Is there a doctor in the House?

One day, I'm going to get really sick and it'll be something bizarre. I never get anything normal. I fully plan to survive whatever it is I get, but boy, am I going to be sad that House doesn't really exist.

P.S. I just noticed that Kimberly from Temporary Insanity nominated me for the Mormon Mommy Blog spotlight. Whoa! Um, just so I don't feel like an idiot, I wouldn't mind if a few of you went over and seconded it. Thanks, ladies. And gentlemen. I promise not to forget my roots when I live in blog fame.

And it didn't even hurt...

I think I'm growing up a little.

I volunteered to organize the biggest fundraising event of the year at my son's school. At the time I signed up for it, I had no idea that that's what it was. I heard "Family Fun Night" and I thought, "Cool. One night versus something I have to be in charge of all year? I can do that."

But this is a really big deal. I'll spare you all the details, but this is way more involved than even planning my wedding. It's BIG.

And I've been freaking out a bit. And I started waking up feeling slightly panicked a few nights ago. "What am I going to do? What am I going to do?"

So I did what any right thinking person probably should. I prayed about it.

Yesterday I decided to focus my fast on this task because I was so overwhelmed and stressed out about it.

Not too long ago, my plea would have been that I could pull off the best event ever. An even shorter time ago, I might have pleaded simply for the success of the event.

But now? I just prayed that I could get through it and still be kind to my family. You know...basically keep a little perspective.

So, yeah...I think I'm growing up a little.

Then the top of my head came off and everything fell out...

There was a small window of time when I felt interesting today. Unfortunately, I didn't blog during that time. So now I feel completely uninteresting. And you know what's really sad?

I'm going to blog anyway.

If I judged my life by the number of items under each label in my blog sidebar, I'd be in trouble. I have twice as much stuff in "Randomness" than anything else. And it's not because it's a miscellaneous catch all blog junk drawer. No, it's because those are the true accounts of things I do that are totally random.

My son is going to Australia with his dad for Spring Break. That's pretty cool. It'll be his second time there. That's where his stepmom is from.

I got the Jillian Michael's 30 Day Shred DVD at Target (totally cheaper on Amazon but I was too impatient to wait) and it's the perfect complement to my Wii Fit routine when I don't have time to make it to the gym.

I'm starting to say "Yes" to too much stuff again lately. I broke that habit for almost two years but I guess word got out that I fell off the wagon and now everyone's calling.

I chaperoned a Cub Scout field trip to the police station today. Two thoughts: I had a hard time telling the difference between the men in uniforms and the boys in uniforms once they all got to talking about how cool tasers are. And two: when the boys got to go into a jail cell and check it out, I thought about how cool it would be if I could leave them there, and I wasn't even trying to be funny.

I started reading Jane Eyre and sort of hated it, but now that she's out of that one school, it's not so bad.

I think that Adam guy on American Idol comes off as gay, and the problem with that is that I don't buy him as a heart throb, which is how the show is going to try to package him. And his musical dance theater roots show too much for him to package himself as an indie dude, which is what he's trying to do. I kinda don't like him although his Wednesday night performance was definitely the best one.

I don't watch Dancing the Stars because I don't think it's fun to watch people who aren't good at something do whatever it is they're not good at doing. If it was all ballroom professionals, I'd watch it in a hearbeat but it's not really entertaining to me to see people doing something I could probably do if I had a Mistic Tan and 8 hours a day with a ballroom expert.

I don't like teenagers when they travel in herds. As individuals, I enjoy them tremendously.

The only condition under which I would relive the ages 12-14 is if it would save the life of my children. Nothing less could convince me to do it.

I think people who make women's razors are part of a vast conspiracy to make sure our blades are inferior to our husbands'. Seriously, even when they say it's an equivalent four blade or whatever, my husband's Mach 3 kicks my Venus's trash.

No matter how many things I try at See's Candy, their polar bear paws make me down right happy. I am completely unrefined.

I'm beginning to hate the term "chick." It's usually not good if I call a girl a "chick" these days. Except if I say someone is a cool chick, in which case it's a sincere compliment.

As of next week, I'll be married to a middle-aged man. And I'm YOUNG. As a sidenote, he's the bestest husband EVER.

Alison Wonderland's sister hung out at my house yesterday. Does that blow anyone else's mind? Our house was their family's base of operations while they played at the beach. I like living close to the beach.

I want Tim Tams right now.

And a root beer. But at least I can just walk in the kitchen and get myself a root beer.

Guess what I'm filing this under today?

More answers

Nancy asked: How do Grant and James interact?

Well, to answer that, let me explain that Nancy is James grandma but not my mother-in-law. That clears everything right up, yes? Anyway, she has a vested interest in what Jamesie-boy is up to. The answer is that most of the time those two are together, it's a sure bet they've both eaten a heaping serving of silly topped off with a goofy cherry. They LOOOOOOVE to make each other laugh and will go to great extremes to do so, even though usually all James has to do is stare at Grant for a few seconds and then Grant loses it. No one can make Grant (16 months) laugh as hard as James can (9 years). Nothing makes Grant happier than making his big brother laugh either. They're crazy about each other. That's not to say that Grant doesn't make his brother slightly crazy by getting into his stuff or drawing on his homework or babbling when James is trying to do his spelling, but for the most part, they're pretty delighted with each other. James is a fantastic big brother.

Erin asked: Why can't I be as good of a writer as you? And is it bad to covet talents?

Um...thank you and yes. You've officially lost your place in heaven. As have I for coveting the talents of writers far better than me like DeNae at My Real Life Was Backordered or Debbie at Suburb Sanity who currently would be on "Repeat" if they were a song on my iPod. And besides, Erin, I really like your blog. I think you're a good writer and have no need to covet anyone else's talent because you have plenty of your own.

That Girl from Brazil asked: What is your favorite time of day to exercise, and what do you do with your kids?

If I don't exercise first thing in the morning, there's a 93% chance it won't happen at all, so it's the A.M. for me. James is in school so I don't have to worry about him. What I do with the baby depends on what I'm doing for exercise. If I'm going to the gym, I stick him in the stroller, we walk the three blocks down to 24 Hour Fitness, and he goes in the Kid Care. He loves it because he doesn't get to play with other kids that much. If I'm doing an ocean side walk, I just stick him in the stroller and he cruises with me. Did you know you burn about 20% more calories that way? If I'm doing a DVD or Wii Fit at home, I let him run loose unless he's getting underfoot too much and then I stick him in the Baby Corral until I'm done. Most of these options are probably not so readily available for you with two little ones so close in age and the whole no 24 Hour Fitness thing in Brazil, but I'm super lucky it works out for me.

And I do believe that's it. I'll scour my comment trail from the last week for any questions I missed and take care of them tomorrow, but I do believe you guys have gotten me through a whole week of blogging when I desperately needed the help due to time/sleep deprivation. You guys are the BEST.

Say it like you mean it.

There are definitely some funny moments when you're dealing with deaf culture. The ASL influence on the culture is that people are very, very blunt and it's always a good time when you're watching someone new to the culture experience that. And by blunt, I mean about everything. There's just no...prevarication...in ASL. There isn't any way to circumlocute your way around saying, "Yes, that dress makes you look fat." (Ahem. I'd like points for prevarication and circumlocute, please. Two words you'll never see in ASL, by the way). Anyway, there's no polite way for saying stuff. You just tell it like it is. "You look fat in that dress." It's not intended to be rude or hurtful. It's the nature of the language. You can kind of only say exactly what you mean.

But there are other odd little things, too. I don't remember if I blogged about this before, and if I wasn't an utterly lazy woman I'd click on my archives and figure it out, but I grew up doing a lot of things that I thought were normal that it turns out...not so much. For example, I didn't realize that everybody doesn't flick the lights or bang on tables to get people's attention. And it used to be that if I wanted people to move out of my way, I just put my hands on them and moved them. My husband says I still do this sometimes but I don't believe him.

There are odd turns of phrase I picked up, too. I called my sister a few months ago after a conversation with my husband and said, "When you need to buy food, where do you go?"

"The food store."

"Ha! That's what I said, too. Did you know no one else goes to the food store? They say they're going to the grocery store."

"What?"

"I know! We've been ASL'd!"

The idea that other people don't call it "the food store" surprised my brother, too.

And we keep our eyes open during prayers too, because we're used to seeing them signed. That still discomfits my husband. (Points for discomfit, please.) And on the subject of all things holy, sacrament meeting in a deaf ward/branch is the LOUDEST CHURCH AROUND. Parents have no idea if their kids are being noisy or not so there's no shushing. One time I was sitting in sacrament meeting and I kept hearing this periodic, ethereal singing. I couldn't for the life of me figure it out. There would just be this kind of angelic, wordless "Aah ah ahhhh..." series of song notes. I tried to figure out if there was some correlation to whatever the speaker was saying, but no....just these random spurts of singing. Finally, I realized what was going on. A little girl had an Ariel Little Mermaid doll and every time she pressed it, Ariel sang. You know that part where Ursula is capturing her voice in a seashell necklace? And Ariel sings, "Aaah ah ah, ah ah aaah!" I felt better that I wasn't hearing imaginary voices.

One of my favorite things is deaf applause. Do you know how deaf people clap? They stick their hands in the air and flutter their fingers so you can SEE how they feel, since hearing is moot. It's pretty cool.

In fact, I'm fluttering my fingers at you right now...

So this confession is honest but it may not make you like me better. It's the true story of how it was.

I definitely resented my parents at times, not necessarily for being deaf, but for some of their choices. I mean, I understood that they had no control over being born deaf, but they could hear well enough to make things tricky. My dad had a profound hearing loss which means total nerve damage, but through a series of blessings given to him over the years, he functioned far better than people with lesser hearing losses. My mom had a severe hearing loss. She could maybe hear 20% of what was going on around her. She and my dad were both raised orally, meaning with intensive speech therapy and no sign language, so they were master lip readers and speakers, and extremely competent at understanding content based on context. They both learned sign language in college and switched to that as their primary form of communication, but their ability to speak and lip read...well, sometimes even I got suspicious...

I mean, were they really deaf? It seemed sometimes like they could hear when they wanted to. As a kid, I often wondered if they were faking being deaf and just tricking us so they could get us kids to do more stuff for them. As an adult, I found out that my younger brother and sister had the same suspicions.

As it turned out though, they really were deaf.

The resentment came from having to do a lot of things that other little kids never had to do, and since I'm the oldest, most of it fell to me to take care of. It's pretty easy for deaf people to communicate now, what with email and Blackberries and video relay services. As a kid, I didn't have any of that stuff to bail me out. At six years old, I would have to call and make doctor's appointments or handle calls to my parents if they couldn't understand the person on the other end. With their hearing aids and the special volume control they had on the phone, they could get by most of the time, but they needed me often enough for it to wear thin, sometimes.

As I got older, the resentment came from other things. These are the choices I mentioned. We never did sports as kids because my parents didn't have the money and my dad's health was too poor to invest in something like that. However, as we grew older, my siblings and I (there's just the three of us) got involved with things in high school, especially academic stuff. I went to the national mock trial competition with two different states (Louisiana and then California) and they never came to see one match, not even at the county level. My dad said they would be bored without interpreters.

It really bothered me. I felt like it was kind of beside the point. I figured the point was just to show up and be there, but they didn't see it that way. My brother kind of felt like that too. I guess over time we learned to shrug it off, but not completely. It still bothers me, sometimes.

Also, we attended a deaf branch when we moved back to California. It was awesome for my parents because they finally got to participate fully in church and I was happy about that, but we got tapped to interpret a lot in church when there weren't enough adults to go around and sometimes...we just wanted to be kids, to enjoy youth conference without having to interpret for a classmate or whatever. Most CODAs feel this way at some point.

There were compensations, though. My parents died two years ago, but I have rich memories of them centered in the language of thought, which is probably the best way to explain ASL. There are things you just can't explain in English that are so easy to get across in ASL. I have great memories of my mom explaining the origin of certain signs to me in a way that made them indelible, and I bet no one else has ever thought of the same explanation. I'll always remember how lovely she looked when she led the congregation in hymns every Sunday, her hands tracing out concepts about God and glory and grace in the air, painting the clearest picture. I'll always remember the way my dad's face would move so expressively, perfectly conveying his thoughts which is an earmark of ASL. I'll always remember his contributions to spreading the gospel in the deaf community. He and his three companions were the first LDS missionaries called to teach the gospel to the deaf, and in later years he worked on helping the Church translate the scriptures into ASL dvds.

So in yesterday's question, Josi asked how I reconciled the issue of their deafness in my life and how it relates to me as an adult. The answer is that in hindsight, they did their best, but sometimes the load was heavy and as children we were asked to shoulder a part. I don't think it's anything different than what many children have done for their parents whether it's because of a disability or a language barrier. And I know my life is far richer for the experience.

Thanks, Josi, for asking the question. I think later this week I'll revisit deafness once more for the time being to share the lighter side too, because believe me, there are some funny things about deaf culture and growing up in it. And maybe even later, I'll share a little more of the tought stuff, too, but honestly? It all shook out all right, you know?

Eh, what's that, you say?

So Josi asked me a total fluff question: I want to know at what point in your growing up years did you realize that you're parents were deaf and that most parents were not? Also, did you ever fear you were going deaf as a kid? And did you get made fun of, and how did you deal with that? I'd love to hear how you personally came to accept that issue in your life and how it relates to you as an adult.

Geez, Josi. Could you throw me a bigger softball?

Let's see...I'm betting I probably realized there was a difference when we moved to Louisiana from California. In California, we attended the LA deaf ward and all of my hearing friends had deaf parents, too. I wasn't old enough for school yet so there was no environment where I would see anything different. Louisiana was different. My parents were the only deaf Mormons around. I started school. None of my friends had deaf parents. I began fielding a lot of questions about why they were deaf and how I learned how to talk, all that stuff. There was no single moment where I remember an epiphany but I'm guessing that's how I eventually figured it all out.

I don't remember fearing going deaf, only because being deaf didn't seem like that big of a deal. My parents were both educated, successful, respected professionals with friends and hobbies and a nice house. There's nothing bad about that. In face, when my oldest son was born, he failed the newborn hearing test twice. The nurse brought him back after the second one and tried to reassure me that he'd probably pass at his two week check up so I shouldn't worry.

"But if he doesn't pass, does it mean he's deaf?" I asked her.

"It might," she answered. "Don't worry, though. I'm sure he'll pass."

I shrugged. "I don't care if he's deaf," I said.

She looked appalled. Her expression clearly suggested that she thought maybe that the baby shouldn't be going home with me later that afternoon.

James's dad laughed. "Don't be a dork, Melanie. Tell her."

I grinned. "My parents are deaf," I said. "It's really not a big deal if he is, too."

She looked much relieved.

So, no, I never really feared becoming deaf. Besides, it's not genetic on either side of my family. It's rarely hereditary, actually. I think the figure is down near 10%.

I don't ever remember being made fun of, or of my parents being made fun of, either. People have always been more fascinated than mean. It helps that my parents were both articulate and easy to understand. I do remember several times where adults (cashiers, counter agents, nurses, etc.) were impatient or uncomfortable in dealing with my parents. That made me super angry. Often, I would refuse to help them (the other adults) talk to my parents, so that they were forced to deal with my mom or dad instead of coming through me and treating my parents as inconvenience. My parents always got a kick out of that. I stepped in where there was a genuine problem or disconnect, but only if the other adult was truly trying to communicate to begin with.

However, just to be clear, even though my parents' deafness was normal to me, that doesn't mean I didn't resent it sometimes. It's natural for us CODAs, Children of Deaf Adults. Most of us carry a certain resentment for a while. But I think I'll save that part of the question for tomorrow.

I also haven't forgotten the other questions some of you guys asked (Nancy, Erin, etc.) and I'll answer them, too.

I feel like I should have a more conclusive ending to this post today.

But I don't.

The End.

I am blessed.

I feel so blessed by my Heavenly Father this week. I have had a sure and quiet knowledge that He is with me every day. I began the week with a blessing from my husband. He placed his hands on my head and blessed me with the strength to get through this week of rising so early to teach seminary, to be able to care for my children with a cheerful heart, and to have all the physical stamina I would need to accomplish my given tasks.

There are a few things I've let go. No gym. My house is in slight disarray.

But my spirit is swollen to happiness. I have felt God's hand in my life each day, like it was His hand that touched my head in benediction on Sunday night. My spiritual eyes watch the world in sharper focus, amazed at answers that pop up to questions I didn't know I had, thrilled at connections between ideas and principles that don't normally intersect, delighted by my recognition and acceptance that I am totally dependent on my Heavenly Father and that all things come from Him.

He is a good parent. He knows me well, and understands how to teach me. He is patient as I learn. He rewards me richly when I do.

I love my Heavenly Father. I am grateful I got to serve Him this week. I am humbled that I have been entrusted with the care of some of His sweetest spirits. I am happy.

Is is still burning? Seriously, get that checked.

Alllllllllllrighty, then...continuing with answers to your burning questions (like in yesterday's post where I explained Kristina P.'s blog dominance), I got this question from LisAway: What do you think would happen to you if you were forced into a situation where you could not make your heavenly mint fudge ever again? And my second question is: Assuming we can meet each other in June when I'm in your neighborhood (figuratively speaking) are you going to bring the mint fudge for me or the chocolate covered cinnamon bears? Or both? Because I'm trying to figure out what I can bring for you. Pickled herring? Pig's feet jelly?

She gave me the option of answering this in a two part post, but I think I can wrap it up in one. First, if I couldn't make my mint fudge, I would just make my pecan praline fudge because it's even BETTER, and no, Lisa, that one doesn't require marshmallow creme either. As to what I shall bring you...well, if you're a woman worth your salt, you will have no problem being able to handle both the fudge and the bears. You know, unless living in Poland has thinned your blood. And as for me, um...I grew up in Louisiana. Pig's feet jelly is just the tip of the pork iceberg. Every 7-11 has a jar of pickled pigs feet right next to the US Weekly and People magazines at the check out. So I vote for pickled herring. I bet I can make Kenny eat it.

Miss Heidi (author of the fabulous Miss Delacourt Speaks Her Mind) asked: how many books have you written and are any of them out at a publishers for consideration? Or is that too personal?

Okay, last question first. That's not too personal at all. I'm very open about my writing and I am probably the least sensitive person in the world about discussing it or hearing critiques of it, etc. So now I'll answer the rest of the question. I have completed one manuscript and I'm about 80% done with the first draft of my next one. I think I should be finished in the next 3-4 weeks. The first manuscript went to three publishers. One offered me a contract, which was super exciting because there are a lot of things I like about that company. However, another company asked me if I would consider revising a couple of things (i.e. they wanted my character to have a couple of embarrassing situations and to quote the evaluation I received, "no one is that witty all the time) and I decided to do that. They have a much larger market share for what I write. It's been nine weeks since I resubmited (not that I'm counting the days or anything) and I haven't heard back from them yet, so I'm nervous.

But...I'm really in love with my new manuscript. I can tell how much I've learned and grown already from writing the first one and I know this one is stronger, so I think if I came close the first time but I miss, what I'm working on now might be good enough to hit the mark. It's tough, by all accounts, to catch a break as a first time author in this economy but I'm choosing relentless optimism, so we'll see. Believe me, if it gets picked up, you guys will be the first to know!

Heather of the EO asked: Do you rig your giveaways so that I'll always win because I'm your favorite or because you feel sorry for me? (wink wink)

I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but...my son may have a crush on you because he's the one who always picks the winning number out of the diaper basket (the CLEAN diaper basket), and he keeps picking you. Having said that, it truly is a random thing. That's how Kimberly won the MAC lipstick and gloss and I'm glad to clear that up because based on a couple of comments, I think there was some confusion about that. That's the science behind the drawing. A bunch of numbers on little pieces of paper, and James plucks one out. And no, I can't use random.org because he feels drawing the winner falls under his purview.

And I should soooo get bonus points for using that $2 word. My husband kisses me when I use one. Today I got a smooch for using garrulous in a sentence. But anyway, you guys can just slap me virtual high fives.

Kazzy asked: Where would you love to visit?

I am very, very lucky that I've gotten to go to the top places on my list (Italy and France). But I have been thoroughly bitten by the travel bug now and so some of the other places on my list include going back to London (I was only there for a day and spent most of it in Hyde Park so there's LOTS to see, still), I want to go to Kenya, Costa Rica, Germany (spent a really fun night in Dusseldorf on a layover and it whet my appetite), Ireland, Vancouver, and back to New York. Plus I'd like to take in some of the history in Boston and Philapdelphia.

Kristina P asked: If you won the lottery, and money was no object, how would you spend it?

Um, I'm almost afraid to answer this question because the truth is very, very boring. But I'll tell it. First, I'd buy a house, but I'm prejudiced against rich people so we'd absolutely max out at 2500 square feet with a decent yard, no pool, in a neighborhood with great schools but one that's solidly middle class. Oh, but I'd have a KILLER kitchen. Then I'd set up college trusts for my kids. Currently, they can afford any state school of their choice. I'd like to expand that to ANY school of their choice, even if it's some ridiculously expensive liberal arts college in Guam or something. Then, I'd travel but go totally five star and fly first class. Oh, and I'm buy some ridiculous shoes like Jimmy Choos or Laboutins, or something. Then I'd probably set up several scholarship funds for students majoring in secondary education. But I'd probably do that before I bought the shoes. And I'd start a rare books collection. And I'd donate some to our church's perpetual education fund. And maybe get a vacation house on a mountain lake. And...I'd better stop.

Wendy asked: if you could go BACK IN TIME...what era would you like to visit/have lived in and why?

I think this might have been the toughest question for me so far. There are a lot of interesting eras in history that I'd enjoy learning about, but very few I would want to live in. I missed the Civil Rights era by a couple of decades, so that's enticing. I think I might like to have been a frontier woman in Kentucky or something when the territories were first opening up. All that rugged individualism. I think living in the colonies during the days of the Revolution would have been pretty exciting. But the truth is, I think most periods in history were not accommodating to women and it's hard to imagine living in at time where I wasn't free to be a vocal part of change. I know...that's overly earnest, right? But that's how I feel. I guess I'm most attracted to periods of epic change, those huge turning points we read about now. I think it would be so great to have a front row seat to that.

Eowyn asked: If you are in a store at the clearance rack and there are two of the same super cute shirt on the rack, do you go for the red one or the blue one? (That's a really fancy way of asking what your favorite color is to wear. However, I could ask that question and then ask if your favorite color to wear and your favorite color are the same thing?)

To answer the first question, right now I'd pick blue but I own more red. And my favorite color to wear is a bright, cheerful spring green or maybe chocolate brown. The green makes me happy but the brown looks good on me, so I guess it would depend on the mood. And sometimes I get in pink moods which kinda makes me laugh.

If I've raised more questions in your mind, feel free to drop them off in the comment box. Otherwise, I'll be answering Josi's question on Monday. You'll find out everything you never wanted to know about growing up with deaf parents.

Burning question answered. If it still burns, you should probably get it checked.

Okay, I'm answering the questions you asked in yesterday's post. Kristina P. and Shaka want to know how Kristina P. gets so many followers. She has, at last count, 1,432,769 followers. I reached that figure by letting Baby G pound on the ten key pad until I had a number in the millions. So basically, it's pretty scientific.

I had to do some real soul searching to decide if I wanted to reveal the truth to you about how Kristina does it. You'll understand my hesitation in a moment. But my friend's husband is an FBI agent and he said he would provide me with federal protection...you know, in case I need it. But telling the truth is the right thing to do.


If you read Kristina's blog, you know she has developed an elaborate cover story. She tells everyone that she's a social worker and makes up elaborate stories about her Christian Bale-loving male co-worker. BUT. The truth is, she doesn't go to a "social work" office. She goes here:


See the girl in front, head down, terrified to meet Kristina's eye, scribbling madly? She's scribbling comments. Kristina P. runs a blog commenting sweatshop. That's how she's able to get to so many blogs and make people want to go drop off comments in her blog's comment box. These poor sweatshop people spend their entire day drafting, revising and then posting comments on other people's blogs.

She's a fierce taskmaster. If they don't meet their comment quotas, then she has a whole other sweatshop lined up to handle it:

They're making Snuggies. You watch, in her next profile picture, she'll be wearing a yellow one. Anyone not meeting their blog quota is forced to wear a Snuggie in public, enduring the pointing and jeering of people who assume they have joined some overzealous airport pamphleting religion.

Now you know. Please help me!

Other questions:

Luisa asked: If you could have a dinner party with 10 guests from any country and/or time in history, whom would you invite, and why?

Well...if I'm not making an effort to find the right mix of guests for their sakes (which I do in real life), and I'm just inviting people I want to talk to...um, my answers are totally unoriginal. I pick: Abraham Lincoln, Anne Shirley, Jesus Christ, my grandfather, George Washington, Mark Twain, Tina Fey, Barack Obama, J. Golden Kimball, and Ayn Rand. My choices are based mainy on the fact that I love a good conversation.

CaJoh said: You sound so active, so I am curious as to what constitutes an average day for you. It doesn't even have to be an actual day, it could even be a combination of several days during the week to make it more entertaining.

Just understand that after every one of these activities, you should just automatically interject, "Then I wipe Grant's nose." And after about every third thing, you could also add, "Then I get a snack from the kitchen." So a normal day looks like this: Up at 7:30, Kenny and I get the kids ready for school, I share a bowl of oatmeal with Grant, I go drop off James, I go to the gym for a half hour of weights and my crazy kickboxing class, go to a play group for Grant, then I come home and feed Grant a snack, put him down for a nap, write between 1000-1200 words in my manuscript, catch up on blogs, make a pita pizza for lunch, get Grant up and feed him lunch, I catch up on more blogs, I run between 3-5 errands, I pick up James from school, run another errand or two, harrass James until his homework is done, clean the livingroom, cook dinner, watch Cash Cab and wait for Kenny to get home. He works from home two days a week and on those days you can add that I volunteer in James's classroom and spend hours more than I want to doing my grocery shopping.

Weekends, you can throw in go on dates with my husband (parties, movies, chorale performances, etc.), hit a writing conference every so often, and do family stuff like take bike rides to the park or along the beach. Then I wipe Grant's nose. And have a snack. But one has nothing to do with the other.

And I think I'll end with the next one for the day. I'll answer more tomorrow and some (like Josi's) will get their own whole post. I know, super exciting.

Annette wanted to know: What is something you used to wear that you now cringe at?
(Accompanying pictures welcome.)

Uh, my sky high bangs come to mind, and I have tie dye shirt I about wore to death. Luckily, most of my photos before 2007 are locked up in storage and not digitized, but this one is circulating freely on Facebook, courtesy of my friend Jean.

You guys, this picture is Annette's fault. She asked.

Baaaaa, baa.

I'm feeling a bit sheepish so I took down this morning's post. Teaching seminary is proving to be a wonderful experience and I don't want to misrepresent that in the interests of a funny story. Or maybe "funny" story, since I was so exhausted when I hit the publish button that it's possible I'm the only one who found it kind of entertaining and the rest of you thought I was kind of a jerk. Even the kid laughed, but I think it was one of those, "Guess you had to be there" moments and I'm not thinking clearly enough to explain it well.

Which is great, since I have to go help fourth graders do multiple digit multiplication in an hour and apparently it's blowing their minds. Yay. It's like when I say, "I'm not good at math," my son's teacher hears, "Let me help you with the kids who aren't good at math," and let me say that those are two different things.

Anyway, probably due to being tired this week, I'm running out of blogging fuel. Help a girl out, would you? I've seen it done elsewhere and I think this is the right week to try this. Why don't you leave a question for me in the comment box and I'll answer it over the course of my next two days' posts. By next week, I'll be alternating seminary teaching days with my husband and gettng a little more sleep, thus more able to stand on my own two feet.

So really, ask away. Anything you ever wanted to know? Now's the time to spit the question out. And notice I didn't necessarily say "Anything you ever wanted to know about me." I'm not that much of a narcississt. Want to know why Kristina P. has so many followers? The secret to a happy marriage? Or if you do want to know about me, ask away. Want to know about my most interesting scar? Or my opinion of camels?

Hit me, folks. Not in a Chris Brown way, though.

Speaking of the gym...

If you haven't been reading my blog long, then you don't know my claim to fame: my blog comes up first if you Google "thong bedecked lunatics."

It's because the people in my kickboxing class are crazy, which I wrote about here and here. You wouldn't believe the nutiness that goes on in there. They seem to have a theme just about every week. If it's not a holiday, then everyone's dressing up for a birthday or a bridal shower. Somehow, I never seem to get the memo about the costumes. That's probably a good thing because if I did, I'd rip it up and stomp on the stupid memo. I hate memos.

Anyway, since it's a holiday today, I though I'd share a two minute clip from my class a week ago. It was dress like a leprachuan day or some nonsense. The hyper Japanese girl in front is Turbo Yumi who records and posts these things on YouTube. I'm the goofy one on the left in a light gray tank top, black pants, no green. NO GREEN. Because I didn't get the memo. Which I would have ignored anyway. And every time you see me on camera, I look like I don't have the first clue what I'm doing. Because I don't. Which is fantastic, since you can see me several times. In my defense, this is the first time through this section for the day. We'll end up doing it three or four times and I've always got it by the second go round, but the first time through...well, I just look pathetic. (I show up about 30 seconds in).




After viewing this on YouTube with me tonight, my son said in total seriousness, "Mom, do you think someone some where in the world is watching you and making fun of you right now?"

Happy St. Patrick's Day.

No way

At the gym Thursday, I noticed one of the leg machines had a seat belt attached.

I vow never to use that machine.

I feel good I've made the right choice.

I need a snooze button for my life.

I just got hit with the most timely tag EVER, you guys.

My husband has been subbing in seminary this week (early morning daily scripture study class for high school students) and class starts at 5:45 a.m. This coinicides with the baby cutting two molars and crying in his sleep all night so that I have to get up to soothe/medicate/feed him. And I'm suffering from one of my infrequent but not unheard of bouts of insomnia, which I blame on daylight savings time. You know what that means, right? I've been practicing being pregnant. Because that's what my last pregnancy was like: no sleep for days on end, wandering around delirious, forgetting stuff, taking twice as long as normal to do stuff. Awesome. For my husband, the huge upside is that this week has swung the pendulum wildly back in his favor for waiting a while longer to have another baby.

I'm tired.

So very, very tired.

I slept for two hours last night. Sort of slept. One. two. Not enough.

And therefore, my favorite thing this Friday is this tag, which means I don't have to think of what to write. It's the lazy blogger's writing prompt. So thank you Carolynn at Willow Tree, for making my sleep deprivation just a little more bearable.

1. The first random fact I have is that my middle name is Random.

2. No, it's not. It's Ann. My real first fact is that I can't eat sandwiches without onions.

3. I guess you actually have two facts about me. So this really is the third. The sound of plastic wrappers opening during quiet times (church, theaters, etc.) makes me feel almost violent.

4. I can't fall asleep if the bathroom door is open. Monsters, you know. Closed doors stop them.

5. I used to have fingernails over an inch long. I quit that after high school. It's not that I really liked long nails. I was just too lazy to cut them.

6. I'm slightly OCD about keeping my feet clean.

7. I'm a really good hula hooper.

And if you ever can't think of seven random things about yourself on your own, ask your husband. He'll come up with ten without even trying.

As for who I'm tagging....er. I'm honestly too tired to do the links right now so I'll come back and do that later. I'll make my choices based on who I think will truly give the most random, entertaining answers or else who I'm new blog friends with. Nay, I choose both. If I leave you a comment that you've been tagged, you'll have to decide which category you fall in.

Oh, I need chocolate or Red Bull or some sleep or a full-time baby nanny or all of these things right now. Except the Red Bull. I might never sleep again with that. Shudder.




P.S. You should read this book. A biddy gets her comeuppance. It's cool. You'll like it.

Sometimes, I get really sick of pottage.

You know the story, right? Esau comes in, exhausted and hungry after working all day. His brother Jacob has a bowl of pottage and Esau demands it from him. Jacob decides to make a trade. You want this bowl of pottage? he says to his brother. It will only cost you your birthright.

And the thing is...Esau makes the deal. Nuts. He gives away his claim to the wealth, lands, and blessings that are his by virtue of being born first, and he trades it for gruel.

Sometimes I feel like Esau if I've frittered away something important. Yesterday, it was my time. My mother-in-law asked to borrow the baby for a play date and then said she was keeping him all day. Whoo hoo! Grocery shopping without having to sing silly songs to Baby G while trolling the food aisles for bargains? Bonus! Making myself a snack without a baby attached to my ankle and demanding the crumbs? Bonus! The opportunity to write without timing it around his nap? Extra bonus!

And yet.

Only the grocery shopping happened. I don't know where everything else went. How did I get less done, even though I was gone from home longer, when I didn't even have a baby on my hip? When my mother-in-law gifted me with six child-free hours?

And why am I eating this pottage?

P.S. You should read this book. It has snowball fights.

Wanderlust.

Today I had to wander to a couple of strange places on the internet to find info for my current work-in-progress, The List. I decided for fun to write down some of the odder things I've learned/researched in the name of writing over the last year:

In Seattle:

• trendy neighobrhoods
• where to get good pie
• best place to find a cool clothing boutique
• small Italian restaurants near Pioneer square suitable for a first date
• parks with baseball diamonds
• LDS ward boundaries
• mid-range hiking trails
• menu items at the restaurant in the Space Needle
• weather in January

Other stuff I've researched:

• LDS internet dating sites
• surf slang
• surf jokes
• winter fashion trends
• corporate sabotage
• data base administrators
• kitschy 1970s TV shows
• ring tones
• proper formatting when characters are communicating via electronic media
• Sun Tzu's The Art of War
• skydiving
• sushi making
• trifle recipes
• Haagen Daazs flavors

My characters are really busy.

You should read this book. It has moral quandaries. That's way more dramatic than mere issues.

This post is well-endowed.

My husband talks about breasts all day.

It's part of his job. If you think being a computer programmer is all dry and boring, you're wrong.

Well, you're wrong if you're talking about a programmer who works for a company that includes breast implants in their products. In that case, the code you are called upon to write, and the pictures you are expected to embed in that code, are really interesting.

Or maybe you're not wrong. If you're my husband (and only one of you is), it's still dry and boring. He's much more interested in looking at the code than he is at the before an after shots of augmentation patients. In fact, it's a little uncomfortable for him from time to time, like today when he had to meet with is supervisor (male) and their boss (female) to discuss a change in a website feature that took them to a competitor's before and after page. Apparently, when the feature you're analyzing per your female boss's request is located next to the site's before and after patient pics, it's super hard to know where to look. It sounded uncomfortable, all right. Especially when they were discussing one of the competitor's implant varieties called "Memory Gel."

Just go ahead and marinate on that one. Memory Gel.

Huh, right?

Anyway, I think he expected my sympathy.

But I laughed.

******************Read this book. It's good. And it has smooching in it. ****************

Also, you can win it in a giveaway on Annette's blog here!

I'm a Wheel Watcher. Well, I used to be.

I grew up watching the Wheel of Fortune with my Maw Maw Gautreaux and then with my parents, so when my Heather invited me to go try out for the show, I said, "Why the heck not?" After an hour-and-a-half on the freeway, we arrived in the back of beyond, a/k/a Casino Morongo, which springs up out of the desert at you with alarming suddenness. Pulling into the parking lot, we saw this beacon of hope:

We had to wander through the casino for a while, trying to figure out their convulted system for getting a tryout slot. Looooonnnng story short, we were in the second group of people to try out (along with HUNDREDS of others) and we got nifty blue wristbands. They said to come back at 6 to line up, so we did. We passed hundreds of people with yellow wrist bands (the loser third group with a stinky 9:00 p.m time slot) and then we kept walking, and walking, and walking, trying to find our line. And we walked and walked and walked some more. It was like being a pioneer if they had hung out in smoke-filled casinos. We found the line, and walked (I won't even write how many "walks" it took, but just maybe visualize "walked" to the tenth power) past the looooonnnng line of people who got in line BEFORE six, and finally wound our way out of the building to the very end of the line. Maybe a hundred people ended up in line behind us, which sounds like a lot until you realize there were ten times that many people in front of us. This is Heather and I waiting outside. Don't let the idyllic background fool you. The freezing desert wind out there was a marginal improvement over waiting in the smoky casino, but not by much.

The line below winds around a long wall, through the entire massive casino, and all the way to the entrance doors of the huge tower you see in the background.

Finally, after an hour of waiting and losing sensation in our extremities, we got to squeeze into a ballroom with all the other hopefuls in our group:We shared space with ladies like the one below. If she turned around, you would see one of those black bars over her face for those Glamour magazine "Fashion Don't" photos. I like the look myself. I like the visible hot pink bra straps underneath her racer back shirt, but I definitely think the Camel cigarettes tucked into her left boot are the winning touch. Fashion don't? Ha! Why wouldn't you?

On the way into the ballroom, we all dropped our applications (a 5x7 square of paper that asked us to list our favorite hobbies, our passions, and describe what makes us unique...in two lines. Two very short lines) into a box, and they were dumped into this big gold spinner drum:

Then they randomly pulled names out and called them in batches of five for the opportunity to spin the fake wheel for some cheesy W of F swag (fanny pack, anyone?) and play a speed round on this lovely board:

The white spaces are paper, and "Road Vanna" writes the letters in with a Sharpie. Nice.

Anyway, if your name was called, you were supposed to run up with all this enthusiasm, answer Road "Pat Sajak's" questions about your interests and hobbies with all this enthusiasm, join the other four players with all this enthusiasm, and then call out your letter guesses for the puzzle with all this enthusiasm. You want to know why? Because they evaluate you based on your "natural enthusiasm", not your puzzle-solving skills.

I had two favorite contestants. First, was "Emo Chick." She had those big old stretcher thingies in her ear lobes, jet black hair, and a black t-shirt that said "XXX" on it. Total Wheel material, if you ask me. They could tap a completely new demographic. Anyway, here's pretty much a verbatim transcript of her interview.

Host: So, Bonita, what do you do?

Emo Chick: I'm a student.

Host: That's great. What are you studying.

EC: Art. (She sounds kinda surly).

Host: What kind of art.

EC: Drawing.

Host: What do you like to draw?

EC: (shrugs) Mostly stuff like I like.

Host: Okay...what kind of stuff?

EC: I don't know.

Host: (jovially) How about a little more enthusiasm, play to the crowd, you know?

EC: No. I'm shy.

Uh-huh. Exactly what they're looking for, I think.

My second favorite contestant was in a group that got this puzzle. The clue was "Phrase."

_OPES A_D DREA_S.

Anyway, when it got to this one lady, she called out, "Ropes and dreams!!!"

Yep, that was it, lady.

Only about 40 people got called out of the hundreds in our room and we didn't even win the lame door prize, but doing all that people watching? So worth it. And they say they keep our apps on file and may email us in a couple of months to tryout anyway. We'll see. I need to win a minivan so it's easier to convince my husband we're ready to have another baby, because clearly, a minivan is all we'll need to accommodate a whole 'nother kid.

Here are Heather and I, smiling bravely through our disappointment at not being called up:

Our students always got us confused when we used to teach across the hall from each other. we definitely look like twins when I have my glasses on, too.

P.S. You should read this book. It has marauding rattlesnakes and suspenseful explosions!

Read THIS, eat THAT, watch THIS, wear THAT.

A/K/A, Friday Favorites. Wheee!!!



Here's a bunch of stuff I like that I bet you'd like too if you tried it. First, this book:

This is historical fiction, which is usually not my favorite, but this was really GOOD! I found out all about a time and place I didn't know anything about before, but it doesn't feel like a history lesson. There's just a bunch of interesting details sprinkled skillfully throughout a well-told story. Tabitha is a spunky, indepedent heroine, there's some journalistic intrigue, and a really cool look into a little piece of history that feels like being there. Oh, yeah, and there's a realistic, satisfying romance. Read this!

And this: Such a fun, funny book. I alreay made three of my friends read it. Janette Rallison's YA novel is good clean fun in every sense of the word, with relateable (is that a word? At least, is it a word the way I spelled it?) and entertaining characters, adventures, and a satisfying story arc. Well, except for the part where you're left wishing there was a SEQUEL ALREADY! Janette? Janette? Also, you can give In Her Good Name by Josi Kilpack and Royal Target by Tracy Hunter Abramson a try. All good bets.

And if you want a great Friday night, let me line up your snacks for you and you can eat them while reading any of these books. I'm not trying to maintain my girlish figure as much as regain it, so I try to make smart eating choices. But I love me some treats, especially sweet and salty ones, so here are a couple of my current fav-o-rites. (And you have to say that by pronouncing each vowel with its long sound: fayv-oh-rite).

Utterly delicious:Hershey's has a whole bunch of 100 calorie snack bars, but this is my favorite. You can find pretty much all the flavors at Target and a lot at Albertson's. So yummy! Eat these.

Also, find yourself any brand of light kettle corn (Redenbacher and Jolly Time are both fine), pop yourself a bag, and then spray a little bit of extra Can't Believe It's Not Butter spray on it and it's a delicious late night DVR marathon treat. Light and fluffy goodness:

Every day on ABC Family channel, you can catch up on your Gilmore Girls episodes. They make me happy every time I watch them. Smart, snappy, funny, and culturally literate with heart. I use it as my inspirational touchstones in the novels I'm writing. I would totally hang out with these girls. And they have their own label in my sidebar. Good stuff. Watch it:
Oh, and I don't know how to explain this next one except to say: Rocking space western, and we are spending every Saturday night catching up on this series on DVD:

I can't make the above picture go where it should, but you should wear it! Or maybe not. I only wear it sometimes and I never know when it will make my sinuses flare up. Not because of this particular perfume. Any perfume or scented lotion does the same thing. Sometimes, I spend the whole night being allergic to myself. Usually, though, I spend the whole night catching lovely whiffs of something and having this conversation with myself: "Mm, that smells good. I wonder what it is? Oh, it's me! Yay!"

Oh, and my new favorite place to virtually window shop is Shabby Apple. You Utah folks are probably totally in the know on this, but it's a website for hip, modest dresses. This one's my favorite:

I bet I break down and buy it soon. No one else get it and wear it to the the Storymakers conference, okay?

Happy weekend!

Hangin' with Vanna

I'm going to try out for Wheel of Fortune today with my friend Heather. Wish us luck! I'll have a full report on Monday of the W of F tryout wackiness.

Yo! Back up!

Dear ladies at the gym,

Mainly the ones in my kickboxing class.

Don't crowd. Sorry if you got here late and are trying to squeeze in on the floor but I got here five minutes early (even with a kid) and if anyone is going to be squished up against the mirror trying not to break it with a flailing kick, it's not going to be me. You dig?

If you cannot find a spot on the floor that doesn't force other people to get to know their neighbors uncomfortably well, or accidentally punch them because they moved over too far when making room for you, then...you can't come in. Go find an elliptical. Or go run outside. It's warm out there. It'll be nice. You'll like it.

But seriously, don't crowd. You've been warned. Next time, I'm not asking nicely. Or even glaring at you. I'm just going to introduce you to my vicious roundhouse air kick. If I don't fall over when I do it this time, it might even scare you.

Thank you for your attention to this matter.

Sincerely,

The girl that's always getting shoved up against the mirror.

What a bargain.

I decided to give up shopping for Lent. Only Lent started right after Christmas and ended on Saturday for me.

I'm not sure exactly what prompted that decision. Probably I was hung over from holiday shopping and decided to go cold turkey for a while. I also thought it would be interesting to see if I could apply the principle of "Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without." I thought about how if we buy a bigger house next year, our mortgage payment will increase in proportion to our square footage and how it might be a good idea to get in the habit of cutting back on luxuries now. And it occurred to me that while my husband is at the top if his field in what he does, in this economy there are no job guarantees and it might make sense to practice living on less.

Oh, and it helped that there wasn't a single thing I needed that I didn't already have in a drawer somewhere. It suddenly made sense not to buy more stuff.

So I set myself a challenge, to see if I could do it. Orange County is a shopping mecca. At anyway four way intersection you will find a nail salon, a Starbucks, a shopping mall and a Tuscan style house with a Spanish tile roof. I decided to skip the mall in favor of my closet and see what I could find in there.

I closet shopped.

And you know what? I didn't even touch half of what I have in there (it actually took me a while to determine the exact fraction on that, btw) and I didn't get bored, even without a trip to Nordstrom for a little variety.

I didn't even need to shop for the boys. James got stuff from his grandmother for Christmas that fixed him up just fine, and we lucked into two huge loads of hand-me-downs for Baby G, one from Kenny's boss and one from one of my old friends.

It was an interesting experiment for me. I have walked into South Coast Plaza and dropped a couple of hundred without blinking because I felt like it. It doesn't make any dents in our budget and I never really thought too hard about it. But a self-imposed shopping ban has helped me to realize a truth that most of you hold to be self-evident. Just because I can buy it, doesn't mean I should.

I'm adjusting my shopping philosophy now. I definitely think it's okay to pick up something for fun. I definitely see that I'm not a shopaholic and never really was. I was more just in the habit of taking for granted that I could buy something that I liked just because I felt like it, and that it's a blessing I definitely should NOT take for granted.

And most importantly, I think I'm more aware of when and why I'm busting out my husband's hard earned dollars. So the adjustment for me is this: I'll still shop, but I'll start with Stein Mart and Marshall's and Nordstrom Rack before hitting the big mall. I have a good eye and I'm discovering the thrill of victory when I find a great piece for cheap. And I won't always be concerned with whether I need something, but I will think more about how much I'll really wear it.

Oh, and outlet malls? Totally my friends now.

Best of all, shopping in my closet for a few extra minutes generally eliminates a trip to the mall altogether.

And I realize this isn't deep in the face of the difficult challenges people are facing financially right now, but it's a small little step for me, and I'm glad I took it. I'm always glad for those small little moments to stop and truly appreciate what I already have and this was one of them. It amazes me how quickly I've forgotten the years that I struggled as a single mother to make ends meet, where Target was the nicest store I could afford. But in much the same way that I couldn't care less about whether my car is new or used as long as it runs, and that I hoard discount movie tickets with devilish glee, and I go to three different grocery stores every week just to make sure I'm being thrifty as possible in my food shopping, my innate cheapness is rearing it's head over my wardrobe...and I'm glad.

Sorry, guys. I'm no longer doing my part to single handedly keep the retail sector alive. I hereby officially relinquish my role in the stimulus plan.

Sleeping on the job

It occurs to me every so often that I'm not sure how I would feel if I was an actor playing a character in a coma. Would I be like, "Cool. I get to nap on the job," or would I be like, "Borrrring"?

I mean, I really, really like naps. But I also like variety. But I like variety within a structured routine. Yeah, so I'm not sure if I would want to be an actor playing a character in a coma. I do know I don't want to be an actor, but this is just if I were an actor, how would I feel about the coma thing?

And I have no idea.

This is terrible. I don't know myself at all.