Replaceable

And now for a post with too many personal details.

Every couple of weeks we have the same conversation: do we want more kids or are we finished? He could be through with the three. I waffle. I'd like another girl.

But when I'm feeling like I'd like to have control over my body I ask:

Me: So why don't you just go get a vasectomy?
Him: *cringe*

There was more to it today, though.

Him: What if you die and my new wife wants children?

What if, indeed.

Do you ever think about how replaceable you are? Or maybe you think you aren't. Do you have contingency plans? If this terrible thing happens, I will do this ...

I don't.

But Greg does.

I'm going to make an appointment with my OBGYN and get the birth control that makes you always hap-hap-happy and makes you prettier and gives you extra energy. Before, a decade ago, when I was on the pill, I thought it made me fat. Now, I'm pretty sure it was all the food I ate, but with my brilliant new *anorexia diet, I don't think it'll be much of a problem. I'm calling right now ... you may not like my blog afterwards, but I love you anyway.

____________________________________

*"What's the brilliant new anorexia diet?" you ask. Well, as it turns out, if you cut out carbs, you can lose a considerable amount of weight. BUT if you cut out most all food, it drops off at a much more encouraging speed. Throw in a few miles of running a few times a week and VAVOOM, you're pants will be falling off in no time.

Ha ha. I'm mostly kidding. OK, off to drink some water and eat some air. Ha ha, I mean a big lovely salad.

Cheaper By The Dozen

Remember that audition, so long ago, with my cannibal monologue? Yes, well, you may have noticed a dearth of posts (probably you didn't, but my ego likes to think you did). That's because I'm not just a blogger, now, I'm an actress.

The play opens August 7th. You should book a plane, get a babysitter, whatever, and come see me as ... The Maid. I have 7 lines. I'm amazing. Brilliant, heart-wrenching prose like this:

I set you out a snack. No decent food on trains. And there's cookies and ice cream for the rest of you.

Yes, my monologue was significantly longer than my entire part in the play, BUT what's really important is I am getting out of the house, doing something that makes me happy, spending time with my eldest child (he has 19 lines ...), and forcing myself to talk to and build relationships with people.

But probably, I should have gotten a part-time job instead. Isn't there a grant out there for a stay-at-home mom to participate in community theatre?? Our countries priorities are so messed up.

The play runs clear until September 18th, Mondays, Fridays, Saturdays, so you certainly have plenty of time to clear your schedule of trivialities and make room for what's really important.

Bonus: Greg agreed I could do one play a year. Next spring this theatre is doing Into The Woods. It's my favorite musical. I'll start learning how to sing and maybe, just maybe, if I say my prayers and pay my tithing, fate will smile on me.

Five Feels Like Forever

Haven't got that digital camera you sent to replace the one I left on my husband's bumper yet. When do you suppose it'll get here?

Haven't posted for 5 days. I could have sworn it'd been at least a full week. But no. Just 5 little days. Missed me?

It's been the best of days. It's been the worst of days, well, not the worst, but, meh.

I've had some fun. I invited dozens of people, mostly kids, over for lunch a couple of times. My turkey wraps are world renown. Had a cousin/veteran over for lunch ... that was really very enlightening in so many ways. SHE (yeah, SHE, is a veteran herself and the wife of a military husband CURRENTLY serving Iraq AND the mother of 4 children). She had such an informed and unique perspective for me to experience. I barraged her with questions and I still have so many more. Also, I took my 3 kids swimming and burnt us all, me the worst. Now, I am molting. And wow does it itch. Plus, a good friend and her cute family spontaneously stopped by for a couple nights. I made them play charades with me.

You all should stop by for a couple nights and play charades with me. You get to sleep on an air mattress in the baby's room (we put the baby in with me), and no matter how many of you there are, we just nest you up on the floor. When it's charades time, we all get a piece of paper and come up with ideas. My best one last night was: "If I were a bird I would fly over your head and poop on you." (15 words, 13th word, 1 syllable). Come on over. Plus, we have an amazing waffle maker - it died a while back, but good old Shopko let me trade the defective one for a brand spanking new one. Thanks Shopko.

But now it's Monday. I am slightly hungover from my late night Annie Sing Along party (much like a Rocky Horror Picture Show Sing Along, but, slightly less transvestism - Tim Curry, either way you go though!).

Maybe a little grumpy.

Church has been a thing for me lately. Religion is hard, like marriage. I don't know if it's just the way it's all set up, the three-hour block of meetings, me having no opportunity to really have grown-up religious conversations, I crave it though (Maybe if I wasn't the world's suckiest visiting teacher - that video shows all my best techniques, up until the cheesy end part). So I sit through Sacrament Meeting, trying to keep my kids quiet and entertained so they don't disturb the congregation. Then, I spend an hour in Primary and LITERALLY wrestle with 4 year olds to keep them quiet during Primary, and an hour of alternating between 5 minutes of bribing kids with candy to sit in listen and 5 minutes of high impact cardio Once There Was A Snowman. We've been lucky with the last couple music people. The music person is like THE most spiritually influential individual in Primary. The first got promoted to Primary President. The current just got promoted to Young Women's (they always get the cutest and the best - I have no hope of EVER being in YW!). I tell you, that was hard for me to hear. EVERY WEEK that lady touches my heart to the point I am choked up and can't sing along! She was brilliant and sincere. Alas. ACK! AND my super diligent visiting teaching partner and friend is moving away. So. I wish they would hold a weekly evening adult meeting for the adults in Primary. I wonder if I wouldn't be the only one showing up ...

A blog I kind if like canceled itself. Punk. Like you get to write a blog and then decide you don't wanna. Bastard. I hate people like that. I just wanted to see if you'd be my friend, sucker, I don't care to maintain the relationship.

My current far and above favorite TV show is kaput. Dammit. I blame you for not taking my advice and watching it. Together, we could have made a difference. Hope you really enjoy the millions of CSI incarnations and those pathetic singing/dancing/find love SHITE TV.

The only other TV show I kind of like gives me the creeps and invades my dreams.

This morning, Greg gave me the choice: "I could stay and make you waffles or go to work now and get off at 4." I chose B and B was the wrong answer.

**Instant Message replay**

The Amazing Mrs. B. Roth says:
how's 4 looking?

greg.roth says:
Not good

The Amazing Mrs. B. Roth says:
not surprized

greg.roth says:
I think I have a meeting at 4

The Amazing Mrs. B. Roth says:
should have taken the waffles

greg.roth says:
agreed

My mom offered to take the boys to the stupidest movie on Earth, I reluctantly agreed, but when we got there, Canon couldn't bear to leave his mommy, and simultaneously wanted to go to the movie with grandma. So rather than an afternoon off, I got to soothe Mr. Sophie's Choice. He would have been happy if I'd gone to the movie with him and grandma, but I, in good conscience, could not pay to watch that piece of tripe. They report movie sales as if that's in indicator of the quality of the movie, but there is NO way to get your money back, to report you dissatisfaction. Plus, I had a traumatizing incident when I accidentally left my pet guinea pig in the same room as my pet ferret. Holding very still in the presence of a predator is not a very wise defense tactic, as it turns out.

When in trouble,
When in doubt,
Run in circles,
Scream and shout.

People take to long to move in on-line scrabble.

I'm randomly angry. I should play racquetball again; the concentric rainbow bruise on my abdomen is nearly healed. Boys play rough.

People keep trying to make plans with me. I'm becoming quite popular. Ha ha. I am having some residual hermit tendencies. It takes me a few YEARS to settle into a place, make and trust friends, open up. I hate making plans, but I love doing stuff. Call me, I'll come over.

Finally, and most importantly: I played the best scrabble game ever. You should see 711 points. I know, I know. Right?! Yeah.

And then, I started another game with the poor fellow and used all 8 tiles on my first word. He calls it luck. Pshaw.

Screw dinner - I'll throw the leftovers together with a bunch of cheese and call it casserole. Grilled steak, mashed potatoes, brussel sprouts, and pasta.

There, had your whiny fill? Good. See you later.

Oh, anything bugging you? And when can I expect you to stop by for charades?

Potter Pooper

For all those rabid Harry Potter fans who also read my blog and know of my general apathy towards all things Potter, you will be pleased to know that HP is Crichton's new obsession. Daddy took him to see #6 (and let him take his homemade wand). Jedi Robes are now Hogwart's Robes. There are several pairs of lensless glasses in my house. Both children have lightning shaped marker marks on their foreheads (though Canon is usually Draco Malfoy because he's blond and evil). Crichton downloaded an HP demo on XBOX live (I don't even know how one does that). Canon keeps saying "INgardia EviOHSA" though he still seems confused that the magic wand is not a light saber and I get frequents complaints that, "CANON HIT ME WITH HIS SWORD UH WAND!" While simply checking the pronunciation of the killing curse, we realized that Wikipedia has a list of all the HP spells. We now have a binder with 34 pages of spells (yay us), though mostly they shout "STUPIFY" at each other.

I'm going to see if I can convince him to READ the books to me/with me.

Also. I have not bought Canon diapers in a week. Mostly we're playing like big boy underwear are cloth diapers. We pee in the potty if we are reminded hourly, but poop ... no go. Why am I saying "we" ... I'll have you know I am pooping and peeing in the potty perfectly!

Camera still lost - no pictures of Harry and Draco. Sad. But also, no poop pictures, so that's a blessing, really, right?

Also, Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, internet, we ought not have naughty pictures based around children's movie on the internet. I am VERY disappointed in you!

Our Quote For Today

Be regular and orderly in your life so that you may be violent and original in your work.

--Gustave Flaubert

Brought to you thanks to Jane, a person I don't know.

I miss my camera. And my iPod. Could someone tell someone to send me a new fancy pants camera (I named my kid Canon, for crying out loud!) and a iPod or and iPhone (with full, but free service). Don't you have any extras lying around that you're not using? I miss my technology. I promise not to leave it lying on my husband's bumper anymore. Baby girl and the boys are growing up so fast. I need to capture the moments!

Wah.

Priorities - I've Got Five

I think this binge of insanity is finally waning; much like the moon, currently. Coincidence? Nothing is coincidence, says me.

So, as I pull my self together, I've taken a moment to think about the things that I really want to focus my life on. I want to stop wasting my time with crap that doesn't matter. But without a list of what does matter, how can I know if I'm wasting time or meeting objectives?

My Priorities:

1. Wife. There I was, all crazy, melancholy, and generally messed up. And Greg. He saw something in me (I will never, never understand it). You think I'm bad now? You should have seen me back in 96-98. With my flexible morals, mish-mash-what-have-you theology, shoebox full of unpaid bills. Logic? Smogic! And he still took me. I probably appealed to his "save the damsel in distress" instincts. Whatever happens in this life, Greg has held my hand through my darkest times, nudging me, pushing me, carrying me back to reality. Sometimes, I think about when Crichton grows up, how much it would hurt me, as his mommy, to have his wife treat him the way I treat Greg. How I would stand up against the daughter-in-law who dared tell my baby he wasn't doing enough to help! And so I need to be a better wife. Greg deserves a sweet, lovely, kind, attentive wife. Sure, he also deserves a snarky, bust your chops, keep-him-in-line, torture him with puns and sarcasm kind of girl, too. But he's getting way too much of girl 2 and hardly a drop of girl one. And I will always worry that I'm not enough. And he will always worry that I will give up and run away. That's not such a great way to live. I need to proceed with more kindness and more confidence. Give him a home he wants to come home to. Stop being such a whiny, critical, complainy girl. Be the woman he deserves.

2. Mother. This raising the kids stuff is hard and time-consuming! All night and day. Clean clothes, healthful food, enriching environment, socially acceptable behavior, kindness, love, encouragement, no swearing, no name calling, so much human fecal matter. ACK! So the first 5-6 years: INTENSE. Sacrifice all that it takes. The next 10-12 years you teach them how to live their lives themselves: keep track of responsibilities, manage emotions, make good choices or suffer the consequences. You must let them fail a bit, hurt a bit, become confident with who they are. I can't wait for my new parenting book to get here ... sigh. I'm in the hot garage rather than the cool front room so I can be closer, listen, be on hand if they need me as they play outside. Lately, the boys have been in an entrepreneurial phase. Last week, they were selling sticks ... I mean magic wands. This week it's popsicles. I try to participate in their play if I'm wanted and not stand in the way, if I'm not. The TV has been gloriously off most of the day, most of the summer. (They just came home with a five dollar bill for selling 2 Popsicles. "I didn't say how much they were, I just told them to pay whatever they wanted; they wanted Popsicles really bad!" Don't worry, I'm sending him back to give some change, the whole package of Popsicles didn't cost me $2. I think my kids will do well in business!) Kids like it when you pay attention to them.

3. Writing. As it turns out, I like writing. Journaling, stories, letters to government representatives pleading for the end of DST, religion, politics, EVERY little thought that runs through my mind. This blog has been great for developing the habit of writing, finding a voice (I like to think of it as unique, but so many people say my words could of been theirs ... I'm not unique, but I'm me). So blogging counts. And Scrabble counts - how else would I ever learn great new words like HODADDY?! Reading books would count, if I ever start doing that again. Reading and commenting on blogs totally counts. How else would I meet awesome people LIKE YOU! Buy advance copies of my so far unwritten books. Please.

4. Housekeeper. Fun, huh? I DO want a clean house, I think my whole family is happier and more productive when there are NOT 4 sippy cups of congealing whole milk in the sink. I think Sunday's are easier when no one has to start washing church clothes that morning. It's always nicer to vomit in a clean toilet or pee on freshly laundered sheets, don't you think?! The housekeeper also plans meals, shops, and cooks, and organizes the family's schedules. Keep the house together. It's not a big deal, I just have to do a little every day. Keep it up and don't get discouraged.

5. Theatre. Okay. My super secret passion is community theatre. My hush hush goal is to OWN and MANAGE a little theatre, to learn everything about the technical stuff, stage managing, directing, acting, singing, set design. I could care less about Broadway, Hollywood, and I vowed to never be on TV for any reason. I just love every little theatre related thing. I'm not brilliant at it, but I love it and it is the most fun I have.

So ... now I have some direction and purpose for my crazy little life.

Dangit. I forgot to include God, like any kind of spiritual goals ... but just so you know, as part of all these goals (better wife, mother, etc.), I plan on daily exercise, prayer, and weekly temple attendance. These three things, far and beyond anything else, bring God into my life, into my awareness.

So this is my selfish list, the things I WANT to do. Just for me, to make me happy and feel good.

And if you have seen a little silver digital camera lying about somewhere b'twixt here and SLC, with pictures of my cute kids, it's mine. I left it on my husbands bumper and he drove to work. Sigh.

Ok. The heat is too much. Time to play inside for a while. There's laundry to fold. There's always laundry to fold.

53.9772727%

Insanity Test.

My Dino Didn't Make The Cut

Here's the 13 Most Unintentionally Disturbing Children's Toys. My favorite was the remote control, hopping, yodeling lederhosen with knockwurst remote (knockwurst is a sausage) (probably).

But my dinosaur didn't make it. :(

Some people say happiness comes from inside. I say Happiness comes from kicking people. Really hard.

Literal Dan is a nice guy. A bit snarky, once you get to know him, but generally an affable fellow. However, he has mocked and tormented me, bragged all over his supernatural ACT scores and English degree and general verbal superiority.

It doesn't even matter if I win this game (though I did beat him last time, after losing 9 previous games over the course of probably about 6 weeks).

I have 182 points right now. He has 26. HA! Take that Mr. I-only-use-the-anagram-generator-to-speed-up-the-game-I-would-have-come-up-with-ECTOZOA-on-my-own-eventually.

(Did I mention I might be in a bad mood ... anyone else wanna play? I used to have like a dozen simultaneous games going and I'm down to 4. And I have to log in with my husband's account and move for him.)

Ok. I have to get ready for play practice now. Those six lines won't spout themselves!

Sorry Dan. You really are a fabulous scrabble player, and truly, this post merely shows the world how petty and juvenile I am. They all know you are Super Dee Duper and that I've been a little unhappy about life in general, what with my ovaries and all. (and you even left such a nice comment ABOUT my blog over at TWIYV. I am just a bad, bad person.) (if it's any consolation, now you know what letters I have)(also, if you feel like you should "report abuser", I understand completely **hangs head in shame but skips jauntily away because I have 182 points and you only have 26, nah nah nah nah nah nah**)

Nothing Coherent - is it any wonder why my blog readership is on the decline? Not to me. But You're still here ... I love you.

I want to listen to Effington by Ben Folds. I want to sing loudly to ABBA's Fernando. But baby just woke up, Canon just announced "I POOPED!!!" (from the kitchen) and now "I PUT MY POOP IN THE POTTY!!" (from the bathroom).

If I were a man I would thank God everyday for not making me a woman. Seriously - how can life be normal when, as you begin to bleed heavily from your aching-like-they've-been-punched genitals, you think to yourself, "Good. Now maybe things will get better." ??!!!

Oh we all pretend it's acceptable, but I hate it. It is not okay. It is not fair. And the opportunity to create life in your womb a few times is supposed to make up for 50 years of MONTHLY pain, bleeding, and insanity which you are completely expected to pretend is not happening?!

Shut the hell up forever about PMS and you go have a happy period.

Send ME away from the village for a week. Or two.

and we breathe in ... and out ...

Ok. In the next hour I will pump loud energetic music throughout my home and engage my children in the fun fun Friday cleaning of the house, followed by ice cream BEFORE dinner and HOPEFULLY daddy will come home and we can have a dinner picnic at the dinosaur park. That's the plan.

I exercised and showered. I did. And napped while my oldest made many many pieces of art and my 3 year old redecorated by randomly throwing garbage and toys all over.

Turning all that around now.

Go to the matinee, not the 10 pm show. Also, my husband RIPPED my black velvet cape from me, stole my point hat ... absolutely would NOT let me dress up. I so don't think he knows how stifling he is to my embarrassingly bizarre creative side. NO, he knows, how dare he, right?!

It must be something lacking in me, I just can't get passionate about Harry Potter. I confess I had love for the Twilight books (a bit), and mocked the movie. But HP, the books are fine, the movies are good, but it doesn't hit me right. The terrible thing that happens at the end of this movie didn't even make me cry. People all around were sniffling and I was shocked that I was not. I was like, yup, I get it now, Snape's a noble kind of guy, probably, but that was it.

Ok, no more computer. No more Disney Channel, no more nothin' but clean the house and be a good mom.

**UPDATE*** The time is now just 4:20 and my house is salesman tidy (not have an affair with the salesman, but I am ready to hear his spiel. Take that! Music might be the key to overcoming apathy ... maybe the ukulele, specifically. Or maybe Lily Allen. I want a ukulele...

Decisions Decisions Decisions (like how many times to repeat the same word in the title of your blog post)

I was reading an article promoting the notion not doing stuff. Seems like the antithesis of my daily struggle, no? All that time I spend fussing with to do lists and pocket mods, what? I should just go upstairs and fold the dreaded laundry?

Or sit and quietly meditate.

The article ends with this question: How do you get nothing done?

*raising hand, bouncing in seat, pick me, pick me - I rock at getting nothing done*

More than my lack of organizational skills, I think it's my weak decision making skills. I am easy to please, laid back, accept what life gives me (What? I am. I think I am.) I just don't like planning things. I don't like making the decisions. OR I plan like crazy and things don't work out and it cause me stress. The reason I have a hard time getting anything (or nothing) done is because there is so much I think I want to do ... and I tell myself if I just schedule and plan and write it down and organize, everything will fall into place and I'll be able to do it. And I'll be happy.

But I don't let myself do the things I want to do until I finish the things I have to do and I don't really want to do the things I have to do so they never get done and I never get to do the things I really want to do and I whine and get pouty and grumpy and complain about how I never get to do anything I want to do. Harumph.

I confess: Nothing I do, housework wise, really takes more than 30 minutes and much less if I do it every day or even just every other day. I could have my whole house sparkling in 45-60 minutes. Housework, even with 3 small kids, is not this all consuming task. Never-ending, sure, but not impossible. Also, my definition of sparkling is pretty dingy, but I'm cool with that. HOWEVER, In my mind, it is SO HARD! My brain is a big fat lazy LIAR head. It's all very very easy. EVEN WITH THREE SMALL KIDS. The kids help. Even the baby.

I get nothing done (nothing I want to get done) because I fail to DECIDE to do it. I just would like it done, or out of the way so I can do what I really want to do guilt-free. But it's much funner to play scrabble on facebook than clean milk off the kitchen floor AGAIN (Sagan, so help me ...).

Every decision you can make in advance of the situation will save you time. If you take 10 minutes to plan a menu for the week, then make a grocery list from that menu, then, at 6:00, when everyone is whiny and hungry, you don't go to the pantry and think ... hmmm, what ever shall I make? Rather than a can of Chef Boyardee, you can make salad and spaghetti from healthy fresh ingredients (like tomoatoes, hold the high fructose corn syrup). Theoretically, if I decide to get up at 6 am and meditate for 10 minutes, exercise for 40, shower, and then blog until my kids wake up, that should work out smooth as butter ... then I can spend all day giving piggy back rides and going down slipery slides and squirting the crap out of my kids with the back yard hose ... I should be able to ...

But there is a kink here somehow.

Maybe it's the 8 times Canon woke me up last night. We're trying this new thing called: I-didn't-buy-any-diapers-and-we're-going-to-effing-potty-train-him-by-Jingo. He got up and crawled into our bed 4 times. First, I'd snuggle him in and drift to sleep for a bit. Then, I'd startle awake because he was on MY side of the bed, just him and big boy underwear and PJ's. I'd verify the absense of urine and carry him back to pee in his own bed. Which he did not do, I'm very proud to say.

Also, Sagan woke up twice. She's a good girl - five minutes of rocking chair snuggles and back to dreamland.

But still, that's 10 nocternal disruptions. In 7 hours. Did I mention I took my last caffeine vitamin today?

So when the alarm starts going off at 6 am (and it ALWAYS does) I no longer CARE one drop about anything beyond how cozy my bed is, even with a munchkin or two cuddled in. Then at 8, when kids are up and husband dear wants to exercise, THEN I really want that 2 hours back, to do what I wanted to do. But I can't have them now and I'm mad. And I spend all day rebeliously doing nothings I should, not even anything I'd would say I want to do if you asked me.

So, if you could, tell me how to fix the kink. If I could just get up at 6, I'm sure that would solve ALL my problems. But I am very lazy at 6 and not getting those selfish Brandy hours makes me kind of a sucky mom. I'd rather not have my husband fall asleep and drive off the road to or from work, so ... that's that. I just need to SUCK IT for 5 years or so? But five years is so long ... that's 1825 days and nights. One thousand, eight hundred, and twenty five.

What's the answer? Surrender? How do I do the things I need to do for the family and still do the things I want to do for just me? Because if I don't do stuff for me, I tend to not do much for anyone, at least not well.

to be edited more later and published now because who knows why....

I Know, But It Is Driving Me NUTS!

That song. You've heard it, Second Chance by Shinedown.

What's so terrible, you ask, To make it worthy of a blog post on The Mysterious Mrs. B. Roth?

Watch:



(My apologies.)

Did you catch it?

I just saw Hal[l]ey's comet, she waved
Said "why you always running in place?"
Even the man in the moon disappeared,
Somewhere in this stratosphere.

It's two things really.

1986 was the year I REALLY got into space. My 2nd grade Weekly Reader was all over Halley's Comet. I looked for it almost every night. It's called Halley's comet, rhymes with valley. Okay? And I would let you pronounce it Haw-lee (like hall), because Wikipedia said so, but not Hailey. Okay? Please. Honor the man: much like Edmond Halley himself, I never SAW saw it in real life, but I was out there in the cold hoping for it. Then, 1986, Challenger was going to take pictures of it. You remember Challenger, right? The shuttle with a real live teacher on it? The launch every teacher on earth was watching; mine snuck off to the to the library to watch it live. He came back crying.


And then, STRATOSPHERE??? Do you even know where the stratosphere is? Obviously not. It's between 6 and 30 miles above the earth. Planes fly in the stratosphere. It's the cozy layer of the earth's atmosphere (assuming you are snug in a jet plane). Moons and comets are no where near the stratosphere. Relatively speaking. Well, relatively speaking, I guess they are, but ... arg ... you know what I mean.

I keep hearing this song and every time it bugs me. It drives me crazy. Someone needs to tell Brent Smith to go back into the studio and pronounce it properly. I tried leaving him a note on the band's MySpace page, but MySpace wanted me to sit through a Lindsay-Lohan-gets-knocked-up advertisement, then it wouldn't load and I lost my patience (I haven't had much lately). You, be a peach and leave a note for them, would you? Now, there's a dear! Tell him Mrs. B. Roth sent you!

Halley's comet returns in 2061. I'd really like to SEE see it then. (Lovely, now I have completely jinxed myself and will go blind or just drop dead with in a year of 2061, GAH, I hate Fate!) (calling Fate out undoes it's power, now I have a 50/50 chance!) And so help me, if they bring this song out of the archives of one hit wonders, BY JINGO, you will hear how 83 year old Mrs. Brandy Nichole Anderson Roth (etc.) was arrested for using language unbecoming of a lady and hitting strangers with her purple handbag. Because the song makes me CRAZY mad!

SHOCKING - A Post Where Brandy Whines About Crap, HAHA! Be AMAZED!

Here's a post I started last night after I put the kids to bed, as I waited for my husband to get home. He was working late so he could come home early for the rest of the week so I can go to play practice. This post is nothing but insanity and poop, and I'm publishing it anyway. So, ha!

(HUGE PROFANITY, really coarse, dirty, and inappropriate and uncalled for)

The things that are bugging me right now.

1. I am SO sick of my face, my skin, my stupid face! Rip it off. It is not fair. I just want to be pretty, no make-up, just smooth and natural. Why can't I have that? Just a simple request. Freaking funny looking thing God made - I feel bad that my husband has to look at me. No wonder he works late, right? Besides drugs I can't take until I am finished bearing children, what the hell is the secret? Tell me NOW!

2. If I make the meal, and you are an adult, you don't fix a plate and go to your room. You sit at the table and help clean up. This is not a hotel with meals provided, this is a home and I have 3 children to feed before I get to sit down. You didn't BUY the food, you didn't MAKE the food, for crying out loud, help clean up!

3. Hi. Please. I hate 6:00 pm every day. I just can't do it and I am incompetent. It is impossible to keep Canon from literally playing in traffic, Sagan from scavenging and falling, not burn the food, get everything done at the right time, it's too much. I need a husband at 6:00. Or another wife. Or a mother who does something, anything helpful. And I can have it if I just get up at 6 and kick him out by 7 or 8. But I can't get him to go to sleep before 12.

4. Sunday, the Sabbath is SUPPOSED to be a day of rest. Not a day where I am SO exhausted from getting ready for and going to church that all I can do is sleep for the majority of the rest of the day. Either revoke the caffeine thing or stop with the church calling intensity. Why so much? Why? Whoever you were who heard a brilliant talk about the Sabbath, help me please. I am approaching the brink of apostasy; church is feeling like too much.

And now I finished the post off today with this:

5. Of course everything is feeling like too much. I'm just going to go ahead and diagnose myself with PPMD. It's PMS and then some. Stupid ovaries. What I need to do is exercise and take my vitamins and take some time to relax but it makes me SO ANGRY that I would have to DO those things, those HARD things, that I decided to order pizza instead. Then I'll probably finish off the chocolate chip cookies. And the ice cream.

PocketMod Saves the Day

I'm only trying to do 20 things, y'know. Mind my finances, grow a freaking garden, housekeeping, cooking, a play, churchy stuff, wifey stuff, determine the best educational path for my children, write books and blogs, indoctrinate my kids properly, not allow myself to be driven insane by gramma-in-the-dungeon (and wow is that one getting harder, they cut her hours at work) ...

**** Thunder just boomed, hmmm, wonder what that's supposed to mean ****

My current favorite show is Kings and I'm pretty sure it's going to be canceled soon because I love it so. The main character is David (and the whole show is kind of a modern inspired version of the Biblical David and it's written and played with a very Shakespearean feel, but not over-the-top). David is good. So good. He is honest and loyal ... even when a situation is going to have negative personal consequences, he strives to do what is supremely right. And, because he is a good person, he thinks most others, deep down, are like him. I think that's how most people are, however you yourself are, that's how you see other people. Not everyone is good.

SO. As I think most people are kind of shallow, only doing what's best for themselves, probably lying or misrepresenting the good stuff they do ... what I am doing is not necessarily analyzing individuals, but revealing significant details about myself. And maybe the reason that I don't do a very good job of maintaining friendships (unless it is very easy) is because I don't feel worthy of friendship.

I have a friend. I have know her for over 3 years. Our husbands and kids play (not much recently, though), she got me involved in a community band, which was brilliantly fun and good for me (as I have hermit tendencies), she brought me Jell-o when I had my wisdom teeth out. This friend of mine had heart surgery a couple of weeks ago. I haven't even called to see how she is doing. She's moving across the country soon, like next week. I offered to watch her kids or come over and help pack when she told me she was moving (before the surgery), but I haven't called or gone over to make good on my offer.

Also, I was asked to help with meals for a new mother, just take dessert to her and I forgot. I went to play practice and didn't do a thing, didn't even call anyone to apologize.

Also, not only have I not done my visiting teaching for 2 months, but I have been avoiding the supervisors calls.

And crucifying myself on the internet ... confessing my guilt on my blog ... is worse than pointless. This is not repentance.

I don't like the thoughts in my head or the thoughtless way I act ... and I wonder: why I am this way???

But that doesn't do any good. It's like being in a hole and wasting all your energy wondering how you go in there. No, I need to figure out how to not be this way.

What is my goal?

I'd like to be a nicer person.

Nope. Goals have to be specific and measurable. What will I do?

I think part of the problem is I am not organized with my time. I often agree to do something, and fail to write it down with an appointed, specific time for completion. If a thing is written down, one is much more likely to DO it.

So - tomorrow morning, I will take some time to make a conveniently sized and portable daily, weekly, and monthly set to do list and a calendar to write down events or commitments as they come up. I will keep this handy always and stop being a jerky flake (though that might be a delicious new meat flavored breakfast cereal).

This little break down and pull yourself up brought to you by PocketMod.

Are you tired of lugging an unwieldy day planner with you? Do you forget really important stuff you said you'd do? Feel like you're going to go crazy if you don't get your life in order? Want something easy? I'd like to recommend pocketmod.com for your temporal organizational benefit.

Thanks PocketMod - you saved my life!

God Says No

My only favoritest niece sent me this forwarded email. I think it's brilliant.


I asked God to take away my habit.


God said, No.


It is not for me to take away,
but for you to give it up.




I asked God to make my handicapped child whole.
God said, No.
His spirit is whole, his body is only temporary.


I asked God to grant me patience.

God said, No. Patience is a byproduct of tribulations;
it isn't granted, it is learned.


I asked God to give me happiness.

God said, No.

I give you blessings;
Happiness is up to you.


I asked God to spare me pain.

God said, No.
Suffering draws you apart from
worldly cares
and brings you closer to me.





I asked God to make my spirit grow.
God said, No.
You must grow on your own,
but I will prune you to make you fruitful.


I asked God for all things
that I might enjoy life.

God said, No.
I will give you life,
so that you may enjoy all things.



I asked God to help me LOVE others, as much as He loves me.
God said... Ahhhh,
finally you have the idea.

Piggy Tails and Picnic Tables

Greg made me a picnic table for my birthmonth present. He found plans online, bought long pieces of wood, measured and cut them, assembled the table and the seats, and sealed it all. When we had all Greg's family all down, the menfolk and the toughest of the women did a miraculous job of holding the thing up so it could be bolted together. And tada! Now we can either invite people over for a BBQ or have 12 or 13 more kids and still be able to eat outside.

I can even stand on it.



And here is Sagan sporting her very first piggy tails. Isn't she cute!



She climbed up unassisted and was very proud of herself. I think she takes after her monkey brothers.






Then she started eating all the dirt and grass, so that was the end of the photo shoot, silly old girl.

If I Disappear, Check Iowa or Texas First

King Corn. Have you seen it? A documentary about how we are mostly made of corn because we are stupid. Stupid because we want cheap food now and are determined to be ignorant or ambivalent to any harmful effects down the road. It's the free market at work.

It's not about the kind of corn grandmama crammed into a grocery bag for you to take when you left, freshly plucked, with love, from her garden. They grow mountains of this product and you can't eat a kernel of it until it is very, very processed. They grow it because, thanks to amazing R&D, it is very good at growing. And the government pays farmers about $28/acre to grow it. And people keep inventing crap to use it for.

It reminds me of this:




Ethanol. High Fructose Corn syrup.

I used to pronounce it "Frooook-tose", but now I prefer "Fruc-tose". (Rhymes with truck toast. Kind of.)

It's all in how you market a thing.

*****

"We have this terrible tasting corn that no one can eat, but we can grow MILLIONS of TONS of it at only a slight loss. Whatever shall we do?"

"Tastes terrible , you say?"

"AWFUL! Cows will eat it. If you confine them to a small, dirty hovel, and slaughter them before they die of obesity. So, that's good, right?"

"Right. But we need to come up with more uses. THINK, MAN, THINK!"

"Well, if we use several harmful chemicals and processes, we can turn it into either something to run a car or sweeten a soft drink."

"BRILLIANT! Wait ... hmmm, is it good for you?"

"No, not really."

"Well, let's pay legislators to pass laws so people have to use our product."

"Ewww, that's just evil enough to work," says the corn makers ("Here, here!" comes a cry from the booster seat makers, the health care companies, the vaccine making companies, the fast-tread-wearing-down tire companies (can you think of more?)).

"And make sure to market it to kids. Kids are stupid. Tell them it's cool, pay famous people to promote it."

"Children? Why, that'll be easy. We'll put it in every kind of candy or juice there is. Kids'll ingest anything sweet."

"BUT don't let's make it so obvious we are selling a product that probably does more harm than good, in the long run. At least not until people are utterly reliant upon or addicted to our products," says corn people (and the tobacco companies, the cattleman's association, the pharmaceutical companies, cosmetic surgeons, "beauty" suppliers, soda pop manufacturers, tanning oil makers, candy, chips, kool-aid, and Michael Bay).

*****

Do you know what "corn fed" means? I thought it just meant that the cow gets to eat corn. I like corn. I thought "corn fed" was something good, special, a feature. Usually cows are stuck eating grass. Corn seems yummier than grass.

But actually, corn fed is pretty horrible. It's kind of like what the witch tried to do to Hansel. No, it's exactly that. And learning about it pretty much cured me of all desire for hamburgers ever again. (Unless Greg makes them. He uses Worcestershire Sauce. And fire.)

Now, I'm not sure if I want to look into chicken raising techniques; I might have to become a vegetarian. Ignorance. See? No, you are right. Ignorance is better. Because if you go and learn stuff, then you have to act according to that knowledge. It's much easier to get your kids the Chicken McNugget Happy Meal because at least chicken is better than beef.

Stupid fat Americans. The next documentary in my queue is "Killer at Large: Why Obesity is America's Greatest Threat (2008)."

Documentaries are fun!

Keep Your Ducklings Close

This very morning, I had some stale hamburger buns in the pantry and so, announced to my children, "Let's go to the Duck Park!"

"YAAYYYYAAAYAYAYAYAAAYYYAYY!!!!"

We played on the toys for a while, until my heart threatened to seize if Canon jumped off the crazy spinning Pukey-Go-Round one more time ... that boy.

"Let's go feed the ducks. Now."

The park is pretty nice, as long as everyone keeps his shoes on and minds his step. We traversed around the path by the stream, feeding ducks, and occasionally being accosted by seagulls. We got to the big, open pond area and some of us got our shoes wet in the mucky-duck-poop-swamp.

Then, we saw a cute little brown mama duck with three tiny ducklings swimming in the middle of the pond. They were so cute and fluffy. If a seagull got too close, mama would quack and open her wings, fearlessly facing the threat. I kind of identified with her - shabby frazzled mother of three, trying to keep my kids fed and alive; them, oblivious to the dangers all around. I asked Canon for a little bread and I threw it over to her; maybe it would ease her plight a little.

Of course the kids wanted to feed the baby duckies, too. So all bread crumbs were aimed at the three. But ducklings are not as fast as seagulls. The seagulls swooped over and gobbled every drop of bread. Being now surrounded by greedy seagulls, the mom was constantly trying to keep them away from her babies. She squawked and pecked at the seagulls, and while her back was turned others would nip at the baby ducks.

"KNOCK IT OFF!" I yelled, "Watch out! Your babies, mama duck."

Those flying rats were relentless, though. "Stop feeding the babies," I told my children, "it just makes the seagulls bug them."

Suddenly, one of the seagulls grabbed one of the ducklings by the head and ate him.

Ate him.

Swallowed him whole, right in front of his mother, me, my children, and God (though I imagine God is used to this sort of thing). Then, the monster looked at me and honked.

I wanted to cry. Or throw a rock.

The mother duck still had her two babies and was desperately swimming towards the seagull-free side of the pond. One seagull was especially persistent. She chased him off, but before she could get back, another seagull, swooped down and devoured a second duckling.

The remaining one stayed close to his mother and they (hopefully) got to safety. My kids were shocked. To be honest, I was shocked.

"Stupid seagulls. I HATE them. We should kill them all!" Worse than using the S-word AND the H-word, Genocide; the first solution my 7 year old child comes up with to "right" a "wrong".

I still couldn't really believe what I had seen. There are signs all over the park, telling people to bring bird seed, not bread. Ducks will eat the bird seed, but not the seagulls, then the seagulls will go somewhere else for food and the baby ducks will be safer.

I guess I didn't believe the signs.

Mommy duck started out the afternoon with three adorable, healthy ducklings, and had lost 66% of her offspring in 1o minutes time.

I know, I know, circle of life, blah blah blah. It makes me so sad, though. Hollow sad.

My kids are playing inside today.



Read the Twitter Sized Version of the post here.

Twitter Sized Stories

I've been trying some new things lately.

One of them is starting a new blog, something to help me be creative and more concise and less rambley - it's a blog called Twitter Sized Stories.

It was an idea I had late one night, then I mass emailed a lot of people I may or may not really know.

Then I did nothing.

But today I did something.

Feel free to go see, comment, critique, tell me if it works or not, if it elicits emotion or thought or fails utterly.

It's my first attempt.

Oh yeah, and I would love this to be a group effort, like that silly cat pictures thing or Cake Wrecks. Twitter gives you 140 spaces to say something. Try it, it's like a haiku: easy enough anyone can try it, but possibly elegant enough you can make something beautiful. Email yours attempts to twittersizedstories@gmail.com and feel free to include pictures and an intro or not.

Thank you.

B

The Plasma Donation Center - Where Even Normal Seems Weird

I donated plasma again today. It went quite a bit better. Only took 2 hours of my life. But I got ripped off by the cash guy. I think he pocketed ten of my hard won dollars. Dirty twerp. But with a cash based payment system, what can I do? Next time, I'll count before signing.

It's such a strange place to be. Such a strange group of people. Let me sort them into categories for you:

20 Something Males With Lots of Tattoos - these guys are a little scary. If you saw them walking behind you on a dark night, you'd be afraid, but sitting, bored, in the cramped and shabby lobby, they're not so bad.

20 Something Males With Dirty T-shirts and Red Glassy Eyes - The plasma people ask me if I'm currently under the influence of any substance, legal or otherwise ... maybe for some it's don't ask, don't tell. These guys like to talk to people. They reveal all kinds of interesting information. For example, just today one fellow revealed that he was 19 years old, on probation for drug possession, and planning to purchase alcohol with his plasma money so that he could celebrate his girlfriend's 16th birthday right proper. At one point he dropped an M&M on the floor and said, "Heh-heh, party foul! Heh-heh-heh!"

Emo Kids - Hi, skinny jeans, nice you could find some buyers again. With their eyeliners and piercings, these kids look like they need a hug and a good meal.

40+ Ladies Who's Lives Aren't Exactly Going Where They Had Hoped - These women often have about 1/4 to 1/2 inch of grey or white hair out at the roots of their some-unnatural-shade of red hair. They read books about AA and co-dependency and Twilight. They have a pack o' smokes in their pink sequence purses. Clumpy fingernail polish. Glittery eye shadow.

Dirty Old Men - These guys are 50 something and they read books about one war or another and tell jokes like this: "What's red and white and sits in a corner? A baby playing with a razor blade." Also, "How do you get an elephant to come?" But I didn't catch the punchline only the groans that followed. (Greg thinks I may have misspelled something here).

19 Year Old Crack Whores - these girls are very, very skinny, scantily clad, and have a tendency to scratch their faces. And hands. A lot. And they twitch. And text. A lot. They rarely recognize their name the first time it is called out. They seem generally distracted and seem to maintain the full attention of a majority of the males.

Normal Looking People - they don't look weird, which is what makes them look weird. Why are they selling plasma? Who in their right mind lets people stick a 17 gauge needle in their arm for an hour and back wash their life-blood? Me? Because I'm lazy and under educated and over-indebted. But why them?

My current plan is to informally interview my stereo-types here and see if my first impressions are accurate or if people are more than seem.

Any suggestions for questions to include in my interviews? I'm not afraid to talk to strangers on your behalf. What do you want to know?

Days Of The Week

Sunday - The Sabbath, day of rest, peace, harmony. A day set aside, dedicated to worshipping the Lord. And by "worship", I guess I mean "mumble curses," as I try to get everyone ready, with unstained and complete outfits, to church within 5 minutes of on-time, then keep everyone quiet for 80 minutes of congregational devotion. Then, spend the next two hours herding 3-4 year olds thither and yon, reverently, AND teaching them the necessary doctrines and ordinances requisite for their eternal salvation (though if they die before age 8, they win a free trip to heaven). I waver weekly between loving my calling and thinking I have Sunbeams figured out, to bashing my head against a wall because they have "group bladder" for the third time in 15 minutes.

Monday - Recover from the Sabbath Day Day. Teaching 3-4 year olds how to Be Still And Know That [He] Is God is tough work! Then with the napping and the resting from your usual labors (HA HA HA). Leaves me feeling hungover, but with a perfect memory of how truly wonderful the day before was. Monday is free. Do whatever you want, get dressed or not, clean the house or not. BUT as a Bonus, for motivation, DOUBLE POINTS*!!! So, if you do the dishes, it counts twice. If you change a diaper, change a kid out of pajamas, make anything for meals ... double points.

Tuesday - Just another sucky day. Perhaps I should schedule playdates for Tuesday. And plasma donations ...

Wednesday - Run-Away-And-Hide-Out-In-The-Temple-Day! Wahoo. All afternoon, no kids allowed! Take myself to subway, read a newspaper as I munch. Wednesday is heaven sent. I live for Wednesday!

Thursday - Nothing big day. More plasma perhaps. I do so like money.

Friday - FUN FUN FRIDAY!!!! It's the funnest day of the week. A lot like Monday, you do or don't do whatever you want AND get double points, but with the added bonus of getting to say FUN FUN FRIDAY about everything you do. I love Fridays.

Saturday - Daddy's day off. Not nearly as fun as Friday (Greg's kind of a stick in the mud, I try to put a fire in his pants (is that the metaphor I wanted??) but it's hard, what with lawns to be mowed, garages to be organized and computers to work on (and you'd think a video game programmer would want to avoid computers at home, but no.) If fun is to be had on the weekend, it is up to me to make it happen. This is a revelation I just now realized. As in, RIGHT NOW, the very second. Saturdays will no longer suck, thus saith me.

_________________________________

* Much like on Who's Line Is It Anyway - at my house, everything is made up and the points don't matter. That's right the points are like Canada. They just don't matter!