I Stole Something

Ok. Well, it still Friday Confess Your Guts Out, and you know how I have had an issue with kleptomania in the past, ok ... so ... *exhale* ... I stole an award. I stole it from Wym at Texas Britches and I KNOW they say "Don't Mess with Texas" but I think that's CRAP! What's Texas gonna do? Stupid Texas.

(Please, don't beat me up or shoot me, ok, I'm sorry. I just wanted to do the poop survey and try out the linky thingy again, okay? I love you.)

SO. I stole WON the Beautiful Blogger Award, as it turns out. I feel so fortunate and happy. I work so hard on this silly blog and it's just really nice to get some recognition, y'know?

Such a simple and pretty little award. I think it'll look great on my side bar, don't you?

Anyway. SO this award comes with a poop related survey. I love surveys; I love poop; I AM EXCITED BEYOND WORDS to partake in a poop survey. I am. I really really am. Here we go (*squeak*)!!

1. Toilet Paper: Over or Under.

I don't care. As far as I am concerned they are exactly the same except with one, my kids can unroll the whole roll while sitting on the pot and that makes me mad, but I don't know which way, over or under, and I'm too lazy to think about it.

2. Who replaces the empty roll in your house?

I do. It's my VERY FAVORITE chore! If I change the TP roll, I award myself by taking the rest of the day off! What other task can you do while pooping? (besides checking email and playing scrabble on your iPhone?)

3. What do you use if you run out of toilet paper at home?

Sometimes there is a roll of bounty paper towel under the sinks for washing mirrors (I try to keep all required bathroom cleaning things in every bathroom to encourage myself to clean them, but it doesn't work). If that's not available I will pull off the tiny scraps of TP and wash my hands really good.

4. How many rolls of toilet paper do you have in the house now?

Eight - I failed to change the TP today and knocked a full roll into the toilet while deuglificating myself.

5. What fears did you have as a child regarding using the toilet?

I was scared to ask a teacher if I could go to the bathroom. Rudely bothering people has been a lifelong concern of mine. If I ever become a teacher, people are WELCOME to go when they need. One at a time, of course.

6. Do you leave the door open?

I leave it open, but if I hear someone coming, I close it most of the way.

7. Does your love leave it open?

He shuts it and locks it. Seems suspicious to me. What do you suppose he's trying to hide?

8. Do you always check for toilet paper first in a public stall?

Almost always. Also I prefer a stall that has at least one real wall, so like on an end. It seems safer, somehow.

9. What do you use if you run out of toilet paper in a public restroom?

I would wait until I heard someone and politely ask them to help ... "Dude, could you do me a solid ..." something classy like that. If it got too desperate, I might pull my pants half up and waddle to another stall ...

10. What do you do in a public restroom before sitting down?

I check the seat for pee ... I have little boys, so, you always wanna check first. NOTHING worse than sitting in someone else's urine.

11. Or do you squat?

If it looks dry, I just plop down and get comfy.

12. Do you wait until you are alone in a public restroom?

I can't POOP in a public restroom, but I can pee any old time.

13. Has anything bad or embarrassing happened to you in a public restroom?

WELL. One time I was with a friend playing pool at Al's Pizzeria (this was in 5th grade; she reads the blog). I didn't know WHERE the bathroom was ... pee'ed a little ... maybe a lot ... in my pants. Discovered the bathroom too late. Paper towels didn't help. Oh ... my bladder.

14. Are you pee shy?

Pee is easy peasy.

15. What do/did you do to try to overcome it?

If I get stage fright, I think of waterfalls, rivers, rainstorms, flowing down, down, down, and that usually works.

16. How long did it take you to get over self consciousness with your love being in the room while you sat?

I'm still not ok with that. Unless he's in the shower. Yeah ... we're just not there yet.

17. What do you do, if there is not a toilet around because you are in the country and you just can't wait?

I'd drop Henry on the side of the road ... It's biodegradable ...

18. What would you use to wipe?

We usually have diaper wipes. In fact, I hereby declare: I will always make sure there are diaper wipes in the car in case someone needs to drop Henry on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.

19. Would you face up hill or down?

I'd be facing up hill or bum to the road. Rather they see my bum than I make eye contact.

20. Have you ever written your name in snow?

Possibly, but not with my own ... ahem ... equipment.


SEE! Wasn't that survey worth my eternal soul? I say it was. HEY ... you have a beautiful blog. Wanna steal an award? Wanna take a poop related survey? Go ahead. It feels SO good! Do it. And if you do, link it, ok? (Because when Texas comes after us I don't wanna be the only one in trouble).

I Have More To Confess

So. I joined in last week and, due to adequate positive reinforcement, and lack of anything better to post, beside cute pics of my monkeys, lemme jump in again.

I, Brandy Nichole Anderson Roth, do hereby confess:

1. I have a cashmere sweater that I got for 80% off and I love it and have worn it like 6 times without having it cleaned and I think I should have it cleaned, but I haven't yet. (I'm wearing it right now, purrrrrr.)

2. I am really close to adopting another pet, despite my husbands explicit and unreasonable order not to. In fact, he threatened to leave me if I do. (I only have 1 cat and I almost always clean up after her, eventually.)

3. I've never finished a Jane Austen Book. I think they are very dry and not witty or amusing. I also don't enjoy Austenian movies. (Hey, I should have saved that for my I've Never post.)

4. I like having sex more than my husband. (More often, not more in degrees of liking, but possibly both ... if I were a guy, I'd totally be jealous of certain aspects of female anatomy).

5. I have this fear that there is something terribly wrong with me and the doctors have never been able to diagnose it. Heart palpitations, headaches and migraines, easily bruised, frequent, rather extreme nausea, erratic and intense emotions. I might just be a female hypochondriac tho.

6. The only two times I've been asked to speak in sacrament meeting were, coincidentally, for Pioneer Day and I hated writing the talks and hated giving them. I'm not sure I even like pioneers.

7. I peed my pants in school in 4th grade because I was too intimidated to ask the teacher if I could be excused. A girl who was not my friend, Cynthia, noticed and commented.

8. I'm not a good mom at all, and my kids seem to love me anyway ... I worry about them.

9. I never believe any nice thing anyone ever says to me; they are misinformed.

10. I voted for Clinton in '96, Bush in '00, Bush in '04, and Obama in '08.

10. The Utah Frikken State Legislature voted DOWN a bill to END DAYLIGHT SAVING TIME and I was UNAWARE it was even up for consideration and thus did not rally support. I could DIE! I have failed my children, my neighbors, my community, my state, my nation, the world, and God.

Cute sweater tho, huh?!

I've Never

At Girls' Camp we used to play this super fun game with Cheesy Poofs called "I've Never". Everyone gets a pile of poofs and you take turns saying things you've never done. If you've DONE that thing, you eat a poof. Last one out of poofs WINS! (Meaning they'd done the least and are actually the biggest ... yeah ... winner.)

I got to college and was SHOCKED, I tell you, to learn that "I've Never" is a drinking game. WHO KNEW, right?

SO. Grab your poofs or your vodka or your Bud Light and play I've Never with Mrs. B.

1. I've never seen the Atlantic Ocean.

2. I've never been to Hawaii.

3. I've never successfully grown a watermelon.

4. I've never broken a bone in my body.

5. I've never been arrested.

6. I've never floated down a river on an inner-tube.

7. I've never liked Tom Waits.

8. I've never had a Monster Energy Drink.

9. I've never spent the day at a beauty spa.

10. I've never performed a sucessful, do-it-yourself vasectomy.

Leave your best (worst) "I've Never's" and we'll see who has the most cheesy poofs left.

Sagan Shares

Sagan wanted you all to see her favorite song:



It reveals a lot about her political beliefs, as well.

The Universe Has Been Evesdropping

It seems a lot of us are in a funk. Maybe it's February ... post holiday let down or something. Cold, dreariness. I haven't been on top of things, to say the least.

And I'd be fine with showering occasionally, wearing out my pajamas, and letting my kids scrounge the carpet for snacks, but that stupid, painful mother's guilt always gets a hold of my conscience and tells me I need to be better, do more.

A few weeks ago I said:

I just wish I could do something where I can teach preschool and take my kids with me and it would all be organized and I just show up. Why can't it be easy?

And a million coincidences fell into place, taking me to yesterday.

Greg and I have been talking about putting Canon in pre-school. He needs extra stimulation and I have been a poopy head. I have always been attracted to the Montessori method of teaching, especially for younger children. Canon is a very tactile and active; and I worried about sticking in a more traditional educational situation, the sit-down-be-quiet-and-listen kind. I called a couple Montessori schools and set up a time to visit one with Canon to see if we liked it.

When I showed up, there was a room of about a dozen kids. Half were sitting with a teacher working on some math, some were playing with puzzles, on was straightening shelves, one few were working with letters, building words. It was pretty quiet (some of the little ones were upstairs napping). The director initially mistook me for a woman who was looking for a job teaching the preschool.

"So you are interested in teaching preschool?"

I'm awkward when I haven't prepared my thoughts, this caught me off guard.

"Uh ... I just came to see if Canon would like to come here for pre-school, but I really love the Montessori philosophies for education and it's been my plan, when my kids were older, to teach, so I guess, technically, yeah, I am kind of interested." (or something to that effect.)

He showed us around to the various areas (Canon was pretty stoked about the water play area) and then the guy asked if I'd like to apply for the pre-school teaching position.

I explained that I don't have a degree yet, but just have one more class to complete it. He said it wouldn't be a problem and they could help me get Montessori certified as well. He said I was welcome to bring Canon and Sagan, that they could both participate at a significantly discounted tuition. He said a lot of nice things about being able to tell that I had the right disposition for a Montessori teacher. Very flattering. Maybe he was just really desperate to fill the spot.

I'm fine, either way.

So, Saturday I have a training session and Monday I will start a two-week probationary/extended interview period. I may end up just being a parent helper, but if things work out, maybe I'll have an actual marketable skill!!! They say Montessori certified teachers are in high demand (shoulder shrug).

Faking It

Post Secrets is one of my favorite blogs, I wait for it every Sunday and I love it. All things "Mormon" catch my eye, so as that word popped up in Post Secrets relating to a blog, I wanted to check it out, post haste.

The secret said:

"I started a blog to talk about how I'm 'faking it' as a Mormon ... I haven't told my husband I joined for him."

Shameless self promotion? We bloggers don't really care why we have readers as long as people stop by.

It wasn't hard to find the blog, she included a little pic with enough info.

I often feel like I'm "faking it". I know the gospel is true and I believe in the prophets, ancient and modern. I believe in God and Jesus Christ and the Holy Ghost. I believe a lot a lot of things. Church itself gets on my nerves rather consistently, but last Sunday was pretty nice. People sat by me in RS; makes a huge difference.

The Only True Church? I don't quite think about religion and Christianity in such strict, confining, black and white terms. I hate the "I'm right and y'all are wrong" attitude. You don't have to look hard to find a lot of good and true things in other Faiths. And Mormons have to accept that we haven't got all of "IT" yet either.

As I read thru the blog (there's only a dozen posts thus far), I notice her noticing and judging (kind of like I do). She doesn't have kids yet (and kids change everything), so she COULD be listening and concentrating. However, she complained about a couple nitpicking during a meeting when should have been paying attention. But she was watching them and thinking about their inappropriate behavior, rather than focusing on the lesson and contributing. She's not very enthusiastic about Relief Society, but says, "I don't know how I always get stuck doing stupid stuff for a group I try to avoid like the plague." You get stuck doing it because you said, "Okay."

I do this all the time ... criticize things without realizing that my noticing and thinking those impatient, judgmental thoughts means I'm a jerk.

I have my own issues with RS. Like how every week the welcomer stands up and sees no visitors and moves on ... I know less than 6 people by name. I'd love to have an opportunity to get to know people. Why not a weekly or monthly mass intro? I hate not knowing someone's name and I usually need to be reminded a few times before it sticks. My previous VT companion, I never knew who she was, could never get a hold of her, and she never contacted me.

And, those who know how whiny I was when they put my mom in as my VT companion ... I called a member of the RS presidency and asked it to be changed. I really did. You have no idea how amazing a breakthru that is for my passive-aggressive, non-confrontational, stupid self. It only took about a month of feeling crazy mad about it.

Anyway. So I didn't love the blog. I didn't love that she blogs anonymously. When you put your name to a thing, when you take credit for your thoughts and opinions, you are more likely to try to be responsible and fair. Or else people call you out on it. I think there is a time for anonymity, but I respect people more when they take credit/responsibility for their thoughts-made-public. I didn't really understand her complaint. If she doesn't think the LDS church is true, it shouldn't matter if it sucks or how others act. If she's just going along with it as a social convention, well, she's a willing passenger. It's complaining about your happily made choices; no one makes ya do it, chicka. My problem is I do think it's true, I have convictions about the gospel and sometimes they don't mesh with how members act and seem to think.

There's only one way to be fair. You can't say Relief Society is crap until you give it a fair chance. Like months of faithful attendance, having read the lesson and trying to contribute. I ought not complain about visiting teaching until I really commit to it and give it 100% shot. You can't criticize an aspect of the church, for example men holding the priesthood, unless you've taken the time to study, understand, and pray.

So says me, The Mysterious Mrs. Brandy Nichole Anderson Roth.

(I just like to do that so I can find myself on Google :)

Auditions

Maybe I'm too old for such silliness, but it makes me happy.

I auditioned about 6 hours ago and have 3 hours til they post call backs.

I hate waiting.

I did my best and I think it went SMOKING but you never know.

Check back for an update and feel free to keep your fingers crossed. (Because I KNOW you are just as nervous with antici ...... pation as me, now.)


*****UPDATE*****

I am not the Baker's Wife, as it turns out. Steel Magnolias auditions on March 13 tho. :)

Confession Friday - Brandy Plays Along

Mormons don't go to a priest and semi-anonymously cleanse their souls with regular confession. I wish we did. Priests hear it all and can tell you "you are not so bad". Glamazon hosts one every week.

Today, I'm participating.

• I'm completely out of motivation to do more than feed my kids.
• Seriously. We're not even getting dressed over here.
• I know it's some evil combination of birth control and PMS and way too much candy and no exercise.
• But I don't care.
• I take magic pills that are suppose to cure acne, but I'm still pretty grotesque.
• Sometimes I up the dosage in hopes it'll work better.
• While I was picking up my magic pretty pills, I noticed that two of my favorite candies were on sale, 3/$1 and I took that as a sign from God that I should by them.
• I ate them and feel like I should put away laundry or something to make up for it.
• I can think of two things that make me a really awful bad Mormon, but I like them both very well, so I'm gonna keep at it.
• Every Sunday I hope one of my kids will cough or sniffle or have a fever. Because I don't want to go to church.
  
• I love my house when I'm the only one home.
• I can't remember the last time that was the case.
• I need a vacation SO bad.
  
• And I would like to go alone.
  
• Really.
• So, Bad Mormon, Bad Mother, Bad Wife. Yay Brandy.
• I have a very hard time deciding what to feed the kids.
  
• I've been giving them what they like and gone through about a bottle of ketchup a week.
• People keep telling me to talk to "someone".
• I think I will kill the next person who says it to me.
• Talking to someone won't make my husband come home for dinner, dammit.
  
• I have absolutely no hope that anything will.
  

Hap Hap Happy Friday everyone.

(Whew, glad I got all that off my chest.)

Greg Says We Can Get A New Pet (I Think)

I have (oldish) news that may break some hearts. Milo, my frisky orange kitty, got out a few months back and never returned.

Last night, Crichton came down around 9 pm, sobbing. WEEPING, I tell you!

"What's the matter sweetie?"

"I I I I I I ... I mmiiiiisssss [*snot gets on me*] Miiiiiiiiiloooooo!!!"

I hug on him for a while, letting him wallow in pain and loss (that's why we get pets, right? To practice feeling sad so when people we love die, we can handle it with grace and tact? Right?).

I carefully move him on to the "remember the happy times" phase: Remember how he slept in your toy dog's bed when we first got him? Remember how he'd poop in your shoes? Remember how he loved to flaunt his fluffy tail? Remember how he used to attack Tootsie Lou? Remember how he'd try to eat your baby sister, nipping and clawing as tho possessed by Cat-Satan?

Soon, Crichton was giggling. But then, the sorrow overcame him again (it sneaks back up on you, y'know?). He wants a new pet. Maybe a rat. or a new kitty. Or a small dog.

The problem is I married my mother-in-law, or rather, I think Greg is slowly turning into his mom. Greg never had a dog growing up. Never. Who does that, honestly? He, in fact, often states that he HATES animals (which is like spitting at God, Creator of the Universe and ALL ANIMALS, y'know). He won't even go into a PetSmart with us (of course, last time we to PetSmart, we came home with Homer the Tadpole who never saw Froghood).

But today, he sent me a link to Eternal Earth-Bound Pets, USA. I can ONLY assume that this means he does not really hate animals, but that he was just so worried that they'd be left behind when we're all taken up ... that's probably what it is, right? (Be sure to read the FAQ's!)

I wanna new kitty. Or a rat.

Have Prize(s), Will Ship (eventually, but soon)

One great thing about being a high profile blogger, random companies offer to send you stuff to blog about. It's pretty much the next best thing to getting paid for napping.

So. I have a 3 identical things for 3 "lucky" souls. Try to guess what it is. I'll give you 5 clues:

1. It's educational.

2. A personified frog.

3. Urine.

4. The color purple.

5. A complete disregard for a little thing I like to call (well, I don't know what it's called, but it's when lines of poetry feel wrong, syllable-wise) (I'm going to go with) meter.

Leave your random guess or a plea for free stuff and you will most likely win. Seriously. There is very little competition. Feel free to enter numerous times even. I don't care. Work hard for free crap, that's my motto. I'll announce the winner when I feel like it and ship those things out super fast. (Oh, and Megan, if you want, you could once again send me your mailing address and I could send you that thing I owe you. And my favorite wedding present gift, too! Please, it weighs on my mind daily. Help me.)

EVERYONE'S A WINNER AT
MRS. B. ROTH'S BLOG!!

(and by everyone, I mean a few of you)

A (Belated) Love Letter

My Dearest Gregory,

Why do you keep me around?

I'm gonna be 32, y'know ... "cute" isn't really appropriate anymore.

How much longer do you think I have ya? It's been almost 15 years since out first date. Did I mention I'm 32. Years. OLD? I never make you chase me anymore.

It's certainly not my cooking.
Not my flair for fashion.
Not my house cleaning.
Not my sense of humor.
Not my hot hot hot body.
Not how I respect your need for privacy from the world.

Most of the time I feel like a block of cement dragging you down with me. I often feel guilty for not being what I think I should be for you. I can hear you in my mind asking me why I don't just DO that then. I constantly worry I am not good enough, not your equal, not enough. I want you to love me the way I am.

I feel that I keep you back, keep you down, keep you trapped.

I don't know that I add much to your life.

I didn't start out to write this post this way. I thought it would be a sappy, cutsie thing. But I always worry you'll find out how awful I am and that'll be the end of my truly perfect life.

You have given me more opportunities, given my life greater meaning and purpose, uplifted me, you constantly try to help me be a better person.

and i fight and i argue and i bitch and i moan.

I'm stuck - should I go pick you up cuz I can't wait to see/hug/kiss you or clean up first cuz it'll mean so much to you?

Pretty much, I know I suck. And not in the hot, new, red vacuum way. In the old crappy, held together by a bungee cord vacuum way.

Thank you for loving me.

I love you more than you will ever, ever know.

Brandy V. Greg Part II (Greg is awesome and Brandy pretty much sucks)

Last Monday, I bought Greg a big Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Heart (BIG) because they are his favorite candy. And a card. For Valentine's Day - 6 days ahead of schedule.

On Wednesday, he went to Seattle for a work related amazing super fun vacation from the dreariness that is life thing. That night, I ate his whole candy thing. Because I missed him. (And I really love candy.) (But not MORE than Greg.) (But a lot.)

And I never gave him the card because I just NOW remembered where I put it. Top left shelf in the pantry.

Saturday: Greg bought me a sexy new vacuum. Cuz the old one sucks (in the bad way). He also bought me and the children a lot of chocolaty treats. And strawberries.

Sunday: Greg steam cleaned the carpet in the TV room which looked like hell had pooped mud all over (that might be an exaggeration). After the kids were in bed, he let me pick BOTH Netflix movies. And he cooked me delicious pasta with garlic and onions and fire roasted tomatoes. And didn't get mad when I turned off the movie he picked after we watched just 2% of it (it was French. And possibly there were going to be lesbians.) As we watched the movies, there were significant, multiple "political discussions". (The quotation marks mean the "good" kind of political discussions.)("Good" as in freaking hot.) (Too much sexual detail? Sorry dear.)

Monday: Greg helped me sort and organize the kids' toys. And he went grocery shopping with me. And he Redboxed a movie for me and stayed up watching it, even tho he has to work super duper long and hard today and I can nap AND go to bed early.

I really like that guy. Stop by tomorrow and see if I am able to come up with something amazing to write in his belated V-Day card.

** All that fun stuff is why I didn't blog Sunday and Monday. Because I know you get very concerned if I miss a day. What if Brandy DIED, cuz she SAID she'd post EVERY day!!! I'm not dead.

Hi.

Brandy V. Greg

What Greg said about Valentines Day: I want what all guys want for Valentine's Day. Sex. If I get that, I'll be happy.

What Greg Means: I wanna have sex on Valentine's Day, just like every other day.

What I say I want for Valentine's Day: Nothin' really. Don't waste money, Sugar Bump. Maybe we can Red Box something.

What I mean: I would love flowers, in a pot. That will never die. And chocolates, not the cheap crap, the really smooth kind, and white. Also, let's go to a play, either a lovey dovey one or something that will make me cry. Oh, and we should go to a restaurant. One I like. Sushi or seafood baby, you pick. And I would LOVE it it you get me some super hot underthings I can wear for 5 minutes before I give you your Valentine's Day gift. And lets get a hotel room. With a HOT TUB! And let's make out in the car, too. And let's go to another country.

You Are Probably Right Dear

My husband is not enthusiastic about getting a vasectomy. Perhaps it's my frequent offer to Do-It-Myself. Something about the soldering iron and bolt cutters seem to make him cringe.

But you know what makes me cringe?

• Waking up every other blessed day with a headache that goes migraine every fourth time or so.
• Trying to change a diaper for The World's Poopingest Girl while I feel so woozy I'm either gonna vomit or pass out.
• That I am crazy and I know it's hormonal and should be able to control it and still can't.

Everyone RAVES about their handy dandy IUD's. GAH! I don't wanna have the doctor RAM some thing up in me. It's not LIKE my fear of massage, ok? (Maybe it is, but as uncomfortable as I am about being touched by strangers, I REALLY don't like it when strangers touch me THERE.)

Maybe I just need to change my thought on it. It's not just some intra-uterine device ... it gives me SUPER HUMAN powers. The ability to fornicate and not procreate (is it still fornicating if you're married? I like that groovy assonance thing ... or is it consonance? Or alliteration?).

I'd still rather ... maybe I could, y'know, withhold. Go on a "hunger" strike. OOORRR I could just schedule him for it as my little V-day gift. And then make a coupon booklet. For when he gets better.

My grandmothers never really had these options. Both had babies in their mid forties. When I'm in my mid forties (if I haven't had my aneurysm), I want to be the one who sees a light at the end, baby! Not in the death way. That was a giving birth and being done raising kids reference. You got that right? Of course you did, you are very smart and not at all offended.

Now. Where did I see those bolt cutters? Maybe the tin snips will cut it.

To The Bat Cave

Crichton's class had a special Animal Unit, where they got to pick an animal to research, write a report on, and make some THING for. Crichton choose Bats and we did what modern parents do: we Googled and we Wikipediaed (Wikied? not sure what the correct verbification is - I could look it up). Printed out some stuff and voila.

You remember back in the day: the really lucky kids had a set of current encyclopedias at home, but most of us had to trod to the silly little public library and look up the information, jot down notes (slightly lucky kids could afford to make a few copies to take with them).

For the extra THING, Crichton wanted to use my new shoe box as a Bat Habitat. He took a sharpie and started coloring the box black, but then remembered we had some rocky spray paint in the garage and wanted to use that instead. Now, I felt a little weird about it, but I did the spraying for him as it was too snowy outside and there is SO much junk important stuff in the garage (wouldn't want the giant broken TV or giant broken water heater to get rocky spray painted, would we?). Then, he found a picture of a bat on the internet, printed it out, glued it inside the box, and cut out a square so we can look inside.

"That's all you're gonna do?" I asked.

"That's all there is. It's a bat in a cave."

"You could have a mini-fridge in there with some bananas, insects, and blood..."

He rolls his eyes at me. His mom is getting to be such a dork.

"Really? That's it? OOOooookay."

So, he takes his project to school, they write the reports based on their research, and the teacher puts them all on display for Parent/Teacher Conferences.

Some of the projects are really cute; really good, 2nd grade effort, cute. Like Shoebox Serengeti with a Cheetah family, Whale family hanging from fishing wire in a real aquarium, and Shoebox China with a misshapen play dough Panda. Then, there were a few Big Poster Displays, with computer-printed facts, roughly cut out, and glued on crooked. Then, there was a big fancy pants display board with art-quality pictures, cropped as tho by laser, with matte-like borders and lovely hand written facts, and no missspelled words.

Hmmmm.

Really? You, scraptastic mom, the control freak in you was so threatened by the idea of having your child's 2nd grade artistic abilities on display for all the other moms that you just did it all for them? Did you even let them put the glue dots on the backs of the pictures?

That's the kind of mom who raises a kid who gets drunk and runs over someone's grandmother; then, she helps him bury the body and grounds him to his basement suite for the rest of the day.

Just let your kid do it the way they wanna. How else will they ever be confident and responsible citizens? It all starts with the 2nd grade Animal Project.

I Want You To Want To

Clean out the garage and make it so my van will fit inside.

Eat sushi.

Be home for dinner.

Change every diaper when you're home.

Eat whatever rubbish I concoct for dinner.

Help with the dishes after dinner.

Hug me when I yell at you.

Take walks with me.

Be healthy.

Go camping and hiking.

Golf with Me.

Read my blog because you like it and not because you are afraid of what I might say about you.

What do you want from me?

Miss You

It's okay. I forgive you. I've been a bad blogger.

*edited*

puppies, kitties, rainbows, butterflies, unicorns, blue skies, bright sunshine, lovelovelove, good music, good food, gummie candy, big white fluffy down comforter, sweet soft kisses, fingers on my back, singing, clean kitchen floors, fresh smelling bathrooms, winning at scrabble, surprise gifts i never knew i wanted, big books with pretty pictures, theater, kid jokes, giggles, perfect chicken, mashed potatoes, veggie trays, watermelons, flowers, fuzzy bumble bees, eating straw wrappers, lip gloss that's not too sticky and not too shiny, gum, warm flannel shirts, my favorite song on the radio, hold hands, twirly skirts, feeling pretty, cute hair, gansta rap lyrics set to folk music, favorite tv shows, favorite aunt and uncle and cousins, the first amendment, spell check, french toast, raspberries, whys, park slides, swimming, warm water, flat top stoves, fridges that make crushed ice water in the door, cars who's bumper and lights look like a smile, hugs, roth's secret recipe potato salad, tamales, remembering dreams, finding real friends, playful spanking, acoustic guitar, the squeaky sound when you change chords, stove top stuffing, crisp apples, caramel, shiny cars, world peace, old looking pretty jewlery, pink, purple, black, silver, strappy black heels, hot red shoes, running, showers, pantene conditioner, dental floss, glasses, sun glasses, goatees, graveyards, waterfalls, melancholy clowns, jokes about uranus, cheesecake, cupcakes, frosting, pumpkin muffins, bedtime, nap time, cozy on the couch with a soft blanket, fleece, scrapbooks, booksbooksbooks, superheros, suicide attempt stories, jesus, greg when he listens, crichton when he's silly, canon when he's sweet, sagan, my dad, my gramma, sharing, snuggles, fingers through hair, zombies, moonlight sonata, hot tubs, eye contact, smiles, loud music, green plants, dolphins, kids swearing, good fast reads, beatles, sad songs, honesty, names, astrology, a nine planet solar system, full moons, band trips, good manners, large birds, airplanes, jets, cumulo nimbus clouds, silly rebellious acts, tori amos, stars, octagonal picnic tables, alliteration, onamonapea, chunky tomato soup, vocal scales, playing in dirt with worms, mowed lawns, the sound of music, into the woods, little shop of horrors, les mis, phantom, scars, curls, silliness, pay day, hey jude, art, poetry, ice cream with cherries, perfection.

I Can't Decide

You know what sucks? No, of course not. You come here and read my blog so I can tell you what sucks.

What sucks is all the decisions I have to make.

I hate it.

Like just now. Sagan was screaming at me, literally, to put some of my coke zero in her damn sippy cup (she swears, I tell her its not lady-like. Gets it from her damn father). I know if I give her water she will refuse it, throw it to the floor, and scream (again, just like her dad). Milk won't cut it; juice, maybe, but it is far away in the kitchen. Sure, my CZ has caffeine, but no calories ... and the caffeine will probably wear off by bedtime.

So I give in.

And again.

And again. She is very demanding (just like daddy).

Every day, I am confronted by a GAZILLION choices and I JUST CAN'T TAKE IT!

what to feed the kids, whether to eat, what to eat, what to dress the kids in, whether to shower, whether to shave, what to wear, socks or no, if I should clean, what I should clean, if I should check email first, blog next, be happy or grumpy, take offense or let it slide, always what to feed them next, take out the trash or wait and see if Greg will, disney or pbs, music, which station or pandora, whatshouldimakefordinner, should i exercise, treadmill or sidewalk, read a book or a blog, make a plate for Greg to be considerate or why waste my time or the food when he never eats leftovers, go to bed and sleep so I can get up early or stay up and watch TV with my beloved whom I miss intensely. On and on and on and on and on ...

Saturday and Sunday are even worse. I don't just have to make decisions, I have to make decisions that will be approved by my husband. Because he doesn't like to make decisions but he loves vetoing mine.

I DON'T CARE, ANYTHING WILL BE FINE, JUST DON'T MAKE ME CHOOSE.

Thanks. Feel better. What are you having for dinner. I think we're gonna try the chicken fritter things.

I know that I will save timeenergyfrustrationsanity if I PLAN better. A decision made in advance is one less I have to make now. BUT I'm in a quagmire of hopelessness. I'm drowning. There is too much to do. Every time I start something, someone spills a box of cereal on the floor.

And I swear I heard him mumble, "What do you do all day?!"

That's why I punch him, y'know. He's a jerk.

Publish or Save as a Draft?

I Have a Crush on Sigmund Freud

I'm a psych major. Still. I have on class left to get my independent study degree. (Can someone please give me a scholarship/grant so I can finish that sucker up ... $296 for the last class, then $296 for a capstone class. I'll dedicate my first book to you!)

All my psychology classes have mentioned Sigmund at least once. I know a lot about him.

And I think he's kind of hot.

I like goatees. And smart guys. With dirty minds.

You know who else is kind of hot?

Yeah, Hemingway! (We are so on the same wavelength here.)

All old, yet virile and strong. Grrrrr.

And creative. I write, he writes; we have a lot in common.

Oh, and he committed suicide in Idaho (I tried to once; Idaho seems to have that effect on us super-smart, creative types.

Go Bobcats.


Oh my, and Sean Connery. Can you imagine? If he we to say, "Brandy, I want you to kiss me," I don't think there is anyway I could refuse.

I especially love him on SNL Celebrity Jeopardy.

He's a funny guy.

Ya. So maybe I'm having a little unresolved Electra complex issues today. Icky tho, right? Who would ever WANT a penis. I mean I whine a complain about the pain and blood and dreadfulness that is Womanhood, but anything is better than carrying around a Mr. Happy in your pants. You agree, right? I KNOW you do.

That's all. Weird mood, weird post. You get what you get and you don't throw a fit. I've done nothing today (besides the awesome, lung imploding 5K run) and that is lovely. Thanks and sorry. (See how polite I am?!)

Full Body Massage - 100% Nekkid

That title should get me a few disappointed hits, HA! Serves you right.

SO.

Mrs. "I don't like to be touched by strangers" TOTALLY stripped down for a professional massage therapist.

I did it because her name was Brandi. It was purely psychological. I'd had a headache for days and the muscles in my neck and shoulders were so tight ... I needed my chiropractic adjustment and maybe a massage.

You know, it's funny ... before we got married, Greg was very eager to get his hands on me, calling it a massage. But now, when I ask him to rub my shoulders, he digs his stupid thumbs into the tender muscles until I want to cry. It's really not helpful.

So I can't really feel too bad about spending his hard earned money paying for something he could totally do for me (if he cared to).

I still have my headache, and feel pretty jerky. Sure, a good wife just wouldn't post the bad thoughts she has, but, 30 years from now, when Sagan is having a rough day, wondering what to do about her mean, neglectful husband, and I'm dead from a brain aneurysm, and Greg has remarried a 22 year old, hot, trophy bride, I'd like my daughter to know her thoughts are reasonable and normal. I don't know why husbands have to be big mean jerks, I just know they are and I hate the women who's husband seem not to be. I assume they are lying. Sure, your husband takes out the garbage and helps with dishes every night, cooks dinner most of the time, always gets up with the kids, mows the lawn weekly, works full time and brings you flowers. Liar. It's a nice lie, makes the guy seem great, makes life look like a unicorn rainbow picnic. Guys are jerks. Girls, too, but that's not what today's post is about.

Brandi told me to undress as much as I felt comfortable with. I asked Brandi what was best, what she preferred and she said completely naked is really the easiest and best. So I went for the full Monty. I've had three kids, it's no big deal (which is my mantra to get through a lot of impossible things).

So, there I was: dimly lit room, naked, between a couple sheets ... she comes in, warms up some oil in her hands, and the rest is a blur of bliss and pain and more bliss.

With all my heart, I admit I was wrong about being touched by strangers. If that stranger is a massage therapist and those hands are oiled up ... I'll be naked in a flash.

I can hardly wait to schedule my next massage.

And, best of all, because of my headaches, I imagine, I can use my magic Flex spending card to pay for it. To me, that's like free pretend money.

You were right, I was silly.

My conclusion: massage therapists, much like chiropractors, are magical!

Highly recommendable.

Do you concur?

Say "No Thanks" To Popcorn

I love popcorn. Air popped popcorn. With REAL butter. And some salt. I always wanna try putting sugar on it - I hear they like it that way in France (and maybe they put mayonnaise on it, I don't know), but stick-in-the-mud-never-try-new-stuff-husband never lets me try it.

And my kids love popcorn (must be genetic). Starting at 9 am everyday, they start asking me to make it. I don't know why, but I don't give in. 9 am seems too early for popping corn, don't you think?

Maybe 10:30 ish.

What I don't like is when my popcorn loving/requesting kids get into the pantry and some stupid moron has not ziplocked the Ziploc popcorn kernel sack and they grab the bag by the bottom (according to Murphy's law, I'm sure) and spill unpopped popcorn kernels all over the kitchen floor. One child will work to spread them as far and wide as possible, while the other tries to cram them down her tiny throat. And those little suckers hurt to step on.

Why do I never wear shoes?

Oh, but the worst part is yet to come: knowing that I had swept the floor just minutes before the devastating spill, I felt fully validated to put all the popcorn back in the bag and Ziploc it up for later popping. It's like $2 a bag, so you can see what a cheapy cheap cheapskate I am.

So, if you come over YOU might want to avoid the popcorn. As for me, I don't mind ... it gets cooked.

Kind of.

Would you eat it?

(Tune in tomorrow when I report on my first ever, real live, professional, 1 hour massage. Having a days long headache has propelled me to desperate measures. And her name is Brandi ... somehow that helps with my "I don't like to be touched by strangers" thing.)

Ya Gotta Know When To Hold 'Em

I promise you, no one loves this blog as much as I do.

I started blogging On May 24, 2006 ... the day after my baby turns 2, my blog will turn 4.

I'm one of those people who get a wacky idea, get all excited about it, start on it (if we're lucky), then kind of give up. And never finish.

The blog is perfect. And mine. Maybe the only thing I have done that I am completely humbled by and proud of.

My blog.

And still there is so much more that goes on in my life and in my head. So many deep and personal things I can't blog about. I am afraid of the consequences. I can't even glaze across the topics.

No one is an island.

It tolls for thee.

I have moments where I imagine what I'd say, how I'd like to say it. Just let it all be out here. I really would. But I can't.

So.

This is how it always is, isn't it? How it always has been. We pretend things are true, but it's incomplete and we hint at other truths and only God knows what is real and whole.

Is that how we want it to be? Wouldn't it be better to lay it all out? I would rather. Just let it all be out there.

I fell in love with the word avocado today. The vowels are what got me, really. And they taste good.

Time To Dust Off The Old Ovaries?

Why do we have eggs to last until our 50's when they are really only good for about 35 years? Twenty years of useless menstruation seems like a stupid idea. I also do not approve of the first 5-10 years of unnecessary unpleasantness.

My eggs are getting stale. I can tell. My body "suggests" I make use of them. Daily. Greg doesn't mind. I don't either.

Tho, I worry my body is confused - taking active measure both not to and to get pregnant.

I have three kids. Three really incredible, bright, entertaining children. Quit while you're ahead.

But, I ALWAYS wanted a sister. If I could 100% guarantee another daughter, I'd go for it; one more C-section. Girls are the BEST!

However.

Greg says, "We're done."

I agree.

At least once a week (and TODAY is that day this week), I feel overwhelmed. The house is a mess, the kids are insane, soooo needy, won't they ever be old enough for school, why do they keep bugging me, don't they get that I want to immerse myself in imaginary computer land?! No, you are not done with your nap yet, sweetie, and please can we not have mac-n-cheese or ramen for lunch? How about roast beef on rye with provolone. And horseradish. And avocado?
And why do I have to MAKE dinner and DO DINNER DISHES, TOO. It's not like I really get to SIT DOWN AND EAT either, what with getting food, getting drinks, wiping drinks up ...

I don't need another kid. We shouldn't have more kids than we can care for. I'm not a very good mom as it is. Seriously. Don't argue with me.

And yet, those stupid eggs ... my kids are SO cute. Babies are really hard, but once they start talking (NO YOU ARE NOT DONE WITH YOUR NAP, STOP SCREAMING, STOP POUNDING THE WALL, GO TO SLEEP BABY GIRL) you can reason with them (haha).

Ok. I'm probably done.

Good Manners Are A Waste of Time and Energy

I'm an extraordinarily polite person.

I hate to call people on the phone and hesitate to start an instant message conversation for fear of possibly interrupting something more important. I rarely swear (unless the profanity is Biblical ...)

I thought maybe that tendency was a phobia, because I feel really neurotic about my extreme level of politeness, paranoid about my fear of seeming rude, but I didn't find anything on Google, so I think I must be okay.

I might be passing this (definitely NOT a) neurosis on to my kids.

"Mom, I need more milk."

"No. Say, 'O beautiful mother, may I have some more milk, please?'"

"O bootiful mudder, may I pease haf some more milk pease?"

"Of course you may, darling child, and thank you ever so much for asking in such a polite manner."

*****

When I went to BYU, I had these two very tall Ukrainian roommates, who were on the track team. They were NOT model BYU students, but they were fast runners and apparently that means BYU cuts you some slack. I guess you have to get caught to get in trouble ... get it ... runner ... fast ... hahaha. No? Fine. Read on.

One night, Really Tall One tells me, "Do naht lock da doohrs tonight. We will be in late and I cahn't find my keys."

There are always reports of crazy people breaking in, stealing underpants, watching people sleep; really weird stuff. Not to mention your usual raping, beating, and murdering.

But ... she ORDERED me to not lock the door. And I was more afraid of her than the crazies.

I left the door unlocked and my underwear were unmolested.

The next day, Really Tall One says, "Thank you for not locking me out last night."

"Okay, but, you know, we're really not okay with not locking the doors. Could you maybe tell the managers you need a new key? Please? So we're safe."

"Oh, ya. Sure. Haha. You know, in Ukraine, we never say please. In America, you are so, what's da word? Polite. Please this, please that. What a waste of time, ya know?"

"Haha," I laugh in assumed agreement, unable to defend my country. She was really tall.

*****

But try as I might, I can't be rude. Not in a real live interaction. I'm sure people find me rude sometimes, like when I announce they've won an amazing prize on my blog and 2 years later they still haven't received it, even though I've promised to send in several times. But it's completely unintentional. Actually, now I'm really kind of worrying ... ok ... everyone: if I have ever said or done or not said or not done something less than polite and considerate, I am SO sorry. Sincerely. I did not meant to, or I did mean to, or I didn't mean not too. Or I meant not to. Either way ... I will try to be better.