ASBC: Sisyphus, Joe, and Chad

The Anti-Social Book Club is in session! (i.e., my book is due back at the library on Friday.)

Anyway, because I don't get a paycheck for the work I do, I liked Ariely's question, "What besides a paycheck confers meaning on work?" I also enjoyed Ariely's retelling of the legend of Sisyphus and his meaningless task. (He rolls a boulder up the mountain, almost to the top, only to see it bounce back to the bottom of the mountain again.) I identify with this doomed man. Laundry, dishes, preparing meals, general cleaning--all Sisyphean tasks.

In many ways, the "work" part of my husband and I's lives are very similar. Austin goes to banks and makes sure they are financially sound and then comes back a year later to do it all over again. I spend much of my day on repetitive tasks, only to wake up the next day and repeat the same tasks. We don't mind what we do. Some days we really like it. (Remember, I'm not talking about the "I-love-my-kids" part of parenting, just the "physical work" part of parenting.)

Remember Joe and Chad in Chapter Two? They both liked building Bionicles, but Chad's get destroyed right after he builds them. Joe builds a little longer, because the experimenters hold on to his Bionicles. Austin and I are a little like Joe and Chad: "Joe could maintain the illusion that his work was meaningful, and so continued to enjoy building his Bionicles. Chad, on the other hand, witnessed the piece-by-piece destruction of his work, forcing him to realize that his work was meaningless." I just had to laugh reading it. It was a perfect description of what happens at my house after I cook a delicious meal or clean--my family takes mere minutes to conduct a "piece-by-piece destruction of my work," eating the meal or spreading toys all over the floor. Perhaps Austin can extract more meaning from his work because his reports don't get ripped up right after he writes them.

So should I give up and stay on the sofa watching soap operas and eating bon-bons all day? Ariely gives me hope: "The translation of joy into willingness to work seems to depend to a large degree on how much meaning we can attribute to our own labor." Unless I provide a greater meaning to dishes, laundry, making meals, and general cleaning, I will become bitter, hopeless, and pessimistic about life. So, here you are: I am doing service, learning to become like Christ, making my home like the temple, providing a nurturing environment, making my home a place my family wants to spend time in, etc. I could add that I'm keeping my family healthy by cleaning, bathing, wiping bums, (kids only) and feeding them nutritious meals. However, the spiritual meanings popped into my head before the physical ones, and as those are the ones that have more of a lasting impact, I should probably focus on those.

More posts on this book coming in the next few days.

Can You Buttle?

A short plug for an enjoyable old movie to watch. This movie had funny physical comedy (Carlo!) and funny dialogue (Five children!). Now you'll have to watch it to get the insider references. It took my mind off of a crying, teething baby, which is a hard thing to do. Granted, it's not Thor: The God of Thunder, but it's still fairly fast-paced and definitely less predictable.

Call Me Ishmael

Privacy on the internet...I'm all for it. But let's be honest, if someone wants to steal my identity they won't scroll through my blog posts collecting nuggets of information in order to do it. (Although I should probably post some vital pieces of misinformation, like "my mother's maiden name was Jensen," and, "all my passwords start with the number 2," just in case.) If someone wants to steal my identity, they'll find me on Facebook. It's the risk I take for the ability to find my college roommates and send them a Christmas card every 5 years.
Anyway, this post is about pseudonyms. I think blogging with pseudonyms can be tastefully done, but if your blog name is something like "I Love Chocolate" and your husband's name is "Snickers," your kids are "Skittles," "Reeses," etc., then you should really tone it down. A lot.
Today my husband asked what his fake name would be if I blogged using fake names. I thought about it for about 15 seconds while I put my baby to bed and came up with "Ahab." For those who love themed names, that would make me the "Great White Whale" that Captain Ahab relentlessly pursues/annoys until the whale bites his leg off. Seeing unexpected parallels, no? I really prefer "Ishmael" though, since I am the narrator of our family life. Then we have our children "Starbuck" and "Stubb." If we ever have an annoying child we will stick him/her with the name Queequeg. And no one will ever ever know who we really are...kind of like Ishmael.

Is it Heredity or Environment?

I'm the normal one, just so you know.

Fun House vs. Cute House

I remember when we were growing up Mom would let us build huge blanket forts. It was super fun. When I got older and stopped making forts and started having to clean the house I would complain to her about what a mess the boys were making building their forts. (Getting older=becoming not fun)

Anyway, based on this and other life experiences, I've realized that you can have a cute and clean house, or you can have a fun house. I don't think you can have both with kids.

My recent example is the bunk bed I put up yesterday in Sammy's room. (All by myself! With 4 small kids running/crawling around!) I was all set to do a cute, girly room for her and Cici with a cute white bunk bed in it, when we found this chunkamunka slide bed in the online classifieds. A slide bed! We knew Sammy would freak out in joy. I knew it wouldn't look cute. Oh well. Sammy loves it. I'm kind of in favor of the "cute and clean" house, but for the rest of her life Sammy will probably remember her fun slide bed that was way too big for her room.

The Anti-Social Book Club

I know, I know...anti-social people don't join clubs, but hear me out.

You know how some people have things? For example, they are awesome cooks, or write science fiction books, or live on a ranch, or homeschool, or take cool pictures, or save the environment? Well, my thing is that I read books. Super amazing, right? But get this. I don't just read books, I read books super fast. Even cooler, I know.

Since my thing is reading, (super fast) it seems logical that I should join a book club. But from listening to other women talk about book clubs, it kind of seems like "Book Club" equals "Excuse for a bunch of women to get together and compare clothes, houses, and refreshments, while inserting something about the book of the month into the conversation if it lags." In short, I would have to be social. And let other people tell me what to read. And feel guilty if I didn't have time to read the book. (Which obviously would never happen since I read super fast.) Anyway, who needs that?

So I'm starting the Anti-Social Book Club. The first book to be read is "The Upside of Irrationality" by Dan Ariely. Why? 1.) My husband wants to read it, and I've always been pleasantly surprised by his book choices. 2.) I've looked at Ariely's blog and he seems like a smart, funny guy. I'm considering adding his blog to my sidebar. 3.) Despite loving the study of English literature, I've always been strangely drawn to behavioral economics. Seriously.

If you don't read it, I'll never know. (The beauty of the Anti-Social Book Club) If you do want to read it, I'm going to post some thoughts on it in a couple weeks and I would love your input. I know you just can't wait!

Crazy Politics

I've found that if headlines have words like "Crazy," "Confessions," or "Crispy" in them, I'm much more likely to read the article. Actually, on further reflection, I think I learned that from Newsies. Anyway, this post is about my political views. My political views are:

...???...

Yep, you read that right. I attribute my strong political views and my ability to freely and intelligently converse about politics to my parents. It's easy to go overboard with the whole "blame the parents for all my weirdness and life problems" thing, but in this case, I think they might agree with me in my assertion that they are to blame for my lack of interest in politics. For some reason, Mom and Dad thought who you voted for was supposed to be a big secret. (Um...isn't the whole point of politics to try to get other people to see things your way?) So we don't really talk about politics in our family. Perhaps because politics = open arguing, and we are more the passive-agressive types.

Now, if you're with my extended family, you can enjoy vigorous arguing with super conservatives and people who are liberal just to annoy the conservatives and independents who annoy everybody, because everybody knows that voting for an independent is the same thing as fence-sitting.

Have I annoyed someone reading this? Good. I think I'm ready to venture into politics.

There's No Place Like Gnome

I mean, home. Sorry, I just had to use this picture of our cute little Travelocity gnome. Our Costco gnome got stolen from the yard of our Montana home...or did he leave for a gnome convention somewhere? We'll never know.

So I was really excited about grad school but I never felt peaceful about it. You know when you feel good about something and everything just comes together? Well it wasn't happening. Which is sad, because I really wanted to feel good about it--it makes so much sense to go to grad school now. I also explored my other options, such as online school, night school, part-time school, community college, etc. Not happening. I guess my babies need me. Not Cool Degree Mom, but just plain old Awesome Mom.

Was there a point to all this soul-searching anguish that I went through? I think so. I was planning on putting all this work, energy, and time into getting ready for grad school and then dominating it once I got in. Do I put even a fifth of that effort into nurturing and teaching my kids and making my home a house of God? Sadly, no. But now that I've realized that I can do better I can work on it. I kept hearing all these quotes that applied to my situation (God: Helloooo?) but this one from Women's Conference was one of my favorites:

"Sister Beck also said that women often ask her questions about whether to work outside the home. In many places, she pointed out, if women don’t work, they don’t eat. So that question may be the wrong one. A more appropriate question, she said, is this: 'Am I aligned with the Lord’s vision of me and what He needs me to become?'"

Catch the vision, Noni. Live up to your potential. Be more creative in the ways you find fulfillment as a person and a mother.

Well, I've managed to work in a picture of a gnome, pep-talked myself, and put words in God's mouth. Another successful blog post.

She Hath More Hair than Wit

Ah, Shakespeare. Thou art so quotable. This past week or two I've been very distracted with thoughts of going to graduate school. On our insurance I was listed as "homemaker/house person." House person? I don't want to be a plain old house person. I'm smart! I'm talented! I have a lot to offer the world! !!!

The exclamation mark is highly overused these days ---Love, Your Smart and Slightly Pretentious English Major

Pros: I love to learn, I would become more employable, gain teaching experience, have a better fallback if something should happen to Austin, become a more interesting person, take advantage of having a grad school close and my parents to help out.

Cons: A lot less time with hubby, an incredible amount of work, stress stress stress, it would be a while before we had more kids, I would have less time at home with the kids.

Looking at this list, it kind of seems like Grad school would be good for me, bad for my family. But then I tell myself, what if I need to get a job someday? Then my previously-acquired education would be good for my family.

I try not to go overboard on the poetry. But this is one of my favorites:

"The Choosing" by Liz Lochhead

We were first equal Mary and I
with the same coloured ribbons in mouse-coloured hair
and with equal shyness
we curtseyed to the lady councillor
for copies of Collins’s Children Classics.
First equal, equally proud.

Best friends too Mary and I
a common bond in being cleverest (equal)
in our small school’s small class.
I remember
the competition for top desk
or to read aloud the lesson
at school service.
And my terrible fear
of her superiority at sums.

I remember the housing scheme
Where we both stayed.
The same house, different homes,
where the choices were made.

I don’t know exactly why they moved,
but anyway they went.
Something about a three-apartment
and a cheaper rent.
But from the top deck of the high school bus
I’d glimpse among the others on the corner
Mary’s father, mufflered, contrasting strangely
with the elegant greyhounds by his side.
He didn’t believe in high school education,
especially for girls,
or in forking out for uniforms.

Ten years later on a Saturday —
I am coming home from the library —
sitting near me on the bus,
Mary
with a husband who is tall,
curly haired, has eyes
for no one else but Mary.
Her arms are round the full-shaped vase
that is her body.
Oh, you can see where the attraction lies
in Mary’s life —
not that I envy her, really.

And I am coming from the library
with my arms full of books.
I think of the prizes that were ours for the taking
and wonder when the choices got made
we don’t remember making.

The Ceiling

Our garage ceiling is leaking under the upstairs bathroom. I know it's going to be a big fix.

Need stress relief for your problems?

The Sistine Chapel

Guardians of Wisdom

I'm beginning to realize that librarians don't like people. In fact, I strongly suspect that most librarians devoutly wish that the hoi polloi who insist on checking out books would depart and leave them in peace to enjoy their perfectly organized shelving system. But, if pressed, they will patiently bear with the ugsome public. (As long as they can keep the self check out machines to avoid actual interaction with the philistines.)

Can you tell that I was involved in an altercation at the library the other day? For a while I have been mildly annoyed by the library signs that imply that we patrons, like the bronze chickens that for some mysterious reason are scattered about the library, have no idea what we're doing in a public building. "We Cannot Hear You Through the Glass. Please Go to the Counter for Assistance." "Please Do Not Pull Your Reciept Out Too Quickly." "Please Don't Check Out Any Books--We Hate Reshelving Them."

Despite taking a dim view of our general intelligence, librarians seem to think that there are a few evil geniuses among us. For example, to get back my lost library card I need an I.D. Some criminal mastermind might deduce that I lost my library card and then impersonate me to get it back. Really? Come on, people. The only reason I would be asking for my lost library card would be if I was the person that had lost it!

Stupid policies irk me. I complained to two different people, going as far to say I was getting a "TSA vibe" from them. I got my own back when the tight-lipped supervisor (How dare you question my stupid policy, you plebian worm!) told me that most people drove to the library and therefore had a driver's licence on them so it wasn't a big deal to show it. I think she missed the point. It's not that it's a hard policy to follow, it's a stupid policy to follow! Librarians are supposed to be smart!

And yet, like the bronze chickens, I enjoy hanging out at the library. I also enjoy checking things out from the library. So I humbly went back out to the car to get my I.D. Criminal activity successfully thwarted. Huzzah!

"Sylvester, or the Wicked Uncle"

When I'm not busy reading thrilling news stories about Kate Middleton's face on a jellybean, I like to pick up a Georgette Heyer novel. She writes smart, clean romances a la Jane Austin, set in the Regency Period. Yesterday Austin sent Sammy to get him some reading material for the bathroom, and she came back with "Sylvester, or the Wicked Uncle." He started to read it, because really he had no other choice, and ended up "caught in a book." This is a phrase I use to describe what happens when you start reading a book and can't stop. You neglect your duties and ignore your significant others and stay up way too late to finish it. Austin stayed up until 3:30 when he most likely remembered that our children wake up at 6 a.m. and he was scheduled to leave for St. George in four hours. Poor guy. I know he wanted to finish the book last night--he'll probably be trying to read and drive at the same time.

I usually find Georgette Heyer books at thrift stores since many are old and out of print, but recently Harlequin has picked them up and started republishing them. I am grateful more people are starting to appreciate them--but let's be honest, the name Harlequin does give them a lurid air. Librarians have started moving them from the fiction section to the romance section in the library, which is kind of an embarassing section to be getting books from. Also, Harlequin has best-selling authors write forewords for Heyer's books, which consist of a recap of the whole book. Way to ruin the story! Don't read the forewords if you find newer editions of her books.

"The Grand Sophy" is still my favorite of her novels, but "Sylvester" is quite the hilarious read as well. If you get tired of reading about famous people's faces being found in weird places, brave the romance section and take a chance on Georgette Heyer.

Family Reunion Fun

This year my mom's family is doing a handcart trek in Wyoming for their reunion. In a culture where people like to bring up cool stories about their pioneer ancestry, perhaps there is a certain cachet to reinacting the Martin Handcart Company's well-known tale of tragedy, starvation, and exposure. But for a family reunion? Please can't we bond over a beach barbeque instead of grueling hardship for once? Please?

A Day Out for the Ladies

The other day I got to hang out with 2 of my favorite cousins, KR and Moe. Though in the past we have participated in various exploits such as secret-fort building, skinny-dipping, and skydiving, we decided to tone it down a bit and wander around the local expo center signing up for as many free things and prize drawings as humanly possible. (And yet we managed not to win anything...)

A Few of My Favorite Things:

KR angering people by not buying their stuff. First was the ill-mannered blonde hairdresser who only straightened half of KR's hair because she wouldn't buy a $125 hair straightener. Also the massage man who (jokingly?) threatened to call security after KR likened his massage tool to a sander. (Well it did look like one.) And let's not forget the eyeliner lady who was giving out "free samples" which turned out to be her drawing on KR's arm with various colors of eyeliner. She looked a bit miffed when KR wouldn't buy her $30 eyeliner.

Free facials by a beauty school set up on-site. Mine involved an LED light being run over my face and various lotions with fancy environmental names being applied after that.

The Trendy Announcer who announced that "Mandy has been coming to the What a Women Wants Show for 38 years and has never won anything, so today she gets an Ambush Makeover!" After we all looked at Mandy and realized that she was only around 30 years old, Ms. Trendy Announcer realized her gaffe and started making up an elaborate story about how "Mandy" was a 300-year-old vampire and didn't look like she could possibly be over thirty, ha ha, etc. Deliciously awkward.

Catching up on gossip.

Yak Saks

The Ugliest Phone

http://shopping.yahoo.com/articles/yshoppingarticles/576/13-ugliest-phones-of-the-mobile-era/

According to this article, I have one of the 13 ugliest phones out there. (I own the Kin on the right) I admit, the touch screen/keyboard thing is awkward, it isn't very intuitive to use, and it sucks battery like no one's business. But come on! It folds up into a cute little square! Little=cute. Everybody knows that.

Decorating Dilemma

Someone out there help me....I want to decorate Sammy's room but I'm not sure what to do with it. It gets super cold when it's cold outside and super warm when the sun's out. So what color to paint it? You can't tell from the pics but it's a peachy brown right now. I want it to be girly but not painted pink. Maybe yellow with lots of white, lacy, pearly accessories. Following are some pics. Cool alcove... Keeping white dresser... Bed won't fit where crib is... Closet in way of putting bed there...

" I'm cute, hold me!!!"

I've measured the room and I'm not sure where to put a bed. A twin bed will not fit down in the alcove or where the crib is. Sammy and Felicity will be sharing this room for a while, so perhaps a bunk bed or a trundle turned parallel to the window? I found someone who makes bed frames for cheaper than you can buy them, so I could customize it pretty easily.

I'm keeping the little white dresser, but the changing table can go out of the room since I don't use it much upstairs. I want this chandelier and maybe curtains for the alcove to create a little secret area.

So, any suggestions? Want to come to my house?

Spa Time With Hubby

We just moved a mountain of boxes and I decided it was time to use our spa certificate for a couples massage to soothe our aching muscles! When I called to set up the appointment, I learned that "Stephen and Deana" would be giving us our massages. Hmm, that sounds like a guy and a girl. I wonder if I should tell Austin. I wonder who should have the guy and who should have the girl. ??? Well, this will only be weird if we make it weird.

The thing about guy massage therapists, (masseurs? masseuses? We'll stick with massage therapist.) is that one tends to wonder what their motives were for going to massage school and becoming massage therapists. I know it's probably unfair to them, since we don't really think about such things with female massage therapists. But really.... Also, one tends to wonder strange things about male massage therapists as they give therapy to your back, such as, I wonder if he shaves his arm hair off?

Anyway, I digress. When we got there, after waiting for several minutes next to the most bored looking six-year-old boy I've ever seen, our massage therapists came to get us and "Stephen" introduced himself as my massage therapist and "Deana" introduced herself as Austin's. One potentially awkward choice avoided. It was relaxing, we both enjoyed it. I think we should go to therapy more often.

Kraken Child

This is my beautiful, sweet, mellow baby who likes to smile and giggle all day long, just hang out with the rest of the family, and even fall asleep for Mom in her car seat every once in a while.

Recently though, whenever she has a poopy diaper or is ready for a nap, she turns into KRAKEN CHILD and starts emitting a sound which I can only compare to what I *imagine* the shrieks of a dying kraken might sound like.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIIiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaakkKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!

Total silence for a few seconds.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIiiiiiiAAAAAAAAWWWWWWKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!

We got a few good glares out of the librarians yesterday.

The View From Here

The Outside View

The Inside View

Note to Self

Note to Self: ALWAYS LOOK IN THE MIRROR BEFORE YOU LEAVE THE HOUSE. That way you will avoid looking in the mirror when you get home and seeing a huge splotch of zit cream on your chin that you forgot to remove. Yeah, all those friendly people at the grocery store, I think they were laughing at me, not with me.