My mother once gave me some profound dating advice...she said, "Amy, don't ever end a relationship over something that can be waxed, plucked, or fixed at The Gap." While I realize this reveals one of the shallow, insensative sides of my personality (or the fact that commitment terrified me so much that I was using some pretty pathetic excuses for ending relationships), I can now appreciate the sentiment. I'm sitting here in a chair actually scratching my scalp pretty regularly because I am in desperate need of a shower. Then it got me thinking about all the other "physical hygiene" things I probably need:
1) A haircut and color job
2) Eyebrow waxing and overall "facial" hair removal (nothing dark and course, just light and fuzzy)
3) Ear cleaning
4) Chapstick
5) Good body wash
6) An overall shaving of body places that are "culturally offensive" to let hair grow wild, especially with the all important "bathing suit" season upon us
7) A manicure
8) A pedicure
9) Help with really dry, cracked heels
I really could go on and on. While I don't want you to imagine some horrific beast sitting at a computer in her own filth, why is it that being a girl demands so much effort? My husband just wandered in and out of the room and I would really be willing to bet you that if I asked him what he thought would physically help alter his current state, he'd say, "Well, I have a couple hairs on my neck bothering me. Would you mind giving them a trim tomorrow?" Ah, the simple life. I'd just really like to get my hands on the women in history who got everyone thinking that women needed this complication just to be hygenically presentable. And I haven't even touched wardrobe, make-up, shoes, or accessories.
I need a simpler existence. When I get in the shower, it is usually with 3 little time bombs ticking away out on the couch with as much junk food and Tom & Jerry videos as I think will entertain them until I get clean. I actually find myself asking things like, "What is more important today? Clean hair or clean armpits? Only got time for one." I now find myself applauding the guys I dated with the unibrows, hairy backs and strange colored toe nails...I'd like to think they are off making a huge difference in the world with all the time they are saving in the bathroom.
Saturday, April 02, 2005
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Ode to Mothers
I was cleaning out my files on our hard drive when I came across this little souvenir from last Mother's Day. I wrote it because I was feeling so guilty about yelling at my kids on mother's day but then I didn't know what to do with it. Ha! I love blogging. Now I know what to do with all my psychotic musings...anyway, I would wait until mother's day to post it but I have so much more to say this year on mother's day. Anyway, an ode to mothers.
The Sunday before Mother’s Day, I was sitting next to my 7-year old primary class in closing exercises when we were asked to practice a new song. I had never heard this song before but the children were told they quickly needed to learn it since they would be singing next week in sacrament meeting for Mother’s day. The song honored mothers with comparisons to lilac bushes, green earth after rain, and bluebirds singing. The children sang the song with about as much enthusiasm as a death march.
Midway through the massacre, I leaned over to ask a little girl in my class if she had ever heard this song before. She replied that they had sung it once in opening exercises. I asked if she knew what the song was about. She said it was about somebody’s mom but she wasn’t sure whom. It captured the essence regarding some of my complicated feelings regarding Mother’s day. Just whose mother ARE all those songs written about in the Children’s Songbook?
Please don’t misunderstand me. While I applaud a holiday dedicated to pampering and honoring all the mothers of the world, I am ready for a more realistic perspective on the day. Instead of feeling guilty because I don’t fit a single song lyric, poet’s verse, or heart wrenching story, I would like to be applauded because most of the time I am dressed before noon, sometimes I smell clean, and there are even days when the dishes get done. If we sang a song about a mother in yellow pajamas with cereal spilled down her front, my children would know whom the song was about. If we read a poem about a mom who knew how to build a pirate ship, get a spider web to come out of her sleeve, make a paper Spiderman mask out of toilet paper, or build a slide out of couch cushions, my kids could celebrate the fun moments. And if someone would tell a story about a woman, who cherishes alone time in the bathroom and appreciates the family’s sympathy when she breaks out into tears over nothing, I could sit and feel real. I have decided that this Mother’s Day, I’m going to celebrate all the "real" moms out there, the ones who occasionally yell, lose their cool, and have temper tantrums. The moms who aren’t always clean or pretty smelling but are in the trenches making it all happen. The ones who endure long games of make-believe, Wiggles videos, and endless excursions to the park because they know in the end how much those things matter. Being a mom is the most rewarding experience I have ever had. But it also involves more selflessness, sacrifice, and patience than I possess making me far from the perfect mom. The greatest part of the adventure is that when I stop and look at this little monkey on my knee who has the grossest diaper I have ever smelled and is determined to get me to stop typing and play with him, I know I am going to make it because I have the world’s best teachers. By the time they are done with me and waving good-bye from their dorm windows, I may start to get it. They get it and will stick with me until I figure it out. So hooray for all the imperfect moms and the families that love them!
The Sunday before Mother’s Day, I was sitting next to my 7-year old primary class in closing exercises when we were asked to practice a new song. I had never heard this song before but the children were told they quickly needed to learn it since they would be singing next week in sacrament meeting for Mother’s day. The song honored mothers with comparisons to lilac bushes, green earth after rain, and bluebirds singing. The children sang the song with about as much enthusiasm as a death march.
Midway through the massacre, I leaned over to ask a little girl in my class if she had ever heard this song before. She replied that they had sung it once in opening exercises. I asked if she knew what the song was about. She said it was about somebody’s mom but she wasn’t sure whom. It captured the essence regarding some of my complicated feelings regarding Mother’s day. Just whose mother ARE all those songs written about in the Children’s Songbook?
Please don’t misunderstand me. While I applaud a holiday dedicated to pampering and honoring all the mothers of the world, I am ready for a more realistic perspective on the day. Instead of feeling guilty because I don’t fit a single song lyric, poet’s verse, or heart wrenching story, I would like to be applauded because most of the time I am dressed before noon, sometimes I smell clean, and there are even days when the dishes get done. If we sang a song about a mother in yellow pajamas with cereal spilled down her front, my children would know whom the song was about. If we read a poem about a mom who knew how to build a pirate ship, get a spider web to come out of her sleeve, make a paper Spiderman mask out of toilet paper, or build a slide out of couch cushions, my kids could celebrate the fun moments. And if someone would tell a story about a woman, who cherishes alone time in the bathroom and appreciates the family’s sympathy when she breaks out into tears over nothing, I could sit and feel real. I have decided that this Mother’s Day, I’m going to celebrate all the "real" moms out there, the ones who occasionally yell, lose their cool, and have temper tantrums. The moms who aren’t always clean or pretty smelling but are in the trenches making it all happen. The ones who endure long games of make-believe, Wiggles videos, and endless excursions to the park because they know in the end how much those things matter. Being a mom is the most rewarding experience I have ever had. But it also involves more selflessness, sacrifice, and patience than I possess making me far from the perfect mom. The greatest part of the adventure is that when I stop and look at this little monkey on my knee who has the grossest diaper I have ever smelled and is determined to get me to stop typing and play with him, I know I am going to make it because I have the world’s best teachers. By the time they are done with me and waving good-bye from their dorm windows, I may start to get it. They get it and will stick with me until I figure it out. So hooray for all the imperfect moms and the families that love them!
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Visual Evidence
A few blogs ago, I told the story of my darling son and his smelly rubber rain boots. Well, he is still wearing them which has proven useful over the last few rainy days but seem ridiculous when it is 65 degrees outside and sunny. When I asked him the other day if they were making his feet hot, he said, "Yeah Mom" and sat down, took off his boots, took off his socks, and put back on the boots. So here is my favorite picture of Matthew and his blue boots.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
Calling All Opinionated People
First of all something must be said...without really being able to explain why, I have a feeling my brother Chip is lurking around these blogs without identifying himself. I can't tell you why this "spidey" sense is telling me so, but if you are my dear brother, you have been caught and now must make yourself known!
Over the past few months I have been compulsively compiling lists of "must read" and "must see" books and movies. I have assembled all these post-it notes and scrapes of paper into one pile where I shall now ask my faithful readers to help me sort out what is really worth reading/seeing and what can be left alone. Here is my "wish" list:
MOVIES
The Sea Inside
Finding Neverland
Born Into Brothels
Yesterday
Lemony Snickett's Series of Unfortunate Events
Story of Weeping Camel
As It Is In Heaven
The Chorus
Downfall
Tupac Resurrection
Twist of Fate
Maria Full of Grace
Spanglish
Meet the Fockers
BOOKS
Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight (Alexandra Fuller)
The Hours (Michael Cunningham)
Caramelo (Sandra Cisneros)
What Should I Do With My Life? (Po Bronson)
Executioner's Song (Norman Mailer)
Raising Ephraim's Child (author?)
Given the limited amount of time I have these days, I really want to spend my time on things interesting and thought provoking. If any one has opinions on any of these things, let it be known!!
Over the past few months I have been compulsively compiling lists of "must read" and "must see" books and movies. I have assembled all these post-it notes and scrapes of paper into one pile where I shall now ask my faithful readers to help me sort out what is really worth reading/seeing and what can be left alone. Here is my "wish" list:
MOVIES
The Sea Inside
Finding Neverland
Born Into Brothels
Yesterday
Lemony Snickett's Series of Unfortunate Events
Story of Weeping Camel
As It Is In Heaven
The Chorus
Downfall
Tupac Resurrection
Twist of Fate
Maria Full of Grace
Spanglish
Meet the Fockers
BOOKS
Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight (Alexandra Fuller)
The Hours (Michael Cunningham)
Caramelo (Sandra Cisneros)
What Should I Do With My Life? (Po Bronson)
Executioner's Song (Norman Mailer)
Raising Ephraim's Child (author?)
Given the limited amount of time I have these days, I really want to spend my time on things interesting and thought provoking. If any one has opinions on any of these things, let it be known!!
A Grand Day Out
Today was a splendid day in so many different ways. It was the type of day where for no apparent reason, all the elements in the universe combined to create a series of perfect moments. A day that will live in my senses for many years to come.
The weather outside was perfect. A balmy 65 degrees, sunny, clear, and windy. I loaded my 3 children into the mini-van and drove to Carrie's house. There, on a blanket in the backyard, Carrie, Kacy, Maggie, Ben, Jake, Matthew, Hannah and I ate a delicious lunch, listened to fabulous music, and bonded. The wild bird reserve was beautiful, the kids were delightful, and the company wonderful. As a great momento of the moment, Kacy presented me with 3 CD's that she had made for each of my children. It wasn't until I got in the car and took a look at the "index" she had made that I realized she had individually tailored each CD for my individual children. I was so touched! I'm not that nice of a person and I'm always seriously overwhelmed that there are people in the world that thoughtful and kind...and that I actually KNOW them! What a blessing!
After lunch, my children and I drove to Orem where we met my Aunt Jan. She played out on the big lawn while I went in to Hannah's physical therapy appointment. I came out to find her and my boys blowing bubbles and laughing. I sat on the lawn and appreciated all the things I love about my favorite aunt and my 3 children.
Next, I took the kids to Toys R' Us where we picked out 2 kites to take to the park with us. We walked around and looked at all the toys and I loved listening to Matthew run from toy to toy shouting, "Mom! Wow! Look at this!" They were enthralled by a store with so many wonders and we just walked around trying to take it all in. Hannah was wide awake in her car seat passing out big, beautiful smiles and cooing away. She loves to talk and my favorite times are when she looks me in the eye and I know the sounds she is making are just for me. Amazing!
Our last stop was Fort Utah Park where we met our play dates. We played at the park and flew kites and held each others babies and were happy for a long time. I loved running around the grass with my boys trying to get the kites to fly and then untangling them from the trees when they finally did. I loved watching several of the kids crowd around Hannah's car seat where all their sweetness and gentility come oozing out at the sight of a tiny baby smiling at them. I love dear, dear friends who each bring something so unique and special into my life. I love having this play group to share my children and experiences as a mother. These women and their children have enriched my life in very special ways. I never anticipated having such strong, wonderful friends at this phase in my life. I am so grateful.
I have always believed that heaven would be a different experience for each one of us based on the things that made each of individually joyful in this life. As I drove home tonight listening to the Hannah's CD from Kacy and watching each of my children drop off to sleep, I decided what I would like my little heaven to look like. I will be wearing my favorite blue skirt (it would be clean...no spit up or soda) and my favorite "Britney Spears", pre-teen, lace-around-the-ankle shoes. There will be an abundance of perfect balmy days and lots of green, soft grass. I will have kites and bubbles and swings galore. There will be an abundance of diet soda and delicious foods. Blankets and soft chairs will be scattered about and great music playing softly all the time. The best part will be my children...they will forever be mine. I will be able to tickle them, kiss them, hold them, and play with them all I want. They will never grow up and move away and not want to be picked up and squeezed. I won't ever be distracted for a moment by the things that don't really matter in eternity. My attention will be undivided. I will have each dear friend there to share these moments with and to continue learning from. I am grateful for each sweet moment where I realize heaven is not so far away...it is right here surrounding us.
The weather outside was perfect. A balmy 65 degrees, sunny, clear, and windy. I loaded my 3 children into the mini-van and drove to Carrie's house. There, on a blanket in the backyard, Carrie, Kacy, Maggie, Ben, Jake, Matthew, Hannah and I ate a delicious lunch, listened to fabulous music, and bonded. The wild bird reserve was beautiful, the kids were delightful, and the company wonderful. As a great momento of the moment, Kacy presented me with 3 CD's that she had made for each of my children. It wasn't until I got in the car and took a look at the "index" she had made that I realized she had individually tailored each CD for my individual children. I was so touched! I'm not that nice of a person and I'm always seriously overwhelmed that there are people in the world that thoughtful and kind...and that I actually KNOW them! What a blessing!
After lunch, my children and I drove to Orem where we met my Aunt Jan. She played out on the big lawn while I went in to Hannah's physical therapy appointment. I came out to find her and my boys blowing bubbles and laughing. I sat on the lawn and appreciated all the things I love about my favorite aunt and my 3 children.
Next, I took the kids to Toys R' Us where we picked out 2 kites to take to the park with us. We walked around and looked at all the toys and I loved listening to Matthew run from toy to toy shouting, "Mom! Wow! Look at this!" They were enthralled by a store with so many wonders and we just walked around trying to take it all in. Hannah was wide awake in her car seat passing out big, beautiful smiles and cooing away. She loves to talk and my favorite times are when she looks me in the eye and I know the sounds she is making are just for me. Amazing!
Our last stop was Fort Utah Park where we met our play dates. We played at the park and flew kites and held each others babies and were happy for a long time. I loved running around the grass with my boys trying to get the kites to fly and then untangling them from the trees when they finally did. I loved watching several of the kids crowd around Hannah's car seat where all their sweetness and gentility come oozing out at the sight of a tiny baby smiling at them. I love dear, dear friends who each bring something so unique and special into my life. I love having this play group to share my children and experiences as a mother. These women and their children have enriched my life in very special ways. I never anticipated having such strong, wonderful friends at this phase in my life. I am so grateful.
I have always believed that heaven would be a different experience for each one of us based on the things that made each of individually joyful in this life. As I drove home tonight listening to the Hannah's CD from Kacy and watching each of my children drop off to sleep, I decided what I would like my little heaven to look like. I will be wearing my favorite blue skirt (it would be clean...no spit up or soda) and my favorite "Britney Spears", pre-teen, lace-around-the-ankle shoes. There will be an abundance of perfect balmy days and lots of green, soft grass. I will have kites and bubbles and swings galore. There will be an abundance of diet soda and delicious foods. Blankets and soft chairs will be scattered about and great music playing softly all the time. The best part will be my children...they will forever be mine. I will be able to tickle them, kiss them, hold them, and play with them all I want. They will never grow up and move away and not want to be picked up and squeezed. I won't ever be distracted for a moment by the things that don't really matter in eternity. My attention will be undivided. I will have each dear friend there to share these moments with and to continue learning from. I am grateful for each sweet moment where I realize heaven is not so far away...it is right here surrounding us.
Sunday, March 06, 2005
Anyone Need a Wipie?
I have had some real adventures uncovering the true meaning of things in my life...
Every spring, as I watch my husband slaving away in our yard, I am taken back to a choice moment in my life when innocence was torn away and reality became a harsh teacher. I was 9 or 10 years old when one day I was searching all the drawers in my parent's bathroom for some random item. As I opened the bottom drawer, I came across a whole box of what I naively thought were "Wet Wipes". I loved Wet Wipes and eagerly grabbed a package to tear open for a little mid-afternoon hand washing. Well, I tore open the package and out fell this strange rubber like object. I picked it up and stared at it for a long, long time. It most definitely wasn't a wet wipe, not a balloon...what could this thing be? And then it hit me. I don't know what background knowledge I had regarding these type of things but somehow I just knew. Looking back on the moment, I don't know what was more horrific...that I was standing in my parent's bathroom holding a condom or realizing that my parents actually did things that required a condom. I didn't know what to do. I thought about flushing it but I was worried it would clog the toliet. If I threw it in the trash, I was scared a parental unit would find it and come confront me. So I did the only logical thing I could think of...I stuffed it in my pocket, went to the garage, found a shovel, dug a hole in the front flower bed, and buried it deep in the earth. Why I chose the front flower bed when there was a whole forest behind our house is still somewhat of a mystery to me...but I have often wondered about the people who bought the house after us and the first spring planting that they did in the front yard and what thoughts crossed their minds as they uncovered that buried condom?! Ah, the innocence of youth.
Every spring, as I watch my husband slaving away in our yard, I am taken back to a choice moment in my life when innocence was torn away and reality became a harsh teacher. I was 9 or 10 years old when one day I was searching all the drawers in my parent's bathroom for some random item. As I opened the bottom drawer, I came across a whole box of what I naively thought were "Wet Wipes". I loved Wet Wipes and eagerly grabbed a package to tear open for a little mid-afternoon hand washing. Well, I tore open the package and out fell this strange rubber like object. I picked it up and stared at it for a long, long time. It most definitely wasn't a wet wipe, not a balloon...what could this thing be? And then it hit me. I don't know what background knowledge I had regarding these type of things but somehow I just knew. Looking back on the moment, I don't know what was more horrific...that I was standing in my parent's bathroom holding a condom or realizing that my parents actually did things that required a condom. I didn't know what to do. I thought about flushing it but I was worried it would clog the toliet. If I threw it in the trash, I was scared a parental unit would find it and come confront me. So I did the only logical thing I could think of...I stuffed it in my pocket, went to the garage, found a shovel, dug a hole in the front flower bed, and buried it deep in the earth. Why I chose the front flower bed when there was a whole forest behind our house is still somewhat of a mystery to me...but I have often wondered about the people who bought the house after us and the first spring planting that they did in the front yard and what thoughts crossed their minds as they uncovered that buried condom?! Ah, the innocence of youth.
Friday, February 25, 2005
Great Date Night Entertainment
I am always on the look-out for something to really spice up the weekly date night. My husband and I had recently had a conversation about taking more opportunities to expand our cultural education beyond dollar movies and fast food dates. Maybe more plays or concerts or something...well, I was driving home the other night listening to my beloved NPR when an announcement about a new play caught my attention. After the riveting introduction, I was mentally posed to take note of the title and location. This was going to be it...our first walk on the cultural highway, our introduction into Salt Lake City's "artsy" crowd, the night that changed our lives forever. Vagina Monologues. I really don't mean to offend anyone's gentle side but that was the title of the play they were announcing on NPR. If they can use the word "vagina" on listener supported local radio, then certainly it must be acceptable vocabulary. I really thought I had heard it wrong so I turned up the volume and there it was, blasted and echoing off the walls of the mini-van. A serious snort erupted and then I giggled the rest of the way home. I couldn't wait to share my suggestion with my husband. I wanted to call every one I knew and ask them with a straight face if they wanted to go see the "Vagina Monolgues" at the Rose Wagner Theater with me. I asked Chris and his only reply was, "Are there enough lesbians in Salt Lake City to fill the whole theater?"
We were so close to a date night breakthrough. Guess it is back to the drawing board.
We were so close to a date night breakthrough. Guess it is back to the drawing board.
Filthy Rich But So, So Cheap
I am in a constant state of amazement at the contrast between what doctors make as a gross annual salary and what they chose to entertain their patients with in their waiting rooms. It seems to me that if I were asking people to come to my office and pay me a fortune and wait forever in a "waiting pen", I'd be bending over backwards to delight their every need and satisfy their every whim. I'd be so much happier about going to the gynecologist if my appointment started with a massage and appetizers in the waiting room.
I took my 3 children to the pediatrician the other day. I was excited because he had just moved to a new office with several other pediatricians. Judging from the first class exterior of the new office complex, I figured this was going to be a mini-Disneyland vacation for us. We walked into the enormous waiting room with the great big fish tank and sat down, waiting for the entertainment to start. Hmm...there was the enormous dirty salt water fish tank with 3 miniscule clown fish hiding in the artificial reef, the broken Sesame Street pop-up toy from 1974, one miniature hot pink bean bag chair, a train table without a single train piece, and the free magazines doctor's receive one copy of that sit in the waiting room forever. OK, so maybe the massage and appetizers are pushing the envelope but would a few new toys and an updated copy of People magazine be asking too much? I have always believed that good health was 50% physical and 50% mental. How much healthier would I be if I could read updated issues of current magazines and play with a few stimulating toys? Then again, if they kept me healthy, who would be paying for those huge gross annual salaries??
I took my 3 children to the pediatrician the other day. I was excited because he had just moved to a new office with several other pediatricians. Judging from the first class exterior of the new office complex, I figured this was going to be a mini-Disneyland vacation for us. We walked into the enormous waiting room with the great big fish tank and sat down, waiting for the entertainment to start. Hmm...there was the enormous dirty salt water fish tank with 3 miniscule clown fish hiding in the artificial reef, the broken Sesame Street pop-up toy from 1974, one miniature hot pink bean bag chair, a train table without a single train piece, and the free magazines doctor's receive one copy of that sit in the waiting room forever. OK, so maybe the massage and appetizers are pushing the envelope but would a few new toys and an updated copy of People magazine be asking too much? I have always believed that good health was 50% physical and 50% mental. How much healthier would I be if I could read updated issues of current magazines and play with a few stimulating toys? Then again, if they kept me healthy, who would be paying for those huge gross annual salaries??
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Mother Superior Meets Ghandi
Isn't it amazing how you can write an entire blog about something you find hilarious about someone else and completely forget that you were once guilty of the same horrific crimes you just spent a whole blog elaborating on? My family was quick to point out that Matthew's rainboots were nothing compared to my childhood wardrobe...
At the age of 7, I saw "Sound of Music" for the first time. Of all the characters in that movie for a child to relate to, my strongest connection was with Mother Superior. I spent the next week dressed in some kind of nun-like costume topped off with my mother's denim wrap skirt on my head as my "head covering". I took up residence in my father's home office and wrote very important messages on a pad of notebook paper. I'm sure I counseled weary souls and confused nuns during that week but I only have recollections of feeling very important and powerful. Forget Maria...I wanted a bunch of people to order around.
In sixth grade I remember going to see the movie Ghandi...two times. The second time was particularly memorable because my brother and I accidentally dropped a packet of M&M's from the very back row and they rattled the whole way down the slanted floor of theatre with people yelling, "Shh" and lifting their feet off the floor with a "What the...". Anyway, shortly after seeing the movie for the second time I took to wearing my mother's yellow silk pajamas around with a bright dot of red lipstick in the middle of my forehead. This wouldn't disturb me so much if I hadn't been 12 years old and didn't have distinct memories of wandering around the woods in the back of our house in this get-up. Who knows game I was playing out for myself...
The years 1980-1984 were spent in the garage dressed in my "roller-derby" outfit where I was training to be the next rollerskating champion of the world. I remember a pair of white leg warmers with pink unicorns and a torn at the neck, hanging off one shoulder gray sweatshirt with a big orange tiger and "Eye of the Tiger" in velour black lettering on the front. Choice outfit.
There were many, many years I spent in a flowy floral hippy skirt and very high stiletto heels playing school in the basement. Oddly enough, I did go on to be a teacher but never once wore stiletto heels to school. Education today just isn't what it used to be.
So here I was throwing literary stones at my 2 year old with the biggest, sharpest old beam just hanging right out of my own eye...sorry Matthew. And Mo...burn the evidence.
At the age of 7, I saw "Sound of Music" for the first time. Of all the characters in that movie for a child to relate to, my strongest connection was with Mother Superior. I spent the next week dressed in some kind of nun-like costume topped off with my mother's denim wrap skirt on my head as my "head covering". I took up residence in my father's home office and wrote very important messages on a pad of notebook paper. I'm sure I counseled weary souls and confused nuns during that week but I only have recollections of feeling very important and powerful. Forget Maria...I wanted a bunch of people to order around.
In sixth grade I remember going to see the movie Ghandi...two times. The second time was particularly memorable because my brother and I accidentally dropped a packet of M&M's from the very back row and they rattled the whole way down the slanted floor of theatre with people yelling, "Shh" and lifting their feet off the floor with a "What the...". Anyway, shortly after seeing the movie for the second time I took to wearing my mother's yellow silk pajamas around with a bright dot of red lipstick in the middle of my forehead. This wouldn't disturb me so much if I hadn't been 12 years old and didn't have distinct memories of wandering around the woods in the back of our house in this get-up. Who knows game I was playing out for myself...
The years 1980-1984 were spent in the garage dressed in my "roller-derby" outfit where I was training to be the next rollerskating champion of the world. I remember a pair of white leg warmers with pink unicorns and a torn at the neck, hanging off one shoulder gray sweatshirt with a big orange tiger and "Eye of the Tiger" in velour black lettering on the front. Choice outfit.
There were many, many years I spent in a flowy floral hippy skirt and very high stiletto heels playing school in the basement. Oddly enough, I did go on to be a teacher but never once wore stiletto heels to school. Education today just isn't what it used to be.
So here I was throwing literary stones at my 2 year old with the biggest, sharpest old beam just hanging right out of my own eye...sorry Matthew. And Mo...burn the evidence.
Monday, February 21, 2005
A Disease Known as Tortellini
I seriously have been to enough doctors in the last 2 years to qualify for some type of medical degree. My children are enlarging my medical view and I can now pronounce disorders and doctor's specialities like it is my native tongue. Except for the one I encountered today...my darling daughter has a very tilted head. She always looks to the right (her right) and has a pretty solid head tilt in the same direction. It was charming the first month, a little alarming the second month, and downright scary the third month. So after a brief consultation with her pediatrician, we showed up for physical therapy at 8:00 a.m. today. I have been trying to decide all day what my favorite moment of the whole appointment was...maybe you can help.
I actually chose this morning to wake up at 6:30 a.m. and exercise on the treadmill leaving me 2 minutes and 15 seconds to get ready for the appointment. I wore my favorite black and white leopard pattern fleece "lounge" pants, a black T-shirt from the dirty clothes, white work-out socks and brown suede loafers. I pulled my hair back into the shortest, greasiest ponytail you have ever seen and chewed gum during the 15 minute car ride to freshen my breath. Hannah wore a pair of pajamas with spit up and a big bunny on the front. I don't even know where Chris pulled those pajamas out from but I can assure you they have been put in a place where they won't "accidentally" be pulled out again. I actually fed my daughter with one hand while driving a white mini-van down I-15. She belched like a sailor when the student physical therapist finally pulled her out of her car seat. I arrived at the appointment late, smelly and flustered. As the physical therapist was handing me my clipboard straining at the "clip" with all the papers I had to fill out, he pointed out the box I was supposed to fill in with her "problem". He said, "What is she being seen for?" We both looked down at my cute baby sitting in her car seat with her head tilted at the oddest angle you have ever seen and I thought, "Is he kidding"? I was tempted to say something like "Her hair won't curl" or "Her big toenail is crooked" but I suddenly became nervous that this was some kind of warped test so I said, "Her head tilts to the right." He said, "Oh, she has..." and I swear what I heard was "Tortellini". I even looked at him and asked him to repeat the word. It still sounded just like tortellini. I had skipped breakfast and have a healthy appetite anyway but I couldn't believe that I was so lucky to have a baby with such a delicious disorder! By the end of the appointment all they had to do was mention the disorder and I would salivate. In one short physical therapy appointment, I had become a big, fat Pavlov dog. Just writing about it is making me crave pasta...
So my baby was taken into a room where they poked and prodded and twisted her head in directions I didn't know a human head could turn and all I could think about was how soon "Octtavio's" italian restaurant would open and what happens to a body when it is fed rich pasta first thing in the morning. Hannah was hypnotized 30 seconds into the appointment by the purple mardi gras beads they were dangling in front of her. I saw her move her head in directions I have never been able to coax her into and her eyes danced with joy. Forget all this Fisher Price crap...Hannah and I are saving our money for Mardi Gras in New Orleans next year.
Well, the good news is that she doesn't need a helmet yet. We have 3 months to cure the flat spot on the back of her head before we have to fork out $1300.00 for a plastic helmet that most insurance companies won't cover because it isn't for "health" reasons but "cosmetic" purposes. Hannah and I have to do her exercises every day, 3 times a day and I'm excited to shower for our next appointment. Despite all the hilarious moments today, I followed the cutest 3 year old boy and his mom out of the office and watched as they walked to their car. His legs were severely crooked but you've never seen anyone move so fast. I honestly felt grateful for the huge moments that happen in the tiniest of events. I felt grateful that my beautiful daughter isn't suffering from anything more serious than a tilted neck and flat head and that I had all these people who could look beyond animal print fleece and spit up stained bunny pajamas to help my daughter have a normal, healthy life. I headed home happy, content, and ready to kill for a bowl of tortellini!
I actually chose this morning to wake up at 6:30 a.m. and exercise on the treadmill leaving me 2 minutes and 15 seconds to get ready for the appointment. I wore my favorite black and white leopard pattern fleece "lounge" pants, a black T-shirt from the dirty clothes, white work-out socks and brown suede loafers. I pulled my hair back into the shortest, greasiest ponytail you have ever seen and chewed gum during the 15 minute car ride to freshen my breath. Hannah wore a pair of pajamas with spit up and a big bunny on the front. I don't even know where Chris pulled those pajamas out from but I can assure you they have been put in a place where they won't "accidentally" be pulled out again. I actually fed my daughter with one hand while driving a white mini-van down I-15. She belched like a sailor when the student physical therapist finally pulled her out of her car seat. I arrived at the appointment late, smelly and flustered. As the physical therapist was handing me my clipboard straining at the "clip" with all the papers I had to fill out, he pointed out the box I was supposed to fill in with her "problem". He said, "What is she being seen for?" We both looked down at my cute baby sitting in her car seat with her head tilted at the oddest angle you have ever seen and I thought, "Is he kidding"? I was tempted to say something like "Her hair won't curl" or "Her big toenail is crooked" but I suddenly became nervous that this was some kind of warped test so I said, "Her head tilts to the right." He said, "Oh, she has..." and I swear what I heard was "Tortellini". I even looked at him and asked him to repeat the word. It still sounded just like tortellini. I had skipped breakfast and have a healthy appetite anyway but I couldn't believe that I was so lucky to have a baby with such a delicious disorder! By the end of the appointment all they had to do was mention the disorder and I would salivate. In one short physical therapy appointment, I had become a big, fat Pavlov dog. Just writing about it is making me crave pasta...
So my baby was taken into a room where they poked and prodded and twisted her head in directions I didn't know a human head could turn and all I could think about was how soon "Octtavio's" italian restaurant would open and what happens to a body when it is fed rich pasta first thing in the morning. Hannah was hypnotized 30 seconds into the appointment by the purple mardi gras beads they were dangling in front of her. I saw her move her head in directions I have never been able to coax her into and her eyes danced with joy. Forget all this Fisher Price crap...Hannah and I are saving our money for Mardi Gras in New Orleans next year.
Well, the good news is that she doesn't need a helmet yet. We have 3 months to cure the flat spot on the back of her head before we have to fork out $1300.00 for a plastic helmet that most insurance companies won't cover because it isn't for "health" reasons but "cosmetic" purposes. Hannah and I have to do her exercises every day, 3 times a day and I'm excited to shower for our next appointment. Despite all the hilarious moments today, I followed the cutest 3 year old boy and his mom out of the office and watched as they walked to their car. His legs were severely crooked but you've never seen anyone move so fast. I honestly felt grateful for the huge moments that happen in the tiniest of events. I felt grateful that my beautiful daughter isn't suffering from anything more serious than a tilted neck and flat head and that I had all these people who could look beyond animal print fleece and spit up stained bunny pajamas to help my daughter have a normal, healthy life. I headed home happy, content, and ready to kill for a bowl of tortellini!
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Capes, Rain Boots and Other Fashion Disasters
I have a son who has no respect for the simple rules of fashion. While I have always prided myself on being an open-minded individual with a willingness to accept new ideas and embrace all people regardless of race, culture, etc, I have proven a failure when it comes to accepting and embracing what my child chooses to wear each day. My 3-year old will often ask, "Mom, does this match?" but I swear if my 2-year old catches wind that what he has chosen to wear somehow follows any norm of pattern or color, he will go change. He will not let me near his clothes drawers. Any suggestions from me are gruffly thrown to the dogs with a simple but stern, "No mom! I can do it." While I really do applaud that this child has learned to dress himself, I am finding it hard to simply let him wear whatever he wants. Let me explain myself...
Regardless of whatever clothing he may choose for the day, the outfit always begins with a pair of Santa Christmas socks and a pair of blue rubber rain boots. These boots have been worn with leisure outfits, Sunday clothes, and even pajamas. No outfit is too sacred not to be worn with "the boots". I have tried to insist that he not wear them to bed but there have been many nights when I have gone in late to check on him and found those boots snuggled deep under his blanket. They are most irritating when they kick my back repeatedly or stomp on my body as he crosses over me in MY bed to get to his favorite spot curled up next to dad. Ah, those cursed boots.
He also loves his pair of red sweat pants with the blue stripe down the leg and the "horse" shirt that is now too small for him. I shake my fists at the heavens every time he pulls on the plaids with the stripes or the Halloween monster shirt with the Christmas pajama bottoms. Many a mother or well-meaning person has counseled me to just let it go and focus on celebrating his independence. I've tried...it doesn't work. I just can't celebrate reds and purples in the same outfit. Call me shallow, call me ignorant of the greater purposes in life, call me what you will but tell me how many people who wore rain boots and horse shirts have made it through life without serious psychological scars?! I have started carrying a matching outfit piece with me wherever we go in hopes of having an "accident" with either a top or bottom that will allow me to put the matching garment on him and have peace with his outfit. For those of you that know me, I'm not winning any awards with my fashion statements. Carrie Ann tries to keep me in line when I've gone too many days in outfits made entirely out of fleece or "leisure suits" that need a washing (I'm terrible with pantyhose and purse etiquette too) but at least my leisure fleece suits MATCH! Tonight he wore his dinosaur pajama top and doggy pajama bottoms to bed. I am absolutely certain that if I were to check on him right now he would also be wearing Santa socks and rubber rain boots. And I haven't even mentioned the Superman cape and broken knight's helmet...
Despite the torment I feel inside every time I see him in the red plaid Sunday shirt with the blue plaid summer shorts, he is still a constant source of wonder and joy. The other morning I found him watching the garbage truck out the big front window in black Sunday socks pulled to his knees, the rubber rain boots and his pajama dog top. His eyes were dancing with joy, his hair was glistening in the morning sunlight streaming through the window, and his darling white dimpled diaperless butt put a smile on my face and a memory in my head that won't soon be forgotten. I'll try to remember that there may come a day when he comes to visit me in his dapper matching Gap outfit and I'll mourn the loss of his youthful fashion ignorance.
Meanwhile, I have high hopes that Carrie Ann's blog on shoe etiquette will be a turning point in losing the rain boots for him.
Regardless of whatever clothing he may choose for the day, the outfit always begins with a pair of Santa Christmas socks and a pair of blue rubber rain boots. These boots have been worn with leisure outfits, Sunday clothes, and even pajamas. No outfit is too sacred not to be worn with "the boots". I have tried to insist that he not wear them to bed but there have been many nights when I have gone in late to check on him and found those boots snuggled deep under his blanket. They are most irritating when they kick my back repeatedly or stomp on my body as he crosses over me in MY bed to get to his favorite spot curled up next to dad. Ah, those cursed boots.
He also loves his pair of red sweat pants with the blue stripe down the leg and the "horse" shirt that is now too small for him. I shake my fists at the heavens every time he pulls on the plaids with the stripes or the Halloween monster shirt with the Christmas pajama bottoms. Many a mother or well-meaning person has counseled me to just let it go and focus on celebrating his independence. I've tried...it doesn't work. I just can't celebrate reds and purples in the same outfit. Call me shallow, call me ignorant of the greater purposes in life, call me what you will but tell me how many people who wore rain boots and horse shirts have made it through life without serious psychological scars?! I have started carrying a matching outfit piece with me wherever we go in hopes of having an "accident" with either a top or bottom that will allow me to put the matching garment on him and have peace with his outfit. For those of you that know me, I'm not winning any awards with my fashion statements. Carrie Ann tries to keep me in line when I've gone too many days in outfits made entirely out of fleece or "leisure suits" that need a washing (I'm terrible with pantyhose and purse etiquette too) but at least my leisure fleece suits MATCH! Tonight he wore his dinosaur pajama top and doggy pajama bottoms to bed. I am absolutely certain that if I were to check on him right now he would also be wearing Santa socks and rubber rain boots. And I haven't even mentioned the Superman cape and broken knight's helmet...
Despite the torment I feel inside every time I see him in the red plaid Sunday shirt with the blue plaid summer shorts, he is still a constant source of wonder and joy. The other morning I found him watching the garbage truck out the big front window in black Sunday socks pulled to his knees, the rubber rain boots and his pajama dog top. His eyes were dancing with joy, his hair was glistening in the morning sunlight streaming through the window, and his darling white dimpled diaperless butt put a smile on my face and a memory in my head that won't soon be forgotten. I'll try to remember that there may come a day when he comes to visit me in his dapper matching Gap outfit and I'll mourn the loss of his youthful fashion ignorance.
Meanwhile, I have high hopes that Carrie Ann's blog on shoe etiquette will be a turning point in losing the rain boots for him.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
The Quiz
I was given a challenge to take this quiz and I think I'm sleep deprived enough tonight to try it. I've decided that being sleep-deprived is a little like being drunk (although I wouldn't know about the drinking thing personally. I just watch a lot of drunk people on movies.) When you are sleep-deprived you see double, everything is either hysterically funny or tragically sad, and you do things that you wonder about the next day. Anyway, here we go..
3 names you go by:
1. Hey you!
2. MOOOOOOOM! (shouted by a 3 year old from a bathroom who needs his little butt wiped and you have been ignoring for the last 10 minutes)
3.Amy Lou
3 screen names you have:
1. oscarfish
2. moder34
3. aloc
(Did I just do one of those stupid things that you aren't supposed to do on the internet? Like give away all my personal information so now everyone has access to my life instead of just some people?)
3 things you like about yourself:
1. I am a spelling bee. (I can truly spell just about any word)
2. I am a homing pigeon. (I don't get lost very often. If you take me someplace once I can usually make it back there.)
3. I am a girl of simple pleasures (like 30 minutes alone at Wal-Mart or being able to go to the bathroom alone without kids)
3 things you hate/dislike about yourself:
1. My furry, thick eyebrows
2. The fact that I'm not a REAL blond (it still shocks me when I have to go get my hair highlighted every few weeks. My inner spirit is really a blond.)
3. My two bicuspids that look like razor sharp fangs.
3 parts of your heritage:
1. Swedish (explains my passion for all things red meat and potatoes)
2. British (explains my passion for fried foods)
3. African American (why I have a black Cabbage Patch doll and drag my young children to candlelight vigils in winter)
3 things that scare you:
1. mullets
2. Darth Vader's breathing
3. The family vacation my family took to Hell when I must have been about 17 that I seem to have repressed from my memory. (I need to ask Carrie or Sarah about that! I'm certain I contributed somehow...)
3 of your everyday essentials:
1. my 3 kids & darling husband
2. Great Value brand REAL chocolate chocolate chips
3. a really good book to read
3 things you're wearing right now:
1. an old red T-shirt from Eddie Bauer
2. Christmas pajama bottoms with a safety pin at the waist because I bought them when I was pregnant
3. a tortoise shell colored hair clip
3 of your favorite bands/artists (today):
1. 80's Whitney Houston
2. Norah Jones (Real favorite! I think she is amazing!)
3. The Cure (I have just rediscovered their power in my life! A true guilty pleasure!)
3 of your favorite songs at present:
1. "Be Happy" (Judy Garland version)
2. "Survivor" (Destiny's Child)
3. Some song by Josh Groban that is dramatic and passionate and romantic but in Italian so I can't understand a word of it or remember the title.
3 new things you want to try in the next 12 months:
1. a size 10
2. sleeping through the night
3. writing a children's book
3 things you want in a relationship (love is a given):
1. great sex
2. great conversation
3. free babysitting
2 truths and a lie:
1. I was on the Leeza Gibbon’s Show
2. I have a sister who has a nephew with 11 toes
3. I am a size 10
3 physical things about a love interest that appeal:
1. Happy eyes
2. Nice, firm, squeezable butt
3. Good breath
3 things you just can't do:
1. stop eating
2. get to bed before 1:30 a.m.
3. breastfeed
3 of your favorite hobbies:
1. reading, reading, reading (which I usually have 5 minutes of before I fall into a deep sleep)
2. teaching/storytelling (I really love teaching. Really, really.)
3. Going on any kind of adventure
3 things you want to do really badly right now:
1. sleep forever
2. Go kiss my baby's big, round, yummy cheeks
3. Eat a Hawaiin blizzard
3 careers you're considering:
1. Belly Dancing
2. Working at Old Navy
3. Teaching at BYU
3 places you want to go on vacation:
1. Nantucket Island
2. Venice, Italy
3. Iceland
3 kids names (either boy or girl):
1. Claire (I just discovered yesterday how much I really like that name! Who knew!)
2. I hate to say it but I love the name of the baby spice on Blue's Clues....PAPRIKA or CINNAMON
3. Spencer or Andrew
3 things you want to do before you die:
1. sleep a lot
2. learn how to wear make-up and do my hair
3. wear tight leather pants, tube top, and red spiky heels while lip synching to Abba's "Dancing Queen"
3 People who should take this quiz right now:
1. Suzie Petunia
2. ADD Typist
3. Mo
3 names you go by:
1. Hey you!
2. MOOOOOOOM! (shouted by a 3 year old from a bathroom who needs his little butt wiped and you have been ignoring for the last 10 minutes)
3.Amy Lou
3 screen names you have:
1. oscarfish
2. moder34
3. aloc
(Did I just do one of those stupid things that you aren't supposed to do on the internet? Like give away all my personal information so now everyone has access to my life instead of just some people?)
3 things you like about yourself:
1. I am a spelling bee. (I can truly spell just about any word)
2. I am a homing pigeon. (I don't get lost very often. If you take me someplace once I can usually make it back there.)
3. I am a girl of simple pleasures (like 30 minutes alone at Wal-Mart or being able to go to the bathroom alone without kids)
3 things you hate/dislike about yourself:
1. My furry, thick eyebrows
2. The fact that I'm not a REAL blond (it still shocks me when I have to go get my hair highlighted every few weeks. My inner spirit is really a blond.)
3. My two bicuspids that look like razor sharp fangs.
3 parts of your heritage:
1. Swedish (explains my passion for all things red meat and potatoes)
2. British (explains my passion for fried foods)
3. African American (why I have a black Cabbage Patch doll and drag my young children to candlelight vigils in winter)
3 things that scare you:
1. mullets
2. Darth Vader's breathing
3. The family vacation my family took to Hell when I must have been about 17 that I seem to have repressed from my memory. (I need to ask Carrie or Sarah about that! I'm certain I contributed somehow...)
3 of your everyday essentials:
1. my 3 kids & darling husband
2. Great Value brand REAL chocolate chocolate chips
3. a really good book to read
3 things you're wearing right now:
1. an old red T-shirt from Eddie Bauer
2. Christmas pajama bottoms with a safety pin at the waist because I bought them when I was pregnant
3. a tortoise shell colored hair clip
3 of your favorite bands/artists (today):
1. 80's Whitney Houston
2. Norah Jones (Real favorite! I think she is amazing!)
3. The Cure (I have just rediscovered their power in my life! A true guilty pleasure!)
3 of your favorite songs at present:
1. "Be Happy" (Judy Garland version)
2. "Survivor" (Destiny's Child)
3. Some song by Josh Groban that is dramatic and passionate and romantic but in Italian so I can't understand a word of it or remember the title.
3 new things you want to try in the next 12 months:
1. a size 10
2. sleeping through the night
3. writing a children's book
3 things you want in a relationship (love is a given):
1. great sex
2. great conversation
3. free babysitting
2 truths and a lie:
1. I was on the Leeza Gibbon’s Show
2. I have a sister who has a nephew with 11 toes
3. I am a size 10
3 physical things about a love interest that appeal:
1. Happy eyes
2. Nice, firm, squeezable butt
3. Good breath
3 things you just can't do:
1. stop eating
2. get to bed before 1:30 a.m.
3. breastfeed
3 of your favorite hobbies:
1. reading, reading, reading (which I usually have 5 minutes of before I fall into a deep sleep)
2. teaching/storytelling (I really love teaching. Really, really.)
3. Going on any kind of adventure
3 things you want to do really badly right now:
1. sleep forever
2. Go kiss my baby's big, round, yummy cheeks
3. Eat a Hawaiin blizzard
3 careers you're considering:
1. Belly Dancing
2. Working at Old Navy
3. Teaching at BYU
3 places you want to go on vacation:
1. Nantucket Island
2. Venice, Italy
3. Iceland
3 kids names (either boy or girl):
1. Claire (I just discovered yesterday how much I really like that name! Who knew!)
2. I hate to say it but I love the name of the baby spice on Blue's Clues....PAPRIKA or CINNAMON
3. Spencer or Andrew
3 things you want to do before you die:
1. sleep a lot
2. learn how to wear make-up and do my hair
3. wear tight leather pants, tube top, and red spiky heels while lip synching to Abba's "Dancing Queen"
3 People who should take this quiz right now:
1. Suzie Petunia
2. ADD Typist
3. Mo
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Happy Human Rights Day!
In order to appreciate what I am about to say you have to understand that I am descended from solid Scandinavian stock. My maiden name is Scandinavian, my physical features are Scandinavian, I served a mission in Scandinavia, I lived there as a child…do you get it? (By the way, at the risk of being condescending and insulting, we all know that Scandinavia isn’t an actual country but a reference to a particular geographic area, right? Just checking. I had a boyfriend when I left on my mission that wrote me 6 weeks into my mission to say he was a little confused as to which country I was really going to Scandinavia or Denmark? And if I was going to Scandinavia then he was really confused because he couldn’t find that on a map! Is that too telling about some of the people I’ve dated?) Anyway, despite what you would think would be a deeply ingrained heritage, I grew up wanting to be black. Seriously. I use to wonder if there was a black girl somewhere who really wanted to be white and if some tragic mistake had been made in our mortal assignments. I love the color of brown skin, want to be able to braid my hair in a million braids and not look comically stupid (sometime I’ll blog about the year I tried to braid my hair for girl’s camp), have a deep passion for all music R&B or gospel, sometimes want to shout "Amen" during people’s testimonies on fast Sunday, and love studying black history. So given this background, I felt it was really important to get out of the house and give my children a real "multicultural experience" on Martin Luther King Day. Given the location I live in, finding an appropriate outlet for this need to express was not easy. I opted for the candlelight march on BYU campus and enlisted the aid of my sister since I may be slow but not entirely stupid to think that I could pull this off alone with 3 children.
We arrived at our destination with a double stroller carrying 2 rowdy boys, a Snuggli with my 7 week old newborn, a pink, fluffy diaper bag (I may be a mom but I don’t have to carry plastic Winnie-the-Pooh diaper bags…no offense to anyone who does) and a somewhat dampened enthusiasm since it was cold and we had just carried a double stroller up a lot of stairs. There was a large crowd gathering at the bell tower…the most un-multicultural looking group of people I have ever laid eyes on. Each of us were handed a used candle with a BYU catering services plastic cup around the middle and terror struck my heart when I realized they were actually lighting these candles in this tightly packed group of hair-sprayed, coifed co-eds. My sons pleaded to have their candles lit (they are 3 and 2 years old) and Carrie and struggled to join the march back down the million stairs without setting anyone or anything on fire. My favorite moment was when the group started the march and began singing LDS church hymns. I couldn’t join in. First I felt too stupid and then I couldn’t stop laughing. I just kept hoping that either Martin Luther King, Jr. could appreciate the good if not slightly misdirected intention in all this or that he had chosen to attend another memorial service that night. I laughed the whole way to the Wilkinson Center where we attended a meeting that was really quite good although the Black Student Choir that sang actually had more white students in it than black. I’m not sure what my 3 darling, rambunctious children took away from the whole experience but I was grateful we were there. I realized it wasn’t about having "multicultural" experiences as much as it is having really "human" experiences. I hope my children will spend their lives seeking out people and experiences that challenge them, enrich them, and uplift them. I hope they are never afraid to carry lighted candles in a march or laugh at all the silly moments life hands us. I hope celebrating Martin Luther King Day will always be important to them and that they will remember the crazy although well-intended experiences their mom tried to give them.
Anyone know a good place to celebrate President’s Day??
We arrived at our destination with a double stroller carrying 2 rowdy boys, a Snuggli with my 7 week old newborn, a pink, fluffy diaper bag (I may be a mom but I don’t have to carry plastic Winnie-the-Pooh diaper bags…no offense to anyone who does) and a somewhat dampened enthusiasm since it was cold and we had just carried a double stroller up a lot of stairs. There was a large crowd gathering at the bell tower…the most un-multicultural looking group of people I have ever laid eyes on. Each of us were handed a used candle with a BYU catering services plastic cup around the middle and terror struck my heart when I realized they were actually lighting these candles in this tightly packed group of hair-sprayed, coifed co-eds. My sons pleaded to have their candles lit (they are 3 and 2 years old) and Carrie and struggled to join the march back down the million stairs without setting anyone or anything on fire. My favorite moment was when the group started the march and began singing LDS church hymns. I couldn’t join in. First I felt too stupid and then I couldn’t stop laughing. I just kept hoping that either Martin Luther King, Jr. could appreciate the good if not slightly misdirected intention in all this or that he had chosen to attend another memorial service that night. I laughed the whole way to the Wilkinson Center where we attended a meeting that was really quite good although the Black Student Choir that sang actually had more white students in it than black. I’m not sure what my 3 darling, rambunctious children took away from the whole experience but I was grateful we were there. I realized it wasn’t about having "multicultural" experiences as much as it is having really "human" experiences. I hope my children will spend their lives seeking out people and experiences that challenge them, enrich them, and uplift them. I hope they are never afraid to carry lighted candles in a march or laugh at all the silly moments life hands us. I hope celebrating Martin Luther King Day will always be important to them and that they will remember the crazy although well-intended experiences their mom tried to give them.
Anyone know a good place to celebrate President’s Day??
Monday, January 24, 2005
The White Trash Theory
I have long believed in a theory that throughout my life has been repeatedly shown to be true. We are all what I affectionately call "white trash". The vast majority of the population would adamantly, even vehemently deny this claim but as I stated earlier, while giving lip service to how far from the truth that term is in describing themselves, they are secretly living the life they pretend to look down on. My theory goes on to explain how this can be…all of us are white trash but some of us are just better at hiding it than others. Some of us choose to repress this side of ourselves while others have learned to embrace it and I am convinced live much simpler, happier lives. I was contemplating this theory as I was driving my white mini-van to Wal-Mart the other day. You see, just moments earlier I had been caught in my pajamas by my sister-in-law who showed up at my door to see if I needed help with anything. I told her how desperate I was for a quick trip to the grocery store and she told me she would gladly watch the kids while I went. A mother with a 3 year old, 2 year old, and 7 week old does not have to be asked twice when offered a trip to Wal-Mart alone but I did face a dilemma. I was standing in my pajamas, unwashed, not groomed, and smelly but my 2 year old was sound asleep in my bedroom. If I went in to remedy all these hygiene problems, I would most likely wake him up and make him hysterical and inconsolable that I was leaving him. If I went in my pajamas with all the previously mentioned situations hovering about me, well, then, I would…and there it stopped. I put on a different pair of pants that I sometimes refer to as "lounge pants" (pajama bottoms being worn as clothing), grabbed the first pair of shoes I saw (a pair of clogs that my 2 year old has slowly been unraveling the wool covering off for the last 2 months) and a stale, half eaten candy cane. In hindsight, I’m 50% certain I was wearing a bra and 100% certain that the faint odor in the car was not the horse farm but I. And there I was. No shame, no regrets, just 60 minutes of freedom at Wal-Mart. Several years ago it might have taken a more significant effort to excite me the way I felt excited driving to Wal-Mart, but now I am a girl of simple pleasures. And speaking of simple pleasures…
Who hasn’t secretly longed for a comfy, old couch that they could plop on their front porch and spend long summer nights lounging on? Or how many of us have wished we could abandon the bras and tighty-whitey underwear for tank tops and Daisy Duke shorts on those hot summer days? In all seriousness, do we really fail to see the benefits of Astroturf outside? And how many times have I thought that a plastic pink flamingo really would look cute nestled in the front flowerbed? You may deny it, but wouldn’t life just be easier if we could skip the pretenses and devote all that brainpower to figuring something else out? I’m certain that if spent even half the brain time and power that we devote to contemplating how others are going to perceive us and our image, we would have some of these really big, sticky world problems figured out. So go ahead, pull out that couch, grab a cold can of something and go lay on the porch. You’d be surprised at how much of yourself you’ll find there.
Who hasn’t secretly longed for a comfy, old couch that they could plop on their front porch and spend long summer nights lounging on? Or how many of us have wished we could abandon the bras and tighty-whitey underwear for tank tops and Daisy Duke shorts on those hot summer days? In all seriousness, do we really fail to see the benefits of Astroturf outside? And how many times have I thought that a plastic pink flamingo really would look cute nestled in the front flowerbed? You may deny it, but wouldn’t life just be easier if we could skip the pretenses and devote all that brainpower to figuring something else out? I’m certain that if spent even half the brain time and power that we devote to contemplating how others are going to perceive us and our image, we would have some of these really big, sticky world problems figured out. So go ahead, pull out that couch, grab a cold can of something and go lay on the porch. You’d be surprised at how much of yourself you’ll find there.
Friday, November 26, 2004
The Educated Mind
I have been contemplating the idea of an "educated" individual and what definition one would use to define someone as such. Is it a certain amount of schooling? Is it a certain number of life experiences? Does it involve passing basic college algebra the first time? I have spent a significant amount of time in the field of "educating"…first as an elementary schoolteacher, then as a graduate student of educational leadership and administration, and most recently as a storyteller at 2 public libraries. But this week a seemingly small moment with my 3 year old son proved what I have always really suspected…I really don’t get much at all.
My sister has a bathroom with an impossible light switch. It seems all backwards to me. I don’t have any problem turning on the right light switches in my own bathrooms but the minute I step foot into her downstairs powder room, I’m flipping on the fan instead of the light switch, cursing, trying to turn that one off while fumbling for the light switch, and then spending the next few moments sitting there trying to calm down and understand whether this ongoing saga is my problem or my sister’s problem. Yesterday I escorted my son into the bathroom where he reached up very calmly and flipped the right switch on the first time. I have to admit being a little stunned by his confidence in this matter but figured it was a matter of coincidence. A couple hours later I escorted the same son back to the same bathroom and stood aside to see what would happen. Once again, he entered the bathroom, stood on his tiptoes and calmly flipped the right switch on the first time. He didn’t struggle for a moment. There was no cursing, no near accident, and no extra time sitting in the bathroom trying to understand the complexities of life. Matter of fact, after the third bathroom trip he announced the room was a little "stinky" and reached up to turn on the fan.
I have 2 college degrees, a resume filled with work experience, and a number life experiences under my belt and I can’t figure out the light switches in my sister’s downstairs bathroom. Jake has 2 months of preschool, 3 years of life experience, and no resume and he has mastered this small piece of life without a moment’s thought. So tell me…who is really educated? I suspect it ain’t me.
My sister has a bathroom with an impossible light switch. It seems all backwards to me. I don’t have any problem turning on the right light switches in my own bathrooms but the minute I step foot into her downstairs powder room, I’m flipping on the fan instead of the light switch, cursing, trying to turn that one off while fumbling for the light switch, and then spending the next few moments sitting there trying to calm down and understand whether this ongoing saga is my problem or my sister’s problem. Yesterday I escorted my son into the bathroom where he reached up very calmly and flipped the right switch on the first time. I have to admit being a little stunned by his confidence in this matter but figured it was a matter of coincidence. A couple hours later I escorted the same son back to the same bathroom and stood aside to see what would happen. Once again, he entered the bathroom, stood on his tiptoes and calmly flipped the right switch on the first time. He didn’t struggle for a moment. There was no cursing, no near accident, and no extra time sitting in the bathroom trying to understand the complexities of life. Matter of fact, after the third bathroom trip he announced the room was a little "stinky" and reached up to turn on the fan.
I have 2 college degrees, a resume filled with work experience, and a number life experiences under my belt and I can’t figure out the light switches in my sister’s downstairs bathroom. Jake has 2 months of preschool, 3 years of life experience, and no resume and he has mastered this small piece of life without a moment’s thought. So tell me…who is really educated? I suspect it ain’t me.
Monday, November 22, 2004
Here I Am.
Here I am...a little hesitant about this whole experience but willing to fling some portion of myself out there and see what raw thing comes back at me. When my sister mentioned "blogspot" today, I thought she was talking about a disease somebody had. Was a blogspot a mole? A freckle? A secret diseased spot that oozed but was never talked about? It sounds like I am trying to be philosophical and really I'm just being very literal. My 2 year old has random pustules on his leg right now that the doctor says are benign little viral things but I have to admit they are a strange source of living wonder to me...hence, the blogspot being a skin related condition...I'm rambling.
Today my boys and I had a hot dog and tater tots from Sonic for lunch. I ate my tater tots and developed such a startling "on the spot" addiction for more that I was a little stunned. My 3 year old willing shared some of his and then I have to admit driving around just a little bit extra because I knew it would put my 2 year old to sleep so I could have his (he and I come very directly from the same gene pool that says you don't share something that is salted and deep fried). I still didn't feel quite satisfied but I had run out of options and exceeded my monthly caloric and fat intake. I've had them on my mind all day. Did I mention I'm 37 weeks pregnant? Which I'm certain brings up the issue with more than one well-meaning blog reader as to what a sane person is doing with a 3 year old, 2 year old, and newborn!? What can I say? I'm addicted to procreating. It's a hobby. And sanity doesn't run in my family.
How do you know when to stop yourself on these things? I could go on forever except that 2 out of the 4 family members in this house are in hysterics, one is definitely carrying around something fatal in his diaper, and the ideal bedtime passed us by at least 45 minutes ago.
So let the raw flinging into the void begin...
Today my boys and I had a hot dog and tater tots from Sonic for lunch. I ate my tater tots and developed such a startling "on the spot" addiction for more that I was a little stunned. My 3 year old willing shared some of his and then I have to admit driving around just a little bit extra because I knew it would put my 2 year old to sleep so I could have his (he and I come very directly from the same gene pool that says you don't share something that is salted and deep fried). I still didn't feel quite satisfied but I had run out of options and exceeded my monthly caloric and fat intake. I've had them on my mind all day. Did I mention I'm 37 weeks pregnant? Which I'm certain brings up the issue with more than one well-meaning blog reader as to what a sane person is doing with a 3 year old, 2 year old, and newborn!? What can I say? I'm addicted to procreating. It's a hobby. And sanity doesn't run in my family.
How do you know when to stop yourself on these things? I could go on forever except that 2 out of the 4 family members in this house are in hysterics, one is definitely carrying around something fatal in his diaper, and the ideal bedtime passed us by at least 45 minutes ago.
So let the raw flinging into the void begin...
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