Darcey Family Blog

Mitt is SO Mormon that:

2011-09-15T09:39:00.000-07:00

http://www.religiondispatches.org/dispatches/joannabrooks/5103/how_mormon_is_mitt_romney/

By: Joanna Brooks

Earlier this week, Florida evangelical Christian leader John Stemberger endorsed Rick Perry’s campaign for GOP presidential nominee. According to Stemberger, Perry was more “trustworthy” on social conservation issues like abortion rights.

On Romney, Stemberger said: “The issue not that he is a Mormon. The issue is that he wasn’t Mormon enough. If he had been consistent with traditional Mormon values his whole career, that would make me feel a lot more comfortable about where he’s coming from.”

Mitt Romney. Not Mormon enough. Yeah. Right.

Stemberger’s ludicrous assessment of Mitt Romney’s Mormonism inspired an eighteen-hour-stream of “Mitt Romney is so Mormon jokes” on Twitter at @askmormongirl. I’m reprinting the best here, with thanks to the comic geniuses of the Mormon Twitternacle, especially Matt Workman--@matthewworkman--and Jerilyn Pool--@auntmarvel."

(Just a note: for some of these, you may have to be Mormon to understand.)

So, how Mormon is Mitt Romney?

Mitt is so Mormon he’s related to the other Mormon presidential candidate and half of his own campaign volunteers as well.

Mitt is so Mormon his campaign bus is a pioneer handcart.

Mitt is so Mormon he’d call 19-year-old boys to serve as US ambassadors.

Mitt is so Mormon his Israel policy will be centered on Jackson County, Missouri.

Mitt is so Mormon he’ll make the income tax a flat 10% and collect fast offerings to fund Medicaid.

Mitt is so Mormon he’ll ask the Senate to “sustain” his appointees by manifesting with an upraised hand.

Mitt is so Mormon he doesn’t do Pilates, he does golden Pilates.

Mitt is so Mormon that his campaign “oppo” team has done all the other candidates’ genealogy.

Mitt is so Mormon he’s organizing his precinct walkers in pairs to knock doors with a very special message.

Mitt is so Mormon he’d make the Book of Mormon required reading at the Bureau of Indian Affairs.

Mitt is so Mormon, that if he’s elected the “First Lady” will be known as the “First Wife.”

Mitt is so Mormon he’ll choke up and weep during his inaugural address. And then say, “I told myself I wasn’t going to cry.”

Mitt is so Mormon he’d commission a presidential motorcade built entirely of 10-passenger family vans.

Mitt is so Mormon, he will actually hang the Constitution up by a thread, just so he can save it.

Mitt Romney is so Mormon that he’s afraid to join the Tea Party because of Doctrine & Covenants 89.

Mitt is so Mormon he’ll start the State of the Union with the words: “I wasn’t going to get up, but the Spirit just carried me up here.”

Mitt is so Mormon his campaign biography begins, “I, Willard, having been born of goodly parents.”

Mitt is so Mormon, he will ask members of Congress to go home and pray about his economic plan.

Mitt is so Mormon he’d ask the Elders Quorum to move him into the White House.

Mitt Romney is so Mormon that his first act will be to make July 24 a national holiday.

Mitt is so Mormon, he asks donors to stack chairs after fundraising dinners.

Mitt is so Mormon he’ll award Ty Detmer, Steve Young, and Jimmer Fredette Congressional Medal of Honor.

Mitt is so Mormon he refers to expatriates as “apostates” and non-US citizens as “Gentiles.”

Mitt is so Mormon that his campaign slogan is “What do you know about Mitt Romney? Would you like to know more?”

Mitt is so Mormon he’ll reroute the Freedom Trail through Palmyra, New York, Nauvoo, Illinois, and Winter Quarters, Iowa.

Mitt is so Mormon he’ll rename the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms the Word of Wisdom squad.

Mitt is so Mormon he’d do an ad for the LDS Church: “I’m a husband, father, and leader of the free world. And I’m a Mormon.”

Mitt is so Mormon he isn’t as concerned about getting American youth jobs as he is about getting them married.

Mitt Romney is so Mormon he tried to convince CNN to let him bring a visual aid to the debate so he could turn it into an object lesson.

Mitt is so Mormon that he refers to Congress as “The Great and Spacious Building.”

Mitt is so Mormon that out of “concern for the one” he’ll invite Kim Jong-Il to join the fold.

Mitt is so Mormon he’ll end every address with “hope you all get home without any harm or accidents.”

Mitt is so Mormon he’ll assign a friend to every new member of Congress.

Mitt is so Mormon he’s already picked out a room in the White House for his year’s supply of wheat and beans, and he’ll require the White House Chef to rotate the food storage.

Mitt is so Mormon he’ll replace the Secret Service with the Danites.

Mitt is so Mormon his Secret Service codename will be Mahonri Moriancumr.

Mitt is so Mormon he thinks Harvard is the BYU of the east.

Mitt is so Mormon he thought the debt ceiling was something that could only happen in a temple.

Mitt is so Mormon, he doesn’t campaign: he “fellowships.”

Mitt is so Mormon that he’s installing two basketball hoops at the inaugural ball so there’s a place to hang decorations.

Mitt is so Mormon that he’ll change the name of “Cabinet Meeting” to “Correlation Meeting.”

Mitt is so Mormon that if he got elected all of the White House Pyrex 9x13 pans would have a piece of masking tape on them with his name written in Sharpie.

Mitt is so Mormon, he has four cats named 1 Nephi, 2 Nephi, 3 Nephi and 4 Nephi. (4 Nephi is the small one.)

Mitt is so Mormon that late last night he snuck out to put 5000 plastic forks in the lawn of Jon Huntsman. And after that, he heart attacked Rick Perry.

Mitt is so Mormon that he’s going to rename the 101st Airborne as “The Stripling Warriors.”

Mitt is so Mormon, he won’t deport illegal aliens, he’ll just disfellowship them.

Mitt is so Mormon, he’ll rename FEMA the Federal Relief Society.

Mitt is so Mormon he’ll start his acceptance speech with “I never said it would be easy, I only said it would be worth it.”

Mitt is so Mormon that if elected he’ll require every state to have an Official Casserole.

Mitt is so Mormon that the Marine Band will play “Praise to the Man” when he enters a room.

Mitt is so Mormon that he’ll appoint Lavell Edwards head of the Department of Defense.

Mitt is so Mormon he won’t allow advisers wearing non-white dress shirts to participate in cabinet meetings.

Mitt is so Mormon that he’ll rename the weekly presidential address “Politics and the Spoken Word.”

Mitt is so Mormon that his cabinet would consist entirely of unqualified volunteers.

Mitt is so Mormon he’d outsource the department of education to the Boy Scouts.

Mitt is so Mormon he’d convene a linger-longer after cabinet meetings.

Mitt is so Mormon he’d hang a copy of the Proclamation on the Family and a picture of the Washington, D.C. LDS temple in the White House.

Mitt is so Mormon he has volunteers combing through old GOP voter rolls for less actives he can reactivate.

Mitt is so Mormon he’d commission a Mod Bod undershirt to be engraved under the sleeveless dress of the Statue of Liberty.

Mitt is so Mormon he’d put everyone in his stake on the inauguration invite list. Just because.

Mitt is so Mormon he’d ask the Chief Justice to use a quad at his inauguration.

Mitt is so Mormon, he will add the phrases “every fiber of my being” and “beyond a shadow of a doubt” to the presidential oath of office.

Mitt Romney is so Mormon he’d plan a youth dance festival for his first 4th of July in office.

Aidan's Summer

2011-08-02T15:17:00.000-07:00

Scouts, scouts, scouts! Aidan's summer is all scouts!

The first week out he volunteered 8 hours a day, five days in one week helping the cub scouts. He baited hooks, untangled lines and every once in a while, helped unhook a big one.

He spent the next week getting three merit badges at scout camp and the very next week flew to Utah where he finished his swim badge, started his gardening badge (composter) and worked on home repair badge (already finished once.) Hiking, painting, and cooking merit badges progressed fine.

I think that he's ready to go back to school to get some vacation time.

Working for Mission Money

2011-08-02T14:08:00.000-07:00

Ian's challenge this summer is making money for his mission and thus far he seems up to it.

He has split wood, removed, repainted, reglazed the storm windows and mulched the trees out front. He helped cousins paint grandma's picnic table and worked with grandpa to repair Grandma's concrete step. He removed the front planter, rebuilt the front planter and rocked and moved dirt. Split more wood, scraped and repainted the deck. He has pruned and burned all the acreage, doctored the trees, split wood, stacked it, cleaned the garage and the shed, swept the chimneys, caulked mortar joints, reflashed the leaky chimney, split even more wood, and stacked it. He has deweeded, debugged, and removed and restrung the swings, while debriefing all the cousins.

He sings while he works and most of the time, the neighbors don't protest--and Mom only wishes you could hear every verse of the Song of Angry Men sung in a rich, deep, baritone. If only I had pushed video on that camera.

Look out Alaska.

Ian's Mission Call

2011-08-02T13:18:00.000-07:00

Ian's mission call story is a true study in patience--as I hear many are.

Dia waited a month while her papers were misplaced, mistaken, misdirected before she could get her interviews, but Ian's wait takes the prize!

Dia helped him prepare his papers and they were ready to submit by his four month deadline, March 1. She left in February and anxiously awaited him joining her in the MTC, or at least news of his call. March passes and appointments are set and missed and reset and then it's April

finals supercede all else.

College ends, dorm addresses change, wards shift, bishops are released and reassigned, and college resumes.

Finally one day all the stars in the universe align and Ian is able to find the stake clerk who will spend a couple of hours with him searching for his paperwork.

Voila! His paperwork is recovered and sent on!

Ah, but not yet. Ian must have further medical sign-offs that could take four more weeks. But amidst Spring finals, he perseveres and receives the sign-off and finally, the papers are in three days before his 19th birthday!

And the results will be sent to his dorm - that he's just moved from and is under the demolishing block.

Forwarding order in? A week longer delay?

If nothing else, the guy gets points for patience.

More BYU Women's Conference

2011-05-02T11:10:00.000-07:00

Even more notes from Women's Conference:

The next talk was really good, and made for me a new mantra. You Can Do Hard Things. This might come in really handy for a missionary. This sister had four kids, newly converted husband, moved to new house, new job, different state, then he left her. She paged God a lot, was on his speed dial, She wondered if his caller ID response was, "Didn't I just talk to her?"

She had heavenly quotes pasted all over her house. One on her sun visor, "You can do hard things." Jeremiah 32:27, Gen 18:14.

Met someone new and wonderful, married seven years, he went to the Chico Sky Dive, yup, out of a plane dead, but she had her tool box ready, filled with her Savior and a better sense of how to get through hard times and a sense that she had done hard things so she could do it again.

When her daughter was sent to Quanka Mexico, she writes, "I don't even like other people's kids." The speaker wrote back, "You can do hard things." Through service, when she picked her up, the daughter had learned to love the people.

She is a teacher at the prison and tells about NaTasha is a longest felon at the prison, 60 yrs old, at age 11, mafia father told her to pick up this gun and use it. She did. She had "anger issues," even the guards were afraid of her. She was diagnosed with MS, worried that she couldn't fight to be safe in prison, asked her bunkmate if she really believed in God, went to church, changed all personal pronouns to whom God spoke, in her B of M to her own name. Might get paroled this year.

The speaker was asked to teach seventh graders, harder than felons? She drove around the corner, hit by sunshine, put down her sunvisor and read, "You can do hard things."

We can only do this if we believe what we are capable of and who we are. It's easy to say we're stupid and useless rather than you are fabulous and capable because then you expect more of yourself. A Jewish Kaballah says to degrade yourself is to degrade God as you are made in his image.

Do not lie or demean yourself. Your subconscious is literal minded and in a pinch your own words come back.

In a book titled Jesus as CEO She quotes that unlike most notes to the president of the board, "Look what I've done to accomplish my task, health benefits decreased, etc." Christ's note would say, "Look, I present my people as my glory, John 17.

She closed with a book, "So Few Of Me" The last phrase was "what If I did Less, But It was My Best?"

The second half of the time was a good speaker too.

She was Shaunna Thompson, professional actress, and self proclaimed, "Waste of skin." Alma 32, thos compelled to be humbled will still be blessed, those noncompelled much more so than ye.

She says she sees those not compelled have a greater level of peace due to the blessings for living their sacramental promise.

She feared Man more than God and on Touched by an Angel set, was asked to curse God and did it. Noone said anything to her, except the Janitor at the school where she volunteered, and he asked her why. She learned and vowed to do better and said no to matters of impropriety, immodesty, Sabbath filming--which was often and challenging, but without a second thought, put it behind her and went on.

Then when asked to work on Sunday for a Motorola commercial, she sent an email apologizing, "sorry, Mormon and all that... yada, yada." She got a response, "I used to be a Mormon, Man UP, Believe what you believe and don't apologize for your standards."

Then she got asked again, "They really want you and will not shoot on SUnday." She said Yes. Then again a call, Can't get an open office except on Sunday, they will pay $400 more, will you do it.

She went to her actor buddies on her current film (an LDS one) for justification, The Dad said, "I work as breadwinner, so I work every day." The young girl, "Go to sacrament early, then work." The young boy, "I am a priesthood holder, Never!" "Unless they are offering you a bundle, then in a heartbeat!"

Finally she calls her husband, Her conscience, and he says, "What changed from your first decision?Nothing? then you know what to do."

So she refused, the next week, Motorola called again, gave her the part paying more month, not filmed on Sunday, and she thought it was the Lord saying, "This poor, sorry girl who always struggles with the easy decisions. Throw her a Bone!"

She has a wayward son and quotes Orson F Whitney, "that the eternal sealings of faithful parents and the divine promises made to them for valiant service in the Cause of Truth, would save not only themselves, but likewise their posterity."

This is where Shelly and I again wonder about the righteous posterity who lived righteously so we could live again here on earth.

So, this is my last letter to you before hong Kong, it is two minutes to noon. I hope you get it to feast on on the plane.

BYU Women's Conference Notes

2011-05-02T09:52:00.000-07:00

I just sent this note to the missionary and I thought it good enough to keep forever in my blog.

More letters about the BYU Women's Conference. Sister Susan Tingey spoke about D&C 101. I have to tell you a little about her. Prior to the class, the lady next to her hugged her and I got to see her close up, and I thought, "Wow, high maintenance." You know, the outfit and hair and face, tanned, gorgeous. So now you know where I'm coming from.

She began, "When everything is not okay, it's not the end--just so you know." Somewhere in Alaska, a disturbance in the ground caused a wave to begin and when it hit the northern California beach and swept her five year old granddaughter out to sea, who could predict or prevent that?

While playing the piano at her funeral, she kept wiping a weird bump under her nose. Ended up in the doc's dental chair to carve that cancer bump out. Nine hours and a hundred shots later she emerged without a nose, and most of the flesh around it. Calmed by III Nephi, 17, faith heals, #7, believe in healing, #13, endure all, she was six weeks waiting to begin nine months of reconstruction. Son leaving on a mission in 6 weeks, second lump discovered on chin, had to eat a radiation tablet $12 Thou pill, totally irradiated had to survive the mental combat of a retreat out on Bear Lake, alone and radioactive, John 14, I will comfort you, D&C 66, be patient, D&C 122.

Asked by a friend, "Do you ever wonder why God hates you?" She prayed often for her non-member surgeon, one day during reconstruction he had just finished drawing a detailed blueprint on her face, she was prepped and ready for surgery-iv in, and he didn't like the little red bump on her forehead. Wouldn't proceed. It was MRSA and she would have had the flesh-eating bacteria all over her face.

She introduced the words to a song, something like He was First Born, to be the first bourne of our pain. Good lyrics. Her quote was, "God may calm the storm, but other times he calms the child and lets the storm rage."

She continued by saying that if there were 100 billion born on earth, (she estimated and averaged) and 226,000 are now YW, they have .000226 percent to be born in the church--essentially a zero chance. Does that increase our infinite worth and make us more responsible for it? We must develop self-worth alone--all by ourselves. No one can give it to us, She sends her kids to hard countries to see how blessed they are. She went to Kenya and did one day of hard work, then knew that the woman she shadowed got up and did it daily. She went home and rested.

Good talk. For me, again with the "Got to work to gain self-worth."

Oh, Sis Easton Black spoke on Joseph Smith in the Smith Field house. I didn't make it there, but I thought of you, Dia. You loved your class with her.

Sis Leavitt spoke on time traps of technology and virtual or virtuous woman? Mom's spend 1.5 mins online, 35 min engaged one-on-one with child. Less with each succeeding child. 50 min with spouse. Most underestimate their virtual time by 50%. Wow! Bednar's apostolic warning in his CES talk about cyber sites. He plead with us to be more aware. The adversary beguiles us to disconnect with reality. He wants us to become accustomed to a disembodied state--it's his ultimate goal all along.

Technology was not created beyond the Lord's purview. It is His tool in the latter days--it is up to us to prevent Satan from beguiling us to misuse it.

Sister Leigh Wilkes same topic, Internet

D&C 60:13, Do not idle away thy time or talent, again with Bednar, technology is one more thing in mortality we must control.

It's a doorway to learn - but we overwhelm ourselves with info, as much good as bad.

It's great communication with families, but we must let others govern themselves, not take over their lives.

Lift and Brighten lives, but blog life, don't live to blog.

Build the church - 10 years ago 80% negative when one googled the church--now, 80% positive, but the eyes of the world are upon you, perceptions of the world are influenced in communication, Elder Bednar assures us no need to argue or be beligerant. OUR POSITION IS SOLID--THE CHURCH IS TRUE.

Traps: Easy to judge as we read, easy to feel inadequate. Instead think: What can I learn, how can they inspire my life. Time Trap: There is more to life than increasing it's speed.

Disconnect one day--a technology fast once a week. You can either invite or impeded the Holy Ghost in your life, and no one can do two things at once competently. Enlarge or restrict, love and serve.

You Know How I Love TSA II

2011-04-19T16:19:00.001-07:00

http://emf.mercola.com/sites/emf/archive/2011/04/19/airport-security-scans-what-would-your-doctor-do.aspx

Do I really want to fly there that badly?

50 Floors Up

2011-04-05T08:09:00.000-07:00

Aidan ran with Dave fifty flights up the Williams Tower in stair stepping challenge on Saturday.

The pictures don't give the challenge justice. It was a killer. The videos are the best. FIFTY flights, and a torturous twelve minutes to talk Aidan to the top!

YAY

2011-02-25T11:10:00.000-08:00

I'm tired of products professing to be the "original recipe". No it's not, I can see, smell, feel, and tell that it's not. Do companies think I'm stupid?

Marriage Myths

2011-02-11T09:05:00.000-08:00

…marriage myths

If the original Tales of the Grimms Brothers had been left intact by sanitizing editors, the youth of the world would have a far truer vision of the fairy-tale fable called marriage.

Our tale opens with a young, love-struck couple on the cusp of a delightful happy-ever-after tale. The couple is bedecked like royalty at a castle-like reception hall trussed up in finery, with frippery and flowers. A fawning public brings expensive gifts and gathers to admire them and coo. The couple shares bites of a magical cake after which a fabulous coach transports them on a magical journey to a mythical place in a far distant land. After two weeks of sustained delusion, our two young lovers return and flip the page to the second chapter of connubial… reality.

On the very next page of this book, the dark side of the tale emerges and the innocent couple plunge into the deep, dark mysterious myth of matrimony. Don't get me wrong, I'd not have it any other way (This is not just vendetta speaking), but the bottom line is that after such a delusional set-up, Reality Bites!

There are those of us—the fairy god-aunties--who attempt to mitigate the page-turning of this slasher-thriller with hints and clues made in the guise of well-meant encouragement. Our preparation begins under the pretense of advice at the bridal shower. Advisors flit about dispensing counsel like clouds of fluffy meringue. “Whoever exits the bed last makes it!” and “If one cooks, the other cleans the kitchen!”

Most of our time is spent sugarcoating the grit of the bitter chocolate offered by the sardonic thrice-divorced auntie-fairy who sits slouched on the far settee. We tactfully try to stay well within the boundaries set by the queen mother who wants to avoid startling this pony mid-stride.

We watch the couple as they flit and flutter around in this dream world, hopeful and deluded. We wish their story could somehow end far more fairy-like than our own. All the while, knowing the magic mirror would be more realistic if the Cinderella life it revealed, could have stayed stuck in nasty-godmother, toilet-cleaning, pre-prom disclosure.

Reality Bite: Our sole purpose is to keep the stunned couple from skipping ahead in the tale and preempting the disastrous conclusion.

…and tales

To the Fairy Bride:

Honey, I want to give you what every young innocent couple hopes for—the secret to marital tranquility, all the magic ingredients, stashed in a special bag to be mixed and combined to invent the potion that resolves all issues.

It doesn’t exist. Get over it. Love me, T.

Fairy god-aunties are well-meaning marriage wizards who dispense the best advice to be had, and while not conventional connubial practitioners, (marriage therapists) most long-married couples have earned their credentials by being married at least ten years (four years training, two years mastering and then four more spent doctoring up a relationship). These are the real experts, the secret holders of blissful longevity. Somehow I managed to qualify, so here are my top three hints: [1]

4. Admit when you’re wrong. Take the blame and apologize. (“I’m sorry you feel that way,” doesn’t count.)

3. Put the other person first, particularly when shots are being fired.

2. Greet each other at the end of a long day with a kiss, in lieu of the opposite.

1. Never go to sleep in the middle of a fight. If you do, you risk forgetting the whole thing, (particularly his part in it) by morning!

To T:

The battle just gets raging and I glance over and find that I am looking at the outside of his eyelids while he looks at the insides. Me

Reality Bite: Heaven forbid this should all blow over!

[1]My prince insisted there were four.

excerpt from Reality Book 2, Arms and Legs In and Have a Nice Ride

Valentine Sonata

2011-02-11T08:57:00.000-08:00

Valentine Sonata 1995

I spent the day in paper chaos

searching for the perfect card.

Striving for that phrase immortal

to impress you like a bard.

My mind was tumbling with verses

Roses Are Red, or I Love You Because,

But nothing seemed to fit you perfect;

So unique—You grant me pause.

I could not be expected to find

A card to express what’s on my mind.

It seemed so hopeless. I felt despair.

At once I thought, “Get lingerererr!”

I rebuked myself, “Concede defeat?”

Not me! You know, I’ve such conceit!

A thought then struck. “A poem attempt.

I’ll write to express the evident!”

I struggled and suffered the lines to rhyme,

but was suddenly, rudely reminded, “The time!”

The children were starved. Dr. Seuss had ended.

The dinner uncooked, the laundry resplendent.

The moment was lost; could not be recaptured.

My desolation complete; you would not be enraptured.

When suddenly, wonderfully, it came so inspired!

Personally, to angels, my life must be wired.

A revelation! An answer! A thought so sincere!

I’ll just resurrect the card you gave me from last year!

OK Lizard Wizard brings Blizzard

2011-02-02T08:38:00.001-08:00

I love reading the comments of children trying to understand the rare OK weather phenomena called blizzard. Truly, a lizard, wizard makes perfect sense for what happened here.

2010-12-05T15:43:00.001-08:00

Remember the Starfish story, "Well, I might not be able to save all of them, but I can save this one." Inspired by that story, Amanda deLange does this for Chinese orphans. I read her story last summer in a BYU magazine. It's incredible--she applied to become a Chinese orphanage, approved in 4 days. Takes babies destined for death, nurtures them to health, started with five, now has more than a hundred.

A worthwhile place to donate, she will be our Christmas Star this year.

http://magazine.byu.edu/?act=view&a=2592

http://www.thestarfishfosterhome.org/ourwork.aspx

Dave's new TAT

2010-11-21T15:48:00.001-08:00

Dave did it again--marathons are in his blood and now on his leg. One of Dia's friends said, "Your dad has the biggest, biking calves I've ever seen." And so there's a lot of space for more tally's.

4:12 finish time. WOOT!

TSA's Grope Potential

2010-11-20T19:18:00.000-08:00

Maybe the security grope would be worth it, if it did any good, but TSA isn't proactive. Somebody will always be smarter and here's more proof. http://thatslife--armsandlegsin.blogspot.com/2009/03/flight-of-bumbled-iv.html

2010-11-09T08:16:00.000-08:00

Okay, the company party for 150 people was crazy. The 13 cakes were too many, 6 were left over. If it had been an alcohol-less party, I'm convinced that dessert would have been a bigger success. There was too much refried beans and rice, and believe it or not, too much beer and margaritas.

But there was not too much fun, Dante Schmitz played wonderful music and we shared delightful conversation. To quote a Summit County Bee-ism, I think a good time was had by all.

And the 72 luminaries in the front yard really should have been photographed for posterity. Sad that I was too darn busy.

And there was a dang cute wreath on the front door. I'll be eating peppers for weeks.

Our Halloween Answer to Candy

2010-11-01T08:10:00.000-07:00

I think it was successful. The kids loved it. Even the little ones chose an eyeball over playdough.

Fun! Fun! Fun!

Aidan's costume was "The guy who follows your kids home from the bus." He wore a hoodie. What could be scarier?

Bus Stop Bureauocracy

2010-11-01T07:17:00.001-07:00

Parenting is a mix of science, information and baggage. The baggage your parents loaded onto you will be shucked off your shoulders onto your children. And I usually enjoy doing it. “My father made me… so you are going to …”

Our family had a rule, you either learned to ride a bike before kindergarten, or you walked the mile to school each day. I was a tremendously uncoordinated child, so there I was, my five-year-old legs, trudging to school each day and trudging home. For a while my first-grade sister would take pity on me and pump me on the fender of her back tire—until it broke.

It wasn’t a bad walk, and even my short little legs could do it in about a half hour. We lived in a pretty cold place, it got to about ten below during the winter and as the number two child of nine, we didn’t always have hand-me-down hats, boots and mittens, but we always had coats.

The worst part of the walk was when Dad would drive to work and he would pass right by us in his heated automobile and sometimes he would wave. I thought that showed an extreme lack of regard for the wellbeing of children, even cruelty and while it may have built character, the character it built is the one that I’m trying to avoid in my own children.

This year, I’m watching as the school bus drives along the very street my son walks in the dark. The bus could stop where it has all his previous school years, right by our house and there it would pick up three children, but instead, this year it drives right on past them. It’s really too dark to see if the bus driver waves. These kids do have hats and mittens and maybe even the best coats money can buy, but these kids have something I didn’t. They are smarter than I ever was and they have a higher disdain for irrational behavior. They can think of no reason for this lack of consideration—none except that it’s “the rule.” Intermediate school children of age ten and eleven are deemed able to walk a third of a mile, so the rationale is that they should be made to do so. The other children are younger than my son and so they now have to be driven down to the bus stop each morning—for safety issues.

Walking doesn’t build character. What is engendered in that five blocks and ten minutes is a moldering cynicism. It’s just long enough form a credible theory against irrational bureaucracy. It’s another inevitability that I wish my son didn’t have to learn— that rampant bureaucracy plus the lack of reason equals stupidity.

What I have learned is something I already knew. All of my effort to effect change with the school has made a difference. The bus stop has been relocated .03 miles closer to us. That means not only will the children on this end still have to be driven, but now the three who come the other direction, will also have to be driven.

I’m reminded that when it comes to bureaucracy, it’s always best to leave well enough alone.

Book Recommendation???

2010-10-04T08:54:00.000-07:00

Unvarnished Truth! WOW, For the first time. I was looking for a book at my library download and ran into this review.

"At HarperCollins, we are committed to customer satisfaction. Before proceeding with your purchase, please take the following questionnaire:

1. Which of the following do you appreciate?

A Women with somewhat horse-ish facial features.

B Women who, while not super Jew-y, are more identifiably Jewish than, say, Natalie Portman.

C Frequent discussion of unwanted body hair.

2. Are you offended by the following behavior?

A Instructing one's grandmother to place baked goods in her rectal cavity.

B Stripping naked in public–eleven times in a row.

C Stabbing one's boss in the head with a writing implement.

3. The best way to treat an emotionally fragile young girl is:

A Murder the main course of her Thanksgiving dinner before her very eyes.

B Tell her that her older sister is prettier than she, and then immediately die.

C Prevent her suicide by recommending she stay away from open windows.

If you read the above questions without getting nauseous or forming a hate Web site, you are ready to buy this audiobook! Please proceed to the cashier."

ABOUT DANG TIME SOMEBODY WAS TRUTHFUL ABOUT THE CONTENT OF A BOOK! YAY!

No, I'm not telling you the name so you can read it. Think of it as saving you from yourself.

Health Care Despair

2010-09-22T23:38:00.000-07:00

Nope Ethopia isn't the answer either. (see the previous link)

Age is great teacher 'cause you don't have to do much but hang around with open ears for a very long time and life's lessons allow the formulation of opinion on critical issues.

For example: I'm just sitting listening to a return missionary (for us Mormons, that means a young person who goes away for 18 months to 2 years and lives among the natives without respite (and that means ever returning home or even calling there very often)).

So I'm debriefing a returned Missionary at dinner at my kitchen table and I asked him about his travels and what he felt was the greatest difference in America and the country he went to, Denmark.

"Well," he drawls quietly, "It's gotta be health care."

"Oh? I ask, Socialized medicine?"

"Yeah," he responds, "Everybody has it. You get sick, you just go to the doctor."

Then he goes on. "My companion had something go wrong with his back. It really hurt so he and I got an appointment and went to the doctor. The doc did an exam, then went to his computer and googled, "Sore back." I was sitting behind the doc and I was so surprised that my companion saw my expression of shock and tried to sit on the edge of his chair and crane his neck to the side so he could see what was going on."

"The doctor stopped, looked at the guy straining, and said suddenly, "I know what's wrong. You have injured your neck by holding it funny." He proceeded to treat the patient by pulling off a strip of masking tape and taping it onto the guys head and sticking the other end to his shoulder. "Do this every evening for two weeks and you should be better," the doctor tells him.

Back to the wisdom thing, I may not have read the 2700 pages of health care reform, but I hope somewhere in it there is a dumb doctor clause for preventing this happening when our medical plan settles in.

I've lived a long time and heard a lot of stuff on both sides of this issue. We are currently choosing to live the life of no medical insurance. It's a wild and edgy thing that keeps the adrenaline in tip top form and yes, having no insurance has made me skip the doctor when maybe I shoulda gone, just for safety and peace of mind.

But my running conclusion on health care (always subject to change with every new story--age has not yet set in far enough to force me to stay of the same opinion with new information,) is that the old American value of supply and demand will eventually kick in and the Free Enterprise System will once more triumph.

And when everybody has health care, nobody will really want it.

Physician Heal… Anybody

2010-09-21T12:38:00.000-07:00

The word Care means worry, concern, attention, charge, protection, nurture, except when attached to the word health.

My arm is sore, kind of aching, for no reason. The ache radiates up into my jaw line at times. My hand goes numb and there is this pressure like something is sitting on my chest near my shoulder. It’s done this for about a week. No problem, just inconvenient. I should get a stress test? The internet says yes! See someone immediately!

It comes and goes though, so I’m not too worried. And neither is my doctor. I called yesterday and left the symptoms with the nurse. She said she would pass on the message. I haven’t heard anything, so no worries.

Besides, I’m young, in my 40’s, active, in good health, no family history of heart attack. I really didn’t call about the heart thing anyway, I just figured that I’d tack it on because I have this lump in my breast.

I just noticed it the last couple of days, while I was massaging the pain in my arm. It’s pretty big, truthfully the lump makes one breast visibly bigger than the other, but on the up side, anything that accentuates the size of my breasts can’t be all bad.

The nurse isn’t concerned, she says she’ll add that onto the list. If she’s not worried, I’m not. Oh, and while I’m on the phone, the nurse insists, “Would you like to book your annual physical?”

Oops, the computer’s calendar must have triggered the fact that I’m not a regular patient. I believe in going to the doctor when I’m sick, but I really should accept the idea that like all corporate connections, it’s best to keep in tight with the professional by paying his retainer.

I'm sure that regular patients get in quicker, but they risk their computer trigger coming up “hypochondriac”. I wish I could tiptoe on some happy middle ground, but I only go to the doctor as last resort. The last three or four times, I’ve made the diagnosis and advised the doctor on treatment and that seems to work well for both of us.

I like “new-age physicians” who acknowledge that a doctor’s twenty minutes outside the body can’t trump forty some years of living inside it.

My problem is that health care isn’t available ala carte off some menu. But I’m a quick thinker and I know my symptoms could benefit from an ultrasound and a stress test—both of which are part of an annual physical so if my history triggers the, “opportunity for additional income” flag, they may as well sign me up. Besides my insurance pays ZERO now, unless it's an annual physical... but let's not get into insurance.

My family seems to have a history of health care issues… first and foremost #1 finding a doctor to care about health.

My sister finally got in for a similar breast lump and was treated and then told to check back every six months for a mammogram. Six months later her doctor moved somewhere like Ethiopia and the lab needs a prescription and the physicians group won’t issue it, “We don’t need to, they should do it without.” But her insurance won’t authorize, so there she is… stuck. Once again with no worries and nothing to be concerned about.

Another sister who woke with a kinked neck, found her doctor has also moved out of town (perhaps Ethiopia) and she is driving about during lunch trying to find someone who will prescribe an anti-inflammatory and a painkiller. She knows that will work as she did her internet homework last night and found relief with a pain pill leftover from the last labor and delivery. So far, her health care alternatives are urgent care with a three hour wait or a physician who will accept new patients, but only for “sports related injuries”.

She called me to find out how to join a soccer league for the day.

I take my physicians soonest available appointment which is the end of next week, no problem. I must be fasting twelve hours but they want me there late afternoon. Again, no problem, I’ll starve all my waking hours.

But, I interrupt with the caveat that, "If I wait two more weeks and this thing continues to grow at its current rate, I will have to come in braless." I get the same reassurance by the nurse that it's “No problem.”

What I really need is an annual reassurance that I’m fine, but that involves a voice, (not even physical contact) just a voice. But when the voice finally calls back late the next day, it says that the doctor got my message and she’ll review my issues when she sees me at my next scheduled visit.

My health care crisis really isn’t the hefty sum I pay for no covered insurance. It’s with the word care.

Maybe I should move to Ethiopia.

Birthdays and Boys

2010-09-10T05:37:00.000-07:00

"Mom, here's your present. Read the card first."

"Oh, Aidan. Did you make it?" I asked.

"Nah, but it's funny," Aidan says.

So I pluck the card off the top of the present and open it. It's one of my cards... that I made.

I look at him sideways. Certainly he knows I made it?

"Read it, Mom!" Aidan insists.

"I must say you look fabulous." I read and then I open it to the inside, "And on my birthday you must tell me I look fabulous."

He laughs and laughs, and so I laugh. At him.

Finally he breaks off, "Funny, Huh, Mom?"

Yeah Aidan. Funny. On so many levels.

And I get the feeling that he and I will split the Lemonheads he bought me for my present.

"If the women don't find you handsome..."

2010-09-06T07:33:00.000-07:00

He actually said that when I happened upon this.

We had to carefully and judiciously edit the pictures 'cause it's against his company's policy to have their logo associated with asinine behavior.

Yes, that is a wet/dry vacuum dangling 30 feet up.

"...they should at least find you handy." Red Green

Happy Labor Day everyone!

Beautiful Children's Books

2010-08-31T11:47:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, a long time ago, one of my Utah neighbors wrote a book and her husband illustrated it and it was beautiful. It was a fanciful little tale of Fanny (another neighbor sat as the model) whose fairy godmother always showed up late. So while she waited, Fanny was talked into marrying Heber and she set about making a life. When the Godmother finally showed, Fanny had to decide whether to leave Heber and her little boys to go live her dream.

I won't spoil the ending, but to hear my neighbor retell the signing with the publisher, she said that one of the editors at Dial books in New York recommended a total rewrite--with the opposite ending, because one should always live one's dream.

My neighbors were Caralyn and Mark Buehner and now they have a website. Visit their site for me as a favor so their blog will begin to move up the list on google. (hits means placement).

Buehnerbooks.com P.S. Scholastic published a book of top illustrators for children's books and Mark was on the list!! WOW! I just checked it into my school's library. Another famous Mormon, cool huh?

Their other books are wonderful too, but my little girl was raised on the reality of this fairy tale and it's one of our favorite.

Max the Taxi Dog, Escape of Marvin the Ape, Balloon Farm are some of our favorites. Snowmen at Night is about our neighborhood in Salt Lake and the neighbors who would go out at night and move people's snowmen around. Look for them at the Library.

These books have some of the most entertaining illustrations I've ever seen in children books and the dialog teaches great values. Oh, PS, there are spotters on every page for the kids to search for.

Chim, chimminey, chim chimminey, achoo!

2010-08-17T17:35:00.000-07:00

Ian is so handy around the house, and on the house. This was his job this summer and he did it marvelously.

Who knew that chimney sweeps really got that dirty--completely unintentionally.

Darcey Summer 2010

2010-08-16T13:07:00.000-07:00

Darcey Boys idea of push mowing:

Farewell Ian

2010-06-13T20:52:00.000-07:00

We were at a party and while leaving, we noticed a foreclosure house next door and went by to snoop. Aidan said, "Why are you looking at that? Are we moving now that Ian's leaving for college?"

Ian responded, "Yeah, they're moving, cause you've been bad, to someplace with a really, really small, nasty room just for you."

Aidan shot back, "Like a dorm?"

Ah, I'll miss the witty reparte between those two!

College Guy

2010-06-09T17:59:00.001-07:00

Farewell Tulsa photo.

Dia packed the van to bursting and it took three days to move her into her dorm. No so for a guy. Ian's done in a day of packing and into his dorm in 15 minutes. Which is good, because we have to go clean Dia's dorm. It takes two days to clean it!!!!!

Women's Conference

2010-05-05T15:17:00.000-07:00

Last speaker, first day, I giggled 'til I split.
The Ugly Truth About Beauty
by Dave Barry

If you're a man, at some point a woman will ask you how she looks.

"How do I look?" she'll ask.

You must be careful how you answer this question. The best technique is to form an honest yet sensitive opinion, then collapse on the floor with some kind of fatal seizure. Trust me, this is the easiest way out. Because you will never come up with the right answer.

The problem is that women generally do not think of their looks in the same way that men do. Most men form an opinion of how they look in the seventh grade, and they stick to it for the rest of their lives. Some men form the opinion that they are irresistible stud muffins, and they do not change this opinion even when their faces sag and their noses bloat to the size of eggplants and their eyebrows grow together to form what appears to be a giant forehead-dwelling tropical caterpillar.

Most men, I believe, think of themselves as average-looking. Men will think this even if their faces cause heart failure in cattle at a range of 300 yards. Being average does not bother them; average is fine for men. This is why men never ask anybody how they look. Their primary form of beauty care is to shave themselves, which is essentially the same form of beauty care that they give to their lawns. If, at the end of his four-minute daily beauty regimen, a man has managed to wipe most of the shaving cream out of his hair and is not bleeding too badly, he feels that he has done all he can, so he stops thinking about his appearance and devotes his mind to more critical issues, such as the Super Bowl.

Women do not look at themselves this way. If I had to express, in three words, what most women think about their appearance, those words would be: "not good enough." No matter how attractive a woman may appear to others, when she looks at herself in the mirror, she thinks, "woof." She thinks that at any moment a municipal animal-control officer is going to throw a net over her and haul her off to the shelter.

Why do women have such low self-esteem? There are many complex psychological and societal reasons, by which I mean "Barbie." Girls grow up playing with a doll proportioned such that, if it were human, it would be seven feet tall and weigh 81 pounds, of which 53 pounds would be bosoms. This is a difficult appearance standard to live up to, especially when you contrast it with the standard set for little boys by their dolls . . . excuse me, by their action figures. Most of the action figures that my son played with when he was little were hideous looking. For example, he was fond of an action figure (part of the He-Man series) called "Buzz-Off," who was part human, part flying insect. Buzz-Off was not a looker. But he was extremely self-confident. You could not imagine Buzz-Off saying to the other action figures, "Do you think these wings makes my hips look big?"

But women grow up thinking they need to look like Barbie, which for most women is impossible, although there is a multibillion-dollar beauty industry devoted to convincing women that they must try. I once saw an Oprah show wherein supermodel Cindy Crawford dispensed makeup tips to the studio audience. Cindy had all these middle-aged women apply beauty products to their faces; she stressed how important it was to apply them in a certain way, using the tips of their fingers. All the women dutifully did this, even though it was obvious to any sane observer that no matter how carefully they applied these products, they would never look remotely like Cindy Crawford, who is some kind of genetic mutation.

I'm not saying that men are superior. I'm just saying that you're not going to get a group of middle-aged men to sit in a room and apply cosmetics to themselves under the instruction of Brad Pitt, in hopes of looking more like him. Men would realize that this task was pointless and demeaning. They would find some way to bolster their self-esteem that did not require looking like Brad Pitt. They would say to Brad, "Oh YEAH? Well what do you know about LAWN CARE, pretty boy?"

Of course many women will argue that the reason they become obsessed with trying to look like Cindy Crawford is that men, being as shallow as a drop of spit, WANT women to look that way. To which I have two responses:

1. Hey, just because WE'RE idiots, that does not mean YOU have to be; and

2. Men don't even notice 97 percent of the beauty efforts you make anyway. Take fingernails. The average woman spends 5,000 hours per year worrying about her fingernails; I have never once, in more than 40 years of listening to men talk about women, heard a man say, "She has a nice set of fingernails!" Many men would not notice if a woman had upward of four hands.

Anyway, to get back to my original point: If you're a man, and a woman asks you how she looks, you're in big trouble. Obviously, you can't say she looks bad. But you also can't say that she looks great, because she'll think you're lying, because she has spent countless hours, with the help of the multibillion-dollar beauty industry, obsessing about the differences between herself and Cindy Crawford. Also, she suspects that you're not qualified to judge anybody's appearance. This is because you have shaving cream in your hair.

Family Skiing

2010-04-09T17:58:00.000-07:00

New Post

Ian Senior Pictures

2010-04-05T14:38:00.000-07:00

Accidental Niceness

2010-03-30T07:11:00.000-07:00

The nicest things I ever did in High School were accidental.

I thought I was pretty great in high school. I was the smartest girl with the highest ACT of all the other girls in my class. (I attended a rural high school, with a graduating class of about 50—and later I learned that we were not overloaded in the smarts department.)

I thought was the cutest. I wore coke bottle glasses, so I couldn’t see anyone else—at all—who was cuter.)

I was quick with a comeback--pithy, brilliant, saucy. I was not one of those timid, uncomfortable girls in high school—indeed, I was one of the obnoxious ones. I was the quintessential be all, do all, not-a-cheerleader-as-that-was-beneath-me, kind of girls.

What I was really best at was being a fraud. You know who I mean, that girl who managed to get through school with all the same insecurities as everyone else, but whose greatest talent was acting confident. Yup, that was me.

But I could pirouette. My momma was one of the only dance teachers in my little town. She would clear out the kitchen in the mornings all summer long and teach us ballet. First position, second position, third position, plie. She taught me as long as she could stand me and I took it from there. I practiced all the time and could perform a tight pirouette down in the aisles of our crowded little supermarket.

My nemesis through high school, everybody has one, (otherwise it wouldn’t be a good story) could have been the good girl, my opposite, but she wasn’t. My arch-rival was Sandra J. She and I had an unspoken competition going—one I didn’t learn all the details of until later. (The coke bottles distorted most things that were right in front of my face.)

What I perceived from my altered perspective was that she was spoiled rotten. She had her own red Camero with personalized license plates, Sandra J. I had my parent’s 20 yr old clunker, when they didn’t have it, which was always. She had a mother who was a teacher and their family was rich—appeared to be anyway.

Anything I wanted, she got, anything she got, I wanted. President of Speech and Forensics, she got it. President of FHA, her. Choir, her. Valedictorian – I got it, but no, when the numbers were re-tallied later, she won by 1/100^th of a point. But I was the best dancer. I could pirouette!

It was Spring Prom time and it was my prom. In those days, the Senior Ball was kinda low key because they were focused on graduating. So the Junior Prom was the big thing. Juniors got to date (usually for the first time) since everybody was turning 16 about then. We got days off to decorate the gymnasium, spent the big bucks on the plastic to encase it, colored lights, the whole thing. The Juniors got dates, got group pictures, and most important, the Juniors got to promenade. That means to parade down the middle of the gym be presented, in their first formals/tuxedo’s and then the whole Junior class danced during intermission.

This dance, was choreographed every year by Sandra J’s aunt—the only other dance teacher in town. The first day of promenade practice, the girls were all lined up and set to pirouette. The teacher had to know which of us could pirouette the furthest because in her plan, at least two of us had to do it without barfing or slamming into anyone else. The best ones would dance in the center with their assigned partners.

Partners… that was a problem. Picking partners is like picking teams in P.E. You just know it’s going to get really ugly for some people. My dream dance partner was Dean—as in James Dean! He was handsome in that famous, unassuming yet brooding way. I would have died to dance with Dean. Thank goodness I was sick the day everyone selected partners. When I got back the next day and walked in to the afterschool promenade rehearsal, I found out that Sandra picked Dean and I was dancing with the left-over guy—Jud.

Now, being a reject is a regional concept. In our state, Jud would have been no reject—the boy was a giant! I’m not joking, a giant! He would have been the star fullback, and loved by everyone, coach and cheerleaders alike, but in my home state, he was just big, and… no dancer.

How my Momma got through my stuck-up, thick skull that I should be a nice person I don’t know. I was not naturally a nice person, I have this ongoing fear that I’ll go to a high school reunion and someone will walk up to me and smak me right across the face. I will have to say, “I deserved that,” because I did. But this time, I shut my mouth and just danced. Sandra J. and I danced the best pirouettes, so we got the middle.

My Prom could have been named the Year of the Loser Prom. It was this same dance that I first said yes to a pity date. I had avoided saying yes to this other certain boy in town, but he was determined. He suffered the ignominy of being told over and over that I could not go out, that I had to spend that evening washing my hair, (Yes, that excuse really works!) that I was grounded, (and I should have been—for lying) and that I just couldn’t go out as I had to babysit (True, but my baby sister had doubled with me before—often, on many of my dates.)

Finally this other boy caught me at my lowest, two weeks before prom and no date! In my little town, that was not done. In fact, at the Prom two years before, the boys had arranged for all the girls to have dates. They even pooled money and paid out cold hard cash for dates—just to make sure no one was humiliated--totally missing the point that paying for a date was humiliating. I tell you, dates were important.

So this boy caught me at a low point and I said I would go, but I told my Mom, no pictures. I will never date this person ever again and off I went to prom.

I pirouetted beautifully and I’m sure I wowed the audience. I really don’t know how it looked, because at that time I spurned wearing my coke bottles glasses to important functions like that so I really didn’t see how it went, because of course I couldn’t see anything. But I was certain, I was beautiful.

Skip ahead three years, I was now married to my “never date again prom date”. And I was working full time, team-cleaning condominiums for the ski season in the tourist town next door.

I loved my cleaning team. Those women ranged in age from 15 to 50 and they taught me so much. They taught me to work and they helped me discover that age was only a number—that hilarity is ageless and that girls will be girls no matter how old.

I benefited so much from their training and on my last day, I mentioned how much the friendships meant to me and my partner that day responded, “You’ve always meant a lot to me, too… ever since you danced with my son.”

I didn’t want to say, “I had to.” So I wisely shut up. That was one of best things these women tried to teach me—to shut up!

She went on as if reading my mind, “I know you didn’t have to.” “He told me that that day at the gym when everyone was picking partners—a girl pulled his name out of the hat, and she threw such a fit, that they let her put his name back and she took Dean, your intended partner.”

“You danced with my son. And you will never know until you have children of your own what that means to a mom.”

And she’s right. I never really understood until I had boys of my own.

So really, at that loser prom, two of the nicest things I did in High School happened--totally by accident? Who knows.

But guess what? That boy might be one of the guys at the reunion that I don’t have to duck.

Arylamide??? What happened?

2010-03-24T18:04:00.000-07:00

I did some research in September on acrylamide, a known carcinogenic in foods caused by cooking starchy foods at high temperatures in artificial fat. Highest levels are in french fries and potato chips.

National Cancer Institute http://www.cancer.gov/cancertopics/factsheet/risk/acrylamide-in-food WHO (world health org.) says it is a significant risk.

I found a great website warning about it and identifying the government study that was to come forth in October. Then I get on that site to see what the study said, it's been dismantled! A new site is in it's place. My guess is that when this site was purchased by the Grocery Manufacturers Group, oddly enough, all of the study stats that warned of carcinogens in food are gone!

http://www.acrylamidefacts.org/Perspective%20on%20Acrylamide.aspx

Rest assured, there are still 200 international studies on acrylamide to come out soon it's so dangerous. Meanwhile, avoid french fries and potato chips for kids, because it's inordinately higher in acrylamide than any other food.

What's really going on? During my research, I read this article warning the food business that if consumers found out that potato chips and french fries were carcinogenic, we would balk at feeding them to our children?

http://www.bakingbusiness.com/news/headline_stories.asp?ArticleID=105596&e=tdadee@sbcglobal.net

Sacramento Examiner

http://www.examiner.com/x-7160-Sacramento-Nutrition-Examiner~y2009m6d15-Does-the-acrylamide-in-French-fries-potato-and-tortilla-chips-cause-cancer

Harvard study 2003 deadly cancers caused by acrylamide

http://www.cspinet.org/new/200301281.html

extra articles

http://www.foodproductiondaily.com/Quality-Safety/Acrylamide-study-suggests-new-formation-pathways

Why is the public avoiding this issue? Are we just too tired of worrying about food?

Whee Ski Vacation

2010-03-23T05:08:00.000-07:00

Pictures should say it all!

SKI SKI Ski

2010-03-22T05:18:00.000-07:00

Wow, I saw these photographs and thought, "What great fun skiing is."

Look at that beautiful mountain.

Guys on the ski lift, gently swaying, listening to the silence of a beautiful ski day.

Then I remembered. I don't like skiing. It hurts, it's cold, and here is how I would look if I were skiing with them. Aidan must be channeling me.

The Bucket List

2010-03-11T06:04:00.000-08:00

Copy paste and then X the things you've done and remove the X from the ones you have not, and send it to your friends (including me).

( X ) Shot a gun - yeah, pshaw. I'm from the country. Okay, once.
(X ) Slapped a Bull--no, but I've milked a really mean cow.

( ) Gone on a blind date--but I married a near deaf mate?

(X) Skipped school - so often that Mom said, "sign your own notes... mine will look like forgeries."

(X ) Watched someone die--wouldn't have missed it.
(X) Been to Canada -- 22 hours in Calgary
(X ) Been to Alaska -- slept through it, pregnant and seething.
( ) Been to Cuba -- Isn't that illegal for Americans?
( ) Been to Europe -- Does Paris, Idaho count?
(X) Been to Las Vegas --and it can stay in Vegas.

( ) Been to Florida -- the gateway to CruiseAmerica? No.
(X) Been on a plane -- TSA has me on their watch list-safest way to fly.
(X) Served on a jury - never seated - guy plead out.
(X) Been lost - constantly--with my keys.
( X) Swam in the ocean -- cough, cough, sputter, choke, drown.
(X) Cried yourself to sleep - P.U.
( ) Played cops and robbers - waiting for grandkids.
( ) Played cowboys and Indians -- ditto.
( ) Recently colored with crayons. -- What is it about the word grandkids thats confusing?
(X) Sang Karaoke - family night around the machine - happiness!
(X) Paid for a meal with coins only - groceries, $16.54 - year one marriage.
(X) Done something you told yourself you wouldn't? -- woke up today.
(X) Made prank phone calls - not since *69.
( X) Laughed until some kind of beverage came out of your nose. -- solid food doesn't count?
( X ) Caught a snowflake on your tongue--caught my tongue on a flake.
( X ) Danced in the rain - cried in the rain. Same, same.
( ) Written a letter to Santa Claus - who that old phoney?
( ) Been kissed under the mistletoe -- gotta get on that-- note to self, find mistletoe immediately.
(X) Watched the sunrise with someone--after being up all night?
(X) Blown bubbles -- out my nose.
(X ) Gone ice-skating -- wrenched an ankle--how do they do that?
(X ) Camped out under the stars -- too often.
( X ) Seen something so beautiful that it took your breath away? - babies--new life---beautiful beyond words.
( X ) Are you or have you been married? Every day in every way.
(X ) Have Children -- to check off the bucket list, why else birth them?
(X) Have a Pet - Had a plethora - not good at keeping them, but have had them.
(X) Been fishing -- fondest memories in life have been in a boat.
(X ) Been boating -- only as a means to fish.
(X ) Been water skiing/tubing -- only to fish.
(X) Been hiking -- not as recreation--only obligation. And to fish.
(X) Been camping in a trailer/RV/tent/car -- been there, done that all.

(X) Flown in a small 4-seater airplane - helicopter count? Got sick!
( ) Flown in a glider -- helicopter counts!!!
(X) Been flying in a hot air balloon -- yes, but also there was that helicopter ride...

(X ) Been Bungee-jumping, skydiving, Zip-lining or Para-Sailing -- ZIPPED and UNZIPPED --nothing like zipping with an open zip!
(X) Gone to a drive-in movie -- slept through Star Wars.
( ) Done something that should have killed you-- YIKES--I've almost completed the bucket list... does that mean I'm on my last leg?

1. Any nickname? nah

2. Favorite drink: nah

3. Body piercings: nah - not purposely anyway.

4. Tattoos: nah
5. How much do you like your job: I'm making stuff up daily.

6. Where were you born? Utah

7. Favorite vacation spot? Hawaii --- mee tooo, who knew?

8 Been to Africa? no - so touristee.
9. Ever eaten just cookies for dinner? yes and dessert first - not good.

10. Ever been on the T.V.? Nope, not in public anyway. My new one has such a thin screen that I don't think it could support my weight anyway.

11. Ever steal any traffic signs? Nope, but I have ignored one or two?

12. Ever been in a car accident? Yes, due to #11

11. Drive a 2-door or 4-door vehicle? 5

14. Favorite number? people have favorite numbers? How? Why?

15. Do you smoke? Nope, therefore I will live forever, a dried up crotchety old non smoker.

16. Favorite holiday: Birthdays and unbirthdays.

17. Favorite dessert. Cream puffs because they suit my personality, flaky outside, squishy inside.

18. Where do you see yourself in 10 years? In a mirror.

19. Furthest place you will send this message? To Utah, but the long way around the world.

20. Who will be first to read this? No one, the same people who read my blog.

Arms & Legs In

2010-02-26T06:34:00.000-08:00

Flight of the Bumbles II

One of the treatments for phobia is immersion, so I'm headed out to fly.

I'm at the airport hearing a faux voice over the loud speaker... "We are at an extra high security level," and despite it's monotone calm, my guts begin to unravel.

In my extra high state of insecurity, I perch at the edge of my seat and listen for the next announcement. My nerves are at a matching extra high level, and my reaction is knife sharp. I clutch at my husband, "Did you hear that? Did you? Extra high!"

He mumbles something from under the newspaper that he customarily settles over his face as soon as we alight in any of the world's waiting areas.

"We are currently at orange."

"Orange?" "Orange," my nervous twinge morphs to an outrage that is noticeable to other passengers, except to the husband who is still under his paper. I'm off on a tirade.

"Orange?" I repeat the comment giving it the correct emphasis, "Orange?" "It's apparent that TSA has never raised children! Do they not understand the fine art of threats?" And the monologue begins.

My verbal soliloquy to the newspaper covered lump continues, "Do they not know that you have to hold back. When you issuing threats, you must reserve something for "RED". The human psyche becomes inured to the constancy of empty threats."

"What are they going to say when it's red? Explain that? Does the lack of government vision extend even to the airlines?" I continue with rhetorical queries, but it works whenever government is involved.

"Has no one thought ahead? What are they going to say next?" I muse aloud. By this time, other potential flyers are overhearing, but I have my earbuds in, so they assume that I am accidentally speaking too loudly over my sound reducing earphones. They are wrong.

"What comes after extra high level? What can they say next? We are currently experiencing "PEE YOUR PANTS" security levels?" and finally I ease into my ending.

"Please. Anyone with children knows that you must reserve your hyperbole. Hold something back for heaven sakes! That's why my best threats start at one and count to ten. Heaven help the child that doesn't move by five or six. Even a teen knows that to get to eight is life threatening--because by then, Mom has to get up and enforce--and you'd better duck if you make Momma move."

And I settle back into my waiting seat, noticing out of the corner of my eye each head that nods, and eyes that glint. I have made even more converts to the paranoia that accompanies flight.

Another important part of fear therapy is rational thought. I need to admit that our flight security levels are never--not ever-- going lower than orange. Just admit to myself that flying "extra high security, orange level, ' is forever. 'Cause even if Bin Ladenis assassinated, we're stuck with TSA because no government worker is ever laid off.

And there I go. Off on another rant. Hey, it's therapy!

excerpt from the book: Arms and Legs In and Have a Nice Ride http://thatslife--armsandlegsin.blogspot.com/

2010-02-22T11:59:00.000-08:00

Food Foibles

2010-02-09T11:55:00.000-08:00

I am an authoritarian chef in my house. The children will eat what I fix and when I fix it--no variation. And so for the first ten years of my second son's life I choose tortillas and yogurt.

Jesting aside, I really had great intentions to start. I would involve my children in food, allow them to explore and expand their own food horizons. I have video of Dia at three discussing in long sentences why she doesn't enjoy Asian food, "I like it fine, but it's just so hard to eat with chopsticks."

Ah so cute. And there sits the brother, the baby hitched up to the table in the background with this steely eyed grin on his face, and one eyebrow cocked as if to say, "Really, really? You are such a suck-up and I am so gonna introduce this family to the real world."

From the time he turned two, the boy refused to eat. It was as if the world no longer made food to his taste and he wasn't going to bother. Then he turned six and discovered that non-food items were another way to tweek the mother food instinct, and so the boy snacked on paper, plastic and other interesting items--but still, nothing of any nutritional value and never enough of whatever it was, to appease the mother and assure her that at least he was getting full... of something.

I tried everything and every doctor. I sought the help of a dietitian who said it had become a control issue and to give the boy a multi-vitamin and back off. At that point, I was willing to settle for the calcium deposits in chalk. The meals at home ended in anger and tears, (mostly mine). And when the child was mistaken at the pool for a visiting albino Ethopian, I was sure at the time, that the whole world was eyeballing Mom! Feed That Boy!

Nothing worked and he wandered about for years with dark circles (the photo evidence) from inability to sleep and when the movie "Meet The Robinson's" came out, I was certain that they modeled poor depressed and exhausted Guber after my son.

The story has a happy ending, the food police didn't come and haul me away and we finally discovered that what his body was yelling was, "Just don't feed me stuff that makes me sick."

The boy now wakes up early in order to get first pickin' before he leaves for seminary, he gets home and eats another full meal before school, he cuts out early for elevensies, gobbles lunch, eats after school and again for supper.

And now when food or anything else is missing...

Ian Ate It.

2010-02-03T12:25:00.001-08:00

…cooking al la queen

I love gluten-free cooking because the art responds well to my wit and whimsy. I have no culinary training, therefore I’m not constrained by any set of rules or recipes, and that makes my gf cooking always new and stimulating. This attitude keeps the repetition at bay and makes every meal exciting—for there may never be another creation quite like the last, and if there were, I have such a short memory, I wouldn’t recall it anyway.

Hey, I’ve salvaged another ruined meal. I decided to whip up instant potatoes for supper. I boiled the water, added butter, milk and salt, and then dumped in the last of the potato flakes. Oops, a little thin.

In retrospect, I should have added onion and parsley and called it soup, but I wanted mashed potatoes. So, I pulled out the few potatoes I had left and snapped off their feelers. After peeling, slicing, boiling, and mashing, I made the mistake of adding them to the soup. Still soup, yet even more of it!

Resolutely not wanting soup, I put them in the oven to bake off some of the water. Meanwhile I warmed tomato soup for supper.

The next morning when I turned on the oven to make muffins, I remembered the potatoes. Voila! They were just the right consistency for potato pancakes!

…welcome for dinner at my house anytime, Terina

Live Long and Prosper- Ollie and Enrico

2009-12-17T07:27:00.001-08:00

“Today we bid a fond farewell to Ollie and Enrico,” Ian announces.

I look up from my Sci-Fi book and consider a mad leap into another interesting dimension—a conversation with my son. While sitting in the doctor’s office the past few weeks, we’ve enjoyed a little one-on-one. Through these choice moments, I think I’ve discovered that my son’s primary love language is quality time (quality talk time).

I shut my book and look inquiringly at the kid, who is scanning the anatomical flip charts on the wall, (no doubt memorizing all the potential bones of the hand that he has yet to break.)

“Enrico and Ollie?” I ask bemusedly, knowing the names have meaning, but wondering if I have time to hear the whole explanation in the two hours we have left waiting for the doctor.

It seems he has named the two pins that have begun to protrude from the healing joint in his pinkie.

“Yup,” he responds. Ian has had a proclivity for naming inanimate objects since he was a toddler, when Rope and Rock were his best friends. "Oliver Cromwell and Enrico Fermi."

“Right! ...huh?” I give my typical response that means, “Gee, I can’t wait to further clarify my ignorance of history, current affairs and future scientific theory.”

He waits and shuffles to the next flip chart, the one about feet. (He has honed the science of the pregnant pause.)

I finally break, “Tell.”

“Well, Ollie of course for Oliver Cromwell.”

“Ha! The warmonger.” I knew this! Last night was the cram for the 20^th Century History Exam and I wandered by the computer room at a crucial moment to sneak a peek over his shoulder and I spied that name! HA! I could have figured that one out—given enough months.

“And Enrico,” he speaks as if uninterrupted. “for Enrico Fermi, the Italian Nobel prize-winning nuclear physicist.

Whew. It’s as innocuous as that. This time I can totally follow his reasoning.

He’s been laid up with this incapacitating injury, (forcing him to turn the pages on his books with his right hand) with nothing more to do than further his fixation with history, wars, and battle accoutrements. He will ace the 20^th Century final because it aligns nicely with his life-long pursuit of the trivial.

My smugness is interrupted by his next words, “Fermi of course is for ferrum, Latin for iron, whose chemical element is FE, and Cromwell…” I begin to sense the familiar crack appearing in that whole other dimension.

“… is Chromium, which is CE,” and there it is, the creation of a black hole and I’m sinking.

“Combine CE with FE and add ME.” Here he breaks into his standard grin that forewarns that he is about to go witty, “I, of course, am carbon” he smirks.

“… and that makes up the chemical compound of the two pin’s composite makeup,” he ends in triumph.

“Huh? ” again me, with my brow furrowed and my mouth ajar.

“Stainless steel,” and with that pronouncement, he goes back to the chart and continues his insouciance.

“Duh!” This wasn’t actually verbalized, but it’s the same.

“That’s nice, honey.” I murmur. I give the standard parental response that's been used since the dawn of time for teens to disguise a parent's pure panic or confusion.

Often I revert back to the sage advice, “Never let them think they’ve thrown you. Just cling to the edge frantically and eventually they will toss you a line. Or if you are lucky, they will just leave you there to dangle in peace.

And he does.

I cower on the bench, fumble with my book and wonder where in the Universe will this darling ever find his place to Live Long and Prosper.

Coffee and Cake

2009-11-30T06:00:00.000-08:00

Headed next door for coffee and cake... well, rather cocoa and GF muffins. We're substituting it for walking today. Butts bigger instead of cardio? General consensus is that it's worth it.

No photo--butt too big to fit.

Update

2009-11-30T05:58:00.000-08:00

Have I not surfaced since the 11th? Where have I been and what have I been doing? YIKES!Kids, outdoors and primitive dying methods. Smash the leaf and make colors.
CaDee and her purses, anything with a handle, buckets, etc.
Is this leaf big enough for you Grandma?
We love Silver Dollar City. Driving through Arkansas made everyone wish to barf, and the bouncing frogs finished the job.
CaDee, my soul niece loves my green smoothie!

Here are the sister picts. from her visit. Would that I had family here every day, and since there are enough of them to accomplish that, where are you when I need you????

Makin' Bacon

2009-11-11T16:29:00.000-08:00

If you love bacon, you will love this. Hee, hee.

thanks to Melisa,

http://www.flickr.com/photos/fncll/2129889439/sizes/o/

Cut Off II

2009-11-06T09:49:00.000-08:00

Cut Off II

(no picture available-obvious reasons... but I'll try to sneak up on him...)

Tonight I trimmed the husband’s hair. He’s presenting a project tomorrow, to the bigwigs at the business meeting and he wants to look tiptop, hair to heel.

I shave his neck after he grooms his own cut, usually a ¾ inch over the whole head using a razor fitted with a handy-dandy little gadget that measures the length of the hair from tip to the scalp. It’s quick and easy and maintains his hair in contemporary business style. (Compare this to the time and expense of hair cuts required of his female counterparts, but that is another tirade entirely.)

Anyway, he hands me the razor and I step toward him. I spy a little wayward swath running up the rear that has escaped his diligent cropping and I reach forward and run the razor up the back just as he dodges forward and yelps!

Oops.

A bare spot, about an inch square appears right in the center of the back of his head and I realize the handy-dandy little measuring gadget is missing off the end. Shock sets in, but not before my mind races with total realization. I see all, a total and complete view of the ramifications. I’m picturing his PowerPoint presentation, made with his body flat against the opposite wall, him making no natural head movement. I envision his desk at work turned around facing the door, him sidling along the wall to reach the boys room, and then, that’s it. Shock and total shutdown.

It thrusts me into a state of paroxysm, which then advances to a total state of hysteria. At one point I am laughing so hard, the knees are knocking, the bladder is bellowing, and I can no longer stand, I’m sitting on the floor convulsing.

When this happens, it can easily be misinterpreted as a serious lack of compassion and disregard for one’s actions. I’m going to be weeks making up for this one--probably about as long as it takes for the hair to grow back in.

Meanwhile, how am I going to explain the snicker that escapes, whenever I walk behind him? Whee, T

Excerpt from Book One: A Bite of Reality

...the cut-off

2009-11-03T12:15:00.000-08:00

from book two: Arms and Legs In and Have a Nice Ride

To: astutiecutie@win.out

The latest psycho-survey says that adults laugh as a response to fear… fear that a situation may happen to them. This book should be hilarious! And so it begins, T.

As a child, I remember Mom’s warnings. “It’s half-past,” she trilled as she flew past me like a busy quail, on her morning quest to roust the brood. I could tell from her tone that this fact was critical, but it never really dawned on me how any hour could be half-past, so I dallied on and wondered what was so frantic.

But, now I know! If I have my math right, this is the year when the half life begins on my own personal toxic waist! I’ve peaked; I’m over the hill, and sliding down the slag pile. Suddenly, Mom’s vision of urgency is starkly clear! It’s half-passed!

To: thatsritch@take.out

So, does this new haircut make my rear look big? I could attach my photo and email it to you, my best friends who would tell me honestly, but the whole photo thing takes too much time and it probably wouldn’t work anyway. Just take my word for it, my bottom is bigger in the hour since I got this new flippy haircut and it’s out of control!

Gotta go, Me, T.

It was to be expected—this ever-looming crisis. (That’s why women never tell their age, for fear their bodies will overhear.) The first indication was when I started walking two miles a day and gained five pounds. How does that happen? Muscle may weigh more than fat, but the bottom line is dresses don't lie and the bottom doesn't fit in the dress.

To: thatsritch@take.out

I'm off sugar, watching the fat, avoiding pop and increasing my fiber by eating more popcorn. I'm awake at five-thirty with every muscle and joint aching, but this time I can blame it on exercise— stretching and dashing around the block in a frantic attempt to stave off the inevitable decline of everything. It's getting harder and harder to feel good about myself, and this dang haircut didn't help. Again soon, T.

Until now, birthdays that end in nine have never been a problem for me, in part because I skip them entirely and move on to the next decade. No one ever really believes you’re twenty-nine, thirty-nine or forty-nine anyway, so my age is the next round number for the next two years and it has worked out well.

To: thatsritch@take.out

It has to be the hair. More on the ‘do,’ it's a short cut that all the actresses named Jennifer have, you know, flippy at the bottom. The rest of the real world has it too. I know ‘cause I just drove home with thirty other Jennifers.

On me it’s more a 1950's apron, circle-skirt, high-heeled father–knows-best look! I’m waiting for someone to tell me I look like June Cleaver. Back then, women looked like they had such tiny waists because of their big hair! Whew, T.

But I’ve never been this old before! It’s more than just the body, or the hair. I’m more than halfway through and I’m not halfway through—finished I mean! The mid-life trauma of being little behind is much more than no longer having a little behind—it’s much bigger!

The life list is long and I must get started. I’m finding myself adding line items to the list just so that I can mark them off, to appear to me that I have completed something in my back-forty!

What am I thinking? I need to get a firmer grasp on what is really important. I don’t have time for this now! It’s early; I still have half my life. I’ll deal with this next decade.

Reality Bite: So, then…it's not my butt! It is the hair. Or it could be the distortion of my reflection on the foil liner of the popcorn bag.

Surgery Success

2009-11-02T11:49:00.000-08:00

Surgically, Ian went under beautifully--well manfully at least. He was a lovely patient and entertaining when he came out of recovery. He talked and talked, but the nurse said she was disappointed that he didn't sing. Many of her patients sing.

The bone is pinned in two places and he's recast for a month--then maybe rehab. Yes, it is his left and he is left handed... but I'm sure he will write as well with his right as he can with his left.

Hand, Hand, Finger Thumb...

2009-10-28T05:58:00.001-07:00

It's the other hand this time, and the bullet we dodged last year with the hand break (yes, it has been a whole year... you are a whole year older... this too shocked me!!)

Anyway,

This time the blast was dead on. It's not only broken in three places, but each break extends shardlike into the joint. Right now, the pinkie is back in the straight position, but it is stuck in the straight position and except for the rare British tea party he may attend, this might prove awkward for a man.

And while we do appreciate the dodgeball coach who took it upon himself to jerk the digit lengthwise to repair what he mistook as a jam... next time... next time, maybe just send the boy to the school nurse. She spotted the break immediately, clued in by the swelling, the fact that the finger yawned off to the left crookedly, and the dead giveaway, the nail of the pinkie was on the side of the digit, rather than at it's customary position on the top.

Anyway, surgery tomorrow morning and we'll see from there.

The surgical nurse advised, maybe a job to cover for gas, insurance and injuries?

Religious Freedom Is Being Threatened

2009-10-19T06:56:00.000-07:00

This morning I woke to the alarm clock going off - NPR. The discussion was the New Atheist movement. It is no longer enough to not believe in God, it is now imperative to attack it. On Sept. 30, Blasphemy Day was celebrated, everything sacred was debased and followers made statements like this: Religion is dangerous and should be treated with contempt.

My response here:

Then hit the snooze button.

Sluuurrrppp!

2009-10-12T07:49:00.000-07:00

I've been blogging a lot on my food blog about my newest fix, green smoothies, and expounding the benefits to my neighbors on our daily jaunt - (sort of a walk, mostly a talk.) and in my scripture wanderings of the morning (I'm limiting my on-screen time and prescribing scripture time before I blog)...

Here are my findings:

And it makes me want to run to the fridge again, fling open the door, embrace my healthfulness and take another slurp of my green smoothie!

YUM!

Today for NieNie

2009-10-08T05:42:00.000-07:00

I first stalked NieNie on her blog a couple years ago, when I was referred by a friend who loved reading her peaceful, calm, reassuring essays about motherhood. When she got in the airplane accident, I then stalked her to make sure that she would be okay. But what I really was doing wasn't checking to see if she would be okay, but how I would be in her circumstance.

I can only hope that I would be as okay as she is. Some people are so inspiring. Sorry I missed her on Oprah yesterday, but truthfully, I'm frantic at 4 with the aftermath of children and school and snoring asleep when the piece reran at 11.

Aidan goes for Red Belt

2009-10-04T19:29:00.001-07:00

On Saturday Aidan tested for his red belt in Tae Kwon Do. Good job Aidan!

Plumbed

2009-09-14T05:25:00.000-07:00

When your counter guy says he will install the sink, he doesn't mean the faucets, but you can do that and connect the disposal, and the hot water heater and the drains. And it will be done well with help from the ten year old.

Except for one big snag. Removing the part from it's package. Not with a tool, not with a wrench, not even in a vice, no way.

Poisoned Potatoes Ruin my Day, One More Way

2009-09-12T15:06:00.001-07:00

Poison in my potatoes? There I was, fist deep in my bag of Lays, in mid chomp and suddenly, shockingly, a rumor surfed by my internet stream.

Acrylamide, a cancer causing agent is 500 times stronger in potato chips and french fries? The United Nations FAO and WHO (World Health Org.) have issued warnings since 2002 about acrylamide in foods that are cooked at extreme heats, especially potatoes, and finally the FDA are issuing their report in October.

The studies from America will then be official and if my favorite chips and fries so show 500 times more acrylamide (the cancer chemical) you can bet that I'll have to add it to my big long list of NO's for me and my kids.

Picture me gobbling fries and chips 24/7 this month, just in case.

...and I was hoping that LA's attorney general's suit was just California freaking out again.

Sounds like we should all be a little freaked.

http://www.acrylamide.org

Rootbeer float

2009-09-11T08:42:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday me.

SNOORRRReeeeee

2009-09-08T11:34:00.000-07:00

I'm writing an interactive discussion about homework for the fifth graders today and for it I just researched sleep.

Did you know giraffe's sleep the least of all mammals? 10 minutes to 2 hours in every 24 hour period.

Did you know children 9-12 need 10-11 hours of sleep. That means Aidan needs to go to sleep by 8 p.m. at night. Does he ever get that much? No! Did you know sleep depriv. causes ADHD, insomnia, risk for greater injury from small accidents, night terrors, binge eating.

SHOCK!!! I KNOW! Great studies online...

Did you know teens need 9.5 hours. Do you know 85% of teens are operating each day under the terms pathological exhaustion which means their sleep patterns (REM vs NREM) mimic that of narcaleptics?

So in honor of this study, I'm napping.

Anonymity is Underrated

2009-09-02T05:53:00.000-07:00

I missed a call in Walmart today... didn't know who it was, unknown number, unknown area code. I hit redial. The anonymous person answered and said, "Just wanted to let you know the official birthtime was 8:08, and he has beautiful red hair. Everybody is doing great." I still didn't know who it was. There was a long pause, then he went on... "his name is Nathan David"... another long pause.

Then I opened my mouth and removed all doubt that I am an idiot.

What can I say? Dave talked to his brother last night and got the date for the scheduled c-section! I didn't know it was today!!!

Oh well, nice... It's a boy. 8-2 and 21 inches and I'm sure he's beautiful.

And I'm not at all confused

Grinch Grimace

2009-08-20T06:39:00.000-07:00

United Way... the once a year opportunity to get Dave to shave off all facial hair. This year he's the Grinch and here is his best grimace.

Still adorable... couldn't be too threatening.

It's been great to have Dia home visiting and aiding in the debachery.

The Kamas Family Transport

2009-08-19T06:44:00.000-07:00

Here is what passes for the favorite mode of transporation in my little home town. I love it!

To Err or Not to Err -- That is the question.

2009-08-14T15:06:00.000-07:00

Ask an ex-smoker which is easier, smoking or not smoking?

Ask an ex-gambler which is easier, gambling or not gambling?

Ask an ex-meth addict, well, you know.

CS Lewis said it best:

"No man knows how bad he is till he has tried very hard to be good. A silly idea is current that good people do not know what temptation means. This is an obvious lie. Only those who try to resist temptation know how strong it is. After all, you find out the strength of the army by fighting against it, not by giving in. You find out the strength of a wind by trying to walk against it, not by lying down.

A man who gives in to temptation after five minutes simply does not know what it would have been like an hour later. That is why bad people, in one sense, know very little about badness . They have lived a sheltered life by always giving in. We never find out the strength of the evil impulse inside us until we try to fight it;

and Christ, because He was the only man who never yielded to temptation, is also the only man who knows to the full what temptation means--the only man who knows to the full what temptation means--the only complete realist." Mere Christianity, p. 142

Treehouse!

2009-08-14T12:37:00.000-07:00

Dia's insight on treehouses:

"I asked Dad how he could strengthen the treehouse's railings, because Uncle Nathan was up there pushing on them (and they were swaying baaaack and fooorrrrth and baaaack...). He said they'll be fine, the kids just can't touch them.

I said, "Sometimes the semblance of good is worse than abject evil." I thought for a minute at my profoundity and then I said, "Ooooo... that sounded goood!"

And Dad said, "Huh?"

What I meant (I think) is that if there were NO railing, the kids would be too scared to get close to the edges. A weak railing just makes the kids (falsely) think that the edges are safe to be near and (knowing OUR family) to be rappelled from. This is true even though the distance from the treehouse to the ground has not decreased by one inch.

Sometimes I put up "railings" at the edges of my own standards. These false barriers that supposedly protect me from danger really tempt me to move closer and closer to the edges of my beliefs. If they are weak and moveable, I am in more danger than I would be without any railings at all. R rated movies, for example, are "not OK." A clearly defined, protective barrier, right? However, this barrier implies that everything up to the edge is safe--that ANYTHING within PG-13 rated films is just fine--which is simply NOT true

(Transformers II was SO BAD. We should've walked out. It was so crude and simply FILLED with cursing. Ugh, disgusting.) Seriously.
Oh, at the risk of analogy overload, I thought of another one while I was trying to keep images/lines from that cursed movie out of my head today. Bad images/words/etc are like files in a computer. You know when you try to delete one, and you get the message, "deleting this program's shortcut will not remove it from your computer" ? Even when you do uninstall it, it seems like all the files, cookies, images and connections it made on your computer linger for months afterward. The only solution to the problem is to never put the file on your hard drive in the first place.

While a bad file contaminates, we can also run the risk of a too large file slowing compution speed, impeding progress and even spreading and contaminating other programs and files, just like a bad or misplaced priority can slow our spiritual dexterity, impede eternal progression and contaminate other parts of life).

Back to the treehouse:

I cannot forget the danger of the edge in my creation of protective boundaries. I must remember the difference between the spirit AND the letter of the law in recognizing the distance between me and the edge, and between the edge and the ground.

For clarification: I am NOT saying we shouldn't have clearly defined boundaries--but we cannot let ourselves forget the dangers beyond the boundaries we have told ourselves we will not pass.

The road to hell is smooth and paved, not bumpy and twisting. If Satan can keep us oblivious, or better yet, content in our sins, it's a quick drop to him.

d
It's me again, Terina... being taught by the children.

2009-08-04T08:34:00.000-07:00

I’m feeling the need to reread, “The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat.” It’s a fun and interesting collection of case studies of a brain doctor. One story in the book speaks of a blind and disabled woman, who from birth couldn’t use her arms. There was no medical reason for it so the doctor set about changing her behavior, by challenging her. The only device he could use was her food. People serving her would deliver her food and then be called away and in her frustration to eat, she finally reached out and fed herself.

I am wondering why today I have been gifted with the memory of this story in this book--why today in the travails of my own life, has it come to my mind? I’m sure this doctor did not write this book to be a philosophical study of self-help and life change. So, why does my guide in today’s journey want me to sit with this question? (While I frantically cook, plan, pack, prepare and put away).

Am I this woman? What in my life has become too easy? Have I cultured habits that make me complacent and prevent me from reaching out to life? Do I need the “food challenge” to awake in me some great potential?

Am I this girl's early caregiver who must have succorred, cared and shielded her to her utter detriment. Am I preventing others from reaching out?

Or perhaps conversely, I am the doctor? What? There are several scenarios happening in different areas of my life that I can hold up and analyze and compare to this story.

The real end of the story is that the woman went on in her life to find joy in creating intricate and beautiful sculptures of life.

Hmmm, maybe that is what my creator wants me to think about today.

Before and After -- The Deck

2009-07-27T19:39:00.001-07:00

Honey, this is for you. (The husband who doesn't get to keep in touch with us unless it shows up on his blackberry between meetings.)

Here is the before and here is the after. It's looking great! Lots and lots of work, so lets not scrape the ice off next year... it'll probably melt in late June by the time we get here.

Insidious Tats?

2009-07-27T08:20:00.000-07:00

Okay, the inner debate of the day is the dangers of encouraging rub-on tattoos. Will this sque the thoughts of my small innocent child? And in the same vein, will covering my child with henna dragons turn him into a Muslim?

This is my decision: These dabblings are no more deleterius than fruit scented markers. Huff, Huff.

The family reunion was a hit and I haven't even begun to discover the myriad of ways children's minds were messed with. Things went on in the deepest darkest reaches of the Pit and a great time was had by all!

Sympathetic Feline

2009-07-23T18:06:00.001-07:00

When the new kitten turned up with an absurdly large swollen cheek (we did the booties ourselves; she ran through the toxic deck paint project and insisted upon licking), we decided that she could only be exhibiting sympathy symptoms for the lost wisdom teeth of Dia and Ian.

That, or she tried to eat a wasp...?

Either way, her face is back to normal now. We didn't even have to give her any Loratab.

The New Brother

2009-07-16T14:48:00.000-07:00

Read about the new brother-in-law. He's a keeper. http://www.gluten-free-reality.blogspot.com

Venue Change

2009-07-16T07:10:00.000-07:00

Remember my mantra? "Vacations are only a change of venue." I was asked by the bro-in-law why I work so hard. "If I was on vacation, I would be watching movies, eating out and enjoying myself." he says.

Me too. When I go on vacation, that's what I'm going to do--someday, but I don't know anybody but Paris, who can afford a two month vacation, so I work.

And to stay upbeat amid the flooded basement, perpetual water hammer, splitting wood, mowing lawn, sanding paint, cleaning, moving furniture, baking, washing, I remind myself, this is not a vacation, this is merely a breath of fresh air in the form of a delightful change of venue.

Which is why I'm painting again today.

Day Three is Better

2009-07-16T06:44:00.001-07:00

DEAD SOLDIERS

In the last three days, there are only two things that wake the toothless. Drugs--I've dutifully supplied the dosages in the correct increments and on a strict schedule, but when I took an hour break to volunteer at the town library, they ditched me!!!

It seems the only other thing that can drag them from their sick bed is cousins swarming in to capture them for Harry Potter.

I hear it's a three hour movie. Oh well. See if watching Dumbledoor die unmedicated is as miserable as I imagine!

They come home more jazzed than on any strong narcotic and unable to stop talking. They rehearse the movie verbatim and crash only after debating each and every scene ad infinitum.

Really, they are doing so well. The sister's advice worked, 1000 Vit. C for a week, no hot, no cold, no dairy to eat for 24 hours and lots and lots of icepacks. Second day, soft solids only. It's the third morning after and they are fine but for swelling.

Ian is saying Pizza tonight.

We'll see.

It's a Toothfairy Frolic

2009-07-14T12:55:00.001-07:00

BEFORE:

The toothfairy is going to be dancing on the rooftops tonight as she drops by the Darcey house for a septeplethora (seven). It's not likely to break the fairy bank as she doesn't have to leave much because in our house, we deduct the cost of extraction (or filling) from the initial outlay. In fact, the two teens might end up owning her.

Ow, Ow, Owie, It looks to get much worse before it gets any better.

Dia got to watch her own extractions because she went second... She was much intrigued by the chopping, drilling and prying. Overall, she was impressed by the process and felt cheated by only having three teeth to pull. However, the Momma who made it through childbirth unmedicated--is scarred for life.

Ian's disappointed because we didn't think of the mirror until he was all finished but he made it through by clutching the set of nunchucha he was wearing and fingering a pocket full of throwing knives. The dentist may wish to post a sign about the illegality of weapons on or about the premises for the future.

We'll post again soon on the ongoing misery. Hope everyone's having a great summer.

After surgery, before the local anesthetic wore off:

Right now, she just looks a little puffy. But before long, she was spitting blood all over the grocery store parking lot....
White was probably not the best choice of attire for the day.

Darcey Family

2009-07-12T16:44:00.000-07:00

See our summer at

http://www.atkinsonfamily.blogspot.com

Hope yours is going well.

Hugs Me

Blueberry Blessings

2009-06-07T07:30:00.001-07:00

DIA'S EDIT. IT'S A LOT BETTER :) I THINK SO, ANYWAY.

I love blueberries. Not frozen, mass-processed, or store-bought berries (somehow paying the exorbitant prices required to bring blueberries to the masses takes all the flavor out of them for me).

I love field blueberries that I have personally plucked, squatting in the early morning chill, relieving slumberous branches of their heavy purple clusters. My mind wanders as my hands work, and there's a moment of quiet peace.

This year we make a second trek out. We leave the children home to sleep, so interruptions promise to be few--but the weather threatens. We begin dropping berries into pails and the rain begins to drip.

As the wind picks up and thunder rumbles threateningly, I whisper a prayer. My mind flickers to memories of twice past when I have requested divine intervention for peaceful weather and my pleas have been granted. I must be a weather whisperer.

I begin to pluck faster as the rain picks up and I wonder what is it that allows such prayers to be answered. Is it priority? Does some other need take precedence? Is that the case this morning? As the winds buffet and the chill creeps further into my bones, I wonder if this is one of those training trials--something the Lord gives me to teach me the merits of preparation? And as the weather worsens I begin to wonder; could it be punishment for pertinence?

The husband's quick thinking and preparation come through; I don the trash bag he finds in the back of the truck with a new humility and enlightenment.

What I'm given is a gift—-not a superhero-like gift of wielding the weather, but the gift of understanding. It IS audacious--even blasphemous-- to think that I can somehow command nature to suit my slightest whim, even ignoring instead of accepting and working with the blessing of rain.

I do have power, but I am no more gifted than anyone else. It is a power granted through recognizing who does command nature and acknowledging that this happens only through the gift of my Savior's atonement.

As the rain stops, I kneel and pluck glistening blueberries and admire the strength of God's munificent hand today in my petty little problem.

New Favorite Quote

2009-06-03T13:47:00.001-07:00

I love Dia's quote for the day:

When we try to be perfect, every day somebody is disappointed.

I think that's what she said. I don't know exactly, I'm not striving for perfect. You can tell when you see the disasterous cakes I baked for a party. I should get extra points from cakewreck.blogspot.com site.

http://gluten-free-reality.blogspot.com/2009/06/yin-yang-cakes.html

Math Puzzle

2009-05-21T19:24:00.001-07:00

Okay Dave and Ian raced and Ian solved last Wednesday's puzzle in two minutes.

How does he do that?

Infused

2009-05-21T05:54:00.000-07:00

The stomach virus floating about did us in, the entire family--bar Dave who sequestered himself in the west wing. We're finally back, but not without casualties. Ian had to be infused (he lost ten pounds he couldn't afford to lose) and Aidan had blood work the same day... so they are the walking wounded. (Ian actually looked even worse before the 1000 cc's.)

We're healthy and happy now!

2009-05-13T05:43:00.000-07:00

How about a math problem?
Engineers take 3 minutes to resolve this, architects 3 hours and doctors 6 hours.

What is the next number 1, 2, 6, 42, 1806, _____?

Hum, I wonder... 1 plus next numeral... no, "Finish your breakfast and get the dishwasher emptied!"

One times... no. two divided by... no. Doctors take longer... so it's not appendages or blood types, engineers... bike spokes, gears, tools, pi, friction, physics, psycho! "Hey, keep practicing... I'm not hearing anything... Sorry, Piano isn't something you can mime!"

1806, some famous date? No, history majors weren't even mentioned... Hum, forty two, age, over the hill, wrinkle cream... gotta remember to order that... and more sorghum, can't believe I'm out of flour again. "Are you wasting time? Hey, pull yourself together it's eight o'clock."

Six... six... six. Um, signs of Satan, this puzzle? Hm, backwards, 608123621, telephone number? Oh, gotta remember to call and cancel that dr. appointment, and class tomorrow, wonder what kind of theme I should do for cards? Maybe Got your number? Call me sometime? Keep in touch. "Lunch, fix it and get yourself out the door!"

"Socks and shoes, teeth and hair! No, I didn't even for a minute mean use toothpaste as hair gel! Hurry Up!" So help me if you miss your bus and I have to miss my walk to take you to school..."

Gotta run. I give up. I'm gonna take my failure as confirmation that I must be a writing Mom.

Bumbles

2009-05-05T14:29:00.000-07:00

Even more watchbands just for Val.

I purchased my watches from ewatchwholesale.com Medium size.

These two are the real McCoy purchased on Bumblesdesign.com
I love my new watches from http://www.bumblesdesign.com/ so much that I thought I would make some to switch out on my own. As usual, I was the last to think of it! Utah has all the good crafts first!!!

Thanks for the help and the design Kali.

Use stretchy thread, lay out your beads in a pattern and your spacers where you want them. I was told to start threading at the opposite side that you want to tie off, preferrably to the right of where the watch connects to the clasp.

Thread each side to the middle of the thread, then crisscross the threads through the spacers in each middle.

I'm sure the more brilliant (most of you) will understand better than I how to do this.

Best wishes!

Grocery Glitch

2009-04-11T05:40:00.000-07:00

I called a sister, bemoaning that once again I had forgotten the groceries and left the eggs in the trunk overnight.

She replied, "Don't feel bad, at least you didn't rebuy them. I know someone who forgot she bought groceries and it wasn't until she went grocery shopping again the next day and went to put them in the trunk that she remembered.

That made me feel somewhat better, until she added, "It was you."

I had forgotten.

A manicure? Ya think?

2009-04-11T05:38:00.000-07:00

A friend suggested a manicure. I've never had a manicure. I just don't seem like the manicure type.

Truth is, a manicure can't fix this. Weeks of construction abuse can't be fixed by a mere manicure. I need a homeocure, a yardeocure and perhaps even a braineocure--a complete and total make-over, extreem.

Todays Post

2009-03-12T07:43:00.001-07:00

See the garage vermin story. It's on my blog http://thatslife--armsandlegsin.blogspot.com/. I can't get any other computer thing to work today.

P.S. Have a good day!

Remedy to Frigidity

2009-03-11T08:35:00.000-07:00

No, I am not hideously bloated, I'm cold.

It's below freezing here in Oklahoma today. I know that 28 is not that cold to most of the rest of America, but yesterday it was 86. That's what stinks about the weather here. It causes a slinky like effect if I have to put away all the winter clothing one day, and next day, rip them out and layer up again!

So, I've discovered the perfect way to stay warm. I have taken to shoving all the hot clothes from the dryer up my shirt while I fold. It has an immediate warming effect and has a two-fold unforeseen benefit.

It provides another more plausible reason for the whereabouts of all those odd socks. I'm wearing them round my middle.

Brrrrr

2009-03-10T12:07:00.001-07:00

Pooh spends time thinking. Just thinking. Thinking about where he put his honey. Drawling his mantra, "think, think, think."

Pooh is me.

I misplace my stuff and the angels know that my desperate pleas will be a no brainer for them.

They put my pleadings on the back burner and say, "Just give her a minute and she'll remember."

Today I ground all my sorghum. All of it. I was so sad to find that there was none left as grain because I needed it in grain form for a demonstration for a class. But, I forgot and ground it all up. I was so sad, and desperate as I called around town searching for whole grain sorghum. Nothing doing. None to be found anywhere in Tulsa.

But, finally I did find some, there in my pantry, sitting on the shelf, where I put it 1/2 hour ago when I was grinding all the rest up.

Poor Pooh, stuck forever thinking...

and me.

HISTORY PAYS BACK

2009-03-02T12:03:00.000-08:00

Once in a while in the great school of life, one is able to track one's curve of learning directly back to the exact moment and this happened to me today.

My next door neighbor called this morning.

"How are you at maneuvering automobiles?" she asks in her beautiful Indian accent.

I am optimistically good at everything at which I haven't recently failed, so I said, "I'm good, I'll be right over."

The roofers had parked their dumpster in her driveway and blocked her minivan in the garage with a two foot clearance behind it. She is a doctor and she had some medical stuff to do, so she had to get out!

Last time I attempted anything like this was about thirty years ago in my predriving days, when somehow in the process of my learning how to drive in reverse, my parents car ended up parked sideways in our garage.

Who knew then that the lessons learned would be so valuable now?

I thank Dad for his response as he perused the situation and turned on his heels with this comment, "Well, get it out."

And we did.

Before, and not yet After

2009-02-20T07:22:00.000-08:00

Life is full of regrets for the things you wish you had done. So I'm starting--all the things I wish were done. BECAUSE I am a starter... This post is a list of my project plans before and after.

Some of the projects have beginning picts, but most of them are interim shots. This is due to the fact that starting something kind of sneaks up on me. I can be innocuously cleaning or straightening something, and that something might start (tenouosly, like the wallpaper flaps up) and then suddenly, I am fully immersed and the door is off, the wallboard is ripped out and somebody is standing in the middle of something fully and completely started!

Read in detail about my whole problem at http://thatslife--abiteofreality.blogspot.com/search/label/Cpt%202%3A%20%20Salivate

So here are some before and some middles and unfortunately, we must just wait... just wait to see the afters...

back yard - semi done - it was worse before.

pantries

The pantry is shielded because the husband says, "You are trying to convince us that there is no food in there... none at all," and because the popcorn ceiling is coming down.

Front balisters a project started at least a year ago. Soon, so soon!

new backyard french door

The front door is aching to start.

And hair color - an ongoing start and ever and always a disastrous finish. I've had teenagers again tell me that "purple is so awesome."

And so here I am! Starting and patiently waiting.

Sometimes for years-as I'm a slow finisher.

2009-02-17T07:30:00.000-08:00

It is POP time. Person of Purpose and the children were to research and report on a significant contributor in History. The children would then act as that character in a wax museum and give a life history to children and parents.

Amidst Cleopatra's glitter, Earhardt's aviator cap and goggles, Einstein's hair wig, Antoinette's renaissance dress, Princess Di's authentic wedding gown and Shirley Temple's bob, there was Aidan. He was the boring one in the suit and tie. I told him to feel free to pick whomever he wished, as long as that person could wear a suit. His teacher gave him Henry Ford... an inventor... right down Aidan's path of interest.

He did a great job and so did his mother, who on her third child, cannot imagine expending the braincells and energy necessary to sew an authentic coat, wig and tricornered hat for Washington. That poor woman must have sacrificed a pair of her best black pumps to a stapled on buckle. Now that, that is a Mom!

A Better Barometer of Spring

2009-02-02T05:49:00.000-08:00

Punxatawnny Phil has nothing on my pet who has an uncanny ability to predict... or perhaps even bring on the change of seasons.

It's all in the decor.
When she senses spring in the air, Look Out!

Being originally from Utah my Snowman motif doesn't end in December. There it is an accepted part of the decor until the snow disappears--through March and sometimes into May.

The cat is truly an Okie and is letting her opinion be known. Enough with snow and ice and Winter! Move on.

Ice is Work!

2009-01-31T06:03:00.000-08:00

What would we do without helpful neighbors?

Ice Ice, Ice, last week we were iced in and like the rest of the city, we stuck close in and waited it out. We're from the land of snow and blizzards, but ice storms are a whole other beast.

After four days of climbing the cabin walls, I sent the boys out to de-ice. I joined them in 50 degree shortsleeve weather to begin the work of chipping off our three inch accumulation. After a couple of hours, the neighbor yelled from across the street, "If you wait til tomorrow, it will be melted."
That is the typical Tulsa response. The natives know that ice storms are reassuringly followed by 60 degree weather that melts the chill and salves the shock.

Moments before, I had just stated that fact to the boys. Unfortunately, I had a party scheduled that next morning, so there would be no waiting--for reasons of liability. So I shouted back that that regretful caveat.

Next thing I knew, this helpful man had hopped in his car, slipped and slithered his way across the street and was giving me all kinds of opinions and advice. "You will just make things worse. This melting will be a sheet tomorrow." "You know what your only hope is?"

"Yes," I responded, "I do have an intimate knowledge of rock salt, as I am originally from the state with the only inland salt lake."

"Well, the man sighed, "Okay" and I could see it in his eyes, "I can't rescue this woman from herself." and then slid himself back across the street, home.

And my sons and I went back to chopping, chipping, and scraping, ever grateful for helpful neighbors.

Read related article: Boys 2 Men http://handleitwithhumor.blogspot.com/2009/02/boys-2-men.html

Kitsch Craft Wars

2009-01-26T11:54:00.000-08:00

I was once so crafty! I considered myself a crafter and my girlfriends at the time could attest! I was handy with a spray can and when the seasonal colors changed, they would find me out in the driveway, painting all my home decor the newest decorator colors!

I thought that crafting was a phase that I passed through as a young, innocent (ignorant) and destitute college wife, but I'm back. This is one of my recent masterpieces! This is Art! Be amazed and wowed!

I am kitschy crafting once again!

The husband is thinking... Oh kill me now.

And should anyone wonder.... those are winter pods of the sweet magnolia tree, red seeds intact.

Life Shorts

2009-01-23T09:11:00.000-08:00

My friend -- I want to write about an acquaintance but more than that, a friend who would cause me to stop in passing and ask about children (three like me, all my ages). I have been to her house, eaten her food, and loved our conversations. You know the kind of friend I mean, a dear friend, but ephemeral.

Anyway, she went to sleep Tuesday and didn't wake up.

And that is the kind of thing that throws all kinds of kinks into life.

Not for me, but still... somehow for me. I anguish with her family, imagine their sorrow, their anger, their frustrations, and I ache for their sorrow, their anger, their frustration.

How hard. How incredibly hard. I think about it all day while I clean closets. Which is all I'm good for since I broke the internet.

While I'm not close enough to intrude, to go, to mourn, to hold and hug or sustain, to feed, to succor, I can still pray that her family is being comforted by angels, human or celestial.

Immediate prayer is all I can do. And while I know deep down that this is enough--truly, the power that prayer carries is enough--but while I know that, I still wonder how they are doing.

And deeper than that, what I'm really wondering is how would my family be doing, should this happen to me?

I can only hope that my family knows that I trust God--that I know He knows and loves me and has a plan and my best interests at heart. And with that thought comes the sureity that a prayer offered to Him is enough.

If I have done that, as my friend personified, then a life even so short has been just long enough.

Momma & Father Christmas

2009-01-22T10:37:00.000-08:00

Pam this post is for you... the intentionally internet illiterate. I hope you can get it.

Just what you need, evidence of Momma kissin' Santa. You better not let the grands see this one. Hugs, Terina

Reason Not Intent

2009-01-14T09:17:00.000-08:00

I've reached a brilliant epiphany today. And here it is.

"One's intent, or lack thereof, should never diminish the outcome."

I mopped today! I should get major kudos for mopping today. In spite of the fact that I was forced to mop today, still, it should count.

The floor is beautiful and the cupboards and the walls, and the front of the appliances. And I am happy.

Now.

But when my body inadvertently channelled Jackson Pollock, (totally of its own volition) and used the entire kitchen as a blank canvas to splash a gigantic figure eight using an entire can of liquid beef bouillon (which should have been a solid), I was not happy.

So, in life, however dubious the beginning, an auspicious ending should totally count.

New Years Polish

2009-01-08T06:09:00.000-08:00

Headlight restorer defogger. It Works! If you can't do anything more in the struggling economy of the new year, I recommend that you go ahead and spring for the $20.00 fix to give you a brighter outlook on life.

Look at the before and after shots! I was skeptical (no, not me!) but the product seems to be more than just snake oil. It worked.

Welcoming House

2009-01-08T04:25:00.001-08:00

We know why we enjoy returning to Utah. It seems everywhere we look there are welcoming arms outstretched.

The children love searching out the welcomes to be found in the oddest places.

Indoors and out...

Everywhere we look.

We truly feel loved and welcomed there.

It's country and warm and comfy.

Gotta love it there.

Even in the deepest winter, we feel warmth.

And love and joy and

Indoors.

Utah has such a welcoming presence and the house there echos that feeling.

Outside... Utah is less welcoming,

and less warm, but we adapt.

Ian Brace Face

2009-01-08T04:24:00.001-08:00

Ian getting braces 1-5-09.

As a parent I have woefully neglected my son's dental health. I thought because his teeth were straight that he didn't need braces. HA! At the last dentist visit I was shown attrition that had ground off fifty years of his bottom teeth.

Ooops, neglectful parent. So the prognosis is Senior, Prom, and Graduation pictures will all be bracefaced. He should have been finished with orthodontia by now.

Oh well, I wonder the college search will go? We'll be visiting searching for the best social, educational, and a really good ortho who is willing to take over contracts.

YAY!
Maybe after all I won't have to worry about grad, prom or senior picts because he
wouldn't let me take a final shot. I only got these because the nurse had him tethered.

Holiday Posting

2009-01-07T09:07:00.001-08:00

I hate to see Christmas end. I would like those delightful moments of joy to last forever and this is how I manage to extend our holiday happiness well into January.

We jump into the celebration feet first--right at the outset. In our twenty-six year marriage, we've never once celebrated Christmas at home. When one arranges to celebrate Christmas away from home, the holiday excitements begins as we drive 19 hours (split into two days) akin to the pilgrimage to Mecca.

Ian drove it this year and proved he has his grandfathers blood, a trucker as is his father. He pulled six hours nonstop (okay, me and potty breaks aside) the first day.

Once we arrive, the presents commence Christmas Eve and don't end until each and every one of both sides of the extended family arrives and departs, besting even Hanukkah for longevity. This year, it was a sixteen-day celebration with six major parties. (I'll explain later).
So finally we return home (only 18.5 hours nonstop) where I'll continue the joyous activities of December's celebration well into the month of January. But, I pull it off all in reverse.

I'll begin to put away the tree and repack all the decorations bound for the attic and sense a feeling of de-je-vous. It's eerie--it seems I just went through these same motions less than 24 hours ago at the other venue of celebration. There I took down the tree, the lights, and cleaned. I collected of all the detritus left from Christmas and packed--culminating with the emptying of the fridge.

But here, the exact reverse of the process occurs, I'm filling the fridge and I unpack and fling all the contents haphazardly throughout the house, and then I again begin taking down the tree, packing up the lights, the decorations--it's all the same.

I'll say it again-- For me, vacations are as much work as being home. It's just a different venue.
And with that thought, I willing to bet that I can stretch out this process until February 14th at least.

Musing on Menses (men are offended by this)

2009-01-03T13:30:00.000-08:00

For those offended at the topic of menstruation... don't read this.

Okay, I couldn't resist blogging this. I'm not easily offended by body functions. Stuff happens and boys and girls, if the nose if bleeding, I'll blog it. So, in the spirit of nondiscrimination -- it's all PC... here goes.

________________

This is an actual letter from an Austin, Texas woman sent to Proctor and Gamble regarding one of their feminine products. She really gets rolling after the first paragraph. This was PC Magazine's 200 Editors' Choice award-winner for the best letter sent via e-mail.

Dear Mr. Thatcher,

I have been a loyal user of your 'Always' maxi pads for Over 20 years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core or Dri-Weave absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts.

But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my pants.

Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? I'm guessing you haven't. Well, my time of the month is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call 'an inbred hillbilly with knife skills.' Isn't the human body amazing? As Brand Manager in the Feminine-Hygiene Division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers' monthly visits from 'Aunt Flo'. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our Intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it's a tough time for most women.

The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants... Which brings me to the reason for my letter. Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: 'Have a Happy Period.'

Are you freaking kidding me? What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing happiness, is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James?

FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak, there will never be anything 'happy' about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local Walgreen's armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory.

For the love of God, pull your head out, man! If you have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like 'Put down the Hammer' or 'Vehicular Manslaughter is Wrong'.

Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bullcrap. And that's a promise I will keep.

******** from Austin TX

------

You may be offended, but I, Terina, after torturous years of suffering, am laughing.

New TV

2009-01-02T14:43:00.000-08:00

This is it Dia. Now you see what we could afford to get as soon as you left home. Hugs, Mum

Darn It

2008-12-28T10:07:00.000-08:00

I'm told by the mother-in-law that this is not darning. It's stitching. Darning is a more complicated process of stretching the sock over a lightbulb or some such item, performing an unraveling of the upper portion of the sock to acquire matching thread, then stitching tiny connecting stitches to secure the complex weaving motion of the darning art.

Hey, I think that anytime I am stitching together socks that have a hole and making them wearable, even using the son's heel as the lightbulb, I'm darning. Five pair, all wool, all fail in the same place, all within one week of wearing! What a waste! Too bad I tossed the wrapper or they would be returned. (Which is what the manufacturer is counting on! As I have related before--it's a conspiracy!)

So, I'm darning! At least I'm not damning!

2008-12-18T07:28:00.000-08:00

Okay I tried to upload a video here, can't manage to pull it off. So I'll keep trying...

For those who love Santa... I personally find him creepy,

Try this one instead

http://portablenorthpole.sympatico.msn.ca/home

Here's the link, look it up yourself. It's cute and funny and the song will remain in your head for hours.

www.eminiz.com/in/HappyHolidays.aspx

or
youtube

Christmas Ills

2008-12-16T07:38:00.001-08:00

Wanna read what happens in a Christmas long past when the mom gets the flu? I just tumbled over this in my Christmas cleansing, and it's pretty funny.

http://thatslife--armsandlegsin.blogspot.com/

More Ice

2008-12-16T06:56:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting home doing nothing but breathing and wishing I could finish Christmas, but we're iced in but good here. I'm going just a trifle stir crazy. The children are out out school again for ice day. Cross those fingers, toes and eyes for a full day of class tomorrow. As it is, finals have been moved to the new year and Ian's choir concert is postponed. Jingle Bells sung after New Years is just freaky. Piano, TKD and the cub scout caroling are cancelled and cabin fever is rampant.

The free form Christmas chaos is heightening. I've been reviewing my journal and thought it might be fun to review a past-year's Christmas letter. Here's 1997

HAPPY HOLIDAYS
Joyeaux Noel, Frolic Whynotten, Fleas on a Dog, 1997
and all those other wonderful holiday salivations.

Here we are again. Seems like just last year that I was writing this same letter.

Actually, it’s been a fabulous year, a challenging and most interesting ride. I’m still holding on only by the tip of my nails and screaming as I go.

The children seem well (adjusted), in spite of the fact that David says there is no lack of material for their next installment of Mommy Dearest. Diondra is loving second grade and her life in general. Her interest to be an actress waned after she perfected her Howie Mandell “Walk like a Man role and now she wants to be a veterinarian that plays flute concerts at lunchtime, acts, but only in the evenings at the neighborhood theater, and looks forward to becoming a firefighting rock-climber on the weekends.

When I last wrote, the cat that was seeking another home to stray to--has adjusted by developing multiple personalities. As a dog, she growls and bites strangers. In her monkey phase she gets stuck weekly on top of the house, and runs up and over the unsuspecting. But, she pulls her own weight and though declawed still brings birds and mice to the table regularly.

Ian, at five, still finds his best buddies are rocks and thinks kindergarten is just a sideline to a real life. He has discovered that computers have this wonderful world behind the screen that can speed it up and slow it down and he make it say little things that scare Mom and Dad, like general system error.

We’re pretty sure Dave still lives here. I wonder about the cot at work but his clothes are still in the closet, so I can’t get him for desertion! He’s loving his second life in Oklahoma and we are sure his family there must miss him also. But it’s better than the alternative. . . us there too!

Still loving my full-time job as Mommy. For a person that hates repetition, it is replete with challenges. How many different ways can you think of to make vacuuming exciting? I’m up to 10 (and Dave says that is the sum total that I’ve ever used the vacuum!) I am sure the whole house could benefit from a match struck in the moldering laundry room, rife with methane gas.

I’ve been reading up on the new Madge Stewart’s, “Scarcely Living during Holidays”, or something like that. I thought I’d pass on some of her ideas.

I’m sure it will put all of us in the holiday spirit.
On package wrapping, beautiful tapestry materials I don’t have, so I took a couple of cloth diapers (clean and in good condition (of course) and finished the package with a little duct tape on the edges. Voile! Fits in well with the silver and white of this season and it’s beauty on a budget! Ribbon is never a problem, because I save all the bits and pieces from the previous year. I just iron them up a little and tie coordinating colors together for a lovely package finish.

Outside decor dilemma? Blow up reusable ziplocks- and spraypaint, of course.

Makes a sort of luminary. . . sort of. . .
Ideas for evening entertaining...presentation is always a challenge, so I'm borrowing from Erma Bombeck. Use the husband’s shoe, spraypainted-of course -to make a lovely gravy boat. And tree decorations, Ian’s ball collection filled the bill perfectly.. marbles to baseballs and even a basketball. And ya know, a little gold spray paint never hurt nobody.

Best wishes for a Happy Holiday Season. Our motto for this year:

If you just can’t do it all. . . don’t.

Love, The Darcey Family, David, Terina, Dia and Ian