More Randomness, Please.

Birthday Fallout: So I went to the birthday party with Sammy. I think she had fun, which is the important thing, but now I am dealing with the fallout, which mostly involves policing a toy lightsaber and Austin wanting to join the foreign service so he can get a cool diplomatic passport. Say what?
 

GRE Joy:  I will neither go into that long story nor the story of why I just got done taking the GRE. If nothing else, it was a self-actualizing experience.  But I think I aced it. At least the verbal and writing sections. The math section bubble-marking went something like this:  A, B, C, D, A, B, C, D, etc. Good thing schools don't care about how good English grad students are at math. Anyway, if anyone wants tips for the writing section I came up with a pretty decent formula for success there. Also, I recommend having a Nana visit you and watch your kids so you can study.

Marshmallow Bed: Maybe due to the stress of test-taking, but our old bed was really bothering me. We bought a new bed that is super comfortable, but didn't realize how big it was going to look in our room. Not only is it a king, but it's like 4 feet high. I have to get a running start to get in bed at night.

Secret General Conference Fort: Where is the blanket from the bed, you might ask? Well it is being used for greater purposes. Many thanks to Kellie for the inspiration.

Super Cici: And somewhere in there, Cici has started walking! I know, this is a picture of her new hobby of playing in our shower, but much to my chagrin, I haven't actually got any photographic or video evidence of this new development.

That's all. Happy weekend!

A Few of my Favorite Things

Very Oprah-esque, I know! I was thinking about things I liked yesterday and made a little list. These are a few of my favorite things:

Peanut Butter Bars

I go in cycles of making these in great quantities. They just get better and better each day they sit.

Target Jeans

I have worn a lot of jeans from a wide variety of stores and in a wide price range. These are my new love though. The 3-5-7 sizing, (because I'm an in-between gal) the 1 % spandex to eliminate the awkward gap in back when you sit down for us skinny waist/bigger hips type, and the low, low price.

Online Dictionary

Remember when you were a kid and people made fun of you for mispronouncing big words? Well that's why I love this online dictionary. The layout isn't the cleanest, but by each word there is a button to listen to its pronounciation. I love looking up words that I've known for years but never used because I didn't quite know how to say them.

Spray Paint

I actually have a blister on my thumb from all the spray painting I've been doing this week. I am on quite the crafting kick and have come to appreciate the beauty of spray paint...the way it transforms things is like magic...I'm tempted to spray paint myself. Maybe I'll go open a window now...

My Husband

While I'm not bold enough to write scandalous blog posts  like my wild cousin or get all mushy-mushy, I will say I have the best husband! He might quite possibly be my favorite thing.









Farewell Owls!

We may meet again someday.

"I love being a turtle!"

Turtles in a half shell!

Now that the pain of my slip-n-slide burn is fading, I can finally bring you the Dirty Dash report:

Basically it can be summed up in the words of the announcer as he was mocking people who came to the Dirty Dash in "serious runner" mode. "If you ask me what my finishing time was I WILL PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE, because I don't care, and you shouldn't either!!!" (Rousing cheers from bejeweled, bedazzled, and becostumed crowd.) In the true spirit of Team Turtle, we walked most of the way, when we weren't doing this:

or this:

or this:

A great way to spend a Saturday!

p.s. Thank you Sara (a.k.a. Splinter) for your great team captain-ing! I think we all had a great time!

There is a great disturbance in the Force...

Today Sammy got done with preschool (she goes two days a week) and hopped into the car exclaiming happily about a card she had for me. I love to see her artwork so I happily took the card. Too late, I realized the magnitude of what I was holding--her first birthday party invitation.

If you think I forgot to put an exclamation mark at the end of that previous sentence, I didn't. I'm not sure how I feel about all this birthday madness starting so early. Do three-year-olds really feel the need to party a la Star Wars? But really, their age and the theme of the party is not the biggest issue: I would have to go and be social and buy a present and help supervise kids running around everywhere. I have always planned to strictly avoid hosting group parties for my children, but I thought the issue of going to other kids' parties wouldn't come up until kindergarten when I wouldn't have to go with Sammy. Can I tell my child that we have temporarily converted to Jehovah's Witnesses? Do I have to tell her anything? Would a Good Mom suck it up and attend the toddler birthday party?

What the H?

Today I got to participate in one of my favorite activities: calling my credit card company. (FYI: no this is not a picture of my card. This is an example of fake information that I plant throughout my blog.) Yes, next to calling insurance companies, calling my credit card company is a favorite midday activity for me, mostly because it keeps me humble, thus allowing me to better connect with the plebians that surround me.

Some examples: Once I called to ask them to cancel a card that had been missing for...I don't know, 5 or 6 months? Hey, I just wanted to make sure it was really lost. Another time I was Indian-accent-ed and fast-talked into signing up for some sort of card insurance thingy. (Note to self: If you're asked a bunch of questions that the answer to is "yes," don't just say "yes" to the next question if you can't understand it.) I had to call back and say that I didn't want the thing I said I just wanted. You see where this is going.

So today I called to cancel a credit card and couldn't remember the password on the account. My mystery question was "A favorite vacation place." For some reason, perhaps the accent and fast-talking, I thought the question was "A favorite vacation place you went to as a child." Uhhhh...my family didn't really do a "vacation place." Unless you count working on the farm in Wyoming.  Which I guessed, by the way. I got several helpful hints from the polite Indian man, who was probably repeatedly smacking his forehead in frustration. "It's a state." "It starts with the letter 'H.'" Anona: uuuhhhhhhmmmm. Gentle readers, do you know how many states start with the letter 'H?'"

One.

Yes, that's right. I don't think New Hampshire counts. After possibly injuring himself from the forehead smacking, the nice man passed me on to an even nicer lady, who also tried to get me to guess the password but quickly gave up and moved on to trying to get me to guess where I used the card back in April when I last used it. "It was in Murray." Anona: uuuuhhhmmm. "A tea shop in Murray." Anona: Hmm. That's odd. I don't drink tea. Are there any tea shops in Utah?  Was it a Thai place? I'm pretty sure it was Thai. Lady: "No, sorry."

So was I. But really, if I can't guess Hawaii then how am I supposed to remember my non-existant trip to a tea shop in Murray? Finally I was asked for my routing number. (Here, let me give it to you. 567834129) It took me a while to find the checkbook--I forgot where I put it--but my native intelligence triumphed in the end! We'll just ignore the part where I had to ask the nice lady which numbers on my check were the routing numbers.

Psycho-delic Owls

The owls....they're, they're staring at me! They're so cute and colorful, yet so creepy! So I've been having a few problems with my blog recently. I woke up one day, and something had happened to my font. I've been messing with it ever since, but haven't quite gotten it right.

I mean, the debate just between serif and sans-serif  (in French: feet, no feet) can be a lengthy one in and of itself. Serif makes for a faster read and includes comfortable old friends like Times New Roman. Sans-serif is crisp, clean-cut, easy on the design-attuned eye. I love you too, Calibri.  But where is the quirky yet straightforward font that falls somewhere in between? If it's too weak, I've tried the bold, no bold mix-up, and then there's getting the right size of font for people to take the whole thing seriously.

I thought a new layout might fix it, but I'm still not satisfied....favorite fonts, anyone?

Run, Forrest, Run!

Running. Ugh.

That has been my attitude for most of my life, probably because I'm not a very good runner. I just feel really awkward when I run, and I really don't like running outside because I feel like people are watching me. In college I went to the gym almost every night and would run a mile or two as part of my workout, but that was just a sacrifice to look good for the men.  I've philosophized that running has become very trendy in the last little while because it is a physical manifestation of how we fill our lives with things to do but never actually accomplish anything important...you know, we are running in circles with no particular destination, but feeling good about ourselves while we are doing it. You think I'm overthinking this? I understand people who run to get in shape. I like that cool feeling when you get off the treadmill and start walking but can't feel your legs. I understand people who run to get away from life for a little while. But I really don't understand people who run for fun.

I personally would be fine the rest of my life to just walk fast to where I need to go, but I'm committed to do the Dirty Dash 5k with my friend Sara next Saturday. It looks like a lot of fun, but I have felt like I should do some sort of training for it, so I've been pushing a double stroller all over God's green hills and running a little bit in the park when it is empty. Last night I decided to go to our community center and run on the treadmill to see how long it would actually take me to complete a 3.125 mile run. Well, I only went 3 miles, (My face gets really red when I run--yet another reason to walk--and the two very fit ladies on the ellipticals behind me were starting to look concerned) and that was with me walking fast a lot and running a little. It took me 40 minutes. Not stellar, people.  Is it lame to dream of someday running a 10-minute mile? I think if you're so bad that that's your goal, you should just stick to walking fast. Which I fully intend to do, right after next Saturday.

I didn't get the memo...

Austin and I stayed in Coeur d'Alene and Seattle for a couple months when Sammy was a year and a half old. In Seattle we stayed close to the Children's Museum, so I got a membership and strollered over there every day. It was fun, but I felt a little out of it as I observed the other moms. Maybe it was because I lived in the backwater state of Montana, but I seemed to have missed the memo that we mothers with small kids have to show a significant amount of cleavage and sport a nose stud to prove (however desperately) that we are still cool and sexy, even though we are at a children's museum in the middle of the morning.

Unfortunately for me, I didn't pack my push-up bra and my husband has forbidden me from ever getting a nose stud. He thinks they're gross. (And I think they have the unfortunate tedancy to look like large zits.) Anyway, I realized I just was not ever going to fit in when a bunch of people at the museum started exclaiming over a little kid's outfit and how cute and amazing it was. This kid was completely dressed in white, people. Not only is it completely impractical when it comes to keeping the kid clean, it's gender neutral (hence your child gets called "kid") and could potentially lead to some sort of Jesus complex down the line.

So here I am. My kids don't wear white. I don't sport cleavage, especially in January in Seattle. I don't like to pick my nose every time I put my jewelry on for the day. But you know what? I think the world has enough moms who got the cool and sexy memo. Add me to the nerd list, because that's where I belong.

Small Boys and World Peace

This is a picture of my mom, lovely sisters, and moi. I like my sisters. I also like my six brothers. I would say that I like people in general, and try to walk around with a glow of brotherly and sisterly kindness for all and a hope for world peace. However, I secretly find the world peace thing rather unlikely as long as small boys continue to exist. Let me explain...

Austin and I were recently asked to be leaders in our church nursery...fun! No seriously. We've done it before when we lived in Dallas, and although it's like a two hour aerobic workout trying to keep track of all the kids, you get to play games, eat snacks, sing songs, and give other parents a nice break. We're in there with another couple and we only do it every other Sunday, so it's a pretty cushy way to help out. However, the one thing that we've noticed (and in Dallas too) is that the annoying/mean/hitter/ripper/shover kid is invariably a boy. Granted, these kids are all way overdue for naps by the time they get to us, and all of them, though usually sweet, can be whiny and annoying, but the mean kid? Always a boy. Now "always" is a dangerous word to use, because I'm sure that somewhere out there there is an awesomely mean little girl that wanders around nursery grabbing toys away from other kids and hitting them in the head with them, but I haven't met her yet.

I could explore the theme of males and agressiveness, war, marking their territory, domination, blah blah blah. I think we could more simply say that world peace just doesn't have a chance as long as small boys continue to go to church nursery.

Caveat: Perhaps I am just a tad biased on this subect, as I have two very good little girls.

In Other News...

I watched the news for the first time in a while last night. Now lest you get the impression that I have become some sort of hermit in my mountain aerie*, I do keep up with what's going on, but just by checking the online news every once in a while throughout the day. But yesterday my hubby flew into New Jersey, which has definitely been affected by Hurricane Irene, and after switching hotels because his was left without power, he was wowed by the footage of the damage on the nightly news and told me to watch.

I recorded three different news channels, but ended up watching Brian Williams, because he reminds me of my dad a little bit. He covered the hurricane damage at length and went on to talk about the Lockerbie bomber and what's going on in Tripoli. I was thinking that maybe I should start recording the news every night, because I was feeling smart and knowledgable, when he started covering the news that Beyonce was pregnant. !!! He seemed kind of embarassed that after all this important, world-changing news he had to cover the celebrity gossip as well, but played it off well by calling it a "life-affirming event amidst all the horrible things going on" or something to that effect.

I decided that maybe I wouldn't start recording the nightly news, because to tell the truth, the pregnancy of Beyonce probably will have the same effect on my life as the destruction of Tripoli, i.e. none. And you know what that means? That I care as much about pregnant Beyonce dancing around as tortured men in the hospital in Libya. And admitting that to myself made me feel lame, not smart and knowledgable.


*this word reminds me of the incident in church a couple Sundays ago when one of the Primary children's leaders was wandering around with her Aerie bag proudly displayed....don't judge, Noni, don't judge...
.

Cushiony Comfort

This is a picture of the Hugga-Bebe Cushioned Baby Support, and it took me forever to find this bad boy on the internet. Mostly because I didn't know what to google. I first saw it at the park the other day. A mom put her little baby in the toddler swing next to Cici with this padded monstrosity around him. Initially, I thought she was trying to sweat a few pounds off her son, since it was 90+ degrees outside, but then I realized it was to give him a cushiony ride/help him remain upright in the swing since he was way too young for it. 

First I rolled my eyes about the state of society and the people in it who think that it's too expensive to have kids. Just stop buying useless baby gear! (That's not to say that I wouldn't buy one if they happened to make it in an adult size...it does look pretty cushy.)  Anyway, then I looked at my pants-less stain covered child sitting next to the Pampered Prince and realized that the mom next to me was probably also rolling her eyes about the state of society, only for different reasons. I decided to move off to another area of the park with the girls, whereupon we promptly happened upon Makeout Couple lying in the grass. (Cue more eyeball rolling.) After Sammy told me that she wanted to lie down too, I decided that we should just head home. There's only a certain number of weirdys that can coexsist in one city park at the same time.

The Weird Kid

No, this is not a post about my childhood. Nor is it a post about my husband or (despite the misleading pictures) my progeny. This is simply a short story about a weird kid.

Once upon a time there was a cute little family that decided to go camping in the woods in a canyon near their house. They were led to their campsite by a strange man called "Bob" who kept close tabs on incoming guests, tailgating them with his golf cart until they payed him their camping fees. Upon reaching their campsite, they were greeted by a stranger sight than their strange host. A ten-year-old-ish boy sat at their table with nothing before him: he simply stared off into space, ignoring the cute family who really wanted him to go away so they could set up camp.

Eventually the weird kid wandered off but continued to wander through their campsite, turning on and off the water spigot near their camp and gathering sticks and bark from the trees bordering their camp. He also brought along a weird friend, possibly his sister. They remained happily oblivious to the strange looks given them by the campers. After all, the cute family's campsite was fairly secluded, not next to anyone, and not on the way to anywhere important, like the outhouse. Anyway, the extended family of the cute little family showed up and pitched their huge tent in the middle of the trail these weird kids were using, but did that deter them? Never!

Eventually, after the weird kids walked through the middle of the family's campsite a few more times, the cute wife got annoyed enough that she confronted them. The dialogue went something like this:

Wife: Have you kids ever been camping before?
Weird Kid: Mmmhmmmumble.
Wife: Well when you're camping, it's not polite to walk through other people's campsites. It's like walking into someone's house without being invited. So from now on, just go around, okay?
Weirdys: Okay!

Obviously, the cute wife needs to work on her lecturing skills, because Weirdy #1 and Weirdy #2 continued to walk through the campsite. However, they did begin to dart into the woods whenever they saw her coming, so perhaps she had some small effect on their psyches.

The story ends with a group of about 10 noisy kids of all ages crashing through the woods and running around the family's tents and through the campsite, for no observable reason, upon which the cute husband and cute grandpa got a bunch of ropes and straps out of the van and cordoned off the entire area. The cute little family then became known as the anti-social grouches but enjoyed their trip nonetheless. The End.     

Selective Life Chronicling

I had to explain to my husband today the concept of selective life chronicling. Calvin and Hobbes first introduced me to this great idea. It's basically editing your past so other people view your life the way you want them too. I'm not just talking about untagging yourself from unflattering Facebook photos. This involves throwing away embarassing old mementos and bad poems, donating all the crappy books you own to Goodwill, crossing out key lines in your journal--maybe even ripping out whole pages. I personally don't go as far as Calvin and make stuff up...I just leave parts out, you know? This might seem wrong to some people, but there's a fine line between letting those who come after you learn from your mistakes and letting them feel free to follow in your footsteps. (The whole, "I-saw-a-General-Authority-doing-Insert a controversial topic of your choice here-so-it-must-be-okay" Syndrome.) Back to sorting!

The Gadarene Swine Law

I didn't work in Corporate America for very long. I was a lowly publishing intern tasked with catching minute typographical errors while obsessed with thoughts of the man who would one day become my husband. Let's just say it was hard to concentrate on work sometimes. Though I soon left my job to go back to school and marry Austin, I did leave with a few new insights into life and other people. (Mostly from eavesdropping on Marketing and reading crazy manuscipts that people would send in.)

 Today I was reading through some notes I had jotted down during my days there, and came across the Gadarene Swine Law. The "Gadarene Swine" part is, of course, in reference to Jesus casting devils into pigs, who promptly committed suicide by flinging themselves into the ocean. The GSL goes something like this: Just because a group is in formation does not mean that the group is going in the right direction. I think this could easily apply to family life or work. Don't get swept along into the ocean with the pigs, even if you all look like you know what you're doing. People might assume that you're going the wrong way because you're not jumping into the ocean with everyone else. Ignore them. Etc.

I'm sure there are lots of deep metaphors hidden in the Gadarene Swine Law, but the most important reason to remember it is so you can impress people by throwing it into your next conversation. "I think this is a classic example of the Gadarene Swine Law. You don't know what the Gadarene Swine Law is?" Then you get to shake your head and look superior. Trust me, it'll make your day.

The Staff of Life

I, the Happy Homemaker, have had a little too much time on my hands with the Handsome Hubby gone, so I decided to make some delicious whole wheat bread. It sure smelled good, but let's just say that there's a reason white flour was invented. Ever seen About a Boy?



Bad Idea, Boy Scouts

Yesterday my husband sent me an email that he knew would annoy me. It was a link to a news article about the aggressive donation-soliciting techniques of the Boy Scouts, and how the money from Friends of Scouting doesn't go to your local troop, but to pay the high salaries of administrators. I don't know how much of this article is just yellow journalism, but it is true that I've been annoyed by the Boy Scouts in the past.

 In our old church ward (very beloved, much missed) the Boy Scouts would shut us in the Relief Society room once a year and ask us all to write checks to them for overpriced popcorn; they would then recieve "over 70 percent!" of the proceeds. When everyone around you is feverishly writing checks to buy popcorn, it's hard not to whip out your checkbook too. Planned peer pressure, anyone? I always wondered why I couldn't just write a check to the troop, so they could recieve 100 percent of the money. I think the second counselor told me some sketch reason once, but I don't remember it. Can you say "popcorn conspiracy reaching to the highest levels?"

Pet peeve number two. How about the Scouts actually working for their money, like, say, the young women of the church? Are we not-so-subtly prioritizing one gender over another? Conversely, are we saying that the teenage girls are capable of earning money for their outdoor activities (car washes, garage sales, hosted dinners for camp) while the Young Men are not similarly hard-working and intelligent? Think about it, people. Think about it.

That being said, there is one fund-raiser done by the Scouts which I think is a great idea, and that's the one where you pay money for the Scouts to put a flag on your lawn for patriotic holidays, then take it down afterwards. It is something people want, and it involves actual effort on the part of the Scouts. Plus it actually has something to do with the mission and ideology of the Boy Scouts. Unlike popcorn.

Storytime

One last story from Marco Polo--I think you could use the basic story and write a book about this woman:

“You must know, then, that king Kaidu had a daughter named, in the Tartar language, Aigiarm, which means shining moon. This damsel was so strong, that there was no young man in the whole kingdom who could overcome her, but she vanquished them all. Her father the king wished to marry her; but she declined, saying, that she would never take a husband till she met with some gentleman who should conquer her by force, upon which the king, her father, gave her a written promise that she might marry at her own will. She now caused it to be proclaimed in different parts of the world, that if any young man would come and try strength with her, and should overcome her by force, she would accept him for her husband. This proclamation was no sooner made, than many came from all parts to try their fortune.

 The trial was made with great solemnity. The king took his place in the principal hall of the palace, with a large company of men and women; then came the king's daughter, in a dress of cendal, very richly adorned, into the middle of the hall; and next came the young man, also in a dress of cendal. The agreement was, that if the young man overcame her so as to throw her by force to the ground, he was to have her for wife; but if, on the contrary, he should be overcome by the king's daughter, he was to forfeit to her a hundred horses. In this manner the damsel gained more than ten thousand horses, for she could meet with no one able to conquer her, which was no wonder, for she was so well-made in all her limbs, and so tall and strongly built, that she might almost be taken for a giantess.

 At last, about the year 1280, there came the son of a rich king, who was very beautiful and young; he was accompanied with a very fine retinue, and brought with him a thousand beautiful horses. Immediately on his arrival, he announced that he was come to try his strength with the lady. King Kaidu received him very gladly, for he was very desirous to have this youth for his son-in-law, knowing him to be the son of the king of Pamar; on which account, Kaidu privately told his daughter that he wished her on this occasion to let herself be vanquished. But she said she would not do so for anything in the world.

Thereupon the king and queen took their places in the hall, with a great attendance of both sexes, and the king's daughter presented herself as usual, and also the king's son, who was remarkable no less for his beauty than for his great strength. Now when they were brought into the hall, it was, on account of the superior rank of the claimant, agreed as the conditions of the trial, that if the young prince were conquered, he should forfeit the thousand horses he had brought with him as his stake. This agreement having been made, the wrestling began; and all who were there, including the king and queen, wished heartily that the prince might be the victor, that he might be the husband of the princess. But, contrary to their hopes, after much pulling and tugging, the king's daughter gained the victory, and the young prince was thrown on the pavement of the palace, and lost his thousand horses. There was not one person in the whole hall who did not lament his defeat.

After this the king took his daughter with him into many battles, and not a cavalier in the host displayed so much valour; and at last the damsel rushed into the midst of the enemy, and seizing upon a horseman, carried him off to her own people.”

The Boob Tube

Why does my mother call it that sometimes? I don't know, but I'm afraid to google it. My best guess is that back in the day a boob was a ridiculous person, not a woman's body part. My mother thinks that watching television turns your brain into mush, televisions used to have tubes, (also a female body part btw) etc., etc., hence the "boob tube." I digress. The major topic of interest here is...obituaries.

Am I the only person out there that enjoys reading obituaries? I'm not a macabre sort of person, I just like perusing these mini-biographies. Not much information beyond basic facts=grouchy old person with not much family left. Really super long obituary=rich person with lots of civic leadership experience. Obituary with picture of person looking young and attractive in 1950 + present-day picture of old wrinkly person=sobering reminder that looks don't last.

Just a small sampling, of course. I was thinking about the big picture of life (a dangerous pastime) and decided to cut out most TV. I have two reasons for this.  1). Thomas S. Monson, LDS prophet, said recently: "Many movies and television shows portray behavior which is in direct opposition to the laws of God," he said. "Do not subject yourself to the innuendo and outright filth which are so often found there." God's straightforward commandment to you or plain old good advice, whether you believe Monson is a prophet or not.  2). I really like watching TV. Who doesn't? (Other than my mother.) I don't watch shows with outright filth and I avoid innuendo. But I really don't want my obituary to read: She spent her free time watching reality television. I want to be remembered for way cooler things than that.

What do you want your obituary to say? Here's an example, so as not to end on a somber and life-changing note. RIP, Bob Jones. He died in his sleep with a serene smile on his face...unlike his passengers, who were yelling and screaming in terror. 

Back in Business

In some ways, I still feel like I'm recovering from our summer road trip. (The culminating moment of which was probably Austin being named Guest of the Day in Scranton.) Life has just been rolling forward as it seems to do, and I have managed to survive the loss of our computer. (It got dropped one too many times.) I have also been going a little crazy. These two things might be related. Anyway, I've missed blogging. I'm back!

ASBC: Karl Maeser and Small Children



What is the connection here? First, a short story from Messer Polo.

 

Polo travels to a place with an interesting law: "If application for payment shall have been repeatedly made by a creditor, and the debtor puts him off from time to time with false promises, the forfeiter may attach his person by drawing a circle around him, from whence he dare not depart until he has satisfied his creditor, either by payment, or by giving adequate security. Should he attempt to make his escape, he renders himself liable to the punishment of death, as a violater of the rules of justice." (291)

Marco Polo is apparently an eyewitness to a foreign merchant, to whom the king of the country owes money, drawing a circle around the king and his horse while they are out riding one day. (Presumably the horse was standing still for a moment.) The king saw that he had been circled and refused to move until the debt was paid; all the bystanders marvelled at how great the king was for submitting to his own laws of justice.

Back to the title. Remember that Karl Maeser quote about the chalk circle? Not so original after all. Also, I have been having a surprisingly great yet busy time this week watching various small relatives. But I was sure wishing I could draw a circle around my nephew and leave him there after he jumped back into the bathtub with his pajamas on. (You owe me the five minutes of my life I spent wrestling you into those pajamas!)

ASBC: Marco Polo Confusion

The Anti-Social Book Club meets!

First off, I have issues with introductions to biographies--if the book can be summed up in 10 pages why read the book? Anyway, Komroff's introduction started getting long and pointless, and there was a prologue after that, so I skipped the last part of the introduction and the entire prologue. It's a big book, you know. I felt like I was wasting time. I went back at the end and read it just so I could say I read the whole thing, and the prologue was actually good. Point: Do we really need an introduction and a prologue?

So. Marco Polo. I didn't get the sense that Polo was writing for a desperate housewife who likes to read interesting travelogues, but instead for a businessman who likes to read facutal descriptions of business opportunities. I will expound. Polo's descriptions can be divided into two main categories. Business: because Marco Polo talks a lot about the local spices, wares, products, etc., that would be good for resale, and man: because Polo also likes to delve into the sexual habits of the local idolaters. In a very factual way, of course. Maybe it loses something in the translation, or maybe Komroff was right, that Polo doesn't really have a sense of humor or a poetic mind.  Anyway, a simultaneously boring and interesting read, due to the whole businessman thing.

Feel free to comment. More thoughts to come.

Google Stress

Dear Google:

Please stop coming up with new things. I just checked my email and now I have 5 different styles of inboxes I can try. Also, you have started marking some emails as important for me without my consent and introduced Google+ that I need to investigate because all the cool people are doing it. Too much work. May I suggest that your employees have too much time on their hands? Not all of us want to spend half our day using various Google thingamajiggers. 

Sincerely,
Me

Road Trip Madness

Here I am in Omaha, Nebraska, one week and 4350 miles after I left home...942 to go tomorrow.  I have seen more of God's green country in this past week than I have in the past two years. Austin and I really liked the northern parts of Ohio, Pennsylania, and New York. We might move there someday.

Recap Part A:We saw a lot of church history sites. We saw Niagara Falls and Scranton, PA.  We went to the Nauvoo Temple. We had multi-generational bonding and multi-generational fighting over directions and multi-generational driving in circles around small towns trying to find our way out. We survived a massive storm that felled trees around us. We saw Amish people.

Recap Part B: I am really really sick of road trips and I'll never do this again with small children. I will sit in my living room and stare at the mountains for 5 days and then maybe, just maybe, I will take a very small drive to visit my parents.

Another Talk about Faith

Faith...we hear a lot about it. During a church lesson last Sunday, the teacher talked about how after her first husband died of an illness, she thought for a long time that it was her fault--she just hadn't had enough faith to save him. Wow! That really got me to question what I believe about faith. I don't know how much the Lord interferes in the workings of a fallen world--I know He lets the rain fall on the just and the unjust (Matthew 5:45), that He lets life happen. However, I also know He can change outcomes for us.

This past week I read a letter from my cousin Sarah talking about what she's learned about faith from her mission. She said:

"I've learned that faith isn't manufacturing belief in some particular outcome. It is trust and belief in Christ, it is judging him faithful who has promised. Faith is in the Lord, not in an event. With faith, we can and do what the Lord needs us to do, and we can have the confidence to ask for what needs to happen and the Lord will show his power for our good. Miracles happen, I have never seen them change the behavior of a person, but it is nice to receive the help that we need in response to faith."

I agree with Sarah. Faith is not so much believing that the Lord will get us that job, help us sell a house, or heal our illness. (If I just believe hard enough, it will happen!) Faith is believing that whatever happens, the Lord will cause all things to work together for our good. (Romans 8:28)

Homeschool Summer To-do List

Saw this at my parents' house...made me laugh. Such a typical summer to-do list for homeschoolers. I especially liked the last item on the list.

School options for Sammy have been on my mind this year. I really want her to do preschool a couple days a week, just to play and get social time, but I don't know if we can afford it. Mom brought up that I could do Joy School, or a preschool co-op, but I don't want to be social, I just want Sammy to be. I don't know if I'm that lady that organizes all the moms for stuff like that, and I have no idea who in our neighborhood I would even ask to do it with me. We just moved here a few months ago, and I really haven't clicked with anyone yet.

Also, I was thinking that I probably won't homeschool my kids. I really like structure and routine, and one of the most attractive things about homeschool is the freedom of it all. The freedom to explore whatever interests you, go on crazy roadtrips and fieldtrips when all the other kids are behind a chain link fence in the schoolyard, set your own schedule, and condense 7 drawn-out hours of school into 2. If I homechooled my kids I would probably be very structured, thus missing the point.

Of course, I have no idea how the public school system really functions. Maybe I'll hate sending my kids to school and decide to keep them home. Maybe I'll send my kids to public school and feel guilty the rest of my life for doing it, because all I heard growing up was how great homeschool was, and how unlucky those poor public school kids were.

Note to self: maybe you should take it one thing at a time and decide what to do with the preschool situation.

Rainbow Pop

Can you spot the picture that is not like the others?

Why don't they make outfits like these for adults? I think it might be impossible to be sad while you are wearing rainbow stripeys.

Feathered Fiends

I have met the enemy, and they are Chickens. They make me nervous. Ever since my cousins and I tenderly raised a chicken from a teeny little egg to a cute fluffy chick named Percy to a killer bantam rooster with death in his eye who liked to spur and stab our legs til we durst not stir from the farmhouse without waders and a large stick for self-protection, I have had chicken issues.

Tonight my little brother, the chicken-keeper, is off camping so I was left in charge of putting my parents' herd of chickens in the coop for the night. "So how do I get them in, Joseph?" "Oh, they go in by themselves and you just have to close the door," he answered casually. Hmmm. Sounds suspiciously easy.

A few minutes ago I walked up to their fenced-in enclosure and let myself in. One chicken sauntered over to the gate I had opened and positioned herself there in the corner, her beady eyes following me as I ventured deeper into their domain. I hiked up my pajama pants and gingerly tiptoed around the plops of chicken poop. Shouldn't have worn flip-flops. I looked up to find 16 chickens watching me. "Shoo-shoo!" I pathetically flapped at them. A small contingent of younger chickens ran off. Weren't they all supposed to be cozily lined up in their coop? I gazed around and saw the group of younger chickens peering out at me from the shadows beneath the pine tree. Earlier they had probably huddled together in the coop, talking in their secret chicken language about their planned ambush. "The Weak One is left alone to care for us. We will count coup tonight!"

A branch broke and I whirled around. Were they closing in behind me? The chickens all scattered a pace or two and pretended to look at various small objects. I moved back towards the gate. The flock nonchalantly followed me, pausing to sharpen their talons on large rocks laying about. One particularly devious-looking chicken sidled closer to my leg. She seemed to be eyeing the two inches of skin exposed by my hitched-up scrubs. I could see a hungry gleam in her beastly eyes. Flesh! It was time to get the cuss out of there.

Garn One!

Who exactly is this mysterious balding man?

Well, my dear Watson, observe that he is wearing a NASA uniform and is posing with a small spaceship. We can deduce that A) he is really excited about the model rocket he just built or B) he is an astronaut. Actually, this fine, upstanding American is Jake Garn, Republican senator-turned-Astronaut. His extreme nauseousness in space has earned him everlasting fame as the inspiration behind the "Garn Scale," commonly used today at NASA.

"Jake Garn: "For those who don't know, it's a Garn One, Garn Two, Garn Three. It's a measurement of how sick you are."

"Basically, at Garn One, you feel pretty good. Garn Ten, you wish you were dead." (ksl)

It's been a Garn One day, people. I'm feeling good.

Curfew Will Not Ring Tonight!

I took a quiz once that was supposed to tell me whether I was a morning lark or a night owl. I really like taking quizzes, but the results were disappointing. Apparently I am part of a small category of people that are both. I really like staying up late at night. However, I'm really productive in the mornings. (Well, I used to be. My plans for getting up early and accomplishing things fizzle out when my children wake up earlier than 6.) So after the quiz I was no closer to understanding myself and how I work. Very disappointing.

Anyway, on Friday I stayed up late taking care of my children that just would not go to sleep, then I stayed up super late watching Hulu in the bathtub while eating chocolate. Can you tell my husband was gone? (Week 1 of a three week absence. Killer.) Not that I was missing him. In fact, I was pretty mad at him. He wouldn't return my calls and hadn't called me all day. While I was waiting by my phone and wrangling kids, Austin was probably out doing some wild partying with his fellow employees. (Or going out to get cupcakes with them like he did on Wednesday. These finance guys aren't exactly known for their wild partying.) In between my kid wrangling and chocolate eating, I decided that I didn't have to stand for this any more. I shot off an email to Austin about how it worries me when he doesn't call, it's not acceptable, and he should not even try to give me any excuses for his thoughtlessness.

Imagine my surprise when shortly after I went to bed at midnight, I heard a knock at the door. I jumped out of bed and was about to open the door when I thought I had better ask who it was. "Who is it?"

"Me," came a very tired voice. Yes, dear reader, it was my husband, who after hours of flying and one very delayed flight had shown up on our doorstep to surprise me. Note to self: The schedule of an owl and the brain of a lark is a dangerous combination. Perhaps I should have slept on that email.

Early Morning When I Wake Up, I Look Like Kiss

...but without the makeup. I'm a homemaker. What do I do all day? Here's an average day for me.

6:30 am: Cici wakes up, Sammy wakes up, we eat breakfast, read scriptures, get dressed.
7:30 am: Exercise--walk w/ girls or Wii Fit, or just clean up supper from the night before.
8:00 am: Cici down for morning nap, I shower, read books with Sammy, clean up, do prep work for other meals, sometimes Sammy watches a show while I shower (Television, the universal symbol of parenting failure. Oh well.) we listen to music, I check email, blogs, read the online news for the day, and/or work outside on our lawn.
10:00 am: Snack time, Cici wakes up, feed her, play with girls, work on project
du jour (usually sorting something) email people back, make phone calls
11:00 am: Lunchtime!
11:30 am: Naptime for Sammy! Cici and I hang out, I read books or blog
12:00 pm: Cici down for nap, I read scriptures and take a nap (Both vital! A nap is not a luxury!) Sometimes I write in journal or blog, watch a Tivo'd show, or read a book. (Just finished reading Amy Chua's "Tiger Mother." Must be a tougher Mom!) This is my rejuvenation time when both the girls sleep. When this doesn't happen, I get grouchy.
2:30 pm: Both girls wake up around this time. Snack time! We run to the library, grocery store, or park. Dinner prep, last minute tidy up before Austin gets home, I primp a little.
5:00 pm: Supper time!
5:30 pm: Family hang out time, walks, errands, bathtime, play with girls, read books, etc. Sometimes we clean up supper.
6:30 pm: Bedtime prep starts. Cici gets last feeding, girls in jammies, Sammy teeth brushed, songs, prayer. Cici gets plopped in crib; Mom counts Sam's bedtime rountine as part of Cici's.
7:00 pm: Blissful silence, punctuated by Sammy talking to herself and finding excuses to get out of bed.
8:00 pm: Girls more asleep. Mom and Dad hang out, watch tv, read, work on projects, etc.
10:00 pm: Sweet sleep! (unless I'm reading a really good book)

p.s. I noticed that I put exclamation marks for most naps and meals. I guess that's because we really like to eat and sleep

Anti-Social Book Club Road Trip

Did you think we were really leaving the comfort and security of our houses? No, instead we are going to be reading about a road trip! A reeeealllly loooooong road trip. I've been wanting to read Marco Polo for a while. Then I saw him tucked amidst the other travel guides to different countries, which I thought was kind of an odd classification--I would have put him in biographies. So that piqued my interest, but when I opened up the book to find half a stick of wrapped gum inside the deal was sealed. Even if I don't enjoy the book, the pages will smell nice while I read it and I will have excellent breath when I'm done.

I think a translation of Marco Polo will be at most libraries. There are some fictionalized versions of Polo's journey out there, so watch out for those. I think there's also a two-volume translation available by Henry Yule. That sounds a bit too long for a summer read: I would stay away from that. Anyway, my book flap says that "The Travels of Marco Polo" was "chosen as one of the ten best adventure books of all time by National Geographic Adventure." Sounds exciting!

Cops and Ant Exorcism

See this? This is my front door. Austin and I were out in our garage Saturday when our neighbor came over and told us that our front door had been open from Wednesday--Thursday. "Then I called the cops," she said, "Just to make sure no one had broken in or anything. The policeman went in and said no one was home, so he just closed the door." She sounded vaguely disappointed that our family hadn't been found lying murdered in a pool of blood. I explained to her that I had probably forgotten to lock it when we left and the wind must have blown it open.

Austin and I went inside, commenting to each other on how it was kind of freaky that our door was open that long, what a nice neighborhood we live in, etc. "Boy," I said. "I'm glad my house was clean!" Austin looked confused. "You know, for when the cops came over." Austin still looked confused. Perhaps he was wondering why I wasn't glad that our stuff hadn't been stolen or maybe just wondering if our house really had been clean because we had only been home for six hours and it was trashed.

In any case, when the cops come over to your house, you want it to be clean, and my house was clean, baby. It's kind of like if you break your leg and have to go to the hospital you want to have just showered and put clean underwear on. What are the odds? So I was pretty happy about that. I did wonder what the cops (one cop?) thought about the cinammon and corn starch sprinkled around my door and baseboards to repel invading ants. I've moved on to vacuuming them up now. I just felt kind of silly as I threw spices at the wall, like I should be chanting under my breath or yelling "Out, Damned Ants!" If I can vacuum them up faster than they can procreate I think we're good.

A Woman So Heartless

I wish so much of parenting wasn't trial and error. Yesterday I gave Sammy a spank for--(Can't even remember! Ripping up a library book I think, but it could have been something else) I think most parents who spank do it to relieve their anger. I'm opposed to that, so I made sure I was calm and gave her a dispassionate spank, with the intent of teaching her that what I am saying is important! Not sure what I'm teaching her though...she made a super sad face and sobbed, "Don't Hit!" She's done this a few times. While I think that some kids might benefit from a spanking, I've realized that Sammy is not one of them. She's a sensitive little soul. (And really, aren't all small children?)

I'm liking this song. Want to listen?

I Don't Know About You, But This Made My Day!

Resurrection

The hard drive has come back to life. Not sure how, why, or for how long. The bleak reality of life without a computer was setting in and now I have been given a reprieve. Really, what would I do if I didn't have a computer? (Rachael?) There are so many random things I look up during the day, addresses I find, library books I renew. I suspect that I would be a more useful person if I didn't spend so much time on the computer. Then again, I might go crazy.

ASBC: Falling In Love

In Chapter 3, Ariely shares the oragami study. Short recap version: the people who made oragami artwork bid more for their creations than other people bid for them. Significantly more. We value the things we make, to the point where "we mistakenly think that others love our work as much as we do." This is why people will talk about their kids forever and I try not to, because really, does anyone care about my kids as much as I do? Of course not. I worry sometimes about sounding apathetic towards my decision to stay at home to raise my kids. But really, I enjoy saying that no one understands my children better than I do. Not even my husband.

"The effort involved in the building process is a crucial ingredient in the process of falling in love with our creations." I'd say those 9 months + childbirth were a lot of effort. I think that small babies are a lot of effort. I understand why you would look forward to returning back to work outside the home when you have on your hands a baby that sleeps, eats, poops, looks cute for a little while, then goes to sleep again. But I think the effort and service moms give during this time is as important as pregnancy in building a bond with their baby. I imagine it's true during all the formative years when you are creating a decent human being. The more effort you expend in "building" your little creations the more you fall in love with them.

I hope this makes sense because I don't have too much time...the hard drive went out on our computer so blogging may be sporadic. I hope you liked the book...I'll give you the next one in a little while.