were in a plane crash and sustained extensive burns. Nie's sister, cjane, has taken over care of their children while they are in the hospital and has been blogging about the experience. I don't know the Nielsons or Courtney, Nie's sister, but for some reason I've become endeared to them through the blogging world. I dare you to read just a short post from Courtney and not feel the same.

I don't think I'm funny enough to be in the book, but I figured it never hurts to try right? Plus, how freakin cool would it be to have an essay published in a book and be able to help out a good cause at the same time?

Anyway, here's where you come in dear readers. I need your help. This may be asking too much, but I'm hoping you will go through my archives and tell me which post is your favorite. Which post made you snort, chuckle, chortle, or crack half a smile? The deadline for submission is September 30th, but I'm hoping to choose something to submit by the end of this week.

So go for it. Here's your chance to delurk. I promise to love you forever.

Lemonade

2008-09-03T09:20:00.010-05:00

When life hands me lemons, I like to stare life boldly in the eye and take a nice big tangy bite out my lemon as if to say in an outrageous French accent, Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries…now go away or I shall taunt you a second time. Then, when life acknowledges defeat and turns its back on me, I hit life squarely in the back of the head with my mangled lemon and whistle nonchalantly whilst avoiding its direct gaze.

Today’s lemon: my maimed phone. Granted, life didn’t hand me the phone, Luke did, but my insults don’t seem to have the same effect on him.

Psshh. Is that all you’ve got life? I laugh in your general direction—merely a flesh wound. It still rings, I can still talk to people (if I use the speaker phone). Sure, I can’t tell who’s calling or if I have any messages. And I can’t access anything. It’s like being in the 1980s all over again. And who doesn’t love the 80s? Big hair rock ballads…need I say more?

And so I scoff, life. I scoff at your lemons and I chew them with vigor—and a little bit of gagging and chin drool.

But do me a favor----don’t hand me anymore till I run to the store and get some sugar.

PS--10 points to anyone who can name the movie...points are pretty much worthless, but whatever makes you feel better.

Nursery??

2008-08-25T15:10:00.007-05:00

I want to do a baby nursery this time around and here are a few things I like, but I'm pretty sure I'm too lazy to do.

Love the bold colors in this room:

and the tree in this room, though the color scheme is too muted for me:

and I'm liking this nursery set too, though I can't tell if the brown on the dots side is too much of an ugly brown:

Chris likes this one:

Anyway, not that you really care, I just needed some suggestions/help and besides that I couldn't get my mind to work properly for a better post.

The Art of De-Chunking

2008-08-20T12:16:00.005-05:00

Trust me, it’s a useful topic. You see, my little Gooba has this strong aversion to chunks in foods that are supposed to be mostly creamy/ smooth-ish. You know the stuff: yogurt, mashed potatoes, peanut butter, jam. Heaven forbid he ever has to go to a Mormon potluck. The green chunky jello would do him in completely.

Yep, Gooba is a chunk snob. On most days there has to be a significant amount of chunky removal on my part. For instance, Gooba loves yogurt…all kinds of yogurt, BUT it has to be chunk free. I used to think if I could just get him to eat a couple of chunks, he would learn to like it and I wouldn’t have to bother picking out all the fruit pieces. I would sneak in a small chunk and watch with bated breath to see if he noticed. Two seconds later he was drooling with a horror-stricken look calling out, “Chunky! Chunky!” as the culprit slathered down his chin. He would then look at me very seriously, brows furrowed, and say, “Mie no wanit. Mie no wan chunkies”.

So, in case any of you out there have a chunk snob like I do, let me share a little wisdom I’ve picked up in the art of dechunking.

First, identify the chunky or chunkies. Be careful, it could be miniscule, but in the eyes of a chunk snob, it still counts.

Second, remove said chunky. This takes precision, accuracy, and a lot of practice. If you remove too much of the surrounding matter with the chunky you could end up with a quarter of what you started with. If you remove too little, you'll have a very mad toddler.

Third, reuse or recycle said chunky. If you like chunkies, then by all means eat it. If you are overly stimulated by texture like your spawn, then find another use. Feed it to the dog. Use it as under-the-table art. If it happens to be fruit, freeze all removed fruit chunkies in a container until you have enough to make a smoothie out of the mushy stuff. Most of all, be creative. It helps lessen the weight of knowing you are a genuine de-chunker.

BLEH.

2008-08-15T07:15:00.015-05:00

Oh. Hello? heh heh. So, um, I used to have a blog.

Here's a few things I've got rolling around in my head. Ahem.

1) Potty Training SUCKS. Fine kid...pee in your pants. See if I care. NO WAIT!!! I CARE! I CARE! I REALLY.... really.... care..... ah dang.

2) Some people have no tact. Sometimes I'm some people. Other times other people are some people and I want to latch my fingers onto their leg hairs and just yank.yank.yank.yank.yank. C'mon. Speak responsibly.

3) It would be awesome if I could jump over rivers and run super fast and kick the crap out of bad guys...you know, all that stuff that comes with being a veggie vampire.

4) Weird names are dumb...unless they're cool.

5) Once upon a time, I took showers. The end.

6) Michael Phelps is scarily disproportionate, but it's okay because he's a swimming freak of nature. What do other severely disproportional people do if they never find their inner dolphin? Just go through life looking weird?

7) Hemorrhoids terrify me. Never had them, never want to.

8) Bed bugs also terrify me.

9) I have this re-occuring dream where I can never find a bathroom that is clean, in working order, and out of view of everyone around me. What does that mean?

10) Little boys with wedgies...way cool.

Boy, oh, boy!

2008-07-31T18:25:00.003-05:00

Airplanes, trucks, cars, and toys...
There's nothing quite like little boys!

That's right folks, we are having another little boy. We found out yesterday and we are so thrilled. He is healthy and active. I am quite clearly going to be spending the majority of the next 20 years of my life cleaning the baseboards in my bathrooms and praying that there are never any electric fences around to pee on.

The only real issue we are having at the moment is coming up with a name. Chris thinks we ought to name him Boba Fett or Bespin or Qui Gon Jin or a hundred other dopey Star Wars names. I just can't do it. I can't bring myself to be known as "that family" who named all their kids Star Wars names. I also can't come up with anything better that doesn't get shot down in two seconds flat. Sigh, perhaps we'll just call him number 2.

Little Moments

2008-07-09T08:57:00.005-05:00

I held Luke’s small hand this morning as we walked up the stairs together. It’s not an uncommon gesture in our home, but today was different.

Today, I looked down.

Today, I looked at that little fist wrapped in my hand and I realized I was holding time. I was holding in my hand a moment that would never be again. “He’s growing too fast; getting too big”, I thought. And I found myself torn between mourning the baby I’m losing simply because time must continue to trudge onward and being awe struck at the person my little man is becoming. He’s changing every day and that is as heart-wrenching as it is electrifying. Both terrifying and exhilarating, like a roller-coaster ride you wish would stop and keep going at the same time.

And then, all too quickly, we finished our upward climb and he let go.

Preparing for Baby

2008-07-08T16:19:00.012-05:00

Luke has been preparing for his upcoming big brother role the best way a little boy knows how....

he substituted a giant Yoda pez dispenser for a baby (surpass the wisdom of Yoda you cannot)...

he wrapped him lovingly in a blankie...

checked his throat for candy (he wouldn't want Yoda to choke)...

and put Yoda down for a nap with a slobbery kiss "nuh night".

Now, if our next child comes out looking like a Yoda who bears candy, we will be all set.

Chris the Patron Saint of Patience

2008-06-09T08:10:00.014-05:00

After a two month sabbatical, I'd like to announce to the world that I'm back, and in mostly good form...just a little heavier...and a little bit pregnant. And, now that first and second breakfasts are staying down, I'll try and be a better blogger. In the meantime I'd like to leave you with something funny or insightful, but I'm capable of neither of those so you just get weird.

The other night Chris and I were lying in bed. As with most nights, he was reading and I was trying to clear my mind of all the crazy so that I could drift off into a peaceful sleep.

(10 minutes of the aforementioned quiet reading and mind clearing)

(turning to face him) "So, I read this article on CNN today about how all these human feet keep washing up on shore in Canada."

(keeps reading)

"It got me thinking about WHERE all these feet are coming from. I mean, these so called 'authorities' just said it was a mystery and they don't seem very concerned about WHO they are coming from and WHY. Wouldn't you want to know why? There could be a serial killer out there who just hacks off people's feet as his SIGNATURE...you know."

(sighs loudly) "Maybe they're fake."

"No. There were six feet found and only one was fake. It turned out to be a dog paw in a shoe wrapped in seaweed. They said they knew it was fake because they did DNA testing on it and they were mad because of all the time it took, but don't you think that they could have just LOOKED at the bones and known they weren't human. I mean, c'mon...even I could look at a dog paw and know it wasn't a human foot."

(silence for a minute)

"And, four of the feet were right feet and only one was a left foot. Maybe the killer was trying to throw us off the scent..."

(looks at me) "I promise to never talk to you when you are reading."

"Oh, thanks."

(starts reading again)

"...but they also said it could be from the dead bodies of the people in a plane crash three years ago that were never recovered. But it's only FEET....why not hands or heads??? Weird huh?"

(sighs again)

"Sorry."

(silence)

"But what if you FOUND one of the feet. What would you DO...."

I'm Still Not Okay

2008-04-17T13:22:00.003-05:00

Dear Wendy’s,

Your square burgers…they freak me out. Please rectify the situation. Thank you.

Sincerely,

A customer that might or might not have OCD and run on sentence tendencies when she is forced to be okay with such purposefully flawed food stuffs as square burgers, especially when the buns are most certainly round and there could be no other possible reason for having a square burger unless the corresponding bun was also a square, but the buns can never ever ever ever ever be square because we all know deep within our hearts that that is against all laws of nature... and humanity... for people like me would surely die if such a thing existed.

Whatever Rubs Your Buddha

2008-04-07T07:28:00.011-05:00

Luke got some new shoes the other day…lime green Crocs. He loves them. He frequently wears them around the house with nothing else on but his diaper. When we first brought them home, he wore them all day and could intermittently be heard repeating as he looked lovingly down at them, “piddy coot” (that’s ‘pretty cute’ for those of you who don’t speak Luke). Though he is pretty cute in his new shoes, his choice of words got me thinking about the things we say (and the things oft echoed back by little ones).

Adults sometimes don’t realize just how much kiddos pick up. When we play the Wii, Luke will often shout out in frustration, “Shoot!” or “Dang it!” and though it is hilarious to hear, in the back of my head I know he only says those things because Chris and I have said them too commonly. I still remember from my childhood, my dad saying every time we pulled into the driveway, “Home again, home again, jiggity jig”. Yeah, I have no idea, but it has stuck with me. That and the moment my sweet and mostly proper Grandmother swore in disgust about my stepmother’s brief stint in our family. My mouth gaped open, but she never apologized for it and it still makes me snort to this day.

High school seemed to be the time when the weirdest phraseology would crop up. Words would circulate around for a few months and then go off and die in the graveyard of idiotic things people say. For a time I could spasmodically be heard uttering things like ‘Holy Moly!’ and ‘Whatever rubs your Buddha’. And, courtesy of my cousin Ashton and my long-time friend Jason respectively, ‘Go suck an elf’ and ‘Boo for you’ also made their rounds. Second-rate Spanish insults were a favorite too. If you can’t tell, we didn’t make it into the cool crowd.

Conversations would sometimes go like this:

Me (in mock disgust): Holy Moly! No me gusta tu cara! Es muy feo. (Holy Moly! I don’t like your face. It is very ugly.)

Ashton (smiling): Ah, go suck an elf.

Me: I’m just messin’ with ya cuz.

Ashton: Yeah, well, boo for you.

What can I say, we were Einsteins in the making. I’d like to think that my vocabulary has improved as of late, but sometimes I’ll still pay occasional homage to simpler times with a jiggity jig or some elf suckage. So what sort of phrases have you all sent to the grave? Or was I the only one with such an amazing capacity for awesomeness?

Art

2008-04-03T16:33:00.007-05:00

Luke and I had some awesome fun-time today. We painted, went to the park, and played in the sprinklers. One of my all-time favorite things to do with Luke right now is paint. We use Crayola Washable Kid's Paint and have come up with some great stuff that even he can do. I find that most preschool stuff is still a little too advanced for Luke at this stage, but painting gives him a great way to have fun, be creative, get messy, and learn.

For instance, today we took some paper towel rolls that I had been saving for just such an occasion. I put various paint colors on washable plates and Luke dipped the ends of the rolls in paint (one end for each color) and made prints. It emphasized colors, the circle shape, and allowed him to invent new ways to be creative-- he started out doing individual circles spaced a little apart, then found it looked different when he put several circle prints on top of each other. When he got tired of it, but I didn't want to waste any paint, we made it into something new by dipping forks and spoons into the paint and seeing how the prints turned out on paper.

Other things we've done are our fingers, feet, feathers, apples (if you cut them in half sideways, you get a really cool star shape in the center), rocks, cotton swabs, etc. It really is a fantastic way to keep otherwise mischievous toddlers, very entertained.

The Leakage Wars

2008-04-03T12:26:00.005-05:00

Last night, only half-jokingly, I swaddled Luke’s bum in two diapers. I had accidentally ripped half-way down one of the elastic sides of the outer diaper earlier in the day and wasn’t willing to rely on it as a first defense. Ever the recycler, I was curious as to whether or not it would hold up as the secondary barrier to Luke’s usual leakage during the night.

You see, my son has this uncanny knack for holding in all liquid until the weary hours of the morning. I’m probably underestimating, but he will leak through a diaper about 4 nights out of every week. We’ve tried to stem the tide by restricting his drinkage before bedtime. It has helped to some degree, but even then, some unsuspecting diaper gets a gushing wave of terror during the night. Dams can only hold so much before they spring a leak, people, and these dams either leak yellow liquid or little gelatin-like beads all over the bed.

So, we nixed the drinks last night, made him go on the potty, and tucked him in with his two diapers. I thought, ‘for sure this kid won’t be able to leak out of TWO diapers. Right??’ Chris informed me Luke looked like a dork, but I didn’t care. I was going to have one pee-free night, dang it!

Well, dear readers, apparently even two diapers are no match for Luke’s overabundant bladder release. At five o’clock this morning, Luke could be found crying because he was awoken, yet again, by the wetness of his bed. I was crying too—inside my head. How?? HOW???

Well, I’ve put together a little theory:

The diaper companies are in league with Luke to keep me as grossed out as possible. That’s all I’ve got.

I’m going to have to start making him sleep in a bed of kitty litter so that I can get some sleep in the mornings. Poor kid, it’s really not his fault, and I would cry every morning too if I was cold from my own wetness. What's a little boy to do?

P.S. EeeGADS!!! Luke just got up from his nap and he was, you guessed it, wet! I swear the boy has Niagra Falls flowing through his pants.

Mr. Hyde is, in fact, a gremlin

2008-04-01T15:01:00.003-05:00

The last couple of weeks have been chock-full of blogging fodder, the most delectable victual being the critical discovery that my son has a Dr. Jekyll/ Mr. Hyde complex. Nowhere in my pregnant “what-to-do-in-case-of-such-and-such” readings was there a footnote informing me that I would be giving birth to half pure evil. The heads up might have been nice. You know, a little “hey, congrats on the man-child…oh and, don’t forget to catch up on your Gremlins —that blender scene might come in handy”.

Thanks for that.

So the other day I had a doctor’s appointment. I, of course, took little Hyde with me as I was low on the amount of Benadryl I had left in the house and I wasn’t willing to leave him on the couch as a Seran wrap burrito without the added benefit of drowsiness. Oh the mistakes we make. Not only did my little rapscallion run out of the automatic doors and into the parking lot as I was trying to sign over the rest of the month’s food budget; but he disturbed all the little old people so much, I’m sure more than one had a stroke whilst in the waiting area. Seriously. I heard one guy snort and then…nothing.

This non-commitment to one personality is killing me and Hyde usually chooses to materialize in the most public of places. The worst part of the whole thing is that I have no idea what acceptable methods of public discipline are. I’m pretty sure they don’t involve my usual hog-tying, but what other options are there really? I mean really??? When we were waiting I kept trying to whisper in boy-child’s ear to coax him into reason....you know things like, “Please stop baby. Do you see all the scary old people with big noses? They will talk crazy to you if you don’t stay close to Mommy.”

Of course this didn’t work, and I didn’t really expect it to work. I’m sure Hyde was laughing inside at my pitiful attempt. I was really just doing it so that everyone else in the vicinity would think I was a very capable and consistent mother and that I had proper disciplining techniques. I could see the nurses behind the desk judging my skills because of his wild antics and then nod in serious approval when I pulled the boy aside and whispered in his ear. I’m sure they thought I was smiling patiently and saying, “Stop, or you will have a time-out” or other such nonsense. Really, I was digging for empathy, “I know Mommy is smiling on the outside, but Mommy is dying on the inside. You are killing your own Mommy, how does that make you feel?” Did you know two-year-olds don’t care if you are dying on the inside?

Initially the appointment started out as a means for me to find out how to get re-pregnant. By the time I left, the appointment had become a symbol of wonderment as to why I would actually attempt to have such a destructive oversight again.

In all fairness, I’m pretty sure I knew this was coming; I just didn’t think my “creative patience” powers were going to be strained beyond the ‘duct-tape-child-to-the-wall’ stage. I’ve had to come up with all new protocol, most of which seem a little too cruel or unusual to use on my little darling, and none of which seem cruel or unusual enough to use on my little hellion.

P.S. Mommies to be: I’m serious about Gremlins-- you can thank me later.

Snap, Crackle, Pop

2008-03-31T08:20:00.009-05:00

It’s 5:11am my friends, and what am I doing? Not sleeping. Very annoying. Why am I not sleeping? Well, Luke woke up a half hour ago with his diaper half off, marinating in his own pee. Evidently, he was a little more than ticked that we put him to bed early last night, and he wanted to make sure the full effect of his disdain was felt by waking up just early enough that I should be going back to bed, but just late enough that I can’t. In other news, I’m blogging. Here’s an enthusiastic woohoo.

So, I can’t stop thinking about this lizard we found yesterday. We accidentally dug him up in our garden the day before and he got dumped in the wheelbarrow and couldn’t get out. Well, being the good Samaritan that I am, I lovingly extracted the poor little fella from death’s grasp and he responded to my good deed by freaking out. I, of course, dropped him on his little lizard head, and he slithered down the driveway dazedly. Not wanting him to remain on the concrete frying pan, I tried to shoo him towards the garden---a gesture to which he responded by Popping. Off. His. Tail. I then responded by freaking out. There was a lot of responding going on. It happens.

I’ve heard tell that lizards could do such things, but I always thought there was some sort of “pulling of the tail” involved. Nope. It just comes right off whenever the lizard feels that losing a limb might be a good thing to do. Oh, the mysteries of the universe. That high and mighty Geico lizard could do with some good tail popping, I’ll tell you that much.

Anyway, the whole incident got me thinking that the ability to pop off body parts might not be such a bad thing; specifically, the ability to pop off your backside. Think about it. Anytime you felt like it, you could just pop the thing off---have a little less junk in the trunk. Then you could do what lizards do and regrow a whole new one. A better one. One with a little less cellulite and bigness. I’ll tell you what, I’d be in like…..5^th heaven. Not quite 7^th heaven---which is supposedly the best of the heavens and reserved for things like eating Baskin Robbins ice cream and sleeping. Yeah, 5^th heaven is for new backsides.

Popping on body parts might be a handy-dandy talent too. You know, pop on an extra middle finger when you want to really let that…guy…know your thoughts on his inconsiderate driving. Pop on a new chest when you feel like actually wearing that cute training bra and not just wishing you could fill it. That’s Victoria’s secret…she can pop body parts on and off…a new bum here, a new chest there.

Hmm. I guess I’ll have to be content with 3^rd heaven…reserved for blogging and sugary cereals. I’m gonna go pop off my head so I can fit in the sofa. That’s all I have to say about that.

Body-Mind Memos #76-77

2008-03-22T10:28:00.007-05:00

Dear Body (bane of my existence),

I understand that you are tired…fatigued…exhausted. I do. I really do. But when I say get out of bed, I mean get out of bed. I don’t mean roll around listlessly, mutter nonsense, and cover your head with a pillow to try and get rid of me. I mean GET.OUT.OF.BED. OUT---of the bed---the bed you are in---get out of it. NOW!!! I know you can hear me and I know you know what I’m saying. I refuse to let you make me not do anything today.

~~Love~~ From,
Mind

P.S. I will plague you.

Dear Mind (frienemy of my undoing),

Thanks for your letter and your generous consideration of my plight of debility. I understand that you are awake…alert…properly functioning in every way---mostly--- in which I wish you weren’t. Don’t take this the wrong way, but please, for the love of all that is holy…be quiet. And by be quiet I mean: Shut…up…shut up…SHUT UP!!! Just. Stop. Thinking. For once, let it go. Let me sleep, rest, rejuvenate---without the constant barrage of you telling me things I should be doing instead. I refuse to let you get me out of this bed.

~~Always a pleasure~~ Just always,
Body

P.S. Plague away.

Luchadors

2008-03-20T17:56:00.006-05:00

I grew up with all sisters and it was, needless to say, completely different than life as I know it now. However, I never REALLY knew what it was like to live with boys. Until today.

What did we do today that I've never done before in my entire life???

We put underwear on our heads and pretended to be luchadors. I'll have to cross that one off my list.

Music Listings

2008-03-18T15:47:00.009-05:00

I've kind of lost my blogging mojo this week. I don't know why, just one of those weeks I guess.

So, despite the drizzly bleakness that is today, I'm contented with the warmth of some mommy-son down time with Luke and the rhythms of my favorite music. It's one of those days. You know, the days when you don't want to do anything else, but watch the rain and then dance around the room with your two-year-old while he wears his too-small dinosaur costume and eats Cheerios. So, since it is one of those days, and I'm not doing much, I thought I'd share some of my favorite songs with you all. Thrilling, I know. Let me just start by saying I'm not a huge fan of sharing my music with people, mostly because I hate the thought of them not liking it, I mean, how could you not???, but still if you happen to not like it, please don't tell me. I don't really want to know. AND, I completely realize that not all of this music talks about good things, you know, puppies and kittens and cupcakes, I'm working on that...so don't tell me about that either. Basically, just like it or don't say anything.

I'm a connoisseur of music; I go through phases where I'll listen to just one style for awhile and then switch to another. This switching usually correlates with different seasons or moods that I happen to be in. There is always a set of songs though, that I like to come back to that are just classic good. I'll give you a run down of the main fifteen or so.

1. Hotel California- Eagles (by far and away the best song ever written) listen here

2. Wild World- Cat Stevens

3. Last Dance With Mary Jane- Tom Petty

4. Fields of Gold- Sting

5. Fire and Rain- James Taylor

6. Layla (unplugged)- Eric Clapton

7. Summer of '69- Brian Adams

8. Runaway Train- Soul Asylum

9. Don't Stop Believin' - Journey

10. End of the Innocence- Don Henley & Bruce Hornsby

11. Brown Eyed Girl- Van Morrison

12. California Dreamin'- Mamas & the Papas

13. Boys of Summer- Don Henley

14. Danny's Song- Kenny Loggins

15. Livin' on a Prayer- Bon Jovi

Ah. Now that's good music. Don't get me wrong, I like a lot of different genres, but this my "making-the-four-hour-
drive-home-while-the-golden-fields-are-folding-past" genre. Stuff I listened to on the way home from college when I had nothing but an empty road in front of me, and time to really think things through. It's happy music. Mostly. Sometime later I'll give you a run down of really good depressing music. I'm really sort of drawn to that kind of music. That heart-ache melancholy stuff that just makes you think of sad things, but you can't not listen to it. You're just dying to hear that playlist huh?

Corn for Breakfast

2008-03-10T16:43:00.003-05:00

Today did not start out very promising. Luke seemed to be...disgruntled...when he woke up this morning and was not hesitant to let me know it. I didn't have the car so I couldn't workout or do my Monday grocery shopping. And, to top it all off, it was rainy and cold outside, so I had no hope of wasting the day in the sun.

However, things perked up pretty quickly. When Luke had had an hour or so to calm himself down he decided he wanted some breakfast, but not just any breakfast. He wanted corn. Yup. First sign of the awesomeness to come. He never touches vegetables and today he up and decided it was time to temporarily lift his ban on all things nutritious. I was doing a victory dance in my head...I didn't want him to think I was happy, otherwise he might have decided it wasn't worth it.

Then, I got three full hours of uninterrupted cleaning time while Luke had an early nap. Three. I cleaned both downstairs bathrooms and my kitchen. And not just cleaned, I sanitized like there was no tomorrow baby. The fridge is clean, behind the fridge is clean, the microwave is clean, the toilet brush and plunger are even clean. There is nothing like feeling like you can eat off of your own toilet brush. Kay, that's nasty, but still, you get the idea of how clean I like things. My floors were swept and mopped, I got some laundry done, and I did two loads of dishes. Sigh. Good times.

So, even after that things got better. After Luke woke up he ate all of his lunch. Granted, I bribed him with a popsicle, but still, the win counts. We even had two hours of art time. We did rock paintings (very toddler friendly). Put paper on bottom of box. Put rock on paper. Put paint on rock. Close box. Shake vigorously. Luke loved it. Then we played with playdoh. We made dogs and cows and ice cream cones. It was great till Luke "pretended" to eat the playdoh ice cream and he had green teeth. After that we watched 15 minutes of crazy cats, dogs, and kids on YouTube. Chris even came home 15 minutes early.

Maybe today was a dream...nah, my dreams aren't even this good. Crazy what little things can make a good day for a mom: a little cleaning time, a little good eatin', and a little time to play with your child-- all in separate time zones.

Sunday Soulfood

2008-03-09T15:23:00.005-05:00

So, I thought I would share my new favorite scripture study companion, but let me explain a little first. I've tried very hard to read my scriptures 30 minutes every day; not only read, but study them. I'm not a scripturian...especially when it comes to Isaiah, but I've found that I understand the meanings and symbolism behind the scriptures better when I know a little more about the culture and history of the people at the time they were written. Also, it helps to know what the prophets and apostles have said concerning specific topics that arise.

Enter my new friend: http://gospeldoctrine.com/

Now, I know he doesn't have the Old Testament up yet, but this is an amazing resource. There are scriptures, cross-references, quotes from prophets and apostles, explanations of historical words/customs, etc. all in one location. Every morning I flip open my scriptures and go to this website and study. It has been very helpful for me. For those of you who are like me and could use a little extra mind-opening so that the spirit can do some heart-opening...I recommend this site.

What's My Line?

2008-03-07T13:48:00.006-06:00

It’s probably not a well-disguised fact that I have problems when it comes to speaking to people. The art of conversational flow has never been a strong talent of mine…unless they are conversations in my head. My imaginary chats are pretty phenomenal if I do say so myself and it’s really too bad all around that I can’t have those little dialogues out loud.

In real life, however, my thought/speech synapses are extraordinarily slow. I tend to be on the Twinkie level of conversational intrigue and I dread conversing with people because I know it is just going to painful for both sides. Painful. I’ve vowed, at all costs, never to start conversations and I’ve even devised ways to get out of having to continue conversations that have inadvertently sprung up.

For fellow speaking idiots, start taking notes now.

If someone starts up a friendly little exchange, just shove food in your mouth really fast and pretend you can’t talk because social culture states very clearly that you are not allowed to speak when you have food in your mouth. Keep a stash of food handy because you never know when someone might try to “sneak-convo” you. Also, its preferable to have the food be something that is not pretty to watch someone else eat; black licorice, hard-boiled eggs, and veggie burgers do nicely.

If there is no food around, yell loudly at your child to stop doing whatever it is he is doing. Proceed to badger the poor miscreant until he is crying inconsolably and then try and console him. If you don’t have a child, yell at someone else’s child.

Avoid eye-contact at all costs. Nothing will start a conversation like a little bit of accidental eye-contact. If you have to, poke yourself in the eye constantly so you don't sucomb to this fatal mistake.

If conversation just cannot be avoided, I recommend babbling some incoherent nonsense until the other party gives up all attempts at communication and sidles off with a fearful look in their eyes.

These tips have been tried (not necessarily by me) and are no-fail conversation stoppers.

You know, all of this mental maiming could be avoided if people were just allowed to have conversational teleprompters. I mean, it would give such hope to those of us doomed to idiocy if we didn’t have to do any of the actual thinking required for conversations. Before your little parleys with people, you could simply velcro the prompter onto the other party’s forehead and after they speak, it would tell you what to say. It would keep everyone who is normal from having to listen to disturbing things and it would keep you from having to say them.

For instance, instead of this:

Johnny: Suzy, how are you doing? I haven’t seen you in weeks, what have you and your little Lola been up to?
Suzy: Hi. Yeah. Uh-huh. (shovels whipped cream in her mouth and does the 'go figure' shoulder raise).

You could have this:

Johnny: Suzy, how are you doing? I haven’t seen you in weeks, what have you and your little Lola been up to?

Prompter: Well, hi Johnny. Lola and I have been swell. We’ve just been playing with puppies and making cookies every single day.

Suzy: Well, hi Johnny (squints with voracious focus)….Lola and I…swell…(tilts head to side)...we play puppies and …uh…something about cookies and day.

Johnny: .....Oh...... (sidles away fearfully)

Huh. That didn't go the way I expected. Twinkie anyone?

Tag

2008-03-04T20:50:00.002-06:00

I got tagged about Chris so I'm laying it all out for you.

1. What is his name? Christopher Alan Bailey
2. How long have you been married? 4 years in July
3. How long did you date? About 5 months, but we hung out for a whole semester before that. Well, he hung out with my roommates and I sort of tagged along.
4. How old is he? 29
5. Who eats more sweets? me, me, me: which also leads to me having lots of sugar highs
6. Who said I love you first? Chris. He was shaking and stuff so I could tell it was coming :)
7. Who is taller? Chris
8. Who can sing better? Chris, by far and away, but I can croak better!
9. Who is smarter? It depends on the subject.
10. Who does the laundry? Me
11. Who pays the bills? Chris pays them through automatic bill pay, but we talk it over a lot so we both know where we stand financially. Occasionally he has me pay one...I got to pay Luke's ER bill today.
12. Who sleeps on the right side? If you are looking at the bed, Chris does. If you are laying in the bed, I do. We've sort of moved around though. I like to be furthest from the door so if a murderer comes, Chris can defend me like the man he is.
13. Who mows the lawn? Chris usually, though I venture forth if it has been awhile. It is just a lot harder to do during the day when I have Luke around.
14. Who cooks dinner? I do, but Chris takes care of Luke so I can get it done.
15. Who drives? Chris does. He can't stand when I drive because I'm too laid back; I go too slow and don't change lanes fast enough for him. It is just better for our marriage if he does the driving.
16. Who kissed who first? Chris leaned in, but we both did our fair share of kissing.
17. Who asked who out first? Chris asked me, but he asked my roommate first if she thought I would go for him. She didn't think I was interested, so to discourage him she said she thought I liked bigger guys. Obviously he thought he was big enough for me :)
18. Who proposed? He did. It was awesome. I'll have to blog about it sometime.
19. Who has more siblings? Me. Technically I have 2 older step-brothers, one younger half-sister, and two younger sisters, but I only grew up really knowing my three sisters. Chris has 2 younger sisters.
20. Who wears the pants? He wears the pants, but I control what style they are.

I tag whoever hasn't done it yet. I know Genypher hasn't, so I guess you are it.

In a pickle

2008-03-03T12:44:00.007-06:00

I have a problem, a conundrum, a pickle, if you will. (You know, I’ve never really understood the pickle thing. What is it supposed to mean when you are in a pickle? It makes no sense...)

Anyway.

This problem is in reference to online me. Now, normally, one shouldn’t have a problem with one’s online self because one’s online self can be anything one wants her to be. But that’s my problem. Online me is an imaginary version of real me: real me the way I would like to be and not the way I really am. And let’s just say I have a healthy imagination. This online me that I have conjured is pretty much flawless. She has millions of adoring fans who hang on her every word, just bating their breath for her next deeply humorous and inspiring piece of prose. She is, of course, intelligent and sophisticated; with a perfect manner of expression that engages everyone around her. She is never flustered in social situations, but confident that every word she utters is worth hearing.

So, what is the problem? She sounds fantastic doesn’t she?

Well, that’s just it. I despise online me. She’s too amazing and I don’t know what to do with her. She is always there mocking me with her perfect diction and witty sense of humor. She is much more friendly and approachable than real me and so everyone I know is going to want to be friends with online me instead of real me. I can see her in my mind’s eye and hear her voice whispering that she is slowly going to obliterate real me.

AAAGGGGHHHH!

As you may have guessed, this poses a real threat to my real me existence. But I have some moral issues with regards to how to “take care of” online me.

First, if I ice online me is that breaking the commandment, Thou shalt not kill? (Can real me even use the word ice in such a fashion?) I could just erase her completely and no one would ever have to know she even existed; just delete the files…on accident, of course. It would be a sad and untimely death, but I’m sure she wouldn’t even notice; and then her adoring fans would flock to real me and real me could have a chance to be in the limelight.

Second, if I do exterminate her, will I die as well because I created her and therefore she is a part of me, if only imaginary? Or will that imaginary part of me be gone for good when I kill her off in a fit of jealousy because real me wants to be what online me represents, but can’t quite get there? Or, if I do delete her, will real me take advantage of the opportunity to become better or will she be content to be the same monochromatic person she was before online me.

Finally, could I give her flaws just to make real me feel better; or does that mean that real me has flaws too and I would be better off imagining a perfect online me? She already has a slipping regard for good punctuation and grammar...I could just enhance those flaws and give her a good lisp.

Hmm…like I said, quite the pickle.

So I guess this begs the question, how do all of you deal with your online mes? Or are your online mes the same as your real life mes? And, if you tell me they are the same can I call you a rotten liar for not admitting your online me is in all ways at least a little better than your real life me? (And, for the love of my sanity, please tell me, how do you type up the plural form of 'me' without it looking weird?!!)

Family Pictures

2008-02-28T16:02:00.009-06:00

We've never had family pictures taken, ever, mostly because...well, I don't really know. But, our friend Stephanie offered to do them for us for *free* because she is working on building her portfolio. Thanks Steph for the awesome pics!

Dang it! I've been trying all evening to get this slideshow to work right and when it finally came up it was fuzzy. I'm so not tech-savvy.

Well, these are some of my favorites:

I'll try and get them all up somehow and post a link on my blog.

In Defense

2008-02-27T12:21:00.013-06:00

Chris told me in no uncertain terms the other night that the title of my blog sucked. Okay, so I can't vouch that he said that actual word, but I'm going to play the woman card and take the liberty of twisting his words into what I heard. He claimed that it says nothing about me and therefore it is "dumb" (he did say that actual word).

In the heat of the moment I reverted to the 2nd grade classic, "yeah, well, you're dumb".

Nice.

The pathetic defense of my precious blog name has been a thorn in my side this week and so I have determined to exonerate my blog in letter form as follows.

Dear Babe,

I'm deeply disturbed at your boldness in telling me I suck. Deeply disturbed. I've got disturbed-ness coming out my ears. I'm writing this letter to you in true defense of "Fruitcakes".

First of all, it's Fruitcakes with an "s", implying not only that I am a fruitcake, but that you are as well...as is our little mini loaf. It's true, deal with it.

Second, do you know me but at all? Fruitcake is a deliciously spiced treat that is a little bit nutty, a little bit fruity, and a little bit whimsically eccentric. Funny, that is the exact diagnosis the shrink wrote up about me.

Finally, listen to this and tell me you don't love the name "Fruitcakes" afterwards. I dare you.

Your fruitcake forever,
Me

P.S. Jimmy Buffett rocks! Which is more or less, but leaning toward more...the reason I liked the name in the first place.

P.P.S. No, you're dumb...and I'm going to need my card back.

Sweet Child of Mine

2008-02-20T15:31:00.007-06:00

I love this kid.

I'm addicted.

He's teething right now. This is how he deals with it. It's usually accompanied by copious amounts of drool too. He gets those genetics from me. What can I say? He got the best of the best. I pity his future siblings. They'll only be able to salivate in normal proportions. Not this kiddo...he got the genes that really matter.

Musings on Bovine

2008-02-19T15:57:00.005-06:00

The other day, Valentine's Day actually, Chris said something to me that I haven't been able to quite wrap my head around. I've been musing over it for days and still don't feel I've grasped the enormity of what he was trying to convey.

He looked lovingly into my eyes and then said, (and this is word for word):
"I am a heifer and you are my grassy knoll."

Wha??

Wow babe. I..um....there are no words. Thanks?? In all fairness I really do appreciate the effort. And what's more, I genuinely adore you for not making me the heifer...that was just plain ol' good form. And for that generosity I'll be the most luscious green knoll you've ever seen where only my own cute heifer can graze.

Blankies

2008-02-18T10:18:00.009-06:00

Blankies. They're one of life's great comforts.

I had one when I was little and I hate to admit it....

(well actually, it doesn't bother me that much)

... but I even took it to college with me. Even uncomfortable glances from fellow students couldn't take me away from it. Unpopularity is a small price to pay for such succor and security as only a blankie can bring, I'll tell you that much.

That pink wonder was so beat up that every time I washed it I had to stuff the ragged batting back inside through one of the many patch jobs that had reopened. Sadly, it is no longer durable enough to even be held and it lies in a shrine upstairs in my attic along with some other childhood relics, now only revered from a healthy distance.

Luke has a blankie too. It is this blue blanket that he takes everywhere with him and he reminds me of Linus from Charlie Brown. He drags it all over the dirty ground and takes it with us when we go grocery shopping. I was never so careless with mine. He sleeps with it, he eats with it, he gets his diaper changed with it. I know I'll have to slowly shred it each time I wash it just so he doesn't end up taking it on business trips and the like.

Such an attachment could be genetic I'm afraid. The other day he even wanted to take it in to the tub with him when he was getting his bath.

I drew the line.

I was tired of washing it over and over again because he had to have it no matter what. (If you want to know how to feel like the worst parent ever...take a security blanket away from a two-year-old). He was reduced to an immediate fit of tears. I put it on the towel rack and assured him it would be there for him when he was clean and dry. He seemed resentful, but allowed me to hang it carefully on the rack and then began playing with his ducks. I watched for a few minutes to make sure he wouldn't try anything and then I went to put his dirty clothes in the laundry.

I'm sure you know the rest.

Yep, the all-powerful draw of the blankie was too much for him to handle and he HAD to have it in the tub with him. Hmm... this could be bigger than I thought.

Illness and Hip Flexors

2008-02-15T11:33:00.016-06:00

Allow me to share a little tidbit of info that I learned last night:

The road to insanity is paved with sick children and afflicted muscles.

Wow, now that I read that it sounds a little grotesque. But, grotesque or not its still profound. (I never write anything that isn't profound).

So, yesterday Luke came down with the misery after a virus decided to ravish him with a fever. And I came down with grieved muscles after the hateful instructor at the gym decided to go commando on my hip flexors with an excessive amount of lunges.

These two incidents converged upon my sanity last night when Luke woke up every half hour...let me repeat that in a whisper because its very important.......every.......half........ hour.....feverish, crying, and miserable. Do you realize that a half hour is just enough time to comfort a screaming child, collapse into bed, pull the covers up, and get THIS close to that deep peaceful sleep before you are unceremoniously jolted awake by anguished wailing???

That in and of itself was enough to make me want to pull chunks of hair out of my head. But then I had to hoist my legs up the stairs every time he woke up so that I could comfort him or get him a drink (this involved still more vexation to my aforementioned musculature). By the time 4 am decided to meander around, my mental capabilities were nil and my hips joints were shouting profanities at me.

Sigh.

On a lighter note, Chris and I did manage to celebrate Valentine's Day with a freakish amount of saturated fat and red dye number 3...both in the shape of hearts. Nothing says "I Love You" like a calorie fest and artificial flavoring. I love you babe. Thanks for staying with me through the inevitable insanity that follows. You're the best.

Baby Mine

2008-02-12T22:37:00.003-06:00

When Luke was tiny, I would often hold him close when he was crying and sing to him the lullaby from Dumbo called "Baby Mine". When I sang this song to him, it was just me and my baby boy. He would lay his little head on my chest and for a moment time would stand still and all I could see for eternity was him.

This afternoon, after a long void, Luke finally let me hold him again for a brief minute. So I sat there with my baby again and I rocked him back and forth, dried his tears, and sang our song. This, my friends, is the stuff of dreams.

The Science of Gym People

2008-02-11T13:10:00.001-06:00

Okay. I've refrained from touching this subject for weeks now because I feared my pitiful wallowing would be too...well, pitiful. So, I will attempt an impartial scientific study. Let me start by saying there are three types of subjects I will study: "gym people", "non-gym people", and "non-gym people who go to the gym"....don't laugh, this is scientific evidence you are mocking. Allow me to do some brief catagorization for you.

Subject A: GYM PEOPLE (GP): Of the genus sinewicus muscularicus. A fairly rare specimen. Known for their flawless physique and perfectly sculpted musculature. Has the ability to glisten instead of sweat. Genetic makeup that rivals Shiloh Jolie-Pitt. Of special interest: members of this species don't necessarily have to go to a gym to fit into this category. Keenly graceful and perfectly proportioned.

Subject B: NON-GYM PEOPLE (NGP): Of the genus whatthe hellicus. In scientific studies this species would rather have eaten the gym sock of the GP species than go to the gym. Subjects prefer to enhance their physique through more "non-violent" exercise tactics.

Subject C: NON-GYM PEOPLE WHO GO TO THE GYM (NGPWG2TG): Of the genus sweaticus profusicus. Species noted for their excessive sweating and redness of face. Specimens tend to have saddle bags and spider veins and are somewhat uncoordinated. These are an average variety that are very commonly found trying to mimic the GP species.

So, now that we have looked at the scientific buildup of these different types of species, let's categorize ourselves, shall we? I fit perfectly into the NGPWG2TG group. I go to the gym, but I am NOT a gym people. I sweat profusely. My face turns a nice shade of fire-engine red. I'm very uncoordinated. I have saddle bags and spider veins and if my chest gets any smaller I will seriously consider ditching the bra and using it to support my backside instead of my front. I wear t-shirts and my hair always looks like I stuck my hand in a socket. I'm a perfect specimen. Sad, I know.

But at least I have now been able to scientifically explain why I can't be that girl at the gym who wears her hair down, has tight abs, who glistens instead of sweats, who has the perfect ratio of chest to rear--we are just different species. I'm comparing apples to oranges...or in this case, kiwis to watermelons. So, I will just have to be content trying figure out ways to be better than myself when I go to the gym...like seeing if I can beat my record on how many times I can jiggle my bum in one class period.

*Note: The scientific community has not validated these statements. These are, in fact, the ramblings of a commoner and are not meant to offend anyone, but are merely intended to poke fun at the author. Please don't send me hate mail.

Croup

2008-01-30T12:18:00.000-06:00

Ugh. That's the word I would use to describe the last 24 hours.

I always thought croup was some name they had for a disease way back in the day when they didn't really know what things were or how to cure them....like "the consumption"--which is of course the way-back-in-the-day code word for tuberculosis.

Turns out, it isn't.

Turns out, Luke has it.

Short version:
Luke woke up last night gasping, coughing, and "wheezing". Luke has an inhaler for said wheezing so we gave him multiple treatments of the inhaler over a few hours. No improvement. I freak out, we go to the ER. Got there at 1 am...left at 4:30 am. They do tests, stick my baby, make him hurt, give him meds, make us wait, drive us crazy with monitors that beep, send us on our way. Ugh.

Aside: Its not that I don't like doctors or don't trust doctors...I do. My two dads are doctors, my mom is a nurse, my step-brother is a doctor, his wife is a nurse....I know a lot of doctors. That said, I don't like doctors who don't explain things to me.

After hours of being there the nurse comes in to discharge Luke and gives us a prescription and says we can go. I have to ASK her what he has. Croup. What exactly is croup? Go home and google it.

Again with the ugh.

So fast forward to today. We are tired, we are exhausted, Luke is still coughing. Nothing to worry about--just a cold that has settled in his chest (I googled it). The ER sent us home with instructions to visit our pediatrician today...so we did. He tells us the same thing, but he explains.

Aside again: I also can't stand doctors who explain, but are condescending.

Basically our conversation goes like this:

doctor: what you have here is a misunderstanding of what a wheeze is...a wheeze is this--(does wheezing sound)
me: uh-huh
doctor: luke has that bark-like cough with a stridor sound that sounds like this--(does the stridor sound)
me: uh...huh
doctor: so you need to distinguish between the wheeze and the stridor because the albuterol (inhaler) is basically ineffective when it is not a wheeze
me: ....

Ugh. I'm going to bed.

We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet

2008-01-28T10:44:00.000-06:00

I have a hard time putting into words what this man means to me. He is my prophet. He has been the president of the church for most of my lifetime and though I never met him, he has become a central figure in my life. He's the unwavering voice in my head urging me to be a little bit better each day and a little more optimistic about the world we live in. I know unfailingly that he was God's prophet on the earth, the leader of the true church. I'm thankful that God loves us enough to have sent him to guide us and that he loves us enough to call another prophet to continue the work. Goodbye President Hinckley- God be with you till we meet again.

First Post

2008-01-17T15:52:00.000-06:00

Wow, my first official post on my own official blog...I feel so cool now. Seriously, I do. I had a hard time deciding what my first post should be because, well, let's face it...a first post is like the foundation for your blog and I wanted mine to be...fabulous and funny and (as Captain Awesome would say)...awesome.

I know, I have mental flaws.

Its not the awesomeness that I imagined it to be, however, I did finally decide that this morning produced enough laughs to be blog worthy.

So, Luke escaped from me when I got him out of the tub this morning and proceeded to pee on my blanket before I could get a diaper on him. While I was cleaning up the mess he ran off again. When I checked on him a couple minutes later, I found this...Yep, he's naked and he's coloring. He must get inspiration while being in the nude. Then he found the stickers...Notice how he uses his body as a medium all its own. Very introspective wouldn't you say? Way to go my little artist, way to go.