For the Grumpies

If you have a young child (mine is 5) -- you might enjoy these books. We had a good laugh reading them together.

Hayden's voice changed when he became "The Pout Pout Fish" (by Deborah Diesen) -- it's a good book if your child has the grumpies.

We chuckled our way through "Never Take A Shark to the Dentist (and other things not to do) by Judi Barrett. Another book to get a child to turn a frown upside down!

I Told You So

My mother hasn't officially come out and said it, but I feel her thinking it as we talk over the phone and discuss life as we used to know it. Times are tough. Not just for me, for almost everyone I know. Every day I hear about someone new losing their job. Another took a pay cut. Another took an unpaid day or more off. So now the whole "Preparedness" thing carries more water. (Speaking of water...Mom, I know, I know...don't worry.)

I just told my sister the accountant said the "B" word to me. Not familiar with the "B" word? Budget. I told the accountant I felt like I was being sent to the Principal's office for misbehaving in class. I really don't like being told what to do. Does anyone? I'm mired in bank statements and payroll taxes that don't add up. If I ever have to go back to a "real" job (i.e. one that pays me money) -- I know it won't be accounting!!! Anyway, my husband and I had a "date" (date: noun, meaning an outing without children overhearing stressful conversations). We went to Winnco -- a warehouse like grocery store where you bag your own groceries. It was amazing how much money I spent and what I got compared to the "regular" grocery store. I hate shopping there cuz there is so much pressure to bag your groceries in a light-speed like manner. You need octopus arms to get through it fast enough. I even saw beads of sweat gathering on my husband's forehead as the pressure began to build.

We announced to the kids that we'd be eating out less and at home more. Bursts of "yea" erupted from their mouths and "it's fine with me". That's easy for them to say -- they aren't the mom! I can see there is a lot more pasta in our future. Anyway, I feel like I should send condolence cards to the wait staff at various restaurants that we won't frequent as often. Do you think they'll miss me?

The good thing is you do get more creative. Picnics to the park, long walks with my girls to t-ball practice during a break in the rain, games of Scene It and more piano practicing. All these things are free and more memorable than a night at the movies.

I'm not sure how I'll do with the exact budget thing, but I'm hoping the bottom gets here soon. It's good to know I'm not in this alone. Now...anyone know what to do with a barrel of wheat?

Contemplations

I'm an over-thinker. I'm sure regular headaches come from over-analyzing everything in my life. Even things like...I've given a lesson in church. Did I offend anyone? What did I say? Did I cover that enough? Did I even make my point? I'm sure at this point no one is even thinking about that and they are onto making cookies on a rainy Sunday afternoon and taking naps. And so it goes. I am Wemberly. (You'll have to search Kevin Henkes "WemberlyWorried" on Amazon.com if you don't know that one. It's about me.)

I was contemplating yesterday, as I have many times before, why I have extra tonnage and my sisters do not. I'm like an elephant seal compared to them...prepared at any time to live in artic waters. (To be fair, I'm not, shhh...I'm gonna say it...fat. Just 2 sizes larger than my closet tells me I need to be if I ever hope to wear my wardrobe again). I've been thin before, but it's not like I didn't work 24/7 for it. Apparently I got tired, sick or went on vacation and forgot all about the work involved. And then it just tasted good. Grapefruit always defends (as Liz has previously): "I"m nursing. I get 500 extra calories per day." My response: "Your child is 3. You are not nursing any more. Nice try." It's nice to be loved, but we should all read the cards that are dealt, here.

Grapefruit goes into detail about the meals she's prepared, photographed, and eaten; meanwhile, I mention I had a microwaveable Kashi frozen dinner stock-piled with fiber and a platter of steamed broccoli for dessert. It's just not fair. Hanging out with Liz, she eats 3 slices of an orange and says: "Whew, I just can't eat anymore! But that was delicious!" Meanwhile, I'm in her pantry on my hands and knees searching for the bag the oranges came in.

I know some of you can relate, but I'm starting to think it's a serious medical issue. "I MUST have a thyroid problem!" I emphatically suggest.

Grapefruit: "You do NOT have a thyroid problem. I've had one, and you do not."

FG: "I'm sure I do. What other explanation could there be?"

Grapefruit: "Then go get it tested."

FG: "That is SO embarrassing. I could never. I just want the doctor to SUGGEST it out of the blue as a perfectly reasonable explanation for the difference in our genetic code."

Grapefruit: You do not have a thyroid problem.

FG: "Whatever. It worked for Oprah. She's chubbier than ever -- but she has money for a cute wardrobe and hair people. I'm not as lucky."

Then the lovefest between Grapefruit and her hubby continued to ensue in the background...end of conversation. Liz offers kinder, gentler words: "You look great! What are you talking about?!" Ever the optimist, it makes me sick...and then hungry.

I will continue to fight the good fight. I feel confident that my insides are healthier than their insides. And everyone always says it's what's inside that matters!

Quotes that Rule the World

Okay, maybe that's a stretch. But some of the best hilarity I can remember often comes out of a conversation with my sister when we both quote a movie line at the same time. I love that we are thinking the same thing at the same time! Clearly, it comes from a movie we've seen no less than 10,000 times -- there are a few in my repetoire. I'm a total creature of habit. I'll sit through a movie on the tube complete with commercials that lasts 3 hours even if I've seen it a 100 times. Castaway. When Harry Met Sally. The Sound of Music. Sleepless in Seattle. Not Without My Daughter. Dan in Real Life. Sabrina. Too many to remember, let alone list. I love the part in "You've Got Mail" where they are communicating online and he quotes The Godfather: "Take him to the mattresses." or "Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Wednesday." Whatever, I just love a good line.

So...here's where you, the reader, (anonymous or not) comes in. It's time to come out of the closet and post ME a comment as to what your favorite movie quote/line is. Doesn't have to be funny, just something you always remember. It's time to "Show me the money!"

C'mon...I'm always looking for new material. "Let's start at the very beginning..." (Do you know this one? You can also sing it!)

In Case You are Wondering

I have fun, random comments from some readers from time to time which I love and welcome. Of course, if you get my quirky, mostly self-deprecating sense of humor...yea! I certainly don't mean to offend. Just like to speak my mind. It is my blog, after all. I may not know you personally, but you may know my sisters, or maybe even my mom. (The main reasons we started these blogs, after all, was for those core readers). But for the rest of you "Mormon" readers out there, or others who know and understand Mormon culture, I thought I'd tell you that I have 3 callings just so you can add more pieces to this Fairy Godmother Puzzle. I guess they figured I must be ADD and I'm such a square peg, they'd just throw me at the wall and see what stuck. My last calling may be a stretch as a "calling", but recently I asked someone if it counted (figuring her husband was in the Bishopbric she carried some authority on the subject), and she said yes...so...here they are:

R.S. Teacher -- This Sunday -- Lesson 27. (I hope...hah! That's preparedness)! I think they have me called to this position as teacher so that I can make everyone feel better about themselves. I do not pretend to be, after all, more perfect than anyone else. (Unless you give me a really good reason, and then, I'm afraid, I'm going to have to get smart). I am, after all, there to make fun of myself for everyone else's benefit so we can feel a little more human and empathize a little better, perhaps, and understand we're all just making our way. In my book, effort goes a long way. So anyway, there's one calling.

Secondly, just got called as Assistant Girl's Camp Director. Start that calling, in depth, this Thursday. I used to be such a camper/back packer when I was a teen. I must confess, the closest I want to come to camping anymore is the sliding doors at the DoubleTree. However, I am a mother and willing do almost anything for my almost-perfect daughter, so I accepted the calling. (That, and really, you're not supposed to have a choice, right?) The sacrifice of being away from my son for a week may prove to be the most challenging. He may be better off, but I'm pretty sure it's going to be a huge tug on the heart strings. This family hasn't spent too much time apart in it's 15 year existence. Intentionally. As my mother loves to remind me, it's called "being stretched". Moms are always big on tests and endurance. Ever noticed that?

Lastly, I'm a really bad visiting teacher. I was really good, and now I've just been bad. Not intentionally, just happened. We were supposed to go yesterday. In fact, I'm pretty sure my partner put together these Valentine basket things. AND then -- she just never called me about where to meet. She's in Tahoe now, so I guess I'll have to wait til next week to find out. Such is life.

So they are keeping me as busy as I'll let them. Or they just know I'm ADD, beyond help, and they're just throwing out fishing lines trying to save me. I know I seem and perhaps act desperate. Really, I'm just a really noisy loner. Either way, I'm in it to be stretched, taught, humbled and find a way to once again, laugh at myself. I've never forgotten this:

Time + Crisis = Humor.

Sometime in my life I heard that and it's stayed with me. I've found it to be mostly true. Even the painful, hard times in my life have proved to be some of the most poignant, funny teaching moments I've had to share. Either that, or my life is just plain laughable. Either way, the women sure seem to enjoy me more than the primary kids. Plus I don't have to sing alone in front of the group. Fine with me, for now!

Now there's more 411 than anyone ever hoped to have! Come back soon.

You know you're getting older when...

...you drive your kids to school in your pj's and a sweatshirt (or even, sometimes, a bathrobe) and slippers, cuz really, you don't care who sees you through the car window. I figure, if they don't like what they see, turn the other way! It's early!

Today was no different. EXCEPT...as I pulled out of my driveway and coasted down the street, my gas light came on. Oh no! I haven't even LOOKED in the mirror. Did I even shower yesterday? I can't remember 24 hours ago. Did I wash my make up off? Oh man, I'm in slippers! Do I even have my purse?

Really, I figure, I'll just pull in the gas station, quickly fill it up and sit in the car while it happens. As I'm entering my PIN number and selecting my low-grade gasoline, I look at the car who pulls in right behind me, and naturally, it's someone from church. Never ordinarily run into her, but there she is.

I look at her and beg her not to tell anyone! These were my words exactly: "Let the record show I am NOT a morning person!" And please pass that on to the Bishop because I will say "NO" to an early morning seminary calling. (Not that that would ever happen, but just in case...)!

She just laughs and says she does it all the time. She pops out of her car in cute little jeans, boots, and a trendy jacket. Terrific. I'm feeling like the big, fat, sloppy housewife in my oversized pj's and fleece coat who can barely roll out of bed in the morning, let alone brush her hair.

Well, if the shoe fits...

House Hunter

I'm hungry. I'm on the hunt. I'm prowling. I've got my gear on and I'm going for the kill. It's either kill or be killed. That's right, I'm house hunting. So much game out there, but some just not good enough for hunting. I'm packing heat, my finger's on the trigger, and I'm dying to find just the right target. So far, my finger is just tired from looking and being poised to make an offer. I am SURE my realtors are either close to hunting me or moving on to some fresh meat.

I've been called a snob before. Actually, I think that was today. My good friend said I was just too picky. But here's the way I look at it. I've often said I was a woman on the edge. I'm on the edge of so many things: menopause, being fit, being skinny, being rested, being nicer, being blonder, being more brunette, having softer skin, looking trendy, wearing clothes in my closet, and the list just goes on and on. I'm just on the edge, now, of losing my mind searching for the right house.

We got burned on this one. We rolled the dice and lost. Funny what they say about gambling. I guess that's why there are 12 steps even for gamblers. Anyway, it's time to move on. I swear, I'm trying. Everything I want is a meager $200,000 above my price range. Doesn't the housing market KNOW me? Why does it not embrace me in the manner in which I DESERVE to be embraced. Who does it think I am? I am NOT Grapefruit. I do NOT "bloom where I'm planted". I very intentionally plant myself where I need to be planted -- maybe to look better than the actual flower that I am. It's a good strategy and has served me well. It's like Miracle Gro for humans!

I'm spoiled. I get it. But I'm 42 (I think -- haven't done the math recently), and I'm in no mood to change my standards nor my personality. I don't need the mansion with the sports court, jacuzzi, workout room and olympic-sized swimming pool. I mean, my mother didn't raise me that way. (I'm not saying she shouldn't have...ha ha). BUT -- I need what I need. I'm high maintenance. I like the dressing on the side and if you don't bring it to me that way, I'm sending it back.

And so the hunt continues. I feel it aging me. I feel how I'm wearing my husband down. I see him ducking into the next room to avoid me and the conversation...again. He better look out, I'm getting ready to pull out the big guns because it's been a while since I had a good meal (if you'll forgive this metaphor) and I'm starting to feel a little shakey. No one is safe when that happens!

Bang. Bang.

Bragging Rights

I know, I know! I haven't blogged in a while. Life has been a little bumpy and aside from hearing President Obama being called "inexperienced" on the Today show by the liberal media (which made me smile), there hasn't been much to blog about.

Until now. ALL parents brag about their children. I understand that we all have the most beautiful, smartest, loving children on the planet. Nothing is more fun to talk about than our kids. I'm definitely a member of that group.

My eldest, lately, has drifted into full-fledged teenage-dom. Forgetting to tell me things, forgetting to remember things, staying up late, texting on the phone, and being down right social. Which, for her, is somewhat new in our world. She's always been shy and reserved, happy to hang with us whatever we happened to be doing.

Thursday night she gets a birthday invite "Text". Boy that does save money! No paper invitations necessary, huh? "Can I go Mom, huh?" Far be it for me to deny my daughter more opportunities to socialize. "Sure," knowing my affirmation just excluded me from attending an adult valentine party around the corner. Still, I knew it was important for her to go. "Oh, and Mom, I need a gift."

It's less than 24 hours til this barely-planned event. "Hon, I'm meeting the realtor in the morning and then I'm going to work in the classroom. I hope I have time." Naturally, she responds: "Me, too!" -- "Oh, and mom, her mom is picking us all up right after school cuz the movie is at 4:30 pm so you just need to bring the present to school."

So much fun for me. Because I love my daughter and she is fairly decent at reciprocating said love, I agree to all of this. This is our life. Seat of our pants. I manage to make it to Safeway and grab a gift card, throw in a gift bag and even find a funny card. Not even time to make one this time around.

Friday. The school bell rings. 3:10 pm. No middle school kids are spilling from the hallways as they normally do. Weird. Oh yeah. It's 100 Merit day which celebrates Academic Achievements for the first semester. Kids who have a 4.0 GPA get a shirt and are supposed to wear it to school, and kids with a 3.5 and above GPA are supposed to wear theirs as well. It seems blaringly discriminatory against the lower scoring GPA kids -- I mean, not everyone is a "smart" kid, but oh well. Mine proudly wore her 4.0. Anyway, I'm waiting and waiting. Celebrations must be running a little long. Finally she is one of the first kids out and I see her in my rearview walking my way. She throws her backpack in my car, thanks me for the cute gift bag and funny card, and says:

"Guess What?! I got another award this year. I got picked for Algebra."

What does this mean? She belongs to an academy with a set group of teachers. Each teacher (math, science, history, etc.) chooses a boy and a girl to receive the academic medal in their subject. Mal got picked for math.

She was so cute. A few days ago she told me everyone calls her a nerd because she's always prepared and seems to know how to do things and helps everyone in class when they need it. When I met her after school she laughingly said: "Now they're really going to tease me about being a nerd!" Cute thing is, her best friend was awarded the honor in science. So it's great to be a nerd if you have a best friend that's one, too! Humbly, last night, she was saying it wasn't because she had the highest grade. It must've just been because of some of the other reasons I mentioned above. It's nice that helpfulness will help you earn an award.

So today I earned the right to brag. Rather, she earned it for me. Nothing better than a sweet, smart, beautiful daughter to help you through life's bumpy patches. Nerds rule!

Country Living

That's living...not sleeping. I've recently been a little under the weather -- the sniffles and what have you. Days like those you long for the nightfall and the opportunity to put head to pillow. I fall asleep. For 15 minutes. I'm all snug under covers; it's quiet...til wait. Is there a PIG sleeping next to me? I'm NOT trying to be mean, but my husband's snoring is seriously starting to resemble a really long, loud pig snort. I try shoving and poking him, rolling him back over, fixing his pillows. The snoring continues. After about an hour...I finally turn on the tv, hoping this will quiet the snoring and I'll fall back asleep. Couldn't handle the light after 15 minutes, plus, nothing is on and I can't even focus cuz I'm so tired. Ahhh, quiet. No wait...is that the DOG snoring? She weighs 10 lbs on a good day -- she can make that big noise from that body? Good grief. I put a pillow over my head. Again, another loud shock of snort out of the body next to me. I groan. Sometimes this subconsciously registers with my husband, usually not. I take the pillow off my head.

Hoooooooot hooooooooot.

Answering back: Hooooooooot hoooooooot.

Yes, the owls decide to make fun of the snoring inside our bedroom by hooting about it for the next 1/2 hour. The owls make me think of snakes. The snakes make me think of the skunks my neighbor's said recently sprayed their dog and have a trail going outside their backyard.

Finally, I get up and meander down the hall to my daughter's queen bed. It has to be better. Can't be worse?

"Linds, I'm getting in bed with you." Grunt...she rolls over. After 15 minutes of trying to get used to the night light that is creeping in from the other room and getting warm all over again, I try the pillow thing over my head again. Lindsay flips over violently just missing my face. That was a close one.

Then I hear a beep. It's good to know her cell phone is now all charged as the beeping continues to notify me. I get up, flip the phone over, and unplug it. UGH!!!!!!!!!!!

At this point 2 hours have elapsed. Yes, I said 2 hours. I give up trying to sleep in there. Too foreign, even though it's a good mattress. I go back to bed.

Occassionally I hear the owl's but I'm so tired at this point it is almost a lullaby. It only took 3 hours.

That's life in the country for you. Farm animals inside, wildlife creatures outside.

Time to whup up some grub for dinner.