Books, books, everywhere

It's my 168th post today! Let's have a giveaway. Nope, no special occasion. I just thought it might be fun. I'm suffering from post-holiday-boredom disorder and I need a little pick-me-up. Plus, I have to wait until July to move into our new house. And ever since I started perusing carpet, vinyl, and Formica colors, my current place of residence looks like the apartment from Hades, and not just because of the hideous orange counter tops. The only thing I can think of to improve it is de-clutter. So who's with me?!

I've amassed a small-ish collection of books that I bought, read once, enjoyed, but will probably never read again. I am very generously giving these books away in the hopes that they will find a good home. Because, like cats and some dogs and most children, books need a good home.

Social Graces
This is a very thought-provoking book about why our society is not quite as polite as we used to be and how we can fix it. If you need any tips about proper behavior, this is the book for you. And if you don't need tips, I'm willing to bet you can name a handful of people who would greatly benefit from this book. (Kristina P., you aren't one of those people.)

Seabiscuit
Way better than the movie.

Animal Farm
Four legs good, two legs bad. What else is there to know?

The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants
This is an obviously fictional book. One pair of jeans that can magically make four girls love their behinds? No way, no how. It's a fun read, though.

What to Expect When You're Expecting and What to Expect the First Year
These books give advice. Some of it is absurdly obvious, some of it is helpful, and some of it will be the best form of birth control you'll ever encounter.

Now, I was planning on picking just one winner, but maybe the winner won't need all of these books. So if you just want one or two let me know - maybe I'll tweak things a bit once the drawing comes around. And really, it's my blog and my giveaway so I'll do whatever I feel like. And no more arguing or I'll take away TV privileges! (Um, sorry. That just slipped out. I've been using that phrase a lot lately.)

Anyway, leave me a comment to enter yourself into the drawing and come back in a week to see if you've won. Good luck to you!

Mix in what!?

Hey, Barbaloot! This post is dedicated to you and anyone else out there who is dubious of the benefits of proofreading. Here are a couple of reasons to take another quick peek at your writing before sending it off to cyberspace:

1. If by chance, you need to send a recipe to someone, the instructions will tell them to mix the ingredients in a bowl instead of in a bowel.
2. See reason number 1.

Thank you for your time.

P.S. I've been lazy about adding new people to my blog roll. If you're relatively new and I haven't added you to the list of blogs I follow but you want me to (and let's be honest, why wouldn't you - I'm amazing in every sense of the word), let me know.

Just some stuff

Sometimes, when it seems like everyone else is doing something, even if it's something fun, I refuse to join in. There's just a part of me that rebels against conformity. It took me a long time to decide to read the Twilight series, simply because of all the hype. And I don't think I can ever wear a poncho. They're just too trendy (at least they used to be). And now I'm morally opposed to showing you the 6th picture in my 6th folder because I read at least six posts yesterday concerning that particular tag.

Please don't misunderstand me: I loved reading those posts. It was fun to learn more about those people. It's just that I can't ever do that tag now. You wouldn't want me to compromise my integrity, would you?

So, now that I've ruined your whole day (maybe even your whole week), I'd like to discuss a little matter I like to call hey-maybe-it's-the-same-guy syndrome.

A few days ago this blogger named Dave (if that's even his real name) commented on one of my posts. Immediately I wondered if this was the Dave I knew in high school. Or maybe it was the Dave I dated in college. Perhaps this was the Dave that my roommate Laura called Bald Dave because he had a condition where he couldn't grow hair. Then again, maybe, just maybe, it was some guy I'd never met who happened to stumble across my blog and whose name happened to be Dave. I mean, there are a lot of Daves around, you know.

Then I read a post yesterday in which the author mentioned her brother, a guy named Chip. Here's my thought process after seeing that name: Oh, my gosh! Chip!! What if it's the same Chip I hung out with at ISU? I wonder how he's doing. The last time I saw him, he was headed to California for a job or something. I wonder if his family still lives in Idaho. Maybe he's married now. Gosh, it would be so good to talk to him; he was such a great guy. I wonder if he's in touch with... Fortunately, at that point my brain screeched to a halt as I realized that the chances of this Chip being the same Chip were quite small.

Does anyone else do this? Is it completely egotistical to assume that the people that other people know must be the same people that we know? Or is it just natural to long for the connections of friendships past?

Just so you know, if I ever comment on your blog and you're all excited because maybe I'm that Becky, drop me a line to make sure. I may not be the Becky you went to fourth grade with, but I am the Becky who will never ever ever show you the 6th pic in my 6th folder. See? Isn't it nice to clear things up?

Too many pots in the fire

I like to think that I'm pretty good at multitasking. I can talk on the phone while I dress my kids and write my grocery list somewhere in between; I often read while I eat; my driving-while-singing-and-sipping-a-tasty-drink skills are well honed. But I've found that there are some things that require my full attention.

Behold!

See this meal? It looks tasty, eh? Well, those enchiladas - the ones the recipe book entitles Sour Cream Enchiladas - they don't have sour cream in them. And the rice - the rice that was supposed to get 1/2 tsp. cumin - got spiced up all right. Only I grabbed the jar, saw the cu-, and dumped it in. I probably should have finished reading because the last three letters were -rry. Yeah, those spices don't even look the same.

It was edible, sure, but not the best stuff that's ever come out of my kitchen.

Sigh.


(I swiped a picture from a cooking website because I forgot to take one before I ate the meal. It kind of looked the same. Probably tasted better, though...)

!!!!!

Warning: this post may contain drama, angst, and an appalling overuse of exclamation marks. Proceed with caution.

I can't take it any longer; I have to come clean. I'm a cheater! A big cheaty cheaterface!! I broke my resolution and went to Dairy Queen last week. Oh, the horror! I haven't even told my husband yet - that's how terrible I feel!

Before you click away in disgust, please give me the chance to present you with a bunch of lame excuses, er... tell you the whole story. See, the kids and I were out and about last Wednesday. We were supposed to be back at the house by twelve, but you know how that goes. It was a quarter to one before we even got in the car to head home. I knew we didn't haven't any leftovers or quick, easy food in the house, so without another thought, I pulled into the DQ drive-thru. I was stashing my credit card back into my purse when it hit me. I wasn't supposed to be there! I had made a vow! Oh, but I was so hungry. As for the kids, well, there was a meltdown comin' my way if they didn't get food in their bellies and fast. Plus there was the insignificant little fact that the food was already paid for. It was too much, just too much!! As I took our bag full of hot, trans-fatty goodness from the DQ employee, I hung my head in shame. I know what you're thinking: I could've talked myself out of it on the car ride home. It's not like I had to eat that burger - there's always PB&J, right? But I ate it. And I liked it!! Oh, the guilt, the all-consuming guilt! How will I get through another day?

Well, I'll tell you. I got through another day. And then another. And then I confessed my sins to Sue Q, who told me not to give up. (Actually, get back on that wagon, honey! were her exact words.) So I will. And I will take Sue's advice, and share some of my own.

1. Eat breakfast. For the love of all things edible, eat breakfast!!
2. If at all possible, be home at lunchtime. If it's 1:00 in the afternoon and you've broken rule number one and you're right across the street from a burger joint, YOU WILL CAVE!
3. Have leftovers available for lunch.
4. Tell everyone -EVERYone - you know about your goal. That way, if you're tempted to pull into Arby's, you'll be so worried that someone you know will see you and rat you out, you'll drive right on by.
5. If you fail, get back on that wagon.

Yes, I'm still planning on eschewing fast food for the rest of the year (plus some for penance). And may Ronald McDonald have mercy on my soul.

Leave my kid alone already!

Do any of you discipline other people's children? And I'm not talking about when you're babysitting, or if a child does something wrong and the parents didn't see what happened. I'm talking about telling off someone else's kid when that kid's parent is standing right there. Isn't that kind of... I don't know... taboo?

Let me share a few examples. For the sake of simplicity, I will call the other various characters in these scenarios Kid and Mom. We could go with Eugene and Gladys, of course, but those names are weird, so Kid and Mom it is. (Um, if your name is Eugene or Gladys, please feel free to send me hate mail. My life is too easy as it is. Thanks so much.)

• We're having a playdate and Riley is playing with a toy. Kid steals the toy, so Riley grabs it back. As I begin to talk to Riley about using words, Mom tells my son not to grab. A few minutes later when Kid gets a toy stolen, Mom again tells my son not to grab.
• Riley is on his trike and Kid keeps grabbing the handlebars because he wants to ride. Riley uses his words (go Riley!) and asks Kid to stop. Kid ignores him, and Riley takes off on the trike. Kid falls down and before I can utter a word, Mom very firmly tells my son that he needs to be more careful.
  
• Mom corrects Riley when he asks Kid to give Millie back her favorite toy. She tells him it's not his place to take care of things like that.
  

Okay, so listen, I know my kids aren't perfect. And they don't always obey the first (or second) time I ask. But isn't that my job - to discipline and teach and mold them into the kind of wonderful people who will take care of me and pay for my chocolate addiction when I'm old? (Oh, and their dad helps, too...) Seriously, though, I don't know where to draw the line. I typically tell the other parent that I will take care of it, but mostly I feel like kicking them. Though I'm not sure that will go over so well unless we leave the state shortly thereafter.

Please advise.

Irony and icy roads

Two weeks ago we had some pretty cold weather. Our highs were around -5 degrees. But then last week it warmed up to 40 degrees, so they had to close school.

Yes, you read that right. It warmed up to 40 degrees so they closed school. For two days. Oh, the irony! (Is that irony? Somebody once told me that people use that word when, in 99% of cases, it doesn't apply. Like that Alanis Morrisette song? Not so ironic, as it turns out. Is that true?) Anyway, it warmed up and melted the top layer of compacted snow. Then it rained, so the roads were basically ice skating rinks. Apparently the powers that be didn't want the buses on those kinds of roads. Go figure.

Hmm. Would you still call those snow days?

Q & A: part 5

Lisa, the coolest person I've never met from Poland, wanted to hear a roommate story. Now, I've had a lot of roommates in my day; I once lived in a house that fit twelve girls. For two years. And we were in a singles ward, so the turn-over rate was quick. But it wasn't any of these girls who popped into my head when I thought about the coolest roommate I've ever had.

In fact, the coolest roommate I ever had was a skinny, cocky, sixteen-year-old Utahan named Dustin. At least that was my first impression of him, though it turned out I was wrong. (Not about his name being Dustin - just the cocky part. Also, he's not sixteen anymore unless he's a non-aging vampire and just never got around to telling me.)

Dustin and I were coworkers at the oh-so fabulous Dairy Queen in West Yellowstone, MT, and we lived in a tiny little mobile home with two other DQers. I was twenty at the time, the oldest one there, and I probably took myself, and life, a little too seriously. Dustin was everything that I was not: loud, outgoing, and up for any kind of adventure life wanted to throw his way. He didn't appear to have any of the self-doubt or crippling people-pleasing tendencies that seemed to plague me everywhere I went. Apparently, what I mistook for cockiness was simply him being okay with who he was. And to my great fortune, that rubbed off on me.

That summer was one of the best I've ever had. It involved late-night trips to Old Faithful, swimming at Firehole, crazy ice-cream inventions, a mutual love of Veggie Tales, and laughing. A whole lot of laughing. (And despite what he would have people believe, the whole incident with the broken toe was totally not my fault.)

My wish for you is that you have had, currently have, or will at some point have a friend like Dustin in your life. Trust me, it will be good for you.

(A little disclaimer: obviously my husband, Adam, is my number one roommate of all time. Hi, babe! Love you.)

And now for one last request put in by a Tonggu Mama: I totally think you should post pictures of yourself... and then make fun of them. Okay, but I'm pretty sure I don't even need to mock myself. This picture is worth a thousand words and then some.



















Thanks for all your questions and post ideas, my friends. I have really enjoyed doing this.


Oh, one more thing! Head on over to Mormon Mommy Blogs; they're having a huge blowout sale on Mormon Mommies this month. Oops. I mean giveaway, they're having a huge giveaway. Go, go, go!

Q & A: part 4

So you're still with me, huh? Awesome!

Kim asked me this very thought-provoking question: Talk about what you do to bring yourself back to center. When things get so very overwhelming, how do you handle it?

First, and I hope she won't mind, I want to tell you something about Kim. She has written a two-part post (here and here) about losing a child. And when I read about her experiences, I just know that Kim has an incredible amount of faith. She knows she's a daughter of God. She knows He has a plan for her. She knows that He loves her. So Kim, thank you for being you!

Now, how do I bring myself back to center? I could go on and on about all the little things I do, but it seems I've developed a five-step program. (I didn't realize I even had a program until I really stopped to think about this question and some patterns emerged.) These will probably be familiar to anyone who has ever read a self-help book, listened to Dr. Phil, or has half a brain. But this works for me. Maybe it will work for you, too.

1. Realize that something needs to change. If I'm constantly stressed, angry, tired, or apathetic for more than three days in a row, I need to change something. Why it's so hard to figure out and take this first step, I don't know, but figure it out I must. (Hey, I'm Yoda!)
2. Change it. Yeah, it sounds easy, but I can't tell you the number of times I've had a lousy day and then have done the exact same things the next day, expecting it to be different. If I binge on cookies one day and I feel guilty and irritated because of it, I probably shouldn't binge on cookies the next day. What a concept, huh?
3. Remember who you are. (Hey, now I'm Mufasa!) If I can remember that I'm important and worth something, and that my Heavenly Father thinks so too, I make better choices during the day.
4. Take a break. And make it a real break, not just grocery shopping by yourself. I started a book club, and one of the members said that though her husband isn't wild about her being gone for three hours that night, he knows it's worth it because she comes home a nicer person. It's true. Making time for me benefits me AND those around me.
5. Resolve to do better. If I'm stationary in life, things are bad. But if I can do even one tiny thing better today than I did yesterday, I'm moving in the right direction.

Good luck, friends. Life is hard, but wonderful.


Rachel, a fairly new blog pal of mine, wanted to know: If you woke up tomorrow and could have a different life (not that you would ever ever want one of course) what would it be? Where would you be? What would you do?

Oh, this one is easy. But I will say that I wouldn't want this life all the time - just one day a week. Yes, for one day a week, I want to be on a beach in ninety-five degree weather. I want to drink calorie-free chocolate malts and play in the ocean all day. I don't want to have to wear sunscreen, because it's greasy and feels weird. I want to look smokin' hot in my uber-chic swim wear, and my husband and kids can come along as they show up with a nanny.

That would be the life.


Well, tomorrow is my last day for answering questions. I'm kinda sad - this is fun!

Q & A: part 3

Maybe I'll do Q & A for the rest of my blogging life. That way, I'll never again have to come up with an interesting title for my posts. Whaddaya think?

So Erin wanted to know about my childhood hobbies and my first boyfriend. You wouldn't think these two topics would go hand in hand, but for me they do. They're both painful (for the other life forms involved) and slightly embarrassing (for me). But I'm certain you'll love them, since you were all so thrilled with last Friday's post, you sadists!


I'm sure I did a lot of strange things as a child, but I can remember this one hobby quite vividly: search and rescue. See, when I was a kid, there were no such things as video games and television and computers small enough to fit into one room... Alright, I'm not really that old. But we did play outside a lot. And outside, at least where I lived, there were a lot of insects.

My friend Cheyenne and I used to scour the field behind my home for these huge flying grasshoppers - our weapons of choice were tennis rackets, in case you're curious - and once we caught some, we'd drop them into a jar filled with water, screw the lid on, and shake. Then we'd dump the hoppers onto the sidewalk and mourn their passing. But wait! Perhaps, we thought, we could save our winged friends! So we'd take a dandelion stem, position it over what we assumed were their mouths, and gently blow air through the stem. Occasionally, one or two of the grasshoppers would come to (if not, well, we'd done our best), and as they staggered away back to the field, Cheyenne and I would pat each other on the back for our good deeds.

Sigh. It's a beautiful thing, saving a life.

Now, I'd like to move on quickly to the next topic before anyone has a chance to get truly horrified about that sort of behavior...

I was seventeen years old when I got my first boyfriend. I'd like to say that this was entirely my choice and that I didn't have an interest in boys until that point in my life anyway and that it was a great first relationship. Sadly, that would be a big fat lie.

This boy, let's call him Bill, had known my sister all through high school, so I knew a lot about him (like that he had been crazy about my sister for a long time.) That was probably my first clue that things wouldn't end in happily ever after - not because I had a problem with it or Quesa had a problem with it, but because it bugged my dad a little. He had a rule about sisters not being involved with the same guy. Ever. So that made it weird.

Anyway, I knew a lot about Bill but I'd never actually met him. So when I started hanging out with him during my first semester of college, it was one of those situations where you're hanging out in a big group and you assume everyone knows everyone else and no one gets introduced. It took me a week to realize that I didn't even know this guy's name. (Yes, I'm that dumb.) And once I figured out that he was that Bill, it was too late, we were already in love.

Okay, no. I just thought that would be a funny thing to throw in. But we did start hanging out more, and not just in a group setting. And then we held hands. And then we hung out more. And then he told me he loved me. Yes, this time for real. It was awkward and strange and reeeeally unexpected since we hadn't even kissed. When I told him I wasn't quite to that point yet, the hanging out tapered off and eventually stopped. I don't know about Bill, but I can honestly say that it wasn't one of those situations where I cried for an hour every night and played the first song we ever heard together over and over until my roommates wanted to throw me headfirst off the 3rd floor balcony. Not even close.

And that, my friends, is the sad, short, sordid story of my first boyfriend. Please don't think that Bill was a weirdo, because he wasn't. He's happily married now with some kids and he and Quesa still keep in touch. And hey! I'm happily married now with some kids and Quesa and I still keep in touch.

All's well that ends well, eh?


I've still got two more days worth of Q & A, so I'll see you tomorrow! Right? You're coming back, right?!

Q & A: part 2

I'm glad you're back for more Q & A today, peeps. Isn't it just so much fun talking about me? I love it!

Pam wanted me to write about a funny, embarrassing moment. She also added: I love your style of writing, mostly because I feel like you are saying what is in my head. You are an amazing writer.

Thanks, Pam, for the compliment. It came at a great time for me. So, really, thank you. And as for the embarrassing moment, enjoy!

The worst course I ever took, hands down, was Cell Biology. It was alternately hard, confusing, and boring and I hated it. The first time I took the class (I ended up taking it three times before anything sunk in, thanks for asking), I was a naive and hopeful sophomore. And though many people warned me to put this particular class off until my senior year, I was certain that my huge brain and I would prevail against all odds. Also, Dr. P. was teaching that semester, and I assumed I had a fighting chance. (Rumor was, the other woman who taught the class, Dr. W., gave tests that made grown men cry.)

I sauntered into the lecture hall the first day and sat down next to a friendly looking lady. I started talking to her, but she merely nodded and smiled at my comments. Now I'm a champion nodder and smiler myself, but for some reason, to have someone else doing the nodding and smiling threw me for a loop. I got nervous and started rambling like a crazy person. I told this complete stranger about my schedule and my roommates and remarked that there were a lot more people taking Cell Biology than I expected. She merely shrugged her shoulders, which was probably my cue to zip it, and yet I kept right on going! I wondered aloud if the class was so large because it was Dr. P. teaching and I repeated all the juicy rumors I'd heard about Dr. W. I was just about to ask this lady what her major was when Dr. P. stood up and started introducing herself. She handed some papers to her TA, who proceeded to pass them out to the rest of the class. As the TA passed our row, I noticed that he didn't hand one to the apparently mute woman sitting next to me. He handed one to me, and the person on my right, but not to this lady.

And then I knew. It was one of those moments where time slows down in order for the terrible humiliation of the moment to fully sink in. And I watched, in slow motion, as the TA reconsidered, turned back, and asked, "Would you like a syllabus, Dr. W.?"

I sat there for forty-five agonizing minutes, trying not to move or breathe, lest I draw any more attention to myself. It was the longest forty-five minutes ever recorded by man (or woman). As soon as class was over, I apologized profusely to Dr. W. and slunk off home. It was at least a month before I could tell anyone the story without cringing.

And obviously, the next two times I took the course, Dr. W. taught it.

It's funny now. At least a little. But please, for the love of Pete, the next time you're babbling incoherently in front of a stranger, please think of me and shut the heck up.


Tune in Monday when I discuss childhood hobbies and my first boyfriend!

Q & A: part 1

Thanks to everyone who tolerated my little poor-poor-me-I-can't-think-of-anything-to-blog-about outburst yesterday. That was very nice of you. So I think it's only right to answer your questions in a thoughtful, sincere, grammatically correct way.

Kristina P. asked: Your first paragraph sounds suspiciously like a copy of something I have in my Blogger draft. Are you trying to copy me?!?!?

Yes. I will do whatever I have to do to get 1300 followers (or however many it is that you have). And neither you nor anyone else can stop me! However, I will draw the line at blogging in the nude. I have standards, you know.

Barbaloot had this to say: Prof reeding? What that is?

Um, rude much? I was obviously in a very vulnerable place yesterday and all you can do is mock me?! That cuts me. It cuts me deep.

That Girl in Brazil said: I think writer's block is catching, because I've been staring at this comment box for at least three minutes, and I got a fat lotta zero. Ummmm ... what color is your computer? Yeah. Sorry.

No, I'm the one who should be sorry! I didn't mean to infect you. Although now that you're down for the count, I'd appreciate it if you could direct all of your followers to my blog. Oh! And black with silver trim.

Lara asked what book I'd read recently. And despite being almost completely consumed with thoughts of Lost and hamburgers, I vaguely remember once reading a book called Born on A Blue Day. It was fascinating! Except now I'm intimidated by nines.

Mommy Bee mentioned writing about my dream kitchen, which, like books, was supposed to be an off-limits subject. But who am I kidding? Of course I want to tell you what I'm thinking for my kitchen!! I want black appliances, maple cabinets, and gray-ish counter tops. And instead of a fridge with a water dispenser, I'd like a Dr. Pepper dispenser. (That's right - regular Dr. Pepper. None of that diet crap. I like to live on the edge.)

Wesley's Mom, I'm sorry to say, copped a little attitude with me when she made this comment: Um, so that fast food thing isn't working out? Who'da thought?! What are you eating these days? I mean, lets just say, hypothetically a person told her husband she would lay off the junk for a while to support him in his efforts to not have a heart attack and leave our children fatherless, how would I fill that void left by the cheeseburgers and onion rings I usually eat a couple of times a week? Also, do they sell moose meat in Alaskan grocery stores? Do you eat it? Is it tasty?

Whenever a person cops an attitude, I find it best to quote them scripture. "But I say unto you, that whosoever looketh on a cheeseburger to lust after it hath not committed any sin whatsoever unless the cheeseburger passeth the lips." (If you're having a hard time finding this particular verse in your own Bible, you may want to consider a different version.) So, yes, I'm still resolute! Just hungry.

Also, let's talk about support. When you gave birth, I assume your husband was there to support you, yes? But that doesn't mean he actually gave birth himself, now does it? Hence, you can support his efforts and still eat onion rings to your heart's desire. Enjoy.

And no, I've never seen moose meat in the grocery store, but we've eaten it before. It's pretty tasty. Tastes like... moose.

Whew! That's it for today, friends. Tune in tomorrow for more about me, glorious me!

Whatever, I don't care

Lately I've been feeling apathetic about my writing. Here's what I think as I proofread: Blah blah blah - need a comma there - yada yada yada - let's throw in some parentheses - crap crap crap and more crap. The End.

Even now I'm wondering how to turn this particular bit of crap into something readable, but I got nothin'. Somebody give me a topic, ask me a question, something! I need help, people.

I do have some rules, though.

1. I don't want to talk about the house we're having built because I'm already spending waaaay too much time obsessing over appliances, flooring, and lighting. It's practically a disease.
2. Don't tell me to take a blogcation. I suck at them.
3. Don't ask me about parenting. It's been a while since the kids and I have liked each other.
4. I refuse to talk about anything that relates to food. All I can think about lately is hamburgers. Darn you, Sue Q, and your resolution! My brain got sucked in before my taste buds had a say-so.
5. I don't want to talk about books or TV or movies. I'm anxiously waiting for the season premiere of Lost and in the meantime, nothing else in the entertainment industry interests me.
6. You may ask about my dear husband, but he will get to edit the posts before they are published.

Thank you for you cooperation.

Hair care

For those of you with little girls, I pose a very important and life-altering question: do you do 'dos? As in hairdos, of course! Because I'm a lousy, lazy mom and I can honestly say that I've done Millie's hair three times in her fifteen months of life. (Clip-on bows count as a hairdo, right?)

It's just that her hair is still so short and she won't hold still and if I make her, she screams like a banshee. And you know, it's not like I don't have sixty-eight other things to do in my day anyway. And she's usually wearing pink or purple, which should scream I'm a girl! (Do I sound like I'm justifying myself here, because boy howdy, am I!)

I know that having a girl means cute hair, but I can't quite bring myself to care.

Go ahead, give it to me.



(This photo is possible because of Millie's daddy, who thinks that doing her hair is fun.)

Interesting stuff

I read an article the other day about how sharks can't bite very hard. In fact, the guy who led the study, Daniel Huber, says that, "Pound for pound, sharks don't bite all that hard."

Whew. Good to know. Guess I can cross that one off of my things-to-be-afraid-of list.




P.S. Speaking of fish, head on over to The World According to the Little Fish. She's having a 100th post giveaway!

My not-quite New Year resolutions

I don't like making resolutions on January first. It's too much pressure, and it's almost guaranteed that I'll fail by the third. But we're a little ways into 2009, and I'm feeling confident and motivated instead of bogged down. So here are some goals I have for the year:

1. I'm not a huge fan of Millie tossing food on the floor. But instead of getting upset and longing for the day when she'll have decent table manners, I've resolved to take the opportunity to playfully nibble her toes while I'm down on all fours picking cheese out of the carpet.
2. It really slows me down when Riley grabs onto my legs every time I head down the hall. But instead of launching into another lecture on the need for personal space, I've resolved to instruct him to hold on tight, then drag him along after me as we both giggle like crazy people.
3. I'll never understand how Adam can make it look like a bomb went off in our kitchen, even when all he has made are sandwiches. But instead of grumbling about all the extra work he's caused, I've resolved to kiss him soundly and rave about his magnificent culinary skills.

(They sound like little, easy things to do, don't they? But what do you want to bet they make an outstanding improvement in my home life?)

But just in case you're thinking that maybe these goals are too easy and that I'm a total amateur at making resolutions, I present my final goal for the year. (Please imagine impressive fanfare for a wee bit...) I have joined forces with the very cool Sue Q and will be attempting the near impossible feat of cutting myself off from fast food for one whole year. Ta da! This goal terrifies me, because my kids are big fans of chicken nuggets and root beer, as am I, but I'm going to give it my best. (I'll take pity on their poor souls and hit Wendy's every once in a while, but I'll come home and enjoy leftovers instead of indulging with them.)

Encouragement will be very much appreciated and possibly rewarded.

And hey, jump on the bandwagon if you want - the more the merrier!

Something weird

I have to confess something. Something BIG. Something I've only ever confessed to very close friends. Are you ready for this? I mean, you should probably sit down. Are you sitting?

Okay, okay, I'll get to the friggin' point already.

I've never had my hair cut by a professional. I do it myself. Even the bangs.

And I'm just wondering: am I breaking a universal law? Because people seem to think that's shocking and weird and blasphemous. So am I? Weird, I mean. Wait don't tell me - I'm feeling vulnerable now and don't know if I can take it!



No, go ahead and hit me with it. That's why you're here, isn't it?

Medicinal mayhem

Dear Doctor P.,

Last Wednesday, when you did surgery on my son, you did a great job. Thanks for that. I know it was probably just another routine procedure for you, but he's my little boy and I kinda like him. His new ear tubes seem to be working great and though the adenoidectomy caused him some discomfort, he is, for the most part, right back to normal.

In fact, that's why I'm writing. See, we're trying very hard to follow the list of rules that the nurse sent home with us. We haven't given him any citrus juices. We are making sure he drinks a lot of water. We've explained to him that there is to be no smoking for at least two full weeks.

The problem is that pesky fourth line: no overexertion, bending, or lifting. You may have noticed when you did the surgery that Riley is four years old. And a boy. Neither of these things is conducive to the calm, quiet behavior that should accompany a recovery. In addition, the pain medication you prescribed (the one that warns it may cause dizziness or drowsiness) doesn't seem to be working. We were counting on a little extra quiet time after the surgery, as we assumed Riley would be worn out and ready for a nap. Not so, dear doctor. In fact, I think it makes him more, uh, peppy than usual. Perhaps we should up the dosage?

Again, thank you for your hard work.

Sincerely,

Becky



Hey, for those of you who had no clue what I was going on about in yesterday's post, these are the new cartons (please don't be fooled by the docile appearance; they're a pain in the, um, rear):

I'll cry over spilt milk if I feel like it!

I hate the new milk cartons.

Yes, I know they're cheaper and "greener" and the milk is fresher and blah, blah, blah. (Not really blah, blah, blah cuz I know those things are very important.) But I still hate those stinking cartons. Couldn't they have done all that stuff and still considered user friendliness?

I mean, I have kids. I don't exactly need help creating spills and messes, thank you very much.

P.S. When I go to my blog, the first post it shows is my last December post. Does anybody know how to fix this?

I'm back, and I'm ready to go!

It feels like forever since I've opened up Google Reader, thoroughly read each new post (instead of just skimming), and took the time to comment on all the wonderful things you each have to say. I'll be honest, there were a few days when I just clicked the mark-all-as-read button without having read anything at all. It felt a little like murder... But I know I'm not the only one; Heather did it, too - she told me so! (That's right, lady, if I'm goin' down, I'm taking you with me. Ha, ha, ha!)

It's nice to be back. Though I loved having Adam home, a return to the normal routine feels good. First on the list, shower before 10am. Second, keep both children alive until their daddy gets home. Third, think about possibly making dinner because Christmas leftovers are long gone.

Hmm. That sounds like enough for today. I wouldn't want to overdo it on my first day back, after all.

Oh, but before I go, I'd like to share a very serious conversation that I recently had with my son.

Riley: Mom, do you wish for the same thing that I wish for?

Me: Well, I don't really know. What do you wish for?

R: A doggie.

Me: Nope, I don't wish for that.

R: What do you wish for?

Me: Hmm. I wish that you and I wouldn't get so mad at each other all the time.

R: Me, too. (long pause) And I want a dog.

Me: Yeah, dogs are cool, huh?

R: Really cool!