Awww...

Skip has been gone since Sunday. I was looking at our phone bill today... we have talked on the phone 37 times, and sent 84 text messages. Yes, that would be in four days. He's such a great guy, he sent me this on Wednesday:

"You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams."

I think I'm a very, very lucky woman. I love my husband... and how great is it that he knows how to love me in a way that makes me feel so complete? I hate being away from him, and I appreciate that he wants to spend his time with me.

Can't wait to see you again baby!! I love you!

The Time Has Come

Friends, Romans, Bloggermen...
I am excited to announce that March is upon us. Do you know why this is significant? If you know me in real life, I believe you are probably already rolling your eyes. You may actually even be having flashbacks to a time when I tortured you in real life.
If you haven't guessed by now, March is my birthday. And lucky for me, it's the 30th, which gives me (us) an ENTIRE MONTH to celebrate! Crazy thanks to Tiff, who already noted in a previous comment that she was beginning her own form of celebrations in honor of the event.

I won't make you buy me presents and throw me parties. That's what my husband does. But I warmly invite you to be aware of the fact, and act in accordance. There are only 28 days left.

Now. Speaking of... I am in the market for a new camera. My husband casually mentioned that the birthday might be a good time for such a gift. So I have about 20 days to figure out which one I want. HELP ME!!! Tell me about your camera. Do you love it? Do you recommend it? Will it turn me into Brittany and give me incredible skills and talents? Which one should I buy? Or better yet, which one should Skip buy for me?

Them V. Me

I recently started a little part-time job that requires me to do some walking around on a college campus. I myself am a college graduate, and remember well the days gone by. It has come to my attention, however, that the times they are a'changin.

Here are some primary difference between ME, and the girls I see walking on campus in the middle of winter.

1. Boots: My boots are designed for keeping my feet warm and dry, as

well as for providing traction on slick, icy surfaces.

Their boots are designed for Beyonce during a live Grammy performance.

2. Thighs: My thighs are all but bubble wrapped. Long underwear (you know the ones of which I speak...) and some nice toasty winter pants keep me from even thinking about the cold.

Their thighs: clearly exposed with miniskirts. Don't tell me those "tights" are keeping out the chill. I can see their skin is raw and windburned.

3. Hair: For all intents and purposes, I could very well be bald. Not a hair on my head can be seen peeking out from under THIS scarf and hat, with the hood pulled up over the top.

Their hair: seriously cute do's. I, at times, even have hair envy. There are thick, chunky highlights; straight, shiny locks; even a few adorably casual up-do's.

4. The tan: Me: Remember the albino on Princess Bride? Yeah. Nice. I've come to embrace my outer causcasian.

Them: $25 a month gets you unlimited visits. So I guess when the legs aren't red and windburned, they're probably a very cute shade of light brown.

There was a time when I would've sacrificed warmth and sensibility for looking cute. Is it a sign of aging that I absolutely do not care what I look like, as long as I'm not freezing? I remember saying things like "I would NEVER be caught dead..." and now, here I am, alive and kicking, and bundled up like the abominable snowman. And as white as him too. I'll take that any day over no feeling in my extremities and impending skin cancer. Being older has its perks.

Believe it... Or Not

Things happen to my husband that don't happen to the average Joe. Weird things. Hilarious things. Things that make my life seem very boring and dull. This is one reason I enjoy being married to him. He brings a lot of entertainment my way, without even trying.

I was recently reminded of a date we once went on. We went out for supper, and chose a restaurant in a hotel that seemed pretty nice. We sat down, paying little attention to our surroundings. I excused myself to go wash my hands, and as I came back into the room , I immediately noticed someone staring at my husband, winking and smiling. I was shocked. I mean, there's coy, and then there's rude. We were obviously there together! Show some class! I mean, what kind of man hits on another woman's date?

Wait? What? Reread that last line!? Oh yeah. This guy was totally hitting on my husband from across the room. I stopped and stared. And then I looked over at Skip. I could only see him from behind, and his shoulders were literally shaking. I slowly walked over to him, and when I looked at his face, he had tears in his eyes. He was holding back his laughter so painfully, that he was about to cry. So I asked him if he was embarassed that he was being hit on by a man.

"WHAT?!" He seemed shocked and confused. So I asked, "What exactly are you trying not to laugh at?" He said, "Look out the window." We were sitting near a window overlooking the patio, down into the pool. Imagine my surprise to find two men in thongs and leather vests, chasing each other around the pool and doing cannonballs off the diving board. I burst out laughing, and then pointed out his admirier across the room. THE GUY WAS STILL SMILING AT HIM! Jeesh.

This should've been a good indication that we were in the wrong place, and we should've left. But no. We stayed. And when the waiter brought over our appetizers... the HUGEST mozzarella sticks EVER... we just couldn't eat them. We looked all around the room, and noticed inordinate numbers of two-man tables. Then we observed two women come in. Very burly women. Hmmm.

Leaving the restaurant, we noticed a marquis in the lobby. "WELCOME RAINBOW PRIDE CONVENTION!" Where was that sign when we came INTO the restaurant? When he got hooted and hollered at from a passing truck full of men, I was beginning to get a complex! Bad enough none of the men were hitting on me, but I didn't even have another WOMAN look my way. So now we clearly see who the real hottie is in this relationship.

Here, There and Everywhere

After Brooke bore her testimony about Office Depot in her comment on my last post, I decided to follow her advice. I went knowing I wanted organization. Well believe me you, they have something for everyone. Twenty bucks and two hours later, I used this: and this:

to achieve this:

I got one item to organize the mail, one to organize everyone's myriad number of papers, and one item for pencils, pens, etc. Now the trick will be to see if everyone can play along. I gave the kids a briefing on how it is supposed to work. They seemed enthused. I'll take a picture in a week, spontaneously, and see what it looks like. Thanks for the motivation, Clair.

On a separate note, we have a horse trough in the yard where we keep some goldfish. It's our attempt at "pets". Anyway, we were asking around this fall about what to do with them once winter hit. We were assured that even though the trough would probably freeze over, the fish would "come back to life" when it warmed up. I'm more of a city girl than a country girl, so to say I was skeptical would be an understatement. But what does a city girl know? It warmed up, and I went out with a net to scoop up the dead fish that were sure to be floating on the surface. Imagine my surprise when I found this:

Four happy, albeit slow, goldfish swimming around in the water. I threw in some fish food and chalked this up as a learning experience. Then I emailed the picture to Skip and said WHATTYA KNOW? He is, like me, a no-pet guy. But he has a strange affinity for these fish. Here was his reply to my email:

Did they ask about me? They look kind of thin, are they okay? Do they remember you? Tell them daddy loves them and will be home later to tuck them in.

What a guy.

Anyway. It really made me start thinking about frozen foods, but I stopped quickly because I started to feel sick.

And lastly, here are the kids. Don't ask me what they're looking at. I don't remember.

Overheard

Another snow day today. Same old whine.
Here are some astute things heard around our home of late:

Mika had a friend sleep over the other day. I was in the room reminding them it was time for bed. This is their conversation, had as if I wasn't even standing there:
Dillon: Hey Mika. Remeber last time, when me and Josh both slept over?
Mika: Yeah.
Dillon: Remember how we stayed up all night farting and telling yo'mama jokes?
Mika: Yeaaaahhhh...
Dillon: That was so awesome. Can we do it again tonight?
Mika: Yeah. Definitely.
______________________________________

Keola was standing in front of the dishwasher during the dry cycle the other day, staring into the little air vent:
Keola: Hey mom! This hot steam coming out really burns your eyeball!
Mom: Have you considered moving your eyeball out of the way?
Keola: Total silence. Moves slowly away from hot steam. Oh. I didn't think of that.

______________________________________

Coming home from church on Superbowl Sunday:
Mika: Hey guys! My teacher doesn't watch football!
Us guys: Well, some people try not to do that on Sunday sweetie.
Mika: No, Mom. I mean she doesn't watch football EVER. I've never met someone like that before. Weird, huh?

______________________________________

With so many snow days, my VS Pink loungewear has been getting a lot of wear. The other day I felt a little finger poking my rearend. I turned around to find Keola staring at my hiney.
Me: What are you doing, son?
Keola: Your butt isn't like jello. When I poked it, it didn't shake.
Me: Is it supposed to?
Keola: I think if you're a mom, it's supposed to.
I shudder to think of the testing grounds for his theory.

_______________________________________

The missionaries were having supper at the house the other night. Politics came up.
Elder V: This could be the year for the first mormon president, the first woman president, or the first black president. We should just elect Gladys Knight and get it all over with.

Life Goes On

I realized I could not live in mourning forever. There are children and a husband to consider. I had to shake the funk. I had to accept the painful defeat and move on. What better way to accomplish that than with food?
Rynell, who by all means appears to be a master chef, assured me that some Cafe Rio knock-offs would be out of this world. I have been to Utah a couple of times in the past year or so, and everyone was raving about this restaurant. We tried it and loved it. So much so that it was Samantha's restaurant of choice for her post-baptism meal.

Basically, you take this:

some chicken and rice, and you whip it all together to make this incredible meal. I believe it's some kind of burrito. But the end result looked like this:

There was an incredibly moist and flavorful chicken, lime rice, "doctored" beans, pico de gallo, tomatillo dressing, rich, creamy guacamole, and some shredded lettuce all wrapped up in a fresh warm tortilla. It was so delicious, my mouth began to smile again. And in order to prevent ruining the food with saline, I quit crying while I ate. Skip's favorite food is Mexican, so I felt even better seeing him enjoy his meal. I think a tiny ray of sunshine beamed down from above on our table.

Anyway. I hope Giselle Bundchen was as good to Tom Brady. He needed cheering up, and after all, I fully believe Giselle is the new Jessica.

Oh, and as for my tombstone, Lisa's epitaph was definitely creative but I refuse to put it on my headstone. It's Paige by a mile. And no Katie, you didn't win.

It's All Because I Forgot to Wear My Pats Hat!

You tell me how I should have it engraved. And no, I don't want to talk about it. I'll pay a therapist good money for that.

*post amendment: if you can come up with an engraving for my tombstone that will make me smile once again, i'll send you a prize.

Pathetic

I can't remember the last time I was this bored. Honestly. Skip is gone for the weekend sleeping in snow caves and practicing knot-tying with cadets. Oddly, even that sounds fun to me at this point.
My kids have been in bed for 2 hours. I have read every blog I am familiar with, checked my email, looked at the dishes, and glanced at the washing machine. I can't sleep when he's gone, and it's only 9:pm.

WHAT AM I GONNA DO FOR THE REST OF THE NIGHT???

Truth be told, one thing I am looking forward to is the fact that I get to sleep with my rabbit. I've had him for a really long time. You're probably thinking, "Wow. Since childhood, I bet." Yeah, not so much since childhood. I got him when I was 15. I named him Sam, after the Green Eggs and Ham guy. I realize that 15 is a bit old to start an attachment to a stuffed animal, but whatever. This post is about pathetic.
He has been everywhere with me. Mission to 3rd world country, many college dorms, family vacations... you name it. ALAS... my husband finds it offensive and repulsive. He is not at all enthused about my sleeping with Sam. So I don’t.
The pathetic statement about my life is that not only can I find nothing productive to do this evening, but the highlight will be sleeping with a stuffed rabbit wearing no pants and a yellow sweater.
Another reason my night is pathetic? We’ve been watching the show LOST on dvd. I am eerily hooked on it. Obsessed, actually. We just started season 2 the other day, and I feel literal physical withdrawals when I have to turn it off. Skip asked me to wait until he got home so we could watch them together. And I keep walking over to the TV to just go ahead and watch it. I refrain, but feel like a traitor in my heart.
And lastly, my night is pathetic because when Skip is away, I like to send him zesty little pictures of his wife. It reminds him why he should hurry home. Exhibit A: I can’t really send him tonight’s non-zesty picture, because I’m afraid he will never come home. Exhibit B:
p.s. I finished this entry in about 15 minutes. I went to post, and my internet had gone down. I spent the next hour and 40 minutes on the phone with a tech, who eventually said there’s an outage in my area. So I had to save the post to a Word document. I couldn’t even post a blog tonight. Pathetic.

banana-fana-fo-foey

last night skip and i were laying in bed. (the above picture is clearly not us laying in bed. but photos are fun, and this one will have to do. i may joke about the satin sheets, but that's as close as anyone gets inside our bedroom. you're welcome.) somehow, we ended up playing the "name a song" game. one person throws out a word, and the other has to come up with a song that has that word in it. he said "banana" and the best i could come up with was joey-joey-bo-boey, banana-fana-fo-foey. i thought it was a stretch, but technically, it's a song and it counts.

anyway. i think i won, but i can't say what word i won with. it's not BAD... it just might seem weird. and heaven forbid i should allow that to happen.

it's funny the songs that come to your mind with just a single word trigger. and it's amazing how OLD you can feel when you think about certain songs. yesterday's "mystery oldie" on the radio station was INXS... need you tonight. THAT is an oldie? i remember brooke and i tore up the church dance floor with our choreographed moves to that song. i swear it was like last week sometime.

anyway. my husband is a formidable opponent. he was running on 4 hours sleep, he had had the kids all night while i was at a coffee, and it was now 10:30 pm. i'm impressed that he went as many rounds as he did. he is one in a million. (yes, i'm still talking about the song game, here.)

SO... do you think you could hang with our mad bedroom singing skills? you get 1 point for the song, a 2nd point if you can name the artist. i'll make it easy on you... the word is ARMS.

i can't even muster a fake compliment

so i was reading about shally's situation with the not-so-friendly side of motherhood. and then noe brought home THIS from preschool:

now. honestly. maybe it was because shally's story was fresh on my mind, but i cannot look at this thing without feeling a little queasy. how hard would it have been for the teacher to throw a little food coloring into the playdoh? or give the kids some paint when they were done? did she use whole wheat flour or what? frankly, this looks like something that is the RESULT of too much whole wheat flour.

i love my daughter dearly. but i am thoroughly repulsed by her creation. come on! not even a little glitter or something? i feel like my daughter is spending her days at preschool molding poo in order to solidify early reading skills. i can't decide whether or not i should say something to the teacher. she's young, first year teaching... but i'm fairly certain they taught her SOMEWHERE along the way not to let the kids play with poop. or anything that resembles it.

i think i'm growing up!

so i came clean with my husband about blogapalooza. i had only mentioned wanting to go to womens conference with my very best girlfriend ever, but i thought he would find me weird or ridiculous for wanting to meet fellow bloggers in real life. so i avoided mentioning that part. last night i was regaling him with stories of my sordid teenage years, when lying and sneaking were a way of life. this morning, it hit me... i'm still a teenager.
i couldn't bear the shame of it, so i emailed him and told him all about my desire to meet these interesting women i've encountered in blogland. he was, of course, fabulously supportive. i threw in the part about one of them being a speaker at womens conference, so she obviously isn't a 54 year old male pervert. it went well.

so. now i can officially get excited. i'm going to travel. i get to fly kid-free. favorite part of that? the little moment when you step into the dark airplane bathroom , close the door, and slide the "occupied" latch. what happens? the lights come on, as if someone is throwing you a surprise party! sometimes i even yell "surprise!" to enhance the experience. maybe this time i'll throw myself some confetti. after all, i have a lot to celebrate- a few days without kids, time with my best girlfriend, spiritual enlightenment, and meeting a bunch of great cyber friends and turning them into real friends. i think there will also probably be good food involved. best part- a really great husband who backs me and wants me to do things that will make me a better person... even if sometimes that doesn't include him. thanks for understanding baby... i love you!
i should bring him back a good souvenir from provo, utah. any suggestions?

why ovenmitt romney will win the election

good morning world! it's a REALLY GREAT YEAR for boston sports fans... which includes me. if you are from boston, you are a winner. it's all things soxceltspats. if you're not a betting man (or woman), you should be one just this year, because you CAN'T GO WRONG!!

in case you live in a bubble, or are just one of those people who aren't into sports (which could lessen the amount of love i have for you) here's the skinny:

world series champs. killer line-up like josh beckett, david ortiz, manny ramirez, jonathan papelbon. they even have a guy named coco crisp. how can you not love a man named after a breakfast cereal? that just screams family fun. they played solid baseball, with a few nailbiters followed by a series sweep. that is awesome.

oh baby. they won every game in the regular season. 16-0. nice. they are division champs, likely to beat the san diego chargers to become the AFC champs... and then it's on to the superbowl. i'm fairly certain there will be a perfect season all around. belichick was overly-villified, thus spawning what has been called his "middle finger tour through america." he turned his whipping boy status into continual victory. and tom brady is so hot.

i cannot even begin to tell you what this means to me. i have been a celtics fan since my mother weaned me off the little green bottle. my life's regret is that i can only watch bob cousy or johnny havlicek in black and white ESPN classics. imagine going to a game back when basketball was more than glorified street ball? i caught the tail end of real basketball... just say "bird, mchale, ainge, parrish, dj" and the heavens open up into chorus sublime. that's what i grew up on. anyway. this season, they are #1 in the NBA. no one is even close to their record so far. odds of them winning the NBA championship? all my $.

so. ovenmitt. what does this have to do with him? first of all, i really want to know what's up with his name. mitt? baseball mitt? ovenmitt? that's all i ever think of. but i digress. we all know he's stepping into the running from what golden city? boston. check out these pictures:

while the last one doesn't show him in celtics apparel, he is standing in the garden, home of the celtics. (i hate corporate sponsorship. it will always be THE GARDEN to me. not the fleetcenter, or the banknorth garden...) anyway. ovenmitt is coming from boston. he has kissed the blarney stone of boston sports teams. i haven't decided who to vote for yet this year, but it doesn't really matter. ovenmitt is from boston, so he will probaly win.

squeaky confessions

i read today about martha corinna's dance with the devil. i loved every second of it. most of you know that i never drink soda, and i try to avoid fast food as much as possible. i'll spare you the condescending lectures, although if you read MC's passage, you'll know exactly how i feel.

yesterday, my kids were home because of a snow day. they drove me absolutely crazy. they had only been back to school on monday after 2 weeks of vacation, they were nowhere near ready to spend another day at home. skip had a late night at work, so i just didn't feel like cooking. i let mika choose the restaurant, and he picked A&W.

there's a new billboard up in town advertising the "curiously delicious fried cheese curds" at A&W. everytime i see it, i gag. all i can imagine is greasy cottage cheese. well, of course mika ordered these cheese curds. i was indeed, very curious. i didn't plan on blogging about them, so i have no picture. and sadly, the best that google images could provide me was this:

i call him louie. and the caption read, "you lookin' at my cheese curds?" not really prime advertising. but whatever. so i was curious. i lived in logan, utah for awhile. they have a cheese factory there, and the locals were always talking about "squeaky cheese." i like cheese, so i tried out this "squeaky cheese" once. they were cheese curds. they were fairly tasty. i tried to explain them to skip last night, but i had no idea what they actually were. enter wikipedia. the long and short of the definition is that higher levels of acid cause the milk proteins to tangle and form lumpy masses. and you have to eat them within 12 hours, because they don't keep. doesn't that sound yummy?

no, it does not. (just in case you were thinking otherwise). and when i think of A&W, i certainly don't imagine freshness encompassed by a 12 hour expiration date. oh, and it gets better... apparently, a song was written years ago. a celtic tune. and it goes a little somethin' like this-

"Visions of MacGonlannee"
Stately and pleasantly it sat
A compact house and strong
Then I went in
The door of it was hung beef
The threshold was dry bread
And cheese curds were the walls

guess who i'm never going to visit? yeah, old man MacGonlannee. everything about cheese curds seems wrong. and more disgusting still when you dip them in batter and deep fry them in hot peanut oil.
and yet...
i tried one. and sweet mother of abraham lincoln, they were fantastic! curiously delicious, even! there may be times in the future when i cruise through the drive-thru just for a box. heck, if it came right down to it, i'd wrestle big louie for the last one.
so. that's my confession for the day. but unlike martha corinna, i'm not pregnant. so i have no viable excuse for my behavior. can you still love me?

god grant me patience... NOW!

sorry this will be an entry with no pictures. it's one of those "reflective" entries... probably inspired by the new year and all the people around me making resolutions.

i'm not a new-year's-resolutions girl myself. too much pressure. yet i recognize the need for change. not drastic overhauls, but subtle changes. i am very hard on myself. i think a lot of women are. this is a hard-learned lesson, however.

several years ago, i was good at everything. at least i thought i was. it was important to me to be good at everything. i was in charge of a lot of things in different organizations both within my church and community. i was managing the unusual health problems of one child and the extreme behavior issues of another. i was on the ball. i had lists which were regularly checked and completed. i was a go-to gal. problem was, i wasn't really going to anywhere. in spite of all my organization and success, i was failing in so many areas. (but that's a whole other therapy session...) eventually it all caught up with me and things got ugly fast. i was driving my train at full speed, and it crashed.

so now what? here i am, with essentially a second chance. i have to remind myself each day that i know how to fail. and i don't mean that in a disparaging way. what i mean is i have to take that failure and apply what i learned from it. it has to be part of my progress now, part of my attempts to succeed.

the list of things i want to do better is endless... be more patient with my kids, keep the house cleaner, read my scriptures more, dislike certain people less... you know the drill. but the way i see it now, the best i can do is focus on the big picture on a daily basis. i want to be calm and rational when child A throws the gamecube controller at child B's head. but some days, i may scream out "ARE YOU KIDDING ME? DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THOSE THINGS COST? YOU COULD'VE BROKEN IT! PLUS, YOU MIGHT HAVE HURT YOUR BROTHER!" that is usually followed by a spanking, an unrational punishment, and a ruined night. then i feel guilty, and hope their father isn't waiting in the wings with a lawyer to swoop in and deem me an unfit mother. this is reality. sometimes it happens that way. but sometimes it doesn't.

some days, i may say, "i'm sorry you chose to do that, here is the natural consequence." and child A understands it, grudgingly accepts it, and within a reasonable amount of time, there are apologies and reformed behavior. sound idyllic? yes. but it is also reality. and sometimes it happens this way too.

so day to day, i resolve to do what i can. on the good days, i give myself some credit and say "i succeeded at some things today." i value that progress. on the bad days, i can try to pinpoint what went wrong and why... and then be aware of those triggers the next time around.

i want perfection as much as the next guy does. and believe me, i'd love to have it now. but the point of it all is continual refinement. i figure if i approach it from that angle, it's going to be a little easier to succeed. and as i do that, i'd like to think i gain a little more patience, a little more wisdom, a little more understanding in how to keep it all going in the right direction.