Mall woes

Dear Daughters,
I bought you both a Christmas present the other night at the mall. Weird huh, I never go to the mall. I hate the mall; the fact that you have to drive around the parking lot for 5 minutes trying to find a spot up close, and end up parking a mile away anyway (slight exaggeration). It's always crowded and full of crazy people with spikey purple hair and tattoo covered bodies. They scare me. The others intimidate me; the rich folk who go to the mall in 3" high heeled boots and size 2 designer jeans with perfect hair and makeup.

Why did I stray from my 2 minute drive to Kohls with my reserved parking spot up front? Why did I leave behind my 20% off coupon and $10 Kohls cash? Why did I trade the comfort zone of the other housemoms who shop in their comfy shoes and drabby coats, whose hair, like mine, show signs of gray and their Christmas sweaters show signs of dinner? I blame it on your Dad. He asked if I wanted to go the mall with him, and since I never turn down an invitation to go shopping, even if it's at the mall, I said yes.
Why did Dad want to go to the mall? The man who hates crowds even more than I do? Let's just say, he's obsessed with finding the perfect christmas present for his mom, and because he's a good son, and I want Trey to model his father's example some day of someone who likes to make his mother happy, I dragged (drug?) Trey along.

We never did find the gift Dad was looking for, but as we were leaving, and almost to the door...they got me! You know who, the annoying Mall Kiosk salespeople. I had flashbacks of Jamaica, trying to get back to the bus at Dunn River Falls. The only trail back was right through the middle of the locals selling their wares. We hurried along, made no eye contact, but didn't quite escape before one guy got ahold of us, and before we knew what had happened, a tiki with our names carved into it was being shoved in our hands and an extraction of money from the other.

I guess I let down my guard, being so close to the door and all, I let my eyes stray for a split second on a young man holding something. And then to make matters worse, I answered him when he asked me a question! That was all the encouragement he needed. Before I knew what was happening, he was showing me his product and all the wonderful benefits and good things that would happen if I were to use it. It sounded great, felt great, looked great, how have I been living all these years without this wonderful product in my life...sold! Then he told me the price...not sold. Of course, that was the shocker sticker price, it's Christmas time, and because he was in such a good holiday mood, he would reduce the price for me, making it a 'extra good bargain'. Still too much for my budget.

I looked around for Tary, hoping for a little support. He would have put the guy in his place with an absolute NO. He's good at that kind of thing. He has no problem with that word, as I'm sure your aware of; which is why you always came to me when you wanted permission for something. Pushover must be written on my forehead or something, cuz others can spot that same weakness in me as well. Looking around for a little help and a little common sense, Tary was no where to be found. Sensing my hesitancy, the guy quickly followed up with the question, "Do you have a daughter?" "Yes", I replied meekly, hoping he wasn't going to ask for my first born as payment. "If you buy the first one, I'll let you have a second one for half off."

Now in my head I'm adding up the totals and dividing it by two, still a little too much. The guy was a professional, he knew how to wear me down. He leaned in a little closer and said almost in a whisper..."don't tell anyone, but this is what I'll do for you. If you buy these two, I'll throw in another one for free." Free! Now that's a word I can relate too! But before I could wipe my stupid smile off my face, he asked "would you like to pay for that with cash or credit". Crap, now what do I do? Again, I look around, this time to make sure Tary wasn't watching. "Don't worry Mom, Dad's getting his hearing checked." Trey is by my side. How long has he been there? How much did he hear? I looked down the aisle, sure enough, he's at the ClearSound hearing aide kiosk. I hope he does a better job of telling the salesgirl NO, otherwise our bank account will be in trouble. "That will be credit."

Before I could let my conscience kick in, I had the three items in my bag, one for Chelsea, one for Kayla, and one for Me! Only a slight twinge of shoppers remorse had begun to set in as I realized what a wimp I am for not being able to say NO. It wasn't a planned purchase, it wasn't even a need, it was a want. And up until 5 minutes ago it wasn't even something I knew I wanted. But I smiled as he handed me the receipt, saving the internal "I can't believe I just did that" conversation for later.

As he handed me the bag he asked me yet another question..."Do you like pearls?" "Um, yeah sure. I think they're pretty?" Not sure where this conversation was going...was he going to offer me a strand of pearls for free because I was so nice and purchased his product? Doubtful. I wasn't going to let him suck me in further, so I told him straight up, "It's just a luxury I can't afford." After a strange look he said, "Well, my friend here would like to show you what he has to offer."

Before I knew what was happening...again...there stood another gentlemen, trying to escort me to the kiosk close by. Good grief, enough is enough. I know I'm a pushover, but I'm no fool. While I quickly brushed him off with a "sorry, but I've really got to go. My husband is waiting for me, and I've just spent enough", I looked at his display and thought it was a little strange that I didn't see a single strand of pearls. Just a display of beauty products.

As we were walking away, Trey asked, "Mom, did that guy ask you if you liked pearls or curls?" Curls?! Is that what he asked? That would explain the curling irons. Well now I felt foolish.

Maybe I should get my hearing checked.

On second thought, better not. I don't think I could afford it.

Ouch...

I almost chopped my thumb in half today!

Ok, not really. But it felt like I did.

I'm not really sure how it happened. One minute I was closing my car door, the next minute I was prying my thumb out of it. Ouch! I won't repeat the word I really used at the time, over and over again. Pretty sure I have some repenting to do, but by golly, it hurt!

If it didn't happen the minute I got to work, I probably would have cried. I wanted to, I'm sure it would have made me feel better, but I didn't. I didn't produce a single tear.

Weird. I didn't know I could control my tears. I didn't know I had the power to NOT cry. Why am I just learning this about myself. It sure would have come in handy on Saturday when at the last second, I was asked to lead the music at the funeral of my neighbor. "Are you kidding me? Do you know me at all? Cuz you wouldn't be asking me if you did." But since I've never turned down an assignment from the member of the bishopric, and since Christmas is just around the corner and i'm trying especially hard to be a good girl, I said ok. Afterall, how emotional will I be. He was old, he was sick, it was really a blessing that he passed, how sad could it really be?

Who am I kidding...I can cry at the funeral of a goldfish. If I lived in the days of old, I could have been a professional mourner. I would have been a millionaire.

15 minutes later I was standing at the stand, trying to hold it in as two young military soldiers carried in the casket of my neighbor, followed by his grieving widow and tear stained family. I shed a tear or two before I looked away and went to my happy place. I recovered in time for the opening song, which surprisingly I got through without making my distorted 'trying to hold it in face'. Of course I was smart enough to look at the back wall, not making eye contact with anyone who was crying. One down, one to go.

An hour and a shriveled up kleenex later, I was back at the stand. My confidence that I could get through another song was pretty strong. Afterall, I survived a musical number and four talks without losing it, what could one more song possibly do? Although I was extremely nervous about the song selection, I figured if I just pretend I'm leading the music in church, i'll be fine...i can do this.

And I was. I got through 3 versus of "I know my Redeemer Lives". Feeling confident, I let my guard down. I let my cocky "I'm doing just fine" attitude get the best of me, and committed the number one no-no. I glanced away from the back wall, for just a brief moment, and let my eyes rest upon a member of the congregation, Sis. Duncan, who was sobbing. Before I knew it, my eyes were filling up with tears, my chin quivering, my face distorting. I was a gonner.

I couldn't sing, so I tried to just mouth the words. My contorting face wouldn't let me form the words, so I just stood there, waving my arm. I couldn't bare the humiliation, so I put my head down and let the tears drop onto the music book before me. Where's my snot rag when I needed it. Dang, left it by my chair. It felt like the song would never end.

I'm not really sure what happened. Oh, I was doing so well too. I don't know why it got the best of me at the last minute. I guess at the end I couldn't suppress my true nature.

So, I guess what I'm asking myself is, how is it that I cry when I don't want to cry, and don't cry when I do? How come I don't cry when I'm in mortal pain, but watching a silly movie about a dying dog throws me in the depths of despair? How come I can give birth to a kidney stone without tears, yet when I see someone else cry, I tear up as if on cue? Is the pain of others greater than my own? Unless someone is in pain because they biffed it on their high heels, or skateboard, or anything else that causes them to fall like a fool; then I can't help but busting up laughing, which is soooo not appropriate. In cases like these, their pain adds to my humor relief; yet when I see someone in extreme joy, I tend to get choked up. Weird, I know.

My sister once told me, we (as in pretty much everyone in our family) have the gift of weeping. We mourn with those that mourn. Gee, so glad I got that gift.

So, for those of you who also share the same gift, feel free to cry for me. After all this typing, my thumb is really throbbing, and I can't seem to shed a tear.

go figure.

Whose your grandma

Vanessa from V & Co. turned 36 years old today! I only know that because she posted it on her blog, not because we're such good friends that I know when her birthday is and have been invited to celebrate the day with her. But one can always wish. Anywho, she was lamenting the fact that she's over the 30-something hump and getting old.

I know how she feels. I'm teetering on the 40-something hump and although most days I don't feel old, my looks don't reflect the way I feel. That's depressing. It's hard coming out of denial. I suppose it's like coming out of a coma. One day you wake up and say..."how did I get here?"

I woke this morning
My back was sore,
I rolled out of bed
It was quite the chore.

Then to the bathroom
To do my thing,
Stripped off my clothes,
Gave them a fling.

Stepped on the scale
To check my weight;
Afraid to look down
The truth I can’t take.

I weigh as much now
As I did back when
I was nine months pregnant
With Chelsea Breann.

The sad thing is,
I look it too;
My belly pokes out
Like I’m 5 months due.

I step in the shower
To wash my hair,
Leave a clump in the drain,
More than should be there.

Then to the mirror
I cautiously peek;
I see the wrinkles
Start to creep.

They start at the corners
Of my baggy eyes
And stretch down my face
That I start to despise.

I see a few hairs
That look out of place;
They’re not on my head,
They’re on my face.

I would be proud
Of the moustache I’ve got,
If I were sixteen
And my name was Scott.

The fuzz on my chin
Turns thick as it grows;
At least it matches
All the hair in my nose.

Oh don’t you worry
I’m not sasquatch yet,
My eyebrows are thinning
The older I get.

And the hair on my head

that I keep there with spray;
what doesn’t fall out
simply turns to gray.

And just when I think
I’m looking too old,
A pimple appears
For all to behold.

I turn to my closet
To get myself dressed,
Nothing fits anymore,
I’m further depressed.

My wardrobe has changed
From short sleeves and skirts
To mid calf capris
And long flowing shirts.

I use them to hide
My flabby body;
And if I fail to wave back,
I’m not being snotty.

Just trying to keep
The arm fat from flapping;
But what do you do
‘bout rubbing thighs chapping?

I sit down for breakfast,
To a big bowl of bran;
Make sure I’m still living,
Give the obit’s a quick scan.

My eyes turn fuzzy
As I start to read.
I wear bifocals now,
Had to finally concede.

Then I go to work
In my yellow sports car.
It’s the cure for my crisis,
But not working so far.

I get a few glances
From curious guys,
Through my tinted windows
I see hopeful eyes.

They must think a hottie
Would drive such a thing,
As they hope to invoke
A flirtatious fling.

I can see their faces
As they slowly inch
To get a close look,
Then suddenly flinch.

I make it to work
My humility intact;
I’m the oldest one there,
It’s a depressing fact.

I’m technology challenged,
Just ask my kids;
“Do what in Excel?”
Oh, heaven forbid.

i-pads and blackberries,
i-phones and kindle;
i-pod and apps,
my confidence dwindles.

I barely just learned
How to send a text;
The message, however,
leaves even me perplexed.

Reality sucks.
I’m not young anymore.
I stopped feeling perky
And now I’m just sore.

My hair’s gray, my eyes bad,
I’ve got middle age spread;
I’m sagging and dragging
My tired self to bed.

But then my grandbaby
Comes over to play;
And I’m young again,
Hip-hip-hooray!

And even after we
Play on the floor,
And I can’t get up
Cuz my body’s sore.

I still wouldn’t go back
To the age of my prime,
Cuz I wouldn’t be a grandma
And that would be a crime.

I'm Back

Did you even know I was gone? Yup, I went AWOL (absent with out leaving).

I don't know why i've been away so long. It couldn't have anything to do with Trey's fall ball and sitting on the hard cold bleachers twice a week in August and September. Or the fact that I've been officially made the un-official family photographer and have recently taken pictures for my nieces bridal/engagements/wedding, my daughter Kayla's Folk Dance Team photographer, and taken family pictures of my sisters Susie's family. Not to mention my own brood at our annual Gardner Village Pumpkin patch. It's been fun, but let's just say I have a whole new appreciation for what my cousin Faun does. Literally, hours go into taking an ordinary picture and trying to turn it into a work of art. She does it much better; i'm just a faunwannabe.

Perhaps my absence could be traced to my sewing room, where a certain Christmas Countdown quilt hangs over the chair, waiting to be bound. Sewing takes up valuable blogging time.

You could be wondering why I haven't been blogging about those things; afterall, most bloggers put their pictures, their quilts, their hobbies online for all to see. Some of those people make tutorials and gain followers and fan clubs. They make lots of money with their creative ideas.
It's a shame, really. I have no one to blame but myself...and my daughter (chelsea), not to point fingers or anything.

You see, a couple of months ago, my daughter was over at the house, using my computer. She said she wanted to show me something I might like. So she pulled up a little website, and to my delight...pictures of all things good and lovely, crafty and yummy, holiday galore and creative decor burst onto my screen! It was like I had died and gone to homemaker heaven.

That was the beginning of the end. It seems everytime I had a few minutes to spare and would sit down to blog something, I would say to myself, "I'll just take a quick peek while I'm thinking of something to blog about". Hours later I would find myself waking from my blissful craft induced coma and realize time has slipped away, my blog didn't write itself, and it's now much too late in the evening to stuff my lazy butt into my spandex and walk a mile on the treadmill.

And it's not just my blog that has suffered, my waistline is showing proof that sitting all day in front of a computer at work, and then sitting all evening behind the sewing machine/computer doesn't help. My future size 6 wanna-be has met her achielles heel. It's not chocolate or Dr. Pepper that keeps those skinny jeans untouched in the back of the closet; nor is it the hours of endless facebooking that I've prided myself on not getting attached too. It's not the comfy couch in front of Survivor, So You Think You Can Dance or NCIS.

It's a one-word website.

My future poet/childrens book author/someday i'll be as famous as cjane blogger has become almost extinct! All creative juices that used to flow to my fingertips, now rest on the mouse as they repeatedly click re-pin, re-pin, over and over again. It's addicting I tell you!


That was 2 months ago. I've been AWOL ever since.

I've been lost in holiday wreaths, mummy cookies and pumpkin decor;

Crock pot dinners, t-shirt scarves and tips for chores.

Beautiful pictures of faraway places, perfect kids and adoring love;

Exercise tips, make-up tricks and quotes from above.

Christmas goodies, neighbor gifts and homemade cards;

Twinkly lights, garlands on mantels and snow covered yards.

Romantic hints, hair-do styles and chic outfits;

Painted walls, painted toes and lots of glitz.

Do you want to know the name of my doom? My achielles heel? My productive downfall? In one word:

Pinterest.

It comes from the Greek word PIN; (meaning to immobolize) TE; (meaning me) REST; (meaning a state of inaction).

Perfect word for what it is.

I don't care, it's a wonderful sight.

But if you go there...beware. It will snare you. It will hook you.

(Disclaimer: The author takes no responsibility for children left unattended, families going hungry or dinners burnt; homework being left undone, husbands rejected, housework neglected. Exercise and scripture study out the window.)

Don't say I didn't warn you.

8th grade woes

It's official...it's fall! According to my calendar, as soon as the kids march back to school, the fall season has begun. Don't you love the smell of fall? Freshly sharpened pencils and crayons, never before stained socks and shirts. Binders and paper. Even new backpacks smell good the first day. (Give it a week till the gym clothes need their first washing and they come home shoved in the pack with a weeks worth of papers and candy wrappers.)

Trey started 8th grade today.

Wow. I can remember when I was in 8th grade. I had my first crush with the new kid in our school. He was a rich kid who showered me with gifts, and I'm not talking about 'my sister was cleaning out her junk drawer and doesn't want this fingernail polish anymore, so I thought you might like it' kind of gift. He gave me a tigers-eye ring and a gold herringbone necklace.

Unfortunately our whirlwind 3 month crush ended with the school year, and his lack of attention left me feeling hurt and rejected. My friend helped me compose a 'don't let the door hit you on your way out' type of letter that sounded like a pathetic country song; full of mean and sarcastic remarks. I felt better getting it out of my system and would have been fine leaving it at that, but my friend thought he needed to know how he had done me wrong, so I parted with my ring and necklace to show him how serious I was, and she delivered it to him in person, while I stayed behind and tried to justify what I had just done.

I never talked to him again. The next year we would pass each other in the halls like two ships passing in the night; aware of the others presence, but never speaking. It was awkward. I felt bad. My 13 year old self didn't have the courage or the words to right the wrong.

I never had the desire to go back in time and relive those awkward teenage years, but if given the chance, I would. If for no other reason than to go back and do things differently. I would never have written a hateful letter, I have regretted it ever since and still feel shame over my actions. I would go back and tell my 13 year old self to accept it for what it was; an exciting spring of twitterpation. And most important, I certainly never would have given back the ring and necklace. What was I thinking? Gold is worth a lot of money!

So, what advice do I have for my 8th grader?

Don't get a girlfriend. We are emotional and much too immature to handle boy problems at that age. (Sixteen isn't much better...or 18...or 45)

If a girl says something mean to you one day, and smiles at you the next, that means she's sorry and would really like to be your friend again, she's just to shy to say it.

If a girl breaks your heart, just know her heart is probably breaking too.

And for heavens sake, there is nothing wrong with fingernail polish. Girls that age love it!

Justin & Emilee

My beautiful niece is getting married next weekend. Since my sister knows I love to take pictures, but most likely because I'm related to the most amazing photographer, faundimages, and hopes some of it will rub off on me, she's asked me to be the official photographer. Scary...and fun. Here are a few of my favorites.

Dear Paisley

I'm going to carry on a tradition that started 22 years ago when Chelsea turned 1 years old. She was the first grandchild in my family, and her dear grandma, (my mom) wrote her a sweet letter expressing her love to her. Since none of my other kids received the same letter when they turned 1, I can assume Chelsea was the only recepient of such a letter. I think I can keep that type of tradition, the one that only happens once. I realize I'm a few days early, but this grandma is busy and won't have a single minute to spare on tuesday to sit down and write a letter. So here's a little early birthday present.

Dear Paisley,

I like to imagine that a year ago as your mom was making preparations to give birth to you, you were preparing as well. I can imagine you, sitting at the feet of our Heavenly parents, receiving final instructions about your life here on earth. I'm sure you were anxious and excited to begin your long awaited journey to come to earth to finally receive a body and be with your mother and father who were just as excited and anxious as you.

I'd like to think you were forwarned about the evil conditions that exist in the world, but were given hope when you were told how you were one of the strong and valiant ones; saved for this day because you are able to overcome the temptations and be a force for good in the world. I'm sure you were told that you were coming down to live with goodly parents; a mother and a father who were righteous and would teach you everything you needed to know to return again to His presence someday. I'm sure there were hugs and well wishes by your younger siblings as they watched you pave the way for them.

And then, the miracle we had all been waiting for happened. On July 26th, you were born and I became a Grandma! What a blessing you have been in my life! Being a grandma means I can feed you chocolate ice-cream, and not care that the sugar will keep you up all night. It means when you come over while your mom and dad are at work, I can play with you and take you on outings, because I know I can always get the housework done after you've left. Being a grandma means I don't have to discipline, or put on my angry face, or tell you 'no'. Being a grandma means I can take you to the library and check out childrens books again, oh how i've missed reading them. It means I can go to the park, or sit in the kiddy pool. It means I can blow bubbles, and shop at Carter's.

But do you know what being a Grandma means the most to me Paisley? It means that the love I felt for your mother, is the same love I feel for you. It is the strongest, most protective and pure love anyone can feel. It's not the same love I feel for grandpa, or my friends or siblings, or even my own parents; it's a special love reserved for our children, and yes, our grandchildren too. I'm so happy to know it's the same kind of love. It's one that you won't understand until you have a baby of your own someday. And when that day comes, and I'm sure it will come all too soon, I hope you will remember the love you feel, is how much you were, and still are loved, by me.

Love,

Grandma

P.S. to your mother Chelsea...the tradition has now been handed down to you. I wonder how we'll be writing letters 22 years from now?

Family vacation

You may have noticed my lack of blogging lately. It's not that I don't have anything to blog about, it's because I've been doing so much to blog about that I don't have time to blog about it. I read a good article in the Ensign that summed it up this way: "Near the end of his life, one father looked back on how he had spent his time on earth. An acclaimed, respected author of numerous scholarly works, he said, 'I wish I had written one less book and taken my children fishing more often.'

I guess I could sum up my past month by saying, 'I'm glad I didn't write any blogs this month because I've been busy spending time with my family.' That doesn't sound nearly as eloquant though. I guess I won't ever have to worry about others quoting me.

I'm not sure if at this point I try to catch up on all the things I've been doing this summer, or just move forward. Let's just say, as I've sat on my warm cement porch with a bowl of cold ice-cream, watching the sun set and the kids play, I've often thought to myself..."I could be blogging right now", but I chose instead to enjoy the moment. Summer nights go way too fast. All too soon the kids will be back in school, the nights will get shorter and cooler, and warm cement and lingering sunsets will be replaced with a chill in the air and long dark nights with plenty time to lounge in the basement, blogging about how short the summers are.

But I've found a little quiet time this evening and thought I would do something I love.

Technically, I'm still on vacation. After spending 3 days camping with the family, coming home to unpack, do laundry and clean the house that didn't get done before I left, I realized this is not my idea of a vacation.

So, i'm kicking back in my comfy leather chair to blog. I love to blog, and since this is my vacation, i'm going to do something I enjoy doing. Not that camping wasn't enjoyable, other than the mosquitos, it was relaxing and wonderful, it's just all the before and after stuff that comes with it.

As I downloaded the pictures I took these past couple of days, I realized I didn't take near as many as I should have. There are several people I didn't get any pictures of...how did that happen?! I'm a little annoyed with myself and feel like we need a do-over.

I didn't get any pictures of Trey trying to get up on the wake-board for his first time, or Wendy showing all the young'uns how it's done, even though it was her first time as well.

I didn't get any pictures of Kayla getting up on the wind-surfer, and down, and up again, and down. Eventually the wind was just right and she went too far for my camera to reach, if only I had tried.

I didn't get any pictures of my Dad's swollen arm. The one he refuses to admit is broken, or fractured, or at the very least, very sprained. Believe it or not, he didn't get it while skiing, or wind-surfing, or wake-boarding, which I'm sure he would have done all those things, had he not hurt his arm. Let's just blame it on old age, poor footing and poor eye-sight. They say that's the first to go.

I didn't get any pictures of my mom at the beach, laughing hysterically when she asked my dad a question and he couldn't hear her (hearing is the second thing to go). So he tried to get up off the ground, but because of his hurt arm, he couldn't quite push himself up. He must have reminded her of a potato bug who tries to roll himself off of his back, his little legs kicking in the air, but not getting anywhere. My dad has never acted his age, and is never helpless, so to see him in that situation must have looked silly to my mom. She laughed herself to tears.

I didn't get any pictures of Cindy as she was describing during our late night campfire game of 2 truths and a lie, her truthfully admitting to throwing her daughter Sarah into the lake while she was trying to help her throw in her fishing line, and casted her instead. She was also laughing hysterically, as were we all. Everyone but Sarah that is.

I didn't get any pictures of Luke and JP and Megan and Sarah, playing peek-a-boo with Paisley and keeping her entertained all week. They were so cute with her, and she just loves them all!

I didn't get any pictures of my daughters' impersonation of a triceratop. For some reasons, the mosquito's took a liking to their foreheads, and both of them had bumps that looked like they had the makings of a good set of horns. I guess I was too busy doing the mosquito dance to stop and take pictures of everyone else swatting, slapping, dodging, smashing, itching and going stark crazy mad.

However, I did get pictures of...

Trey posing in front of Cascade Springs.

Amber, hiding from the mosquito's.

The family enjoying the beauties of the mountains.

Paisley, having fun at Deer Creek.

Wendy, introducing Paisley to chocolate marshmallows.

Even though i'm a little sad by the lack of frogs in the pictures, or kids in kayak's, or fish dangling from poles, we still had a great time. The most important things were accomplished. Love, laughter, and strengthening family ties.

Dang, we forgot the smores. Now we definitely need a do-over.

Church Cryers

One of the downsides to blogging, is trying to think of interesting things to blog about. Which is why it's been so long since my last one. Unless you find sitting in the cold in the middle of June, huddled in coats and blankets to watch Trey play ball interesting, there hasn't been much to blog about. So I'm forced to revert back to my memory bank of 'Funny things that happen to other people.'

(Just so you don't think I'm completely mean-spirited, I did ask for permission before sharing this story.)

If you recall from a few posts back, my cousin had a public meltdown. Yes, this is the same cousin who has a hard time keeping friends, on the account that they all move away, not because she's a lousy friend, cuz she's not. Just wanted to clarify.

It happened while attending a Relief Society function where she sat down to a lovely dinner

with her sweet friend Diane. During the course of the meal, her friend let slip those dreaded words..."I'm moving."

I believe everyone has their own breaking point; the straw that breaks the camels back, so to speak. This was Faun's, it was just too much. She LOST IT, in front of EVERYONE. She started to cry, and couldn't stop. Everyone was looking at her, wondering who just died. She so desperately just wanted to go home, cause we all know it's impossible to have a good cry in public. It's just too hard to force down a sob. Diane and Faun's mom convinced her to stay so she would't miss the speaker, but she wasn't too keen on the idea of parading through the cultural hall with her swollen eyes and drippy nose to reach the chapel. So her and Diane snuck out through the other door, walked around the church in hurricane force winds, and upon reaching the back doors of the chapel, found them locked! Tugging and pulling at the doors not only got one persons attention, it got everyones attention! And as someone opened the door to let them in, all heads were turned and eyes glued on the person who was making all the noise. There she stood, in all her "bawl boobing, red-eyed, snot dripping glory!" What a way to make an entrance. Quoting one of her favorite phrases, "Poor little lamb".

Did I ever tell you about the time I was crying in the church? I mean the other time? It was during sacrament meeting. I was not feeling well, and was not looking forward to flying out that evening to do a training in Las Vegas the next morning. To top it off, it was Chelsea's birthday that day, and I was feeling sorry that I couldn't stay for her birthday dinner. After the closing song and prayer, I didn't want anyone to see me in my red splotchy faced condition, so I stayed in my seat, wishing I was invisible. Chelsea came over, and upon seeing my face, asked "Why are you crying?" So I let her in on my little pity party, and before I knew it, she was crying. I didn't realize she was so sensitive to her mother's feelings, so I asked her, "Now why are you crying?" In which she replied..."I'm pregnant!" Now she's crying and I'm smiling! It turned out to be a wonderful day afterall.

By the way, that's pretty much the way it happened the second time too. Just not at church.

Regrets

"Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable." ~ Sydney Smith


I've been in a state of regret lately, regrettably.


I'm not talking about the regret that comes after I've eaten half a pan of brownies, or the regret that comes from turning down a brownie; although both are legitimate regrets. The regret I've been feeling lately comes from my own lack of sponteniety of opportunities presented.


Several weeks ago, my sweet sister calls me up to tell me that Donny Osmond was coming to the Centerville Walmart the next day to promote his new CD and sign autographs. She knows I love Donny (but not as much as Michael) (or my husband) and wanted to let me know in case I hadn't heard the exciting news. A few hours later, my sweet daughter called to tell me the same thing! Now anyone in their right frame of fun mind would have jumped at the opportunity, grabbed their lawn chair and sleeping bag, and camped out all night to get up close and personal with the big D. (I haven't been in the right frame of mind since Oprah announced her retirement). So naturally, I thought of all the reasons I shouldn't go, instead of just going.

• Trey has a ball game, and I don't want to miss it because I don't want him to think Donny is more importnat than he is.



• I would probably have to be in line by 8 in the morning if I want to see him, cause I just know swarms of Donny fans will be lining up at the crack of dawn.



• Centerville is 30 minutes away. Should I really be spending my gas money and time just to maybe get to see him?

In the end, Ms. Responsibly Boring won the war. I went to Trey's game instead. I can't even remember if his team won.

The next day was Mothers Day. We all met at my Mom's for dinner, and guess what the discussion around the dinner table was? My cousin (the same one who just recently had her first booked published, another one of my regrets) spontaneously decided to go to Walmart, and she just happens to live in Centerville, walks in with her little girl and lo and behold, see's Donny...and guess what? No long lines wrapping around the store. She now has a video of her little girl singing a song...with, you guessed it, Donny! UGH! That could have been me. I could have sung a duet with Donny. I often pretend I'm Marie and sing a little bit country, while he sings a little bit rock-n-roll, so I'm well prepared to take on a little puppy love with him.

Fortunately, Kayla bought me Donny & Marie's new CD for Mothers Day. Unfortunately it is not a autographed copy.

Okay, that was the beginning of May, my Month of Regrets. Regret no. 2: For months now, I've been looking at all my fun blogs, V & Co., Cluck Cluck Sew, Diary of a Quilter...etc, and all the blog talk has been about the big Quilters Market that was going to be hosted in Salt Lake this year. This is a pretty big deal, and I remember looking at pictures on their blogs last year about it, I think it was in Las Vegas...so I knew what a big deal it was. Suddenly, all my blogs were talking about how wonderful it was, and posting pictures about it...what the crap! Did I miss it?!

(picture of Vanessa and Cluck Cluck Sew blogger. Notice, I am not in the picture. Picture used without permission of Cluck Cluck Sew. Hoping she'll have pity on me and won't mind)

How did I not go? Why didn't I know when it was? Again, I have no one to blame my lack of spontaneous funness on, except my boring ol' self. I don't even know why I didn't think to click on their little side buttons that said in big bright letters "Quilters Market" and check out the details. Did I think because I wasn't a quilter blogger that I couldn't go? Was I waiting for a personal invitation? No excuses this time, I just don't know why I didn't. All I know is that all I'm left with is more regret.

So, I thought I might have found a way to redeem myself. I noticed another button on their blogs, that said "Sewing Summit", and just for kicks I clicked on it. Guess what? They're coming back! All my favorite bloggers, including Vanessa, are going to be teaching classes at the Sewing Summit in October at The Little America is Salt Lake! All is not lost...I have been given a second chance at life. So I start digging a little deeper, looked at all the fun instructors who would be there, looked at the dates and schedule, then I clicked on the button to register...and all spontenaiety left in me flew out the window. $275. For that much money I could make 4 quilts on my own.

Regrettably, I did not register. I'll probably regret that later too. (heavy sigh)

Big girls sometimes do cry

Meltdowns are a pretty common occurance around here, although I'm pretty good at masking them behind a good cryer of a chick-flick. When I feel a melt down coming on, "PS I love You" is a good one to turn too, since it's pretty much instantaneous and lasts a good 90 minutes. By the time the movie is over, I feel refreshed, renewed somehow. Whereas "A Walk to Remember" only gives you 15 minutes of crying time at the end. The problem with that is, even when the movie is over, I'm still crying and have a hard time stopping, because I haven't gotten it out of my system yet.

That's my problem, I've discovered. When I need to have a good cry, I have a hard time stopping until I've had a good cry. Now don't get too caught up in the why or what I'm crying about, because most of the time I couldn't even tell you. Sometimes a girl just needs a good cry. I hope someone out there can relate. The issue here is where and when a good cry comes on. Unfortunately for me, it hasn't always been in the privacy of my own home, where no one can see and I can freely let the tears flow.

My dear cousin had a public meltdown a little while ago, which prompted me to think back on a few of my own public meltdown humiliation moments, so I can assure her, she's not alone.

I've had several, but for her sake I'll revisit my most embarrassing. I'm hoping enough time has passed that I can admit this without reliving the humiliation, or at the very least, without crying as I'm writing about it.

It happened just 2 years ago after the funeral of my dear sweet Uncle Gus. I always cry at funerals, and it's expected, so unless it's audible, I don't consider that embarrassing.

After I got home from the funeral, I received a frantic call from my ward choir director wondering where I was. I had forgotten all about the fact that I was singing in the choir that afternoon at our church. Our stake was hosting the "Reflections of Christ" tour, and while people were waiting their turn to view the exhibit, they would sit quietly in the chapel and we were providing 'waiting music', so to speak.

Luckily I was already in my dress, so I headed out the door and arrived just as they were filing into the choir seats. To my utter horror, our first song was "Oh My Father", normally not a sad song, but it just so happened to be the hymn that the congretation sang at my uncles funeral. Now let me just preface what happened next by saying, music moves me to tears. Anytime. It doesn't have to be a funeral, or at church. So needless to say, I couldn't choke out the words at the funeral, I just sat with a open book on my lap and watched as the tears splashed on the pages. Often I go to my happy place, and try not to think about the words of the song so I don't become emotionally involved. But as I stood there with the choir and started to sing those words, "Oh my Father, thou that dwellest in the high and glorious place" I lost it! Tears started streaming down my face, snot started streaming down my face, and my book started raising in front of my face.

I have never been one of those pretty cryers like you see in the movie, where little tears silently overflow from the corner of the eyes. When I cry, there's no hiding the fact. My face gets all red and splotchy and starts contorting into what I call, 'ugly face'. I am not a pretty sight. So to stand in front of a whole congregation and cry was beyond embarrassing. I tried not to listen to the words, I tried to go to my happy place, but it was no use. Everything I had suppressed at the funeral was now coming out and trying to stop it was like trying to hold back Niagra Falls.

Eventually I just sat down. I tried to compose myself so I could join in again, but it was no use. I was having a meltdown, and there's no stopping it till it works its way out. I sat there through the whole performance, head down, dripping and sniffling and feeling like it would never end. I should have just left, but I was smack in the middle and didn't want to cause a scene, or draw any more attention to myself by climbing around the alto section, so I stayed and suffered; afraid to look up for fear of the pity I would see in the congegrations eyes. I'm sure my fellow choirsters were wondering what the heck was wrong with me, but I never gave them the chance to ask. As soon as we were done, I hightailed it out the door then drove around for 15 minutes til my face returned to a normal shade and the splotches disappeared. Because I for sure didn't want to go home looking like I had been crying. I knew if I did, Tary would have taken one look at me and asked, "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

And we all know what happens when someone asks you that, you start crying all over again.

A Mothers Day Fairy Tale

Once upon a time, there lived a mom.

She was your average standard issued model mother. You know the type; tired all the time, stressed, overworked and underpaid.

One day, this mom found herself with an afternoon all to herself. Her husband had taken the kids shopping, for the next day was Mothers Day and they all wanted to buy her something special. Grateful for the reprieve, the mom laid down on the worn out couch and considered her options.

"Maybe I could start reading my book I've been meaning to get to but never have the time." But as she went to retrieve it from the bedroom, she noticed the weeks worth of laundry overflowing from the clothes hamper. Passing through the kitchen on the way to the laundry room, she noticed a sink full of dirty dishes, toys scattered throughout the house, floors to be mopped, toilets and sinks to be scrubbed, and heaven forbid if she didn't start thinking about defrosting some type of meat for dinner.

"Woe is me", the mother said aloud. She chuckled to herself as she realized that if her little one had been there, the child's favorite game of 20 questions would have undoubtedly followed as the mother would have had to explain the meaning of 'woe'. "I guess I can't be a martyr if no one is here to witness it", so she quickly set to the task of cleaning the house before her helpers returned and slowed her progress.

"Why do I even bother" she said aloud again, this time to the dust bunnies. "Housework never stays done. The floors I mop today will be smudged again tomorrow. There will always be hungry mouths to feed, no matter how many times I cook. Always dirty clothes and dishes to wash. I'm tired of working so hard on something that never stays done. I'm tired of taking care of everyone else. I wish I had a fairy god-mother who would take care of me instead."

No sooner were those words out of her mouth, when 'poof'...a tiny little woman with cotton candy pink bouffant hair and a poofy pink dress to match was at her side, wand intact and ready to use. "Your wish is my command. What is your desire?"

The mother, quite in shock and not sure what it was that she really wanted, said the first thing that came into her mind. "I need a vacation!" "Splendid! I know just the place" the fairy god-mother announced, and with the flick of her wrist, the magic wand transported them to a land far away.

"Here we go sweetie, land of the rising sun. A great place for a fresh start, don't you think?" The mom walked through flooded streets. Torn down buildings and debris was everywhere. Sidewalk shelters housed hundreds of people; crammed together on cots and mats. Pictures of missing or lost loved ones covered their make shift walls. Food was proportionately served as grateful refugees came with humbled hearts to accept the meager offering. "I'm in Japan", the mother thought, "I've always wanted to go to Japan. I've heard the people here are so gracious and have such wonderful manners. I wonder if this horrible tragedy has changed them." It didn't take long before her question was answered, as a small little boy, not much older than her own, smiled up at her as he offered her his bowl of rice. She could hardly make out his face as the tears welled up in her eyes. So much pain, so much sorrow. She could hardly bare it any longer. "Please, let's go" she whispered. "As you wish" said the fairy god-mother, and with another flick of the wrist, they were off.

"Where are we?" the mother wondered aloud as they found themselves walking in crowded dusty streets. Geography was never her strong suit, but by the look of things, she guessed they were somewhere in the middle east. The women they passed were covered from head to toe, always walking behind their husbands and submissive to their demands. All of the shops were segregated, and she noticed the women were not allowed to shop or eat at restaurants with the men. "How awful to be treated less than an equal to your husband" the mom thought. Suddenly feeling very exposed, she was ready to leave before they made a slave-wife out of her.

Scenes of sadness at every destination overwhelmed the mom. Homes and families torn apart from tornadoes and floods. Natural disasters causing heartache to many, poor choices causing greater heartache. Children living on the streets, trying to escape the realities of home life. Parents choosing addictions over their children. Sickness, starvation, drug and human trafficking. Parents and children mistreating each other. Misuse and abuse was way too common. It was more than she could bear.

"Where are you mom? Where are you?" The mother could hear her littlest one calling for her, but she didn't know how to get back to her. "Please fairy god-mother, send me back home. I miss my family. I miss their sticky kisses and endless questions. I miss my sweet husband and his corny jokes. I even miss my dirty house, and will never complain again about having a house to clean and children to feed. I love them, and they love me, and that's all I ever wanted and they're all I ever need. Please help me get back."

"There you are mommy! You should see what I got you for Mothers Day! Daddy said he would help me tie a ribbon around it cuz it's too hard to wrap flowers. You're gonna be so surprised!"

The mom awoke to the enthusiastic ramblings of her 4 year old, finding herself at home on the couch. She must have fallen asleep and dreamt the whole thing, for the dishes were still in the sink, the laundry still in the basket, and the dinner still frozen in the freezer. But she didn't care. The smile on her face as she enlisted the help from her children led her husband to believe that a few hours of alone time really boosted her spirits; it was just what she needed, and he was the hero. As she gave him a hug, she spied her daughter's stuffed pink fairy doll in the corner, gave her wink, then with a undeniable kiss, let her husband know it was truly, just what she needed.

The End.

Happy Mothers Day to all, but especially to mine. Love you Mom! Love you kids...thanks for making me the worlds happiest mom!

Alone...

(This is what it looks like outside my window right now. Is is too early to start playing Christmas music?)

...at last, I'm all alone.

Tary and Trey went to the Jazz game tonight, and because I'm suffering from the coughing, sneezing, sore throat, achy, wanna go to bed with a bottle of Nyquil virus, I opted to stay home.

Most people hate being loners. I am not one of those people. I'm not sure if it has something to do with the fact that I grew up in a house with 7 brothers and sisters, so alone time was as rare as an unguarded candy bar on your dresser still intact at the end of the day. You would almost think the opposite would be true; growing up surrounded by people I wouldn't feel comfortable being left all alone, at night, in the dark. Is it a product of nature, or nurture. Hmmm...

Either way, I enjoy my aloneness. The peace and quiet, and a 2 hour window of opportunity to do anything I want to do, without feeling guilty.

So, here's my dilema: Do I give in to what I really want to do (which is scoop myself a bowl of Mint Chocolate Chip Ice-cream and watch that new TV show "The Killing") or do I be a good girl and do something worthwhile, like read my scriptures which I have kinda slacked on the last couple of nights, (I blame it on the nyquil).

That ice-cream is sounding pretty good right now, and I'm thinking it will really help my throat. Why is it always easier to do the wrong thing when the right things are so easy. The Young Women have been challenged by the General YW Presidency to do 4 easy things each day. They are:

Pray morning and night. Read 5 minutes every day from the Book of Mormon. Smile. Live the standards in For the Strength of Youth.

Simple, straight forward, and doesn't require alot of time. So why is it so hard.

I loved General Conference weekend, to be reminded of the small and simple things I should be doing. I love how in a chaotic and falling apart world, the prophet is still so optimistic about our future. It made me think that if everybody in the world would do those 4 things each day, not just the young women, we would be living in a perfect world, literally a heaven on earth. There would be no more hate, crime, abuse, or injustice in the world. I know it will never happen till the Savior comes and Satan will have no more control over the hearts of men, but I know I can create peace in my little corner of the world. Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me.

Wrong song.

Put a little Billy Joel in your head and read to the tune of "We didn't start the Fire". I call this one, "We Didn't Start the Cycle"

Poor examples on the field, kids in shock as parents wield

Punches thrown, tempers flare, coach's hide and refs beware.

Drugs and booze kids abuse, parents teach as they misuse;

violent games lead to decline, one word Columbine.

Moms on meth and kids are left, on their own to petty theft;

Girls gone wild, lawsuits filed, no respect they've all defiled.

Road rage is all around, back talking kids abound;

school hazing, cyber bullies, gangs with guns their trigges pulling!

We didn't start the cycle-

But the lack of trust leads to our disgust.

We didn't start the cycle-

Cause the disrespect comes from gross neglect.

Emron, WorldCom, savings lost they'll be no prom;

Ascot, Ponzi scheme, Bernie Madoff's pipe dream.

Politicians in the news, always with a lame excuse

They get caught in the act, next they know they're being sacked.

Tiger Woods, Jesse James, different names but still the same;

Mel Gibson, Charlie Sheen, tempers lost reveal how mean.

Miley Cyrus with a bong, Lindsay Lohan same old song

Kanye West when he gets miffed, steals the show from Taylor Swift.

We didn't start the cycle-

But the world today is in disarray.

We didn't start the cycle-

But it's up to us to stop the madness.

Monson, Eyring and Uchtdorf inspiring;

these are leaders we do trust, loyalty a simple must

Leading with integrity, building trust respectfully.

Together we can overcome challenges that ruin some.

How we break the cycle starts within each one of our own hearts

Honesty, good judgement too, consistency will help us through.

Don't forget the Golden Rule, always is a helpful tool.

Treat others with respect, live your life with no regrets.

We didn't start the cycle-

But civility will start today with me.

We didn't start the cycle-

But when we are gone respect goes on and on and on...

Whew.

Well, too late now to watch that horribly twisted show about killing. Guess I'll grab a bowl of ice-cream and get my violent kick from some wicked Nephites and Gadianton robbers murdering and plundering the repentant Lamanites.

Sounds like a great way to spend the night alone.

Good-night!

She's cursed...and other fun facts

I was shocked today as I read my favorite blog, V and Co. to learn that her husband will no longer be employed at his current job, and therefore they will most likely have to move.

That's what happens when you live in the middle-of-nowhere Utah and you're not there because you grow hay, or whatever it is those people do for a living in the middle-of-nowhere. He is a therapist/counselor at a secluded school for troubled teens, and apparently they are closing their doors. Not due to lack of troubled teens, I'm sure. I'm sad for her and her family. The middle of nowhere utah is a great place to raise kids. Heck, if I knew how to make a living down there, you can bet your hayfield I'd be living there too.

My shock turned to sadness when I realized that yet another friend of my sweet cousin Faun will be moving away.

Her husband thinks she's cursed; I'm inclined to agree with him. This will make the 8th, or is it 9th friend that I know about who has sold the farm and moved on to greener pastures. It was just 2 weeks ago that she was lamenting on her blog about one of her good friends moving, and now this. It's just to much to bare.

I'm not sure why her friends feel the need to burrow into her heart, then pull up the stakes and move, leaving bleeding holes behind for me to repair when she calls and cries on my phone on my shoulder. I'm far away, and can't give adequate comfort. So please, if anyone out there in middle-of-nowhere utah reads my blog, I plead with you...read on so you can make an educated decision.

To convince all future wanna-be-movers, I've compiled a list of fun Faun facts that I'm hoping will convince you to stay.

1. She's a great photographer and can make your wrinkles disappear, your teeth whiter, your flab firmer!

2. She bakes homemade bread and will gladly share.

3. She paints on walls too. With permanent paint. So unless you figure out a way to take the wall with you, you'll be wanting to stay and look at the pretty painting she did on your wall.

4. She's funny. She can make you laugh. Hard. Don't drink carbonated drinks when she's telling you about one of her funny stories; it hurts going out your nose.

5. She's engaging and can talk to anybody. I've seen her make friends with the salesclerks at Kohls and...well that's the only place we go to. But I'm sure she makes friends everywhere she goes, cuz she's really friendly, and funny. Did I mention that?

6. She's a great storyteller. She can make a trip to the library sound like fun. Oh wait, that's because she works at the library and does make it fun because she's a great storyteller. Go figure.

7. She walks and talks in her sleep. That makes for really fun sleep-overs. Just beware of where you leave your clothes lying around. You might wake up and find them on her. Upside-down.

8. She has a hot-tub underneath a gazillion stars. But I guess if you live down there you have a gazillion stars too, so that's not a good selling point. But the hot tub part is still cool.

9. She loves to shop and is a good bargain hunter. She will even let you have the $10 pair of brown skeechers, even though she found them and they're her size, but you are so jealous and she's nice like that to give them up.

10. She has a heart of gold, a soul of an angel, a mind of a comedian, and a face of a Rodeo Queen. (I almost said Dairy Queen, but thought you would get the wrong impression).

Doesn't she sound like the worlds Best-Friend? Don't you just want to stay there and grow old with her? (I do)...cuz you know if she's anything like her mom, she'll just keep getting more hilarious as she gets older. (love ya aunt owena)

The truth is...I'm so jealous of all you people who live down there in the middle-of-nowhere. You get to see her every week at church. Everytime you go to the library. At the grocery store, at the track meets, at every random field that there's a deserted vehicle (she'll be there taking pictures in case you couldn't find her at all those other places). You are so lucky that she's your friend! I was once her best friend too, but she moved away, leaving me behind. All alone.

So I cursed her.

Just kidding...I didn't really. But just in case I accidently did while I was having a pity-party, I remove the curse from you. No one that you love will ever move away again!

(Effective right after your daughter moves to South Carolina)

It started with a sneeze...

...and ended with a bang.

Let me explain.

Thursday morning I receive a call from Tary to inform me our daughter has just been in a car accident. But not to worry, she's ok, but her poor little car is not so fortunate to have survived. After the policeman has finished his paperwork, and she's called work to let them know why she's not there, she calls her mom to cry on her shoulder. I'm happy to oblige, and a sappy "are you ok?" from me let's loose the damn of tears.

Poor Kayla has been fighting one of those box-a-day kleenex types of colds, so it hasn't been a good week from the get-go. She was on her way to work, and stopped behind a truck at a stop light. As the light turned green and Kayla was preparing to accelerate, she felt a sneeze coming on. Keep in mind, she has a bad cold, so this isn't going to be a dainty little finger under the nose 'choo', this is a full-blown throw the kleenex under the nostrils cuz here she blows 'A-A-A-Choo!'. Apparently, her whole body got in on the action, cuz when she sneezed, her head went down into the kleenex, and her leg went down on the accelerator, and if you've ever tried to sneeze with your eyes open, it just doesn't work. So although she didn't see what happened next, she could only guess by the sudden impact of a huge kleenex being shoved in her face, wiping the remnants of her sneeze that the first kleenex missed.

It took a few seconds before she came to her senses and realized it wasn't a ball of tissue that attacked her, but her air-bag. What the crap just happened?! One second your sneezing, and the next second you've got your hood embedded in the car in front of you. The guy whose truck she hit was really nice and was more concerned for her and her car, than his own. Lucky for both of them, she smashed into his the back of his hitch, which crumpled her bumber, radiator, and hood fairly nice. His truck suffered only a minor scratch.

Then, as if rear-ending somebody wasn't bad enough, when she got out of her car to inspect the damage, by habit, she locked her door. Now she's standing in the middle of the road, her car smashed in, looking like she just lost a fight with a punching bag, bright red with bag-rash, and no way to get in her car to move it off the side of the road. Did I mention the guy was really nice?

He came to her rescue with a crow-bar, but she used up all her luck that day by running into a nice guy and didn't have any luck left over to unlatch her door lock. Feeling pretty desperate at this point, the guy suggested that the car was pretty much toast, put a crow-bar to it's temple and finish it off. After 3 years and countless miles, she just didn't have the heart; so he did the dirty work for her and smashed in her window.

The police came and wrote her up, giving her a citation for a moving violation. He didn't even ask if she had been on her cell-phone or texting, which is usually the first thing they suspect from young girls. I think he felt bad for her as well and didn't question her sneezie story; afterall, she sounded eerily similar to snuffulufagus and had a pile of well used tissues in the passenger seat that confirmed her story. Good thing for her she was only a block away from her apartment, so was able to coax her car back to her apartment, where she called to tell her sad tale.

What a sob story...so Paisley and I drove up to Weber to pick her up and bring her home safe and sound, so she could rest and recooperate from her woes. All stories need to have a happy ending, so here it goes...

I'm hoping to give Kayla my white Chevy prism, with it's missing hub-cap and defective door latch, complete with the un-scented flip-flop car scent hanging from the rear-view mirror so she'll be able to tell it apart from the million other white prism's out there. Then I can get a new car!

And to think all this time, I thought you had to rub a magic lamp to have your wishes come true, when in reality, it all started with a sneeze!

Bless you Kayla, bless you!

This is dedicated to the one I love

Just a shout out to all my favorite March Birthdays! My Dad, sister Wendy, Bro-in-laws John, Guy, Paul and niece Amber...Happy Birthday!


But this post is dedicated to a special birthday boy, my main man and hot hubby, Tary!




He turns 51 today, not nearly as dramatically as last year when he turned the big 5-0. Last year he was feeling it. He was hobbling around on crutches after snapping his accillies tendon, not able to do much, and probably feeling every gray hair and wrinkle catching up to him.


This year, Tary and I celebrated by going to Mesquite for the weekend where Tary played in a softball tournament. They bombed, but that's ok. It got them out of the tournament quicker, leaving us more time to play, which is why we went down there in the first place. Or truth be told, that's the reason why I went down there in the first place. I think half his team had the same idea as I did, as several of them stayed up all night on Friday partying/gambling, and were pretty much worthless on Saturday. But heh, no complaints heard here.



We spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying the lovely weather and activities that abound in beautiful Mesquite. We left a chunk of change at the....



Bowling alley, where Tary always amazes me with his hook shot. As the ball rolls precariously close to the edge, just when you think it's gonna tip into the gutter, it breaks toward the middle of the pins and gets a strike! He stayed consistent all 3 games and ended up in the 150'ish range each time. I started out ok with a 128, really kicked it into gear with a 168 in my second game, then humility had to teach me a lesson, so I finished with a pathetic 103 in my last game. My arms were tired.



After bowling, we did something naughty. I knew I would regret it later, but we just couldn't resist. We had...



Ice-Cream! And I didn't even get the fat-free kind either. It was so yummy! Mint Chocolate, my favorite, and fun to try and eat while feeding quarters into the...


Air hockey game in the arcade. Tary smoked me, as usual. Although I think I scored half his points for him by ricocheting the puck from my blocker into my goalie.


After bowling and a little ice-cream, we headed for a dark destination where we could snuggle under a blanket and...


watch a movie. Yes, I actually brought a blanket into the theater. They always have the air-conditioners cranked up and I end up freezing and wishing the movie would prematurely end. We went and saw 'Unknown' with Liam Neeson. I loved it. It had a nice little twist at the end, which I expected there would be, but didn't expect it to go that way...Tary didn't even figure it out. You know it's good if he can't solve the plot within the first 10 minutes.


After the movie, we went to the crap table.


I mean the crab table! Casablanca was having their Prime Rib and King Crab legs buffet for only $15/person, so we loaded our plates, again and again, and ate ourselves silly. It was good. Almost worth the 5 hour drive just for dinner.



After dinner, we headed back to our lovely, understated room. We had every intention of taking advantage of the beautiful pool and nice weather. We brought our swimsuits, I even shaved my legs. But when reality hit, I just couldn't bring myself to stuff my 44 year old, crab and beef bloated body into my one-piece granny suit, while all around were the 20'ish ball playin' boys and their teenie-weenie girlfriends and wives with their pre-pregnancy bodies, bouncing around in their even teenier-weenier bikinis. So instead, I made my own hot-tub, in my teenie-weenie bathtub, and had a nice long soak. Sadly for Tary, it was a one-person hot-tub, so he made himself comfortable on the double bed with no bedspread (did I mention the room was only $39, lacking in amenities, like bedspreads) and watched endless amounts of college basketball. It was a good day.


I told Tary next tournament, he needed to join up with the 50 and over league so I could feel like the young hot-thing among all the older women, and happily strut my stuff to the pool. I hate getting old.


Oh wait...I'm not the one getting old, he is! Just one of the advantages of marrying an older man; he makes me feel young, in more ways than one. Love you hun. Happy Birthday!


Birthday wishes to be filled later.

Yep, you guessed it, ice-cream cake. And not the fat-free kind.

Doritos Healing Grandpa super bowl commercial 2011

Due to technical difficulties, which is a blanket excuse for:

A: I am technilogically challenged.

B: It took me forever just to figure out how to download this video.

C: Unfortunately, I don't know how to download it to an exsisting post, it created it's own.

Please watch this short, funny clip...then read the blog below. Thank you.

necessary distractions

A couple of nights ago as I was trying to prepare my young womens lesson for sunday, Trey came into the living room and started talking to me. I was busy and didn't want to be bothered by the ramblings of a 7th grader. He has a never ending supply of stories. I have enough painful memories of my own at that age and didn't want to be reminded of the hardships of junior high. Of course I never would tell him that, so I tried to put his energies into something a little more quieter, like reading.

Trey doesn't share the same passion for reading like I do. Asking him to read is akin to asking him to clean his room, or washing sunday dinner dishes. He procrastinates in the most creative ways. This particular evening, he chose the teasing route to avoid the task. He joked, he tickled, we laughed, and somehow he managed to keep me entertained till it was his bedtime, and too late to get his reading done. By now I had given up all hopes of working on my lesson, so I decided to wind down our evening together by telling him a bedtime story, the story of Trey.

I started with his birth, putting heroic emphasis on the part where I brought him out of the grips of death when he was only 6 weeks old, and ended with him graduating from BYU with a degree in civil engineering where he excelled and became a millionaire and bought his mother a beautiful new home. Somewhere in the middle of the story, he married a beautiful young woman in the temple, gave me 5 wonderful grandchildren which absolutely adore me, and not just because I took all my kids and grandchildren on a Disney cruise. I'm ashamed to admit that when Trey asked if Dad came on the cruise with us, I had to tell him that sadly, Dad died of a heart attack while playing church ball...how do you think I could afford to take everyone on a cruise? Trey thinks I'm mean, so I amended my story by telling him we promptly sprinkled Dorito chips over his dead body, and he came back to life again...we used his retirement fund for the cruise.

(Insert funny clip here)

After he finally scooted off to bed and I was left alone in our quiet peaceful home, able now to focus on my church responsibilities, I realized how grateful for the distraction, or better yet, the realization Trey gave me that night.

Trey is my greatest responsibility. He is my greatest distraction; from all that is stressful, and demanding, and necessary. He is the joy and laughter in our home. I am ever so grateful that the Lord doesn't always answer our prayers in the way that we ask or hope. If He had, Trey would have been born 17 years ago. He would have been a senior in High school this year. He would be leaving for a mission shortly after. We would be empty nesters. I would feel really old. But because His wisdom is greather than my own, I have a sweet, spunky, cool 12 year old son who loves to talk my ear off, loves to hunt and fish, play sports, and do everything with his dad. Loves and adores his little niece, and loves to hang out and pal around with his sisters when they come home and need a buddy to run chores with. Pretty sure our lives would be different if he wasn't here, at this time, and at this age.

I love my little man...and even as ironic as it is that I've had to literally shoo him and bribe him away so I could write this post (tales of his deacon game had to be re-lived), I am already dreading the day when he puts the earphones in and stops talking to me. (This is why I haven't caved in and bought him an ipod yet.)

My story that night reminded me of another one of Trey's and mine favorite bedtime story, one that makes us both cry everytime we read it; which I'm hoping we'll continue to do for a long time...."I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be."

Ok, now we're both crying. Sorry. Watch the doritos clip again, it will make you laugh.