Is it too much to ask to at least widen the road?

I call it the "curve of death." I try to avoid driving on it at all costs, but sometimes it is necessary. I am certain there isn't enough room for two cars to fit side by side. Someone is going to die on that curve. I'm pretty sure it is going to be me.

For this reason, when Heather was learning how to drive, I made her come to a complete stop if another driver was coming the other way. Trust me, it's safer that way. This morning Heather didn't stop, she just slowed down and we crept around the curve of death at 5mph while another car zipped past. I was gripping the side of the car tightly and screaming that we were going to die. But we didn't.

Sarah said the worst is when she stops and the car coming toward her also stops. Two cars paralyzed on the curve of death, too afraid to proceed. It's scary. I can hardly blame them.

Nouns, Pronouns and Verbs...Oh My!

---

Last month, a community college called to see if Brian wanted to teach a six-week Business English class. Well, let's see. He has a degree in Linguistics and a degree in Computer Science and a minor in Music. English? Apparently they were impressed with his credentials, figuring he'd had enough English with his Linguistics degree.

So, this week he is teaching Nouns and Pronouns. He came home fairly discouraged saying that he had successfully taught his class to hate pronouns in ways they never before dreamed possible. I guess his students aren't very enthusiastic...

"Did you show them the clips?" I asked and he nodded. "And it didn't help?" I couldn't believe it. How could anyone watch the "School House Rock" grammar clips and not be excited? It was unbelievable.

One of the dads in Nick's band suggested gathering together a large group of people to run into his class one night. I thought it was a great idea! We could ask if this was the place everyone has been talking about to hear more about nouns and pronouns. Make it seem like such a hot topic, he was drawing crowds of people in from off the street.

I mean how can you not love pronouns? Weren't those School House Rock cartoons on Saturday mornings the greatest things ever? I bought a copy of the DVD for my own kids, I loved them so much... "Conjunction junction, what's your function?..."

It's so exciting I can barely stand it!

Heather is out on her first date right now. I was so excited and nervous as we waited for her date to come and pick her up. I don't know how she felt. I mean, this is my first date, too. As a mom, that is.

Brian, Nick and I all answered the front door. Her date told Heather she looked nice---smooth. Then we all gathered around the window to watch them walk to the car. He opened the door for her---nice. Another brownie point.

As soon as they left, I yelled for Sarah and Anna and we headed for the car. I knew where they were going. It took all of my will-power and some of Sarah's to keep from following them. But how cool would it be to sit behind them in the movie theater? Very cool. We went and got pizza instead. Anna seemed disappointed.

"Don't worry, Anna. For your first date, I'll definitely follow you," I assured her. "Good, I've been looking forward to that," she smiled. "Your first date?" I wondered. "No, to being on a date and seeing you and dad dressed in black following in the car behind me."

We would be there. But probably not dressed in black. Black makes me look fat.

I think I need some more white-out.

Last night we sat around the kitchen table filling out passport applications. Sarah and Heather's had expired and Nicholas and Anna had never had one. Who knew it would be so, well, hard!

"How tall am I?" Anna asked. I went and found a tape measure. It was a really handy tape measure and stopped right at 5 feet. Just a little bit shorter than Anna was. "Shall we put five and a bit?" I wondered. Nicholas was no better. He didn't know how tall he was either. Somehow it didn't seem right to put "tall."

And that was the easy question. Hair color was next. "Anna what would you call the color of your hair?" Is it just me, or should they include a color chart? "It's greasy," Anna replied as her explanation for why I couldn't discern her hair color. "Greasy isn't a color!" Should I just put "Dirty Blonde?" I looked at her hair again---make that "very dirty blonde." We settled on light brown.

Eye color. Gee it just keeps getting better. I decided to put hazel for everyone and they could decide what that meant. Hazel must be code for, "I don't know." Besides, I was including color pictures. If they want to know that everyone looks like---look at the picture!

So the forms are filled out. And now everyone knows how tall they are and what color their hair is. I feel like we got a lot accomplished.

"Is there, like, a reason there's a toad in the bathroom?" Anna called to me. "A What?" I yelled back, getting closer to the door to make sure I heard her correctly.

"A toad. In the bathroom." Yep. That's what I thought she'd said. Anna was surprisingly calm.

Well, let me think. A reason for a toad to be in the bathroom? No, not that I can think of. Unless of course one of the girls have misplaced their prince. I'll have to ask them when they get home from school. He is kind of cute.

And next time I'm sweeping off the porch, I'll keep the door shut.

Can I help you?

Who knew I was so bossy? Okay, everyone else but me. And all this time I thought I was easy going. It's funny how we fool ourselves. In fact, I am convinced that I don't have an opinion or need to do something my way, until I actually see that someone is doing it completely wrong. And I have to intervene. You know---to show them the RIGHT way to do it. My way.

The whole family went to the grocery store last night. It was pretty fun. We walked around the store in one long line. I found the item I wanted, handed it to Sarah, who handed it to Anna, who handed it to---you get the idea. At the check-out I asked which one of the kids had been trained in the proper way to put the food onto the counter. Heather took charge telling the others which food to put where. Heavy items first. Always. This means milk, pop, and then cans. Meat---making sure it doesn't touch anything else. Because that is just gross. Boxed items next and then the frozen food, produce, etc.

As the kids lined up everything the correct way I realized that I am a freak. Not only that, I'm turning my kids into freaks. At least we're organized freaks.

But it doesn't end there. Everywhere I go, I give my opinion on how to do things. At Burger King the girl was trying to change the garbage. She was doing it completely wrong. I stood next to her and walked her through the correct way. Step by step. She was a teenager and gave me a look, that if it hadn't been so important, I would've just left and let her fend for herself.

To name just a few, I recently suggested they change the layout at the gas station mini mart down the street, recommended they create a new drive-thru lane at McDonald's, and have let the city know several times where it would be helpful to have additional stoplights. I know there are people who are hired to make these decisions. If they would just do their jobs, I wouldn't have to do it for them. Although, I probably would anyway.

My back-up plan for reading a map.

We had to drive from the hotel to the University where the quiz bowl competitions were taking place. Brian stayed at the hotel to get some work done, so I was armed with a map and no sense of direction whatsoever. Luckily I decided to rely on a method I've used in the past---with mixed success. I scanned the cars on the road in front of me and found what I was looking for---the car I would follow. Hopefully they were going to the same place I was. Sometimes this method doesn't work out so well and I end up in the completely wrong place. The people in this car, however were all wearing matching red shirts---I was fairly confident they were headed in my direction.

We followed them all the way, right into the parking lot of the University. Yes! They got out of their car and I rolled down my window. "Do you know which building the quiz bowl competition is in?" I asked them. The driver laughed. "We've been lost all day, we don't know where we're going." When I told them that I had followed them over here from our hotel they thought that was the funniest thing ever. I thanked them and waved goodbye. I saw some more cars ahead and decided to see if they knew where to park.

"Do you know where you are going?" I yelled out my window at the next group of people we passed. They looked at me like I was a complete idiot. "Of course we do." They were carrying boxes with buzzers for the competition. I hurried up and parked the car---we needed to follow the buzzers!

Winding through the campus some of the kids were worried we wouldn't be able to find our car at the end of the day. "Don't worry," I told them. "We'll find someone we can follow."

A little too smart for my taste.

We went to Washington, D.C. for National Quiz Bowl competitions this weekend. Early on the first morning, we walked through the hotel on our way to breakfast. Apparently there were several other teams staying in the same hotel. We couldn't help checking out the competition. My husband and I would whisper and point at the kids walking down the hallway: "He looks smart." We tried to figure out the best way to gauge the "smartness" of the other teams. We came up with a few ideas for the best indicators.

1. White socks with black shoes.
2. Wearing a backpack with both straps (and the bigness thereof).
3. Notes for last minute trivia cramming.
4. Teams with matching unibrows.

Heather was offended because she wears her backpack with both straps. It only means that she is smart.

When I walked around between rounds, the kids were always talking about things you don't normally hear teenagers talking about. Things like their calculators, Pokemon, and which US president they think could win in a street fight (the top choices were Taft and Eisenhower).

In the end, it all came down to who knew the most stuff. Our team was smart, we just knew the answers to the wrong questions. They were determined not to come in last and they didn't. But it was close.

I recomit myself to being faithful.

How could I have ever doubted you. You stuck by me---even through the biggest messes (and some of them were pretty messy.) Never complaining, even when I ignored you for long periods of time. Then, at the first sign of trouble, I immediately think it's time to replace you. I trolled the Internet looking for something newer. Something better. It was wrong. I admit it was a weakness on my part.

When at last I decided to give you a second chance, I found we could fix our problems. But I fear the damage has been done. Will you ever forgive me? You can hardly blame me for being so skeptical---critical and quick to judge. I've been hurt in the past and it isn't easy to trust anymore.

It really is difficult to find a reliable vacuum cleaner these days. But I think you are the one.

My house looks so clean and I'm so organized it's amazing.

Even though we don't have monthly service anymore, we still have our DISH hooked to the side of the house. Every month we get free preview channels. Last night I was home alone and decided to check out our channels (yes, both of them). For a long time we've had some real snoozers, so it's been a while since anyone has watched television. The Women's Channel. We had that last month. It was free and we still didn't want to watch it. How many different shows about weddings can there be? No thanks.

Anyway, I discovered that this month we have the Style Channel and last night there were continuous episodes of "Clean House." I've never seen it before, but I sat there enthralled for 3 hours, watching show after show. I finally figured out what was so great about the show. It showed all the dirtiest houses across the United States and how they got rid of most the junk.

Now matter how messy my house can get, it's still so much cleaner than any of the houses on the show. That show was the best self-esteem boost I've had in a long time. I felt so good about my housekeeping skills after watching that show! I complain about my clutter, but apparently I don't have a clutter problem.

I'm sure this wasn't the purpose of the show---to lull me into a false sense of complacency. It was more likely supposed to inspire me to want to clean my own house and declutter my life. Sadly it didn't have that effect. I was just so tickled that my house was so clean that I have no desire to do, well, anything.

And this is why I don't watch TV.

So sorry, hope I just didn't make things worse.

My husband thinks my blog makes him look bad. I was flabbergasted that he could think such a thing! It really was never my intention at all. He amuses me. Maybe I share too much. So in an effort to ease his hurt feelings and atone for my unfeeling actions, I'll see what I can do.


Reasons why I have the best husband ever:


1. He puts up with all my erratic moods. Every day it's my gift to him. He never knows just how I'll be feeling each morning when I wake up----happy, silly, or...ticked off for no apparent reason. See, he really is a saint.


2. He knows when not to say anything. Like when I had the roast in the crock pot cooking all day only to realize at 5pm that I'd forgotten to plug the darn thing in. Brian sat down at the table to a plate of potatoes, beans, bread, and apples. Never once did he mention the lack of a main dish. Even though it was very obvious, no matter how I tried to arrange the food on the plate.


3. He calls me everyday from work, on his way home from work, and when he's not at work. I like to think it's because he misses me:)

4. He thanks me every Tuesday for his clean towel in the bathroom.

5. He doesn't get mad when I use his toothbrush. He used to get confused when he would find his toothbrush wet before he even used it---until one day he caught me using it. I don't use his on purpose, sometimes I just get distracted and grab the wrong one.

6. He can keep the kids entertained with only a paperclip and a rubber band for an entire sacrament meeting. It's true. I've seen him do it.

7. He sings hymns using his "Yoda" voice. How cool is that.

8. He doesn't get mad if I eat all the chunks from the ice cream. Even though clearly, they are the best part.

9. He cleans the cat box. For this reason alone I am one lucky gal.

10. He stays up all night on Christmas Eve waiting for Santa because he's too excited to sleep.

It's nice to know someone is thinking about me.

I feel cruddy. Sore throat, headache and my body aches. I couldn't sleep at all last night. Brian understands, he felt the same way on Friday. He insists I stay home from church and sleep. I don't argue.

I am finally falling asleep. I hear something. My brain is fuzzy, but I figure it out---the phone is ringing. The answering machine can get it. Then I remember Nicholas has a band practice at our house at 2pm and at 5pm there is a something at the school. What if something is canceled. I groan and sit up. The phone is gone. Why is the phone is always missing?

It's on the second ring, if I hurry I can still catch it before the answering machine picks it up. I run downstairs. I'm dizzy, out of breath, and look down to see I've just stepped in cat throw up. But I've found the phone.

"Hello?"I squeak as loudly as I can into the phone. "Hi!"---It's Brian, it must be between meetings at church---"I'm just calling to see if you were able to get to sleep." He's thoughtful like that.

Age is relative.

I got some new tennis shoes yesterday. I was walking through the mall and there they were. My size and on sale. It's really not hard to shop for myself. I'm easy like that. This morning I put on my new shoes.

"You can't wear those shoes," my daughter informed me. I can't? "They're new," I told her, striking a pose so she could admire them.

"But no one over the age of 20 can wear shoes like that," she insisted. Funny. No one at the store mentioned this to me when I bought them. Undaunted, I wore them anyway. I guess I'm learning all sorts of new things: I'm not supposed to wear Converse tennis shoes even if they are my size and on sale.

My daughters were talking the other day and said that they were the only 2 girls in their class. "Except your teacher," I added. "She doesn't count," one of them said. Right. Because once you get old you lose your gender. I didn't know that either. Hopefully they'll tell me when I'm too old to learn new things. Apparently there is so much I still don't know.

Did you just say what I think you said?

Brian and I are snuggling on the couch. He leans in and kisses me. "It's barely even noticeable," he whispers. "What's barely noticeable?" I ask confused, pulling away from him.

"The zit on your nose. It was huge this morning---but now I can barely even tell it's there," he mentions this casually as he tries to scoot back next to me again.

Hello. Do I need to mention that I'm done snuggling? Because all I can think about is the zit on my nose. The worst part is, before now, I didn't even realize I had a zit on my nose. Thanks a lot.

A walking freak show.

The scouts had their fundraising yard sale last weekend. I helped to get things set up and put several "unmentionables" in the trash. I figured no one wanted to buy used underwear, etc. Walking past one of the tables a little later, I noticed that someone had taken the stuff I'd thrown away out of the trash and put them back onto the table. Ugh! I went back to re-throw them away.

A group of men turned to look at me and ask about a price the second I picked up a humongous hot pink lacy bra. Of course. It always happens this way, doesn't it? And there is no way to hide the fact that I'm holding a super-sized bra that probably glows in the dark. So, I smile and say, "I guess it isn't my size."

It always seems I find myself doing stupid stuff like this. Unfortunately one of the men also saw me in another embarrassing situation. I think of it as the "library incident." Actually, I try not to think about it.

I was in the church library looking for a picture. I bent down and stood up quickly and whoosh! Faster than you could say "wardrobe malfunction" my skirt was around my ankles. Later the man who was unfortunate enough to be with me at the time pulled me aside and assured me, "I was NEVER in the library. I Never saw anything." I think he was more traumatized than I was. And I was pretty traumatized. I think I wore a safety pin at the top of my skirt for extra added security for several weeks after the incident...

I wish I could figure out why some people seem more prone to witness my off moments. It's too bad I can't spread them out evenly for everyone to enjoy, rather than a select few who must think I'm the biggest freak show on earth.

Some days you can't win...

I went to the bank to cash a check. "Hey, where's my money?" I asked, looking at the receipt the cashier handed me.

The cashier giggled and then replied, "Oops, I'm having a bad day." She gave me my money and I left.

Hmmm. I think if you work at a bank, your bad day can't include forgetting to give someone their money. I'm just saying...but hey, maybe it's just me.

And perhaps it is just me. I left the bank and went to Burger King. I had to pick up Sarah and have her lunch across town by 11:00 to get her back to school in time. I'd called and Burger King started serving lunch at 10:30 so I figured it would work out perfectly. (McDonald's lunch starts at 10:45 in case you ever need to know.)

I pulled into the drive-thru at 10:29, quite pleased with myself. When I told them what I wanted to order, the voice on the intercom informed me that it would be a while before they were serving lunch. "I can wait a minute," I replied patiently. "Our clocks are 15 minutes slow," the voice replied.

Huh? Basically they were serving lunch then at the same time as McDonald's, right? I left.

So if my girls are princesses, does that mean I'm queen? Just wondering...

Not heartless, just misunderstood.

Tonight I babysat for my friend. She called several girls but couldn't find a babysitter. It's a busy time of year. It was okay. Everyone else at my house was going to be gone anyway and it just gave me a good excuse to put off working on my lesson for church tomorrow.

She was very grateful that I was babysitting and brought me a plate of cookies to show her appreciation. After she left, her son saw the cookies on our kitchen counter. He wanted to eat the cookies.

This is the part that makes me look bad. You see, these cookies were a gift to me for helping her out. I was sure he had plenty more cookies at home. In fact, when I asked him, he said he did. But he still wanted those cookies. It just didn't make sense---she gives me cookies and then her kids eat them all...I gave him pretzels instead.

Am I a bad person? When my kids came home, I handed over the plate of cookies to them and explained how I had saved them for being eaten. (See, I didn't even eat any!) As I gave them to my family, my husband replied, "Sounds like a blog entry to me."

"No way," I said in my defense. "I would come off looking petty and mean!" Sarah and Brian busted out laughing. I heard one of them mutter under their breath, "Remember, 'I has a cough, too' as you chugged your pop and wouldn't share? And..."

Now wait a minute. But as I thought about it, I realized, "Man, they're probably right."

Cans, Cans, Cans...

I went to the store this week and for some unexplainable reason they were out of my pop. I must be their best customer. I probably buy more cans of pop than anyone else in town and I come EVERY WEEK. How hard is it to keep my pop in stock? The manager just looked at me blankly as I ranted and raved, insisting on some valid explanation.

Not getting anywhere with my interrogation, I took several of the 2 liter bottles and left. I was not impressed. However, not being a life-long pop drinker, I did actually learn something important from this unfortunate experience: pop from the bottle, tastes different than pop from a can. Huh, who woulda thunk...It turns out that I don't like pop from a bottle, but will still drink it if I have to. My initial reason for preferring pop in a can is that I can keep track of how much I'm drinking. So, you know, I won't get a drinking problem. (I know. I think I must write about my Dr. pepper obsession at least once a week. But trust me: I DON'T HAVE A PROBLEM!)

Anyway, I was complaining about this to my husband the other day when he came home for lunch. "It was so much easier when I could see how many empty cans were in the sink." He nodded his head sympathetically. "The real problem is that I can't remember whether I've already drank my half a bottle or just beginning." I pointed to the half full bottle of pop on the counter. (I had decided that 1 liter equals 3 cans of pop. I have no rational explanation for this decision, it just seemed like an easy way to measure.)

As I bounced from foot to foot my husband asked, "So are you on your third half today?" I wished I could laugh and say he was wrong. But you know what? For all I knew, he could've been right. I blame Walmart.

I'm turning into my mother. And it's not so bad.

Growing up there was always the counter in our kitchen. It was full of stacks of papers. Piles of stuff that my mom insisted we were not allowed to move or even touch. And then there were the lists. Hundreds of lists and reminders littered the countertop. I remember thinking that if I ever had to have a piece of paper to remind myself to take out the trash, hopefully someone would just shoot me and put me out of my misery.

If you walk into my kitchen you will see my counter. It is full of stacks of papers. There are piles of very important stuff that require my immediate attention. If it is not RIGHT THERE on the counter, I will forget about it and there will be trouble. Big trouble. Oh, and did I mention my lists? I have lists and reminders for everything. Mom, I think I owe you an apology. I judged you too harshly.

I went to a friends house the other day. I looked around her kitchen. It was strange, there were no piles or stacks of papers anywhere. Huh!?! "So, where's your stuff?" I asked casually, looking around. "Stuff?" she asked innocently, like she didn't know what I was talking about.

"You know, all your papers and junk," I probed, STILL LOOKING. "Oh, I have a junk drawer," she answered. Wait a minute. Did she just say drawer, as in singular? Holy cow! I practically need an entire house to put all the junk I have piled and stacked up and she fits it into a single drawer?

It's times like those that I wish I'd taken yoga and knew how to meditate and relax. I took several cleansing breaths and looked at my friend again. Well, if nothing else I knew I could take her in a fight. Not that it would ever come to that, mind you. Just for some reason it was comforting to know. Almost as comforting as my lists.

The stuff dreams are made of.

What is it about dreams? They always seem so real. Sometimes I wake up and I must have a look in my eye. Brian will put his arms out and talk very slow in a soothing voice. "Remember it was just a dream. I would never do that in real life." He'll say things like that until my breathing is regular and he is no longer afraid I might leap over the bed and strangle him.

I know it isn't logical but dreams can be so unnerving. Brian knows if I have a bad dream and it somehow involved him, he will have to spend the rest of the day making up for it. I know it isn't fair.

Last summer when Heather was learning how to drive, I was sitting in the backseat and Nicholas was in the front seat. He was holding a large sign in the front window, "Student driver." We drove and the sign was so large we couldn't see out. I could hear "Thu-Thump, Thu-Thump" as we hit people along the way. I stuck my head out the window to yell for everyone to "RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!"

Heather didn't get to drive much that summer. I know it was a dream. But to this day, if I close my eyes when she is driving I can still hear the, "Thu-Thump" loud and clear.

Julie can attest to my irrational nature when it comes to dreams. The last time I was visiting her, I dreamed that one of my brothers-in-law shot me. It was 4:30am and I sat up in bed. My ears were ringing so loudly that I could have sworn it really happened! I looked out the window to see if there was anyone outside with a gun. I was so mad, I sat there for a half an hour ranting and raving about how loud his gun was and wondering what kind of gun could be so loud. Then it finally hit me! "How dare he actually try to shoot me!"

I spent the next several days feeling irate at the nerve of him for trying to shoot me! I even wrote an e-mail telling him about my dream and letting him know that he'd better not try to shoot me again. I realized how unstable it made me look and didn't send it. But just for future reference, I would prefer no one else shooting me either.

So, at dinner the other night Brian said I had been talking in my sleep about a monkey stealing my money. That's pretty random; I wonder if he made it up. I didn't remember a dream involving monkeys. However, just in case: if anyone sees a monkey, let me know. I'd like my money back.

It's raining, it's pouring, school is cancelled...

My husband called at 11:15 today to tell me that school was getting out 3 hours early. I looked around in a panic and did the math on my fingers. "Hey, that means they'll be home any minute!" Rats. Of all the days to still be in my pajamas...it figures.

I guess when it rains a lot the school parking lot floods. So they get their feet wet---who cares...They can wear some nice wading boots and bring an umbrella. See, no problem.

At least now that the kids are home they can help me get the laundry done and Heather volunteered to go to the store to buy some milk. (Why is it that we keep running out of milk...) I guess it's okay that they are home early. For today at least.

Maybe the part that bothers me the most is that I never got out of school because of too much rain. It's just not fair.

Oh, so we're having a party?

The kids had some friends over last night. There were about 10 teenagers over. They ate pizza and played games. I'm trying to decide how uncool it is for me to hang around. The problem is not so much that I need to supervise. My kids don't actually need supervising. The thing is, I want to play too!

So, I sat in the adjoining room as they played their first game. When no one knew the answer I was ready and waiting to call it out. I'm pathetic. I know. But I can't help it! I rationalized that I wasn't really crashing in on their fun, because I was in the other room. When the kids started playing Rockband, I couldn't help it. I sang along with Heather. Sigh. I know!

Youth is wasted on the young. That's all I have to say. But the best part is that apparently I get to enjoy two childhoods. I'm so lucky.

The first step is always the hardest.

Well I did it. It's probably the hardest thing I have to do each year. I bought a bathing suit. No, I didn't actually try it on or anything crazy like that--that would be asking too much. But I did buy one. That has to count for something.

I don't know what it is about bathing suits. I guess it's the fact that no matter what I tell myself or how delusional I am, as soon as I'm in a bathing suit and looking in the mirror I can see nothing but the truth. Reality can be harsh. And it's not that I even care what anyone else thinks about how I look...

The more I think about it though, being self conscious is really a blessing. I've decided that if I had a tiny, skinny body I would probably never want to wear clothes---ever. I would probably be tempted to wear one of those, gasp, skimpy bikinis as well. So, thank goodness I have a frumpy, saggy body. If nothing else it has made me MODEST! And for that I can be thankful.