Blonde moment, shots, and advertising.

 I took my 8-year old nephews Tim and Ben to the doctor this week for a check-up.  They were so excited/ nervous they could barely stand it.  I had to promise there would be no shots.  They asked what would happen if the doctor said they needed shots and I assured them we would just say no thank you and leave.

During the visit,  the doctor checked Ben's right ear, Ben took his hand and covered up his left ear.  Then when the doctor looked into Ben's left ear, Ben covered up his right ear.  Not sure what Ben was doing, I asked him why he covered up his ears.  Ben replied that he didn't want the doctor to see through to the other side...

Before we left the doctor's office the doctor asked if I wanted the boys to get flu shots.  Looks of terror crossed both of the boys' faces.  I shook my head, grabbed both of their hands and said "No thank you!" as we left the room.  The boys were so impressed---they thought they were totally getting away with something.  I didn't bother telling them that it was an "optional" shot.  (Good luck to Julie when she has to take them in for the real one!)

On the way home from the doctor's office Tim seemed very concerned that everyone was decorating for Christmas already.  "Aunt Mindy---it isn't even Thanksgiving yet!"  I agreed that it did seem early for Christmas decorations.

"But what about Thanksgiving?"  Tim anguished.  Then he started listing off reasons:

"Do you think they just don't like Thanksgiving?"
"Do you think it's because they are allergic to Turkeys?"
"Is it because they are on a diet?"

This went on and on...Then Ben chimed in:
"I think they might have just forgotten all about Thanksgiving!"

Tim replied," Maybe!"  Then after a minute:  "I know! Thanksgiving just needs to have better advertising...."

May 4, 2013

Ten years ago I had this really great idea.  This great idea involved texturing my living room walls.  I hired someone to come and do it but it didn't look like how I imagined it.  And then the tan color I picked out looked grey on the walls.  So basically it was like a cave in my living room.  Not quite what I wanted.  But since I paid to have it done, I figured I had to grin and bear it.

Since my son is home from college on a break and my sister is here to help, I decided it would be "fun" to sand and repaint the living room walls.  We got the sanding done in one day and it was amazing how much dust one room could generate. ( More validation that texturing the walls was a bad idea and could never be repeated.)

After priming the room I asked my son what color we should paint it.  He replied, "How about textured grey!"  Not funny.  We decided on a nice buttery yellow color.  Which totally lightened up the room.

After all the dust in the carpet we decided that maybe wood flooring would be nice.  After taking the carpet and padding out and spending the evening pulling out all the nifty staples in the floor, my 8 year old nephew Tim came in to check out our progress.

"I hate to break it to you," he announced, "but this wood floor looks really really bad."  We tried to explain that this was just the sub-floor and the REAL wood floor would go on top.  Tim was not impressed at all and before he left he added, "If you would have let me help, it might have had a chance of looking good." 

Hopefully in the next couple of weeks we'll get the wood floor in and make Tim proud.

April 22, 2013

It has been said that to become a man you must do 3 things:
1) Plant a tree
2) Write a book
3) Have a son

In order to begin his journey to manhood, my son planted a tree in our front yard five years ago.  We named the tree Roy.  Over the years Roy has managed to become part of our family.  Not only is he in most of our family pictures, one of the kids makes sure he has a scarf to wear in the winter, and we say good bye to him when we leave the house.

When we discovered that Roy was planted too close to the house and power lines and would have to cut down, there was great sorrow and murmuring.  In an attempt to appease our heartbreak, my husband decided we would try to relocate Roy.  This was not an easy task.

My daughter Anna refused to participate on the principle that she did not want to be involved in destroying her brothers manhood.  When she heard we would try moving Roy to the backyard, she reluctantly agreed to help,  because moving the symbol of Nick's manhood to the backyard is less traumatizing then actually cutting it down.

After finally replanting Roy in the backyard compost hole, we decided that maybe Nick could continue on his journey by writing a book.

Maybe the book could be called, "The uprooting and relocation of my manhood."

Heather has a special knack for asking for things that she really wants, at times that I just can't say no.  For example minutes after waking up from back surgery she asked to play the bassoon.  Guess who got a bassoon?


Anyway, my daughter Heather left for the Missionary Training Center today.  She's going to be gone for 18 months and only asked me to do one thing for her:  Update my blog every week so she will know what we've been doing while she's gone.

 So now I'm obligated to write---Luckily, I didn't promise her that it would be interesting---only informative. 

Unfortunately, it's been a while since I've blogged.  In fact, I've forgotten my password and it took me forever to get logged in...But promises are promises.  So let the good times roll.

P.S.  I made a fruit smoothie today and thought of Heather.  (Heather:  Knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit.  Wisdom is not putting the tomato in your fruit smoothie.)

 

Have you met my sister?

My sister and her five kids are living with me and my family this year.  It's been crazy but totally fun.  My sister is 38 years old. She is 3 years younger then I am. Twice in the past month people have thought I was her mother. Seriously? Do I look like I gave birth to a 38 year old? (Don't answer that.) After the second time, my sister whispered to me, "I told you to start using moisturizing cream." 

I've come to see that even though we grew up together, we are totally different.  I never thought of myself as being anti-social.  I mean, I've met all my neighbors.  The important ones at least---the ones on either side of me and across the street.  However i've discovered that I might not be as social as I thought I was.  After only being here for a month my sister had not only met every person up and down the whole street, but she had also brought them over some kind of homemade treat.

Someone from down the street stopped in front of my house the other day and said, "It's nice to meet you!  How long have you lived here?"  When I told him that we have lived here for 15 years, he replied, "Well now you don't have to say hello to us for another 15 years!"

The next time I questioned my social skills was at church.  Before Relief Society starts each week, my sister goes around the room giving everyone a back massage and rearranges everyone to make sure no one is sitting alone. (No, I'm not kidding...)  I tend to sit in the back row and have even tried to convince my daughter to fake a siezure so we could leave early.

So.  Have you met my sister?   Please don't sit around waiting for me to introduce her to you...chances are she'll be over shortly to get acquainted.  Most likely with baked goods.

This week I'm volunteering on the food truck for the Cadets drum and bugle corps.  In between meals I ran to Walmart to pick up a couple of things my son forgot to pack (important stuff like shampoo and deodorant...) 

Anyway, I was carrying my shopping bags from the car to my room and I passed 4 different employees from the college we are staying at.  Each and everyone of them made some type of comment like, "It looks like you've been cooking!" or "I hope you are cooking something good!"  I couldn't figure it out.

Finally after the fourth person made a comment I replied that I had just gotten back from Walmart and did it look like I've been cooking?

The guy pointed at my apron and said figured I'd been cooking.  I looked down and sure enough I still had on my apron from the food truck.  Maybe this also explains some strange looks I had gotten earlier at Walmart...

Dream Weaver

I spent this past weekend volunteering on the Cadet's food truck for one of the winter camps. Last night I had a dream that the director of the Cadets told us that the only way we would be able to get a new food truck would be if we catered weddings on the off season.

The next thing I know the food truck volunteers were in a huge argument over whether or not we could serve ants on a log (celery topped with peanut butter and raisins) at the wedding reception.

In between the arguing, people kept coming up to me to congratulate me and also to thank me for arranging my mother to be the first wedding we would cater.

I saw my dad sitting at a table eating oatmeal and I started freaking out. I ran to my mom to find out what was going on. She insisted that this was a good cause and she wanted to support the Cadets.

I took the matter to the corps director and explained the situation. The verdict came quickly. My mom would be allowed to be married as long as I agreed to marry my father. Then they could charge for a double wedding. It would be a win-win situation.

I woke up this morning trying to figure out which was more upsetting. Me marrying my father or me having to have my wedding on the food truck.

Heather you said I hadn't written in a while and that you were unable to know what was going on here at home while you are away at college. In your honor I will blog about what I did this morning. So you will know what you are missing.

Mission Code Name: Not impossible, just really really hard.

When I woke up this morning I knew that today was the day. So it was with excitement and only a small amount of dread that I got out of bed this morning. With amazing efficiency, I dressed in my spy clothes. All black. (Which also double as running clothes). And I gathered my supplies.

I put new batteries in the flashlight, found eye protection, donned a knit cap and put on rubber gloves (so as not to leave fingerprints and also important for touching icky things.)

I was ready. And I have to admit that now that the adrenaline had kicked in I felt nothing but confidence as I climbed the ladder, removed the ceiling piece that led to the crawl space, and pulled myself up into the ceiling.

It wasn't exactly how I imagined it to be. Lying in my bed I had envisioned a spacious walkway with a tall peaked roof. And maybe a few forgotten valuable pieces of antique furniture tastefully arranged around the edges.

What there was, was a whole lot of insulation, darkness, and mouse droppings. Conspicuously missing was the walkway and antique furniture. I guess I'd always thought that 'crawl space' was just an expression...

Anyway, a while ago I had discovered a spot in one of the bedrooms that made me suspect a mouse had died and was currently decomposing on and, perhaps in the future, through the ceiling.

My mission was to find the perpetrator and dispose of the evidence.

I failed.

Surveying the situation I realized I was not properly trained and decided to retreat. Basically I threw myself back down the hole, falling down the ladder and couldn't get to the shower fast enough to wash off all the dirtiness.

But I am not giving up. I may have lost the battle but war is still on the horizon. I will regroup. Gather back-up. Maybe buy some more flattering black pants, and find a good position to run interference. Basically I want to watch...

And as for the rest of the day? Picture in your mind: Mindy versus the vacuum cleaner. The excitement never ends.

Flushing optional.

Yesterday I got to spend the day with the high school band at the Buckwheat festival. The band was marching in the parade. And we all know what this means.


Port-a-potties.


After the parade (where it rained on us) I ran to a port-a-potty cursing myself for getting 3 refills of Dr. pepper during lunch. I couldn't believe my luck that there wasn't even a line!

I went to reach for some toilet paper and discovered why there wasn't a line. The toilet paper was gone.


"Hello! Anyone out there?" I called outside. Nothing.


I waited a bit and tried again.


"Hello?"

"Are you talking to me?" a girl finally asked.


I told her the situation and asked her if she could grab some toilet paper from another port-a-potty and give it to me. It sounded reasonable. I would've done the same for someone else.


"They are all full, and, um, I really really need to go. Can you just come out before I pee my pants?" She sounded desperate.


So without any other options I gave up. I tried to use the complimentary hand sanitizer but found that it was also empty. But that turned out okay.


Because everyone knows that if you don't wipe you don't have to wash your hands. It's some kind of unwritten rule.


Right?

Say What?

I'm not sure if I mentioned that my niece from Switzerland is here living with us. She is going to try American high school and see how she likes it. I do hope she likes it, because we love having her here with us.

Anyway, this week my niece has to give a presentation in French class. She is a bit nervous to talk in front of the class so my husband was helping her organize the PowerPoint presentation. Then he explained how he gives presentations at work.

My niece didn't sound convinced: "You mean I have to tell them what I'm going to say, say it, and then tell them again what I just said? That seems like a lot of saying!"

"I know," my husband reassured her. "But you have to assume that everyone is an idiot."

My niece thought for a few seconds then nodded her head. "You are probably right Uncle Brian. I know for sure that three people in my class are idiots---I'm not sure about the rest though."

She cracks me up.

So in conclusion, my niece is giving a French presentation this week. I'm sure it will go well and hopefully even the idiots will be able to follow along.

More adventures from my week of volunteering on the food truck

I joined The Cadets in Oregon. The next day we drove to Washington. It wasn't a super long drive so we arrived at the school in WA at 2:30 AM. At this time we unload the food truck and get everything set up for breakfast. Then sometimes we can lay back down and sleep for a couple of hours.

It was a rough night and by the time we arrived in Washington I was pretty out of it. I stumbled off the RV and headed for the school. After finding a bathroom, I met a lady who had come over to the school to help us get situated.

"I'm here to help you!" she called over to me.

I told her I was okay. She smiled and patted me on the shoulder.

"Honey, your hoodie is on backwards, you aren't wearing any shoes, and you just came out of the men's bathroom. You are not okay."

Truer words have never been spoken.

Good Morning Sunshine!

Last week I was on tour with my son and The Cadets---a drum and bugle corps he marches with. I volunteered on the food truck and we prepared 4 meals a day for 200 people. It's hard work but I love it.

Anyway, usually The Cadets rehearse during the day, have a show and then travel during the night. The kids sleep on buses and us volunteers sleep on an RV. On days that we actually get to stay in the same place for more than one day we are given rooms inside the school where we can set up air mattresses and sleep for the night. The volunteers get one room and the bus drivers get another room.

One morning after a good nights sleep at a school, we were told we needed to make a Sam's run to stock up on food for the next 4 days. Someone needed to use the truck later that morning so they wanted us to go to the store right away.

Kevin who had the shopping list was still asleep. So they asked me to go wake him up. I was a little unsure how to go about waking him up so I asked some other volunteers for ideas. They decided the best way would be to jump on his bed and roll him onto the floor.

I went into the volunteer room and it was dark. There were 2 people still sleeping but I was pretty sure Kevin was the one closest to the door. I went over to the air mattress and whispered, "Kevin!" Nothing. So I jumped on the air mattress and started bouncing. Up and down, up and down, trying to roll him off to wake him up.

After what seemed like several minutes Kevin pulled the covers off of his head and looked at me. It wasn't Kevin. In fact I didn't even recognize the poor guy. I apologized profusely and left the room quickly.

Outside I was able to re-group. I could do this---after all there was only one more person left sleeping in the room. So cautiously I went back into the room and stood by the other air mattress. "Kevin!" I whispered again. Still nothing.

I started poking him in the arm. Repeatedly. Then tried shaking his arm. He rolled over and once again it wasn't Kevin.

Running from the room I went back to the food truck to admit my defeat. It was time to go and I still hadn't waken up Kevin.

"Oh, I think he decided to sleep in the driver's room last night," a helpful volunteer informed me. Great.

Luckily there was only one person sleeping in that room and I woke him up without any trouble.

After shopping a guy came up to me. He offered me his hand and said, "If you plan on jumping on my bed every morning I think we better introduce ourselves." I had hoped it would be too dark for him to recognize me...

Anyway, his name is Phil and he drives the brass bus.

Phil no longer sleeps in the volunteer room...

It's a small world.

I'm not sure how to write this so that it makes sense. It is kind of confusing, but I will to try...

Several weeks ago I blogged about a random neighbor kid hopping into my car one morning for a ride to school. I guess this kid's mom Nellie is friends with someone I know from church (I'll call her Jane.)

Jane called me yesterday. Jane and her husband are going on a Pioneer Trek this week and their babysitter cancelled at the last minute. Jane told me that she was telling her friend Nellie (my neighbor) that she was looking for a babysitter.


Nellie my neighbor told Jane that she knew a lady who lived down the street (ME!!!) who absolutely loves kids and she was sure that I would love to babysit for her.


Jane asked her what this neighbor's name was and Nellie said, "Mindy." Jane laughed because she knows me from church and was planning to ask me to babysit anyway.

After that introduction, I had no choice but to say I'd babysit, right?



Anyway, apparently I have a random person living down the street named Nellie offering off my services to the neighborhood. Because I love children. And this is true. I do love children.

This whole conversation made me smile. Because it IS a small world after all.

Got Mustard?

We planted mustard seeds in our garden. We weren't sure what to expect but they grew. It turns out that it isn't really mustard at all. They are little lettuce leaves. Every time we eat them for dinner my husband comments that they don't taste like mustard at all.

Anyway. Last night as we ate our 10 little mustard leaves, my daughter asked if mustard doesn't come from mustard seeds, where did it come from?

Hmmm. Good question.

I had an idea. It was the first thing that came into my mind.

"Maybe mustard comes from an animal. You know, like milk comes from cows. Maybe mustard comes from milking an emu?"

Anna wasn't impressed. "You can't get milk from an emu, mom. Emus are birds."

"Have you ever tried milking an emu?" I challenged.

"An Emu isn't even a mammal." Anna knows stuff like this.

Okay. She might have a point.

So for the rest of dinner I had to endure the mocking taunts of "Emooooo" from across the table.

However, I still maintain that it's possible. Not for an emu of course. But maybe a different sort of mammal.

Random carpooling.

Monday morning. Ahh, another week begins. And it's my month to drive the carpool.

So I throw a sweatshirt on over my pj's and back the car out of the garage. And I wait for my daughter and the neighbor...

I watch in my rear view mirror as this kid wanders into my yard. He walks over to my car and gets into the back seat. I recognize him from the neighbor hood. I've seen him around. But I've never actually met or talked to him. And I don't know what his name is.

I'm waiting for him to say something. But he doesn't. He just sits there.

"So, where are you going this morning?" I ask.

"To the middle school," he replies.

"Well you're in luck---that's where I'm going." I still think he's going to explain why he's in my car. But he doesn't.

"Did my husband or someone tell you I would take you to school?" I know. It's awkward. But surely he talked to someone to make these arrangements. Right?

"No," he says. (Okay. Thanks for clearing that up.) And really I don't mind. Really. I don't. I'm going to the school anyway. It just feels so strange. And awkward. I mean is now a good time for me to ask him what his name is?

"So...you need a ride to school?" I just can't let it drop.

"Yeah. Um, my mom said the lady at the yellow house would take me to school." He mumbles this, clearly uncomfortable.

I live in a yellow house---and yet this still doesn't explain anything. Oh well. I tried.

For sure if he comes back tomorrow for a ride, I'm going to ask him what his name is.

The wheels on the bus go round and round.

Today I locked my keys in my car. I checked the doors and trunk several times to make sure nothing was unlocked. I could see the keys sitting in the front seat. Staring at me. And if keys could laugh, I have no doubt they would be laughing at me as well.

I was clear across town---about 20 minutes from home so I didn't want to have to call someone to come and get me. I wanted to figure this out for myself.

I called my husband who is out of town. I knew he couldn't do anything but figured some sympathy would be nice.

"Did you check the doors?" he asked.

Next, I wandered over to the store and casually informed the men who were talking out front that I'd locked my keys in the car.

"Did you check the doors?" they asked.

Skeptical of my competence, they accompanied me to my car to check the doors for themselves. Then one of the men checked my window and decided there wasn't any way to shove a hanger in without doing some serious damage. The other man suggested using a rock to break the window and then offered to drive me home.

Fortunately a bus pulled into the parking lot right at that moment so I thanked the men and ran over to the bus.

I rode the bus for a while before realizing that there are many different buses and maybe I should've checked the destination before boarding. The man who sat down next to me started listing all the ways you could kill someone and make it look like an accident. (His uncle has a large wood chipper, a pit of snakes, etc.) He then asked me what methods I've used that have been successful.

I pulled the rope and got off the bus.

20 minutes later another bus stopped by. Learning from my mistake, I asked the driver if this bus would take me to Bridgeport. He said no, but he would drop me off at a different stop where I could catch another bus to take me where I wanted to go.

People on buses are very friendly and talked about who was hiring and the best cell phone plans. After a couple of stops a man sat down across from me and kept giving me dirty looks. He wouldn't stop staring at me and finally came over and told me that I was sitting in his seat.

I moved. And got off at the next stop.

There I waited for my third and final bus where a lady sat down behind me. She started asking everyone on the bus if they had an extra room she could use. She had left her boyfriend and wasn't going back to live with him. No one had an extra room for her. She tapped me on the shoulder and asked me if I had a couch she could sleep on.

Luckily we passed by the library in town and I was able to pull the rope and get off the bus.

I had reassessed my plan to be self sufficient and called a friend to pick me up and drive me back to my car. Not that I didn't want another two-hour bus ride, or that the people I met weren't interesting enough, but I just wanted to get my car.

Tomorrow is another day. I'm hoping for a dull, uneventful, boring day. No more bus rides.

It's a sign.

This morning there was a "For Sale" sign in our neighbors yard. I was flabergasted. I mean, I'd not heard anything about them moving. Not a whisper! And we carpool. Every day.

I know I shouldn't feel betrayed, but for pete's sake, we've raised our children together for the past 12 years or so. It's almost like we're family!

So all morning at church I sulked and brooded over the impending move. It's not like I actually expected them to call and ask for my permission or approval or anything. But it would have been nice...

Anyway, my husband and I spent the drive home from church speculating why they could be moving: new job, bigger/smaller house, etc.

"Maybe they don't like their neighbors?" my husband suggested.

"No," I insisted with confidence. (If that were the case they would've put the for sale sign in OUR yard.)

Immediately after getting home, I ran next door to confront them.

My neighbor laughed as I ran up his driveway. He said that they were just as surprised as we were to wake up with a "For Sale" sign in their yard.

My neighbor thought it was most likely someone's idea of a joke. (And not a very funny joke, I might add.)

In the end, it turns out that my neighbors won't be moving after all. What a relief!

For future reference: If they do decide to move, I would like at least 60 days notice. In writing. Please.

Honesty is the best policy.

Last night we were skyping with Sarah and Heather. They mentioned a talk my husband gave when the kids were little. I remembered it. It was a classic family moment. I was sure I'd written a blog about it. I looked for it, but I couldn't find it...so I guess I didn't write about it. It was too good to miss so I thought I'd write about it now.

Several years ago my husband gave a talk at church on honesty. The kids were little and I'll just say that they had listening issues. Anyway, he was talking about the time we went to the Virgin Islands on a business trip. He rented a car but the island was so small, we walked everywhere. When it was time to return the car we decided not to fill up the tank since we'd only driven it back and forth from the airport.

Anyway, by the time he had to sign the paperwork saying he had filled the tank, he felt so guilty he left to get more gas, almost making us miss our return flight.

Back to me and the kids: I was sitting in between Nicholas and Heather, to keep them from talking to each other. Nicholas turned to me to ask, "What's going on?" I was about to explain what their dad was talking about when Heather answered, "I'm not sure, but I think dad stole a car."

Then the older, wiser sister Sarah added, "And he felt really guilty about it."

Mind your own business.

There was an article on the news about Japan's new interactive toilets. I guess they can talk, tell jokes, give weather reports, play music and do a variety of other things as well.

I don't know. I guess I consider myself more of an old-school type when it comes to toilets.

Although I must agree it might be helpful for your toilet to let you know that you're pregnant, have diabetes, or that you need more fiber in your diet, I prefer not to be so personally involved with my toilet.

It seems there should be limits to what a toilet should be doing---especially with a talking toilet...You'd have to start worrying about what your toilet knows and who they will tell...I can see things quickly getting out of control.

And just think about the future. Who knows what more a toilet will be able to do for you? Maybe, like my husband suggested, it will eventually offer you a photo when you are finished. Just like a roller coaster ride...

So as interesting as those fancy, new-fangled Japanese toilets may be, I'm going to stick with my plain, low-tech, non-interactive toilet. Thank you very much.

These are a few of my favorite things.

One of the things I love most about being a parent is getting to share my favorite childhood things with my children. There are foods: rice krispie bar treats, scones, and making ice cream out of snow. Movies: Back to the Future, The Princess Bride, Karate Kid, ET, and Ferris Bueller's Day Off. TV shows: Gilligan's Island, and the Cosby Show. Books and Music...

I remember positioning myself on the couch so I could watch my kids' faces as they watched the movies I used to love. Wanting them to love them as much as I did.

My kids know all the music from the 80's. I couldn't wait to introduce them to Weird Al and teach them all my favorite girls' camp songs.

Of course there are always those things I remember loving but could never replicate for my own kids. Take for example the circus. I remember getting those free tickets from school and finally my mom letting us go to the circus. It was the most amazing show on earth!!! We took our kids. Once. It was crowded and smelly and chaotic. I couldn't get out of there quick enough. And as I grabbed my kids and ran to the car I couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness---my kids would never love the circus!

Candy corn was another big disappointment. If asked what my favorite candy is the first thing that comes to mind is candy corn. I used to bite off each color layer one by one. I bought a bag for my family to try...Not a big hit. I couldn't even eat them.

Anyway, I have always thought that I'd done a pretty good job teaching my children all the essential need-to-know culture from my past. I thought I was pretty well-rounded and thorough. Until yesterday. It seems I forgot a vital part of my past...

Yesterday my husband sent this text to my kids:

"Feeling a little slow today, so in a "Calgon-take-me-away" vein, I just used 5 pumps of hand soap."

To this my daughter replied:

"Who is Calgon?"