How To Get Free Money By Donating Plasma

$30 in my pocket, baby. And one liter lighter!

Yeah, so I've been thinking about the whole plasma "donation" thing. Earn a few extra bucks to do my little part to bail out Citi group. It's the least I can do considering all they've done for me (like hike my interest rate to an ungodly percentage rate and refuse to discuss or negotiate it despite being a customer for 13 years, unless of course my account is 90 days past due).

Today was perhaps not the best day to go. My local clinic had been closed for two days and is under construction. Here's the run down:

9:17 - Arrive for my 9:30 appt. Sign a check-in sheet, sit down, and read Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.

10:15 - The front desk folk call my name and take my ID. I sit back down. P&P&Z.

10:45 - I am taken to a room with dozens of chairs and people hooked to machined sucking something that looks like apple juice out of them. "VEIN CHECK," my escort yells. 13 years ago, as a college sophomore, my veins were too small to earn me free money. A 5K later and va-voom, both arms good to pump! Back to lobby. P&P&Z.

11:18 - I am taken to a small room with two other hopeful donors. "Althea" reads from a flip chart. I remember nothing except that you can't donate blood and plasma. So much for the Ward Blood Drive. Back to lobby, P&P&Z.

11:46 - A special mark is made on my thumb and they direct me to enter room 4. It is a tiny room with a bunch of medical equipment balanced on a 10 inch plank that divides the room in half. A nice girl with a plastic mask gets my weight (152) and temperature (98.7), and takes my blood pressure (low). Then, she pokes my finger and fills a vial with my blood. She spins my blood and the machines tell her I am hydrated and proteiny enough. I asked her how much longer she thought it'd take. I'd planned on 2 hours and had already exceeded that. Another 2-3 hours, she tells me. P&P&Z.

12:23 - I peed in a cup and placed it in cubby #2. Back to P&P&Z

12:33 - It's time for my physical examination. Some doctor like person listens to me breath. I breath, I sign, I initial. Oh, and the test. He gives me a test on the flip chart lady's info - high risk for AIDS behavior. I missed one. Just so you know, prostitution is NOT considered high risk (unless you did it in Africa, after 1977, maybe). Anyway, I guess the test was just for funzies. Back to the lobby, P&P&Z.

12:47 - It's time for reals. Bed #40, iodine, poke, suck, suck, suck. P&P&Z.

1:55 - I have successfully filled a liter bottle with my plasma.

2:05 - I am walked to sign-out and given 6 $5 bills and told I can get $45 if I come back again this week.

Some observations:

• a lot of the people who donate plasma are kind of sketchy and stinky. (me included)

• some young lady didn't know who John Lennon was. When her companion explained Lennon's band association, she replied, "I don't like the Beatles." Out loud.

• One guy couldn't read. They have this binder of rules and make you read the first line of the first page out loud. An adult American man could not read it.

• Nurses have to put up with a despicable amount of sexism! There was almost an equal number of male and female technicians, maybe a few more females on the floor. "Hey, pretty laaaaaaddddeeeee," said a middle aged white guy.

• Some people get awfully whiny when it takes a long time to get their free money! I was in there for almost 5 hours, and was happy to get $30 even though it meant Greg had to take a whole day off work rather than a half.

• Caffeine dehydrates you. Carbonated beverages interfere with oxygen something something (I should have listened to Althea more closely). Soda bad. Water good.

So. Now I have a job. One that really cares more about what's inside than how I look or smell like. I feel so productive. And a little headachey.

Letters From The Earth

Sometimes it strikes me how vastly different my church is from your run of the mill Christian Protestant religion. And as I talk to other members of my faith, I am amazed that we all act so ... cookie cutter identical in practice to those of other Christian faiths, as if the contrasting ideas are a bad thing, to be ignored.

Blah.

Always with trying to fit in so as not to be mobbed and murdered.

Yesterday, the Bishop's 2nd counselor spoke about the Restoration of the Church of Jesus Christ. To make a point about how the LDS church is very different from other Christian sects, he quoted excerpts from Mark Twain's "Letters From Earth" (and, if you will, please make note of the irony as I link to a site called "positive atheism"). He specifically referred to the bits of Satan's Letter that describe heaven - the angelic choirs and harp playing cacophony, cloud floating boredom kind of heaven. How insanely stupid is that concept of Heaven? Who would bother? What's the point of life and Love and suffering and death and Heaven and God if it's all prayer and lounging for the rest of eternity? You may not believe in an afterlife, and that is fine, but if you do, ought it not have some point?

I spent most of this morning reading Letters From The Earth. Interestingly, a lot of the contentions brought up against the popular idea of Heaven are in direct opposition to what Mormons believe Heaven to be like.

I wonder if perhaps our missionaries would do better to knock on doors offering "eternal increase" upfront (a.k.a. after life sex life - eternally; ah yeah). I want to be with my family forever, especially my spouse and I don't want our only post death date night activity options to be singing Hallelujah or playing harp ... according to Mr. Twain I am due 150,000 opportunities and now I am treading dangerously close to forbidden blog topic territory. So I'll stop.

*****

Mark Twain visited Utah. About Mormon women (like me) he wrote:

Our stay in Salt Lake City amounted to only two days, and therefore we had no time to make the customary inquisition into the workings of polygamy and get up the usual statistics and deductions preparatory to calling the attention of the nation at large once more to the matter. I had the will to do it. With the gushing self-sufficiency of youth I was feverish to plunge in headlong and achieve a great reform here - until I saw the Mormon women. Then I was touched. My heart was wiser than my head. It warmed toward these poor, ungainly and pathetically "homely" creatures, and as I turned to hide the generous moisture in my eyes, I said, "No - the man that marries one of them has done an act of Christian charity which entitles him to the kindly applause of mankind, not their harsh censure - and the man that marries sixty of them has done a deed of open-handed generosity so sublime that the nations should stand uncovered in his presence and worship in silence."

Is there any other author who employs sarcasm with quite the elegance of Mark Twain?

Look, see? I can take a joke. It's only funny because it's true?

*****

Mormons don't really believe in Hell.

Mostly everyone (99.9999999999%) goes to Heaven.

I am cool with you believing whatever you'd like, even if you think my church is dumb. You can suck my ... drat ... I can't be profane. I tried. But I couldn't pull the trigger. Alas. Perhaps a picture up top to drive it home.

A Post About My Boobs Which May or May Not Include Pictures

(See how I try to entice you to read my entire post by suggesting the potential of naughty pictures at the end ... tricky, eh? Read on, McDuff.)

About a year ago, I was perfectly happy with my boobs. They were udderly full, delightfully plump, and producing gallons of milk for my hungry baby, JUST LIKE GOD INTENDED. I was about a 36 D. I bought a couple of new bras to properly contain the girls and life was generally jovial.

Now, here we are, 365 days later, after all the 5K training and weaning ... I ... I kind of hate what's left of my chest.

My husband. I think it's safe to say that he is a boob guy. ("Safe" in the sense that he won't get mad and tell me, "TAKE THAT POST DOWN NOW or your children will miss you." I think. We'll see) He says nice things about my chesticular protrusions: "I like them."

But, being a girl, I cannot just accept such a compliment at face value. Oh no, I interpret. And my interpretation of "I like them," is that he likes them like a mother likes her mutant offspring. Which is to say, he likes them because they are his and if he were to say otherwise there would be dire consequences. ("Dire" as in the children would miss him.)

I went bra shopping last week. I measured myself first. (Don't whine that you don't know your bra size. To find the band size simply measure the circumference under your breasts and add 5. I get 31, so that's 36, but I like a 34 so as the elastic wears out a bit, I can cinch it up. The band is most vital - it is where you get 99% of the support. To discern your cup size, put on your best bra and measure around your breasts. The difference between your band size and your breast size is your cup size. 1" is A, 2" is B, 3" is C and so on down the alphabet if you sing it A-B-C-D-DD-DDD. I get 38 so that make me me about a B).

A Universal Truth: There is no bra worth paying less than $15 for.

Let's start there.

I went to Wal-Mart (for a tent and blue foam). It was just me and Sagan-baby-girl. I like a bra with enough lining that my massive and well used nipples don't wound innocent bystanders to keep my self modest, but I hate those Styrofoam egg ones. Also, I need something full coverage. Those lovely demi-bras, the Wonder Bras and such ... well, my boobs are saggy empty milk sacks now. More loose chicken skin than voluptuosity. The demi-bras cut me in half and give a less than desirable shriveled mini-muffin top effect. To be avoided, surely.

Wal-Mart is not a store I can recommend you run to for the purchase of your brassieres. Unless you want something uncomfortable, unsupportive, and practically disposable.

Next, I went to Kohl's. I used to put up the sale signs for the Intimates dept., so I am pretty familiar with that place and they have a much better selection.

Now - there are two kinds of bras: ones made by men for women (but really for men), and those made by women for women.

You can spot the former quite easily. The advertising materials say things like: pushes your knockers together and lifts them to the moon - you'll look so freaking big ... totally! They are made out of mostly lace; the kind of bras made to be looked at, not necessarily WORN by REAL women, but worn by girls who are clueless as to the true purpose of the breast. (AND I MEAN FEEDING BABIES, not husband fiddling!)

Bras made by women, for women say things like "supportive" and "comfortable". Even "minimizing", "conceals back fat", "keeps nipples from public view even when very chilly" or "you won't be flopping around like a late night Wal-Mart customer, guaranteed".

(There are also sports bras and they are useful, but I prefer the duality of my breasts, I'm just not a unaboober.)

I tried on about a dozen bras. Maybe a B, maybe a C, no 34? I'll try a 36 ...

When I was a milk factory I recommended Olga Bras, even though they don't come in a 34. Now that I am a couple of saggy empty milk sacks, I recommend a Bali Minimizer or the Playtex Secrets Minimizer.

Sure, all the misogynistic marketing made it initially difficult to even try on a bra marked "MINIMIZING" but once I tried the sucker on, things just clicked into place.

WHO THE HELL WANTS A COUPLE OF GIANT BOUNCEY FAT BLOBS BOINGING ABOUT IN FRONT OF THEM ALL DAY ANYWAY??!!

(Guys! That's who!)

Eff that. I mean it! Lock and Load, that's what I'm looking for! Strap those puppies down, no wardrobe malfunctions here, THANKYOUVERYMUCH!

Next time YOU go bra shopping, one, try Kohl's (they should have kept me on the payroll, free advertising, pshaw), second, try a Minimizer bra. Comfort and Security.

I can't find the camera. It's like Greg thought, "Brandy is going crazy about getting the house clean for my family and that usually means one thing: procrastinating by blogging about inappropriate things! I better hide the camera." I'll work with what I've got, like a good girl always does.

At Christmas '08, in the height of production just before solid foods became a daily part of life for baby girl:

May of '09 just a week before weaning began, still a voluptuous cow (also, don't drink caffeine while breastfeeding kids, it leaches):

And a couple of weeks after weaning baby girl.

I think I'm even smaller now, too.

Sigh.

OK, now STOP looking at my boobs. Freaking weirdo.

But, and this is what started all my boob thinking, on Facebook, I was invited to join the group/follow the blog Boob Emancipation, but I declined. I will keep mine under lock and key. You see, they are mine and mine alone (except sometimes when I loan them to Greg). I don't want people oogling my cleavage. I don't want to bounce and flounce. Showing off your boobs doesn't FREE or LIBERATE you. You are trapped by the initial impression men make about women with their boobs hanging out. I'm gonna fall back to prude stance here (arms folded over breasts). Unless your getting paid, don't dress like a bimbo.

That's all, really, now go back to proudly sticking out your half covered chest and pretend like this never happened. I'm just procrastinating hefting my furniture back into place anyway. Don't mind me.

Boobs are great.

Back to work.

Instead

No, you're right. I really do need to get that last room done. And I probably shouldn't do a survey and if I do a survey I shouldn't post it on my blog. People have no time for such frivolity. But ... I've been cleaning carpets for about 12 hours. I think my house is 1900 or 2400 square feet .. i don't know. I got the boys room, the baby's room, the hallway and the stairs (15 of them) and the front room all done ... so it's just the TV room with that giant diet cherry Pepsi stain.

Furniture is heavy, dangit. Y'know. And awkward. This is not girly work.

Good thing I bought myself some chocolate to reward myself for all this hard work. Sure as heck Mr. The Avatar Still Doesn't Work wouldn't remember to bring home chocolate for his hefty strong and beautiful not to mention witty wife!!!

A Survey:

65 Questions You've Probably Never Been Asked

1. First thing you wash in the shower? face - Oil of Olay with witch hazel on a wash cloth and I hate my face.

2. What color is your favorite hoodie? I don't have any hoodies. OK, I have one I stole about 12 years ago and it's grey with some shoe symbol on it. I wouldn't call it my favorite, just my only.

3. Would you kiss the last person you kissed again? My Kiddo - Canon. Probably within the hour. He keeps waking up. Night terrors (AHHH! COBRAS!)

4. Do you plan outfits? I hate all my clothes. Nothing fits, everything sucks.

5. How are you feeling RIGHT now? Frikken Fine. My butt hurts.

6. What's the closest thing to you that's red? a netflix envelope with Run Fatboy Run in it.

7. Tell me about the last dream you remember having? I dreamed a friend and her husband moved into my and I moved across the street. Also, juggling clowns. Orange sky.

8. Did you meet anybody new today? Two cashiers and Shopko. Does that count?

9. What are you craving right now? White chocolate and black licorice.

10. Do you floss? Rarely, dammit.

11. What comes to mind when I say cabbage? How much work I have to do in my garden after three weeks of rain. The weeds are doing great though.

12. Are you emotional? What me? NEVER! Steady like a leaf in the wind.

13. Have you ever counted to 1,000? No, but I count to ten a thousand times a day ...

14. Do you bite into your ice cream or just lick it? I'm a biter. Yes. A biter.

15. Do you like your hair? Now that I can throw it up, I'm much happier with it.

16. Do you like yourself? No, I know me too well.

17. Would you go out to eat with George W. Bush? No - I hate being with people who think they are better than me.

18. What are you listening to right now? fans, Pandora - Sounds of Silence, Simon and Garfunkel.

19. Were your parents strict? No no a million times no. I'm not even sure they were fully aware they were raising me.

20. Would you go sky diving? I think I might. And if they could tandem me with Ewan McGreggor I'd go right now.

21. Do you like cottage cheese? I do. But not with fruity things. Just a dash of salt and pepper.

22. Have you ever met a celebrity? Orson Scott Card, I think I spotted Donny Osmond at the mall in Orem, UT.

23. Do you rent movies often? Netflix.

24. Is there anything sparkly in the room you're in? Just my personality.

25. How many countries have you visited? uno

26. Have you made a prank phone call? Oh my yes. I really liked it.

27. Ever been on a train? Yes - in Chicago (it was frightening. Some guy was carrying a TV); the frontrunner here in Utah was very clean.

28. Brown or white eggs? I don't care, I like the rainbow colored ones.

29. Do you have a cell-phone? somewhere around here ... call me, I can't find the sap sucker.

30. Do you use chap stick? no ... I found a nice long lasting lipstick that is my new treasure.

31. Do you own a gun? No real ones. I'd like one, I think, but then, my kids steal my gum out of my purse, no big deal, but if they steal the gun ...

32. Can you use chop sticks? Yep. Had Sushi on Friday, ate my Organic Greens salad with chop sticks. Didn't embarrass myself.

33. Who are you going to be with tonight? I'm alone. It is me and the Rug Doctor.

34. Are you too forgiving? No, I'm a big fat grudge holder.

35. Ever been in love? Once or twice.

36. What is your best friend(s) doing tomorrow? Abandoning me to do all the work of getting the house ready for guests.

37. Ever have cream puffs? I LOVE them.

38. Last time you cried? Earlier today. I was feeling overwhelmed with all the work that I have and how I promised Greg I would play like the PERFECT wife all week and ... just everything ...

39. What was the last question you asked? "Will you listen for the kids, I need to run to the store for something?" to my mom - I got diet dr pepper, white chocolate and black twizzlers.

40. Favorite time of the year? Spring. Cold summer.

41. Do you have any tattoos? No, but I feel like I want to get one.

42. Are you sarcastic? Me? NEVER!

43. Have you ever seen The Butterfly Effect? No, but I heard it was kind of icky ... it's in my instant watch queue on Netflix.

44. Ever walked into a wall? Things jump out at me, I can't be held responsible.

45. Favorite color? Purple.

46. Have you ever slapped someone? I may have slapped a certain naughty three year old, but very softly, and he laughed at me, so I tickled him.

47. Is your hair curly? No ... straight as straight.

48. What was the last CD you bought? The last SONG I bought was New Soul by Yael Naim.

49. Do looks matter? Well ... kind of, but to each their own.

50. Could you ever forgive a cheater? I used to say no no a million times no, but now ... I don't know.

51. Is your phone bill sky high? Who knows, I'm not in charge of that crap. Probably.

52. Do you like your life right now? I need a maid. And more money. To pay the maid.

53. Do you sleep with the TV on? I fall asleep watching TV if it's boring but I don't use the TV to sleep.

54. Can you handle the truth? I need the Truth. I seek after it and cling to it.

55. Do you have good vision? things are very blurry at night.

56. Do you hate or dislike more than 3 people? Jesus said love everyone.

57. How often do you talk on the phone? Not too much. I'm more of a screener kind of phone person. Leave me a message. I have phonophobia.

58. The last person you held hands with? My Canon. Well, actually I was dragging him by the arm, does that count? No? Maybe Crichton in the store.

59. What are you wearing? ugly stupid clothes that fit me 20 pounds ago.

60.What is your favorite animal? Cats

61. Where was your default picture taken? My house

62. Can you hula hoop? Yes, a bit.

63. Do you have a job? No one pays me, but I work like hell.

64. What was the most recent thing you bought? Twizzlers. Black.

65. Have you ever crawled through a window? If I would stop locking myself out ... a million times yes.

I Miss You So Much

In laws descending in T minus 43 hours ... Carpets to be cleaned (by me), laundry, mowing, plan meals ....

And wouldn't you know ... a door to door meat sales man ... is $150 a good deal for 8 NY Strip Steaks, 9 Bacon Wrapped Tenderloins, 8 Fillet Mignon, 8 Pepper Fillets, 4, 1# T-Bones, and 18 Chopped Beef Steak Patties? I hope the freaking heck so. I'll give you my review and recommendation next week perhaps.

I got a D- for my Father's Day performance. Perhaps I can tell you all about it later.

Wash walls, clean bathrooms, keep Canon alive.

He likes to scooter in the busy street - well, right next to it. And Big-wheel to the church parking lot, 2 blocks away. By himself. If one more adult tells me where he/she saw my kid, I will poke them in the mother loving eye!

Sigh. So that's what you get until I have one more second to breath/blog.

Love you all.

Dedicated to Untying the Knot that Is My Canon

Oh Canon. You adorable, happy, little thing.You rotten, little monster. You ... youyouyou ... you drive me absolutely insane. I can't take your contrary silliness. It's ... all the time, everything. And I have to take it; I have to take it for at least 15 more years. Oh Canon. Canon! Please come back here. Can you just take a rest, take a break, relax, take it easy?

Do you want to put your toys away or do you want a spanking? A spanking. Well, let me oblige. And now you cry as though I've smashed your little wonderful heart into a million jagged pieces. Let me hug you tight. All better? OUCH! THAT WAS MY NOSE YOU LITTLE ... wait get back here, it's time to go potty? DON'T PEE ON THAT!

Those wet spots on the sidewalk, in the street, all over the cul-de-sac? Canon. Just. Pees. Doesn't care. Isn't embarrassed. Pees and plays. Comes home smelling like ... like he did what he does. I can't get him to care.

Crichton was potty trained by now. All night. Bum wiping. Crichton never NEVER ran away for blocks at top speed. If I gave Crichton the option to obey or have consequences, he obeyed; he never called my bluff. Crichton was so easy. Crichton sang "You Raise Me Up" for Gramma Roth. You, my little boy, you could either sing "Paradise City" or "Gives You Hell."

I used to be a good mom. Now I am ... what am I doing wrong with you kiddo? You are unbendable, you are infinitely confident. Those eyes ... oh my Canon.


Oh bootiful mommy, tan I haf sum onj doose, pity peace?


You sure can sweetie.

NO! Apoe Doose!

I love you SO much. I love you a million itty bitty pieces. I love you just exactly the way you are. You are perfect and mommy needs you and loves you just the way you are, my child. My sweet perfect little boy.

Much easier to say when you're snuggled up in your bed.

You are a really good sleeper.


Wish I had a grandpa or some uncles around so dad doesn't have to take all the groin shots himself...

Do You What Time It Is? What Day it is?

It is 4:08 p.m. currently - Thursday, the 18th of June.

I've spent most of the day possessed by the spirit of my father, printing up and organizing music, and strumming chords on my daddy's guitar.

It's his wedding anniversary today.

Dad played guitar like no one's business. If there was a way to turn my VHS wedding tape into something I could load here, I would show you. I really should get that converted before time or rodents make it impossible. It's the only recording I have of my dad and the only thing I have with him singing to me.

I miss his voice.

House of the Rising Sun.

You Are My Sunshine.

Stuck in my head is that cute song at the end of Juno - Anyone Else But You - super easy to play. I can't wait for Greg to get home and have a duet with me. And Chordie.com, a very helpful and useful site indeed.

Greg likes to strum around and not play anything in particular, which drives me crazy - like channel surfing on the guitar. He complains that the music binder of random songs I printed off and slapped together is to unorganized for him to play out of (because you can't play Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah, turn the page and play Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, turn the page and play Waltzing Matilda ... oh no ... that'd be just silly).

So I organized the binder: New Stuff (You Found Me - Fray), Love Songs (I Can't Help Falling In Love With You), Strange Songs (Skullcrusher Mountain - Jonathan Coulton), Old Stuff (Little Boxes - Malvina Reynolds; we've been watching all the episodes of Weeds on Netflix ... a little addicted, we are); and Christmas Songs.

Yeah. Maybe I should have fed the kids a meal or two; I kept asking if they were hungry and they kept saying no. I made them S'Mores around 10.

And perhaps Greg did ask me to get the office cleaned out for his parents visit next week. I can still get it done.

And I did want to get the craft closet organized and useful, I even took a couple of before pictures.

But what can you do when you are possessed by the ghost of your father, who wants you to play his guitar, every song you know and a few you don't, until your fingers are blistered?

I can not be held responsible for the complete and utter waste of time today.

I'd give you a movie of me and my dad's guitar playing something, but seriously, my fingers ...

Here's a video I watched approximately 27 times.



I once emailed Black Hockey Jesus and got permission to quote him - I haven't written that post yet, but I'm pretty sure his permission was carte blanche. From his post yesterday:

I have an old dead friend named Linda who was waist deep in loving Jesus and she used to tell me that it would be perfectly evident when I was living God's Will for me because life would feel effortless and joy would abound. I don't know about God or what the hell He wants with me, but I do know that when I'm writing, I am something well beyond happy.

That's how blogging always goes for me. And my project today, too. The time flies by and suddenly the whole day is gone (or the night). I just have fun and life is easy, I live without having to think about it. That's how today was, so I'm going to say it was God's will.

And now, baby girl is a wake and the boys need to eat something besides Otter Pops for dinner.

I'm happy.

Greg's working late, anyway. He'll never know. (until he reads the blog tomake sure I haven't written anything forbidden)

I have all the time in the world to finish all the things I need to do.

How Organizing Your Crap And Banishing Clutter Will Make Your Life Easier And Possibly More Complicated

Hi. Welcome to my house. Glad you could stop by.

You may recall, a couple of weeks ago, I decided I needed to clean my house.

Actually that was back in May, but wow, May zoomed the hello-nurse by, and so then it was June and I realized I should clean. For in June, there would be a Rothy wedding in the nearby village of Salt Lake and a murder of Roths (that's a group of two or more; like crows) would ascend to wit.
Forthwith.
Post haste.

Now, to be fair, this is what the TV room looked like after I orgaanized the front room as well as the children's bedrooms (taking out 95% of their toys).

Go ahead, take a close look. Play like it's one of those Highlights Magazine find it games: scads of crap piled on top of the children's bookshelves - things we needed to put up where Sagan couldn't eat them; plethora of miscellaneous CD's, DVD's, games, and hoo hah on the DVD shelves; 7 large Tupperware containers vomiting out their toyish contents; a random entryway table; a big exercise ball; a three year old - master-mess-maker-extraordinaire.

Whatever did I do?

I got rid of everything I could and then put every little thing that was left, away.

Ta da:


Notice, kids are IN the room and the room hasn't fallen apart.

One week and 5 minutes of straightening up later - still intact.

Husband did the kitchen for me, one Sunday as I slept for most of the afternoon and evening after God smited me with a plague of 4 year olds punishing me greatly for my sins and shortcomings; past, present and future a spiritually uplifting block of meetings.


This is how it looks after the requisite 5 minutes for dishes, wiping and sweeping.



Bathrooms ... swipe the toilets, spritz the mirrors, wipe down the toilet and floor (because we have boys and boys pee all over the dadgum place).

Boys' room MESSY!!!

5 minutes later - boys' room CLEAN.

I have three dirty little secrets behind my great success.

Secret the First - the office where our server is slowly becoming sentient:



Secret the Second - my bedroom is only kind of clean.

Secret the Third - How my husband suggested I prioritize the housework.

(Lets give Greg a British accent to add to the air of pompous authority with which he loves to lecture me.)

My dear, to properly prioritize the cleaning of the home, you must imagine that a salesman, a door-to-door salesman has suddenly knocked upon your front door. When you open it, what will he see first?

The front room?

That's right dahling, the front room. Maintaining a high standard of cleanliness and organization here must, therefore, be your utmost priority. Now, what will this chap see next?

The dining room?

Smashingly brilliant isn't she? (pats me on the head) So, practically equal in priority must be the dining room table. You must be sure to put away the dishes and sweep the floor. Now, the fellow is probably a bit parched from his travels and you, my love, being the fabulous hostess you are, would likely offer him a bit of refreshment, am I right?

Sure.

So that makes the rest of the kitchen the next priority, followed closely by the TV room, which, of course, is visible from the kitchen, as per your orders when we bought the house.

Yes.

Now dear. Let's say you marry the salesman.

What?

Just hypothetically, dahling. The bathrooms and bedrooms and such would be your next priority. There - now you know what must be done. You clean the house by simply imagining a sales man, whom you later marry, coming to the door.

Wait. Can I just have an affair with the salesman? I kind of like you as my husband - I bet you make more money than your average door-to-door salesman. Plus, he'd be on the road all the time, going into the homes of strange women ... I don't think I could tolerate that.

Yes, yes, that'll be fine dear. Just have a little Bob's Your Uncle with the salesman. But, you understand my point, don't you? How you must keep the house clean?

Oh, yes. I understand perfectly, my Love.


The end.

Addiction

Fine.

This?

Me.

A Few Secrets (Where "a few" = 5, and 5 = x, and x = whatever)

Who doesn't love a list?

I love lists.

Have a freaking mother-loving list.

1. If you go through a room and banish all the extra clutter therein, it only takes 5 minutes a day to make it sparkle. Even the kitchen (maybe 10). Stay on top of things and they aren't so very overwhelming. This leaves you with so much time to blog. If only you felt inspired.

2. Stay-at-home moms might be financially dependent on their spouse, but husbands are emotionally dependent on their spouses and that makes the balance of power perfectly equal.

3. When you are nice to your husband he does amazing things for/to you. It's worth it.

4. Music can help you overcome negative moods that are somewhat beyond our control (hormonally speaking) . It also increases your energy level. And dancing is contagious.

5. Given a horde of boy toys, my baby girl is drawn to the toy microwave (though she enjoys putting the little Einsteins inside - but to be fair, we don't have toy food). Given a mountain of action figures, transformers, monsters, mutants, and robots, somehow my daughter found a pink princess to play with.

6. I told Crichton the best invention he could make would be a clothes folding machine ... and when Greg gets his time machine up and running I will send the Crichton Folder 100 back to 1978 and I will never know a time when women have to spend hours folding clothes only to leave the room for a moment and return to find the three year old making like it's autumn (get it? laundry = the leaves).

7. The process of "building up to [something]" is absolutely infinite in capacity.

8. I may not have the option of slumber parties to stay up late, giggling, and philosophizing to get to know people and become good friends, but there are other ways.

9. The sun is about 93,000,000 miles away (that's why it looks so small). It is a huge atom smashing machine; a gigantic nuclear furnace, if you will. I think it is the answer. As usual, we've been looking right at it all the time and didn't even realize.

10. Pandora is the only radio station that understands me and appreciates/satisfies my eclectic musical needs. My current mix: Ingrid Michaelson, Dave Matthews Band, Gives You Hell (All American Rejects), Rob Thomas, Billy Joel, Elton John, Ben Folds, Big Band/Swing, John Mayer, The Beatles, Bubblegum Oldies, Veronica (Elvis Costello), Tori Amos, Alternative Pop/Rock, Jason Mraz, Jack Johnson, My Heart Will Go On (Celene Dion), Jonathan Coulton, #1 Crush (Garbage), Pink, Jewel, Maps (Yeah Yeah Yeahs), Garbage, Move Along (All American Rejects), Weezer, Lenka, I Can't Help Falling In Love (Elvis), Everclear, Indiana Jones and the Last Cruisade Film Score.

Find my blog boring and sparse lately? Yeah? Me too. There are only so many "aren't my kids cute" posts a girl like me can throw up before she wants to (you finish the sentence. See how lazy and apathetic I've become?!)

Why, you ask? WELL. For one, I've been in a good mood for days and days. Even so, all the juicy things I'd like to write for you? Pure Patriarchal Censorship (yeah, Greg, that's you, I totally blamed YOU for making my blog suck). I've got scads of provocative drafts that can only be published when I'm ready to abandon my husband and children - but for now, I'm kind of attached to those guys. Husband's been trying this crazy new thing, [rest of this sentence is completely unavailable for publication].

The walls of this blog, pressing in on me, like so much my favorite scene in Star Wars IV.

Not sure what to do about it.

Hate blogging about blogging.

I know how to spell "organizing", but I don't know how to edit tags.

Alex's Lemonade Stand

Once there was a little girl named Alex. She had cancer.

Doesn't that just smash you in the heart and make you want to hug on your babies? But, by the grace of God...

I just wanted to make you aware: June 12th, 13th, and 14th, as you drive around

(like maybe around 4100 S 465 E, Salt Lake City, UT, 84107 on Saturday June 13, 2009 from 11:00 am to 1:00 pm)

If you see one of these:




You should stop and donate some money.

If you would like to donate on-line, you bet your sweet patootie you can - here's a link.

Want to run your very own stand? Because you can. We've got rain all weekend here, but later this summer, you bet I will. Hope you will stop by ...

An iPod Contest

You could enter to win an iPod here. But I'd rather you didn't. You see, my iPod died and now I have an iHome with no Pod.

So you see, what would really be best, is if you go comment (that's all she wants, simple comments) on my behalf. Write "please count my comment for Brandy, who really needs an IPod. Thanks." I'd be ever so appreciative. I would.

Sincerely,

Mrs. B

How Many Spiders Do You Eat In Your Sleep

Just one of the many things I think about.

Chomp.

The Dead Have Risen - Rejoicing Is Had By Most

I thought we lost Margret "Tootsie Lou" Thatcher.

Well, actually, we did lose big kitty. She was missing for 2 nights - no one had seen her. She's a little shy, not all chasing down and eating children like Milo. She doesn't go outside. She's very dignified and refined and proper.

Just like a former Prime Ministress of England ought to be.

If she were a cat.

I didn't worry too much yesterday, but this morning I thought, perhaps she has gone off somewhere out of sight to politely die. She's 12. That's 84 in Prime Minister years.

I looked in every closet, nook, and cat-sized cranny. Mentally, I prepared myself to find a pile of dead cat. She was no where. I thought I'd check outside. Just in case.

Not in the kids' play house. Nor behind it.

Not in the dog house. (Why haven't we torn that sucker down yet?)

I peered into the garden shed. As my eyes adjusted, I saw something strange next to my watering can. I focused ... yes, something furry. Something brown and furry.

"Kitty kitty?"

No movement, no meows.

"Yep," I thought (because I'm an optimist), "She's dead. Darn it."

Then I poked her (I usually sign the death certificate before I examine the body, it's a personal preference).

And she meowed.

Humph, what do you know? Not dead.

She meowed again and I carried her to the house, as happy as if I had resurrected her myself.

"LOOK EVERYONE! I FOUND HER!!!"

"Darnit!" says Crichton, "I wanted to get a new kitty."

Cleanliness, Godliness, Richliness

A few days ago, I read a post, with which I generally agree, but there was one line that stuck with me. It poked me in a sore spot - a spot that's been getting quite a bit of poking lately.

"My mom said 'You don't have to be rich to be clean.'"

Back in October, I reminisced too much about my childhood - ruminated might be a better "r" word. We were a poor family in a tiny house, welfare, too many pets, stinky, smokey. Not a fun place to visit, the memories of my childhood home.

You don't have to be rich to be clean? Harrumph. I beg to differ. A bit. A bit, a bit.


Water heater, uninstalled - Around $400.

The water heater was a million years old and would only spurt out maybe 3 gallons of hot water every 12 hours or so. It was enough to wash dishes, but not enough to bathe in (we had no shower, by the way). I would get up very early and boil water in the two biggest pots we had, EVERY morning. Because, being a hyper-self-conscious teenager, I couldn't not bathe before school.

$400 was more than my dad made in two weeks at the Stinker Station working full time. After he got fired ...

Professional Plumber - $125 to get him there, plus everything else.

The drain under the kitchen sink was always backed up. My dad disconnected the pipes and the sinks drained directly into a 5 gallon bucket. Often that bucket would overflow. The area under the sink and the floor boards were black with mold and had warped like Quasimodo.

Replace floor boards and kill mold - $$$ a bunch.

Washer and Dryer - $400 each. New.

The washer was an old old thing, and it worked. Kind of. Except when it didn't. The dryer: we went through those suckers, and how. We'd get a $50 used one from the D.I. every few years. I washed my own clothes to make sure what I wanted was clean and away from animals and smoke. If our washer and dryer was down, I'd drag garbage bags full of laundry to my aunt's house and wash our family's clothes. All weekend. We only had the cheapest laundry soap, guaranteed to give you a rash. Forget about bleach, who has money for such extravagances? Pray for dryer sheets. Also, my mom has never had a driver's license, so a few times, when necessity dictated that we HAD to utilize a laundrO-mat - we loaded up the wagon and walked it down (nothing a young girl likes better than to stroll through the neighborhoods, dirty laundry in tow).

Brooms, mops, cleaning supplies, towels, wash cloths, soap, shampoo. When you make enough money that you don't really have to think about how each thing costs money, you can say things like, "You don't have to be rich to be clean," but when you're in the grocery store making choices like school supplies or cleaning supplies...

And, sure, my parents were pretty damn lax when it came to cleaning up. My husband can tell you how he and I pay the price for their bad example, as I truly struggle with the self-discipline it takes to establish routines to keep a house up. We have the products: I'm lazy. I had some really good aunts for role models, but as far as motivating myself to do the work every day ... I suck. I really, really do.

And I think part of it is simply discouragement from doing the same things everyday and no one noticing unless I don't do it. Wipe the counters, dishes, dishes, dishes, mop the floor, vacuum, straighten, put away toys, kitty litter, laundry, sort through papers, take out the trash, recycle. Gardening now, too. Everything has to be done. My husband makes a point to notice and comment when the house is straightened up (also when it's really bad), but it's like my hears and brain don't register good stuff, just the bad. If I let things go a day, two days ... then I feel overwhelmed, my 15 minute task will take an hour and what mom has a solid hour for anything (before 9 pm, at which point she's too tired for manual labor). Maybe my parents were just very very overwhelmed and discouraged. I think it is very likely.

In conclusion, I just want to say, I think every one of us wants to be clean and have a clean house, but sometimes there are extenuating circumstances, the filth and messiness are symptoms of other issues that need to be dealt with. Not everyone was brought up with the same decent skill set. I'm learning. I struggle. I know what ideal looks like, but how to get ME, my family, my life there, well, that's a process.

If you ever ever ever look at someone and think, "You don't have to be rich to be clean," you better damn well have your broom in hand and be ready to help.

Have a Monday! Remember - if you went to church yesterday, Monday is the day of rest from your day of rest, so you don't HAVE to do anything, but anything you DO do gets double points!!!

Something Quick Before They Notice I'm Gone - Secrets of Potato Salad

Shhhh ... we have to whisper or they will find me.

THANK YOU ALL oh so very much for the wondrous birthday greetings. So kind and uplifting. I like my 30s. I'm not nearly as stupid as I used to be, mostly because I realize and accept how stupid I am.

I still haven't cleaned out that litter box. I know. So kill me. It's automatic, but the cord keeps breaking ... I have to splice wires.

Did I mention I am afraid of electricity? Even if things are unplugged. You have to plug them back in and hopefully the 3 hours of sleep were enough to keep you aware enough to match black to black and black-white to black-white. OR IT WILL PROBABLY EXPLODE.

Because I hired Michael Bay to direct my litter box.

(it was a stupid mistake, live and freaking learn)

So, did you hear? I got 114 point in Scrabble last night. At 12:38 a.m. I may have been a bit of a scrabble whore ... and by may have been, I mean, I lost a pair of e's ... if you find them, just keep them. My rating is 1001, which I don't think is very good, but 4 digits.

SHOOT! I heard him clear his throat, that is almost always followed by a request for my current location and activity. And Canon's crying ...

And we haven't had lunch yet.

But we had doughnuts for breakfast.

Crap. This post is terrible.

Maybe I could share my secret family recipe for the MOST AMAZINGLY DELICIOUS POTATO SALAD IN THE KNOWN UNIVERSE. Maybe that would improve the overall quality of this post ... but I can't. I was sworn to secrecy.

I'll tell you what: I shall reveal the secret technique: sugar up your mayo. Vinegar up your sugar-mayo. Mustard up your vinegar-sugar-mayo. Pickles, eggs, potatoes, salt and pepper. OH and the biggest secret, don't BOIL the potatoes, bake them, then SHRED them. Yes.

But that's all I can say ... Sagan was rudely awoken and is totally tattling on me! (little brat) (angel poop from heaven!)

Five Things I Did When I Was 30 And Five I'm Gonna Do at 31

1. Gave birth to a baby girl (well, 2 weeks before, but I'm still counting it).

2. Lost about 40 pounds and am right around my pre-child bearing weight.

3. Trained for and completed a 5K in 37 minutes.

4. Voted for president (and my guy won).

5. Got a job and quit a job (to write a book, which I haven't done).

6. Sold the dog, vowed never to get another. Adopted a cute orange kitten who now attacks mice and small children.

7. Wrote a couple posts about gay marriage. Made some people angry.

8. Had an Open Letter written in my general direction. Had an article about my blog published.

9. Started going to the temple twice a week and, what do you know, found something very like spiritual enlightenment.

10. Passed the 1,000 posts mark on my blog.

11. Figured out how to Eka Pada Urdhva Dhanurasana.

12. Auditioned for and got a part in a community theater production.

13. Was sealed to my parents in the Twin Falls, ID temple.

14. Discovered the best chocolate cake recipe in the known universe.

15. Weaned my baby girl.

It really went by fast.

Here's a list of things I'd like to accomplish now that I'm 31:

1. Go to California. Meet Karen Maezen Miller and see the ocean.

2. Get a doctor to feel up my left breast and tell me everything is fine.

3. Convince Congress to pass a law ending the twice yearly clock changing stupidity.

4. Convince Congress to establish a universally recognized and dispensed Civil Union Contract.

5. Participate in community theater.

Finally, I will not be celebrating or keeping track of my birthday anymore. Sure, I'll make myself a cheesecake every year, but should someone ask when my birthday is, I'll tell them I was born around 1978 and watch as they struggle with math (it hurts your brain). If they ask me my age, I'll say, "I'm in my 30's." I'm old enough now that those silly details are meaningless. Important ones, like how long I've keep my husband trapped in Holy Matrimony, I'll celebrate that. But I've had enough birthdays.

(Though, feel free to send me a just because gift any old day in June you like!)

Is Mommy Blogging Exploitation?

I just read Dr. Laura's Blog about Jon and Kate Plus 8. I have to wonder ... if reality TV is clearly exploitation of children and their right to privacy, is blogging your family life that much different?

I read a lot of blogs which use different methods to protect their children's anonymity - some have changed names completely or use cute nicknames or just the first initial. A lot of us, me included use real names, first and last, real pictures. Some of us relate moments that will probably embarrass our kids in the future. Sometimes I embarrass my husband in the present, describing personal moments and his long toenails.

I don't think I would appreciate the world knowing about my mother's frustration with my daily pooping in my pants. And yet, potty training is a common challenge for people in my situation ...

Someday my kids will be old enough to care what information I've put up for public consumption. Will my writing about Cri's tendency for depression effect his ability to get health insurance in the future? Or a job?

And why am I writing? It's certainly not just for me and my family at this point. I have agendas I push with my blog (Daylight Saving, Civil Unions, How My Church Is Not Crazy) - I can't fall back to the Family Journal or even Personal Journal rationalization.

I like to write, to think, to organize my thoughts and compare them to other's. I love getting sympathy when I've had a bad day. I like the connection I feel to the world. It's all very selfish and of little use to my family.

Are blogs like mine exploitation of children just like reality shows? Or does my tiny audience not count? I'm not making money off 'em. Not even diapers. But maybe I share too much, too often.

All of us who use our families for blog fodder ... we should probably be careful and aware. If I could go back in time, I'd probably do a better job of protecting identities ...

Do you have an opinion about child exploitation on reality TV or in blogs?

Plans

This morning, I was washing last night's dishes as I listened to Pandora, set on a quick mix of a dozen stations. Cri goes, "Mom, it's a Nine Inch Nails song." (March of the Pigs, live, to be specific)

"Just skip to the next one."

So many levels of bad momminess...

******

On Sunday - Canon looked so cute. His hair has grown all shaggy again - I just love it, but it gets in his big blue eyes. So, I put goop in his hair and gave him a "mommy's little boy" style. I have to take a picture, I thought to myself.


Then I remembered he was a wicked 3 year old. But it was too late.


He is a fast little guy.


And clever - with that whole, stay on the opposite side of an object and mommy can't catch me strategy he invented.

Then I wanted to get a picture of both of my boys looking spiffy ...

But they would not sit still and cooperate. I know, imagine that - little boys not wanting to sit still and have a dozen pictures taken. Don't they know how fast they are growing up?!

And this week. Spring cleaning, sprucing up, purging the crap. Here's what I've got so far:

Nice - huh! I am doing such a good job! The in-laws will be so impressed when they get here.




Canon kind of likes this new vomitorium of toys in the TV room. He has his own idea for how the toys should be sorted and stored.




And here's baby girl. Notice she's wearing actual 12 month size capris, as opposed to some 6 month size pants I tell myself work for capris. (Following your lead)

ALRIGHT! I have lots to get done, planting fruits, getting the toys tackled, sending Cri to school, hopefully, if things go well, a temple session.

Have a great day.

Mrs. B Roth - Regularly Disappointing Readers Since 2006

I was hoping to have a post worthy to submit to Senators, expounding on the immediate and vital need to abolish government issued marriage licenses and establish federally recognized civil unions, hitting all the arguments on both sides with perfect, irrefutable reasoning. It was going to be thoughtful, elegant, and perfect. I would have included a link to all the congressional email addresses so you could cut and paste it to all your friends, and everyone would inundate congress with my brilliant prose.

I don't have that post written yet.

Instead, we have this pathetic excuse for an excuse.

I blame my husband - he asked for a pedicure as I started my first draft, on Sunday. Honestly. A pedicure. Because his toenails are made of granite and grow longer than my fingernails ever dream of growing. The soak, the scrub, the lotion, the trimming, the filing, the orange stick ... no polish this time, thanks. A pedicure.

I also blame my kids, who refuse to make their own meals, change their own diapers, or poop consistently not on the floor, and who require no less than 2,000 hugs and kisses a day. Also, some of them are guilty of indecent exposure, public urination, and possible shouting profanities (if not in actual word, certainly in tone).

And, while I'm handing out blame, let me blame Scrabble and my obsession with finishing up on-line games followed by a desire to be victorious in one thing. It's her fault for introducing me and his fault for feeding the addiction. Also, when I informed my husband that he had not been fulfilling my boardgame needs and I had found other people who did - for the first time, I witnessed something like jealousy in him, and now HE'S playing Scrabble with me, too! (Hey, you wanna play? Hmm? You think you can beat ME? Lexulous on Facebook - meet me there! No anagram generators or outside dictionaries or cheating.)

And the economy. I have to finishing putting in a garden so I can grow watermelon, pumpkins, cucumbers, and cantaloupe to save money. Because the government can give my tax money to bail out Citibank, but Citibank thanks me by hiking my interest rate - to cover their expenses. What, you mean, expenses? The expenses you incur sending me, my husband, my mother, and the dog 5 new offers every week? And your TV commercials? THOSE EXPENSES, CITIBANK?

Plus, there's this thing I'm trying out - Spring Cleaning, where I go through the whole house, room by room, and dispose of garbage and clutter, taking us to the bare basics. I did the boys room yesterday. I removed all the toys except an under-the-bed box of Legos, and one of those 3 drawer plastic rolley carts of action figures, Mr. Potato Head and accessories (Because, deep down, I'm Idaho), and small "manipulatives" we use to practice math skills. There's a stereo I wanna sell on KSL.com so I can buy the kids an iPod to play music and stories when they go to sleep. There's a Casio keyboard I wanna sell because we have a full size one in the front room now. Greg said, "No yard sales!" so I have to take digital pictures and put them up on the classifieds on-line. All, very time consuming and very important - 3 weeks until the invasion of the (BELOVED) in-laws!

And I'm thinking about a new career in Plasma Donation. That is a job I think I could do! $500/month if my immune system is extra good.

Play auditions. I kind of sucked, but Crichton ROCKED - so that might be another time commitment. Cast list posts THURSDAY!

So you see, while it is very important to write my Civil Union Magnum Opus ... There is a lot of life I have to do first.

Sorry. Stay tuned.