The Real Story

So here it is.  The real story on how I managed to narrowly escape being hailed as peopleofwalmart.com's most tragic victim.

Before I start, I want the record to show that if I had ANYTHING, anything else at all, I'd probably opt to share that instead.  But, since I changed my blog name and description to something along the lines of "you can't make this stuff up" here I go:

I suffer from migraines.  I get them about two or three times a month. It sucks. But along with the migraines comes feelings of nausea and stomach upset.  I'm a pretty good candidate for a fun time when taken places when I have a migraine.

Some migraine sufferers are given the luxury of a few hours "notice" when a migraine is about to bestow itself upon them.  I am given about five minutes.  I will need to be facedown in bed in five minutes or all hell will break loose.

And yesterday, at Walmart, I was given my generous allotment of five minutes.  Now, I'm roughly 10 minutes from home at this point, but more importantly, I have both kids with me and we are there to pick up a birthday present for a little buddy of Josh's.

Josh, as has been already established, is a pretty analytical kid.  There's no just running into the store and picking something off the shelf.  Everything has to be analyzed and poured over as though we were going to give it to the President of the United States.  By the time we hit the toy aisle, my basket had stuff in it and I had spent my five minutes.  So the blinding headache was rearing it's head, I was nauseous and my stomach hurt. 

So, I convinced Josh that the first toy I picked up would be great for his buddy "LET'S GO!"  But no.  We can't go.  We have to look at ALL the Lego sets.  ALL of them.  One by one.  I start to walk away and Josh lays down on the floor and wails as though I've just taken his best friend and drop kicked him to the curb.  (ew...idea).

I briefly considered fleeing the store, but then I knew I would just have to come back.  I also thought about leaving Josh and taking Aunika with me to the bathroom, but (a) what do I do with Aunika since my basket had stuff in it and you aren't suppose to bring the basket into the bathroom.  Images of her crawling along the bathroom floor at Wal-mart makes me sick to my stomach even now. And (b) Josh would immediately notice my departure and start crying, which would alert the store employees and then I'd be paged over the intercom and the police would be called all while I was in various stages of unloading my lunch in the bathroom.

Now, in normal circumstances, I wouldn't have done what I was about to do.  But these weren't normal circumstances.  One of the systems in my body was going to explode and it was just a matter of time before they all followed in suit.  So, I grabbed a lego toy that Josh has been ogling since he started his fascination with legos and, much to the dismay of another mom in the toy aisle, told him "if I buy this for you right now, can we please leave?"  He was so awe-struck by getting a new toy that he didn't say a word.  Just followed me to the cash register.

I'm positive that this toy (and quite possibly some divine intervention) is the whole reason we haven't had to pack up and leave our community under the cover of night to avoid being recognized as the person who singlehandedly shut down Wal-mart for haz-mat to come in and clean it out.

Weekend One Sentence Observations

I almost stepped on a skunk during my morning run on Friday, but thanks to my fellow running buddy, I avoided a very traumatic (for the skunk) and smelly (for me and my buddy) experience.

After almost spoiling our run, we talked about what we would've done had I stepped on the skunk and it sprayed us, which took up the majority of the run and it flew by.

Staying with the running theme, I ran a 5k--by my lonesome self--on Saturday and PRed with a 27:33, which is 38 seconds faster than my terminal bladder velocity run in July, and I didn't even have the benefit of going downhill to help pad my time.

I didn't pee my pants this time either.

We've started caulking the basement, which is the last step before we start really painting.

Next house will have a finished basement.

And yard.

Josh did pretty good at his soccer game on Saturday, but I'm coming to terms with the observation that maybe my kid isn't so much a team sports kinda kid.

After being Wii-less for the last week due to the debacle he was at church last Sunday, Josh was gold for us today and is now happily playing his Star Wars Lego game--with dad.

The neighbor--who's six year old had to be escorted out of Primary by the primary president for taking off his belt and whipping an unsuspecting child in the face with it--told us that he likes to avoid such "harsh" punishments like taking away the Wii for a week.

We laughed.

After being snubbed by the "other kingdom" for their "tea party" I have been welcomed back with open arms.

Part of me wants to go back, because I really liked their tea parties, but then we started up one in "our kingdom" and I really should give that one a chance.  Maybe I'll do both and then choose.

Still, I knew they couldn't live without me.

It feels good to be so loved.

Nap time is my most favorite time of every Sunday.

Book Review Friday 9/25/09

It was a toss up this week...should I review the creepy one or the silly one?  And the verdict is:

Book: In This Way, I Was Saved
Author: Brian DeLeeuw
Pages: 320 pages

This book was creeptasic.  Told from the viewpoint of an unlikely narrator, the book follows a family through it's madness.  The overall feel of the book was dark so I wouldn't necessarily suggest it to most people I know, but it was an interesting read nonetheless.

Six year old Luke befriends Daniel at a playground outside the Metropolitan Museum.  What ensues is a friendship that borders--no, definitely crosses the line--of bizarre and strange.

As Luke matures into adolescence and adulthood, Daniel takes on a less dominant role in his life, but is always in the wings waiting for the right moment to reinsert himself as Luke's somewhat controller.  The moment comes when Luke is in high school, and Daniel takes center stage again.

In a classic story of good vs. evil, this book takes a hard look at what the assumed outcome is going to be and twists it.  Maybe good doesn't always win, but then again, maybe it does.

I didn't think I would like this book as much as I did, but I was thoroughly engrossed from the first chapter.  Word of caution: The language is a little strong and so are some of the situations.  But it does fit the book, if that makes sense.  Sometimes, authors put in language and situations because they think they can and it detracts from the overall feel of the book.  However, in some plots, these elements are warranted.

Definitely, a good book for a first novel.

Time Out for Bragging

So, I've been running for a while now.  Consistently, after having Aunika, since May of this year.  And I'll be the first one to admit I'm not fast.  I don't come anywhere close to what my husband and his brother can run--when they haven't even trained for anything.  And I've learned to let it slide.  I'm only me and I can only do the best that I can do. 

I'm not a natural runner either.  People assume that when you have long legs, you must be fast, but that's not always the case.  I'm built to be a soccer player, not a long distance runner.  I have a lot of bulk in my legs and it's taken many years to accept that I won't have skinny legs.  But, they're muscly and I have learned to love the muscle tone more than the actual shape.

But this last little while, I've been concentrating on getting my speed down.  I had been content at a 10 minute mile for shorter runs when I was training for the marathon, but I'm not going to achieve my goals at a 10 minute pace, so I researched some ways to get my time down and started implementing them.

Blah, blah, blah.  Since most of you aren't runners, I won't go into the details.  I'll just get to the bragging.

This morning--5:15 am, ahem--we (my training buddies + a new buddy) started off on a five mile "tempo" run, which is a run that we try to do the fastest we can, aiming for a specific time goal.  For the month of September, I chose (somewhat arbitrarily, but don't tell them that) a 9:30/mile goal.  (Not fast, I know.  But faster than what I was use to). 

We looped around Stansbury Park, noting that (a) it was very dark (b) the stars were still out so it felt like it was the middle of the ni...oh wait...it was and (c) people tend to like to drive with their brights on, shining them into your eyes and rendering you blind.

I got to be the rabbit--the person everyone is chasing down--for the first two miles.  Mainly, this is because I was the most alert of everyone.  Also, I have the watch that tells us how fast we're going so I like to lead the pack to get us on track.  In the past, I get us on target and then take up my rightful spot at the end of the line, chasing everyone down.  But, today, it felt good to be the one people were chasing, and I was able to keep it up for 2 miles.  Until I got so hot with my jacket on that I had to take it off and fiddle around with the reflective vest I wear when it's the middle of the night and I had to find someplace to drop the jacket off.  That's when I lost my spot.

But, we trudged--no, sprinted--along and ran the final mile--the 5th mile!--in under 9 minutes.  When we finished, I looked at our average pace--9:11! We just ran 5 miles, averaging 9:11/mile.  I've NEVER done that before.  Finally, I could see where all the hard work has paid off.

So, it's not fast.  It's not going to win me any awards--most likely, though those smaller 5ks have less of a pool to draw from, so maybe.  But it's faster than what I thought I was capable of just a few short months ago.

Man, I love exceeding my own expectations.

Thank you for allowing me to take a few moments to brag about something most of you don't care about.  Which is only slightly different than what most of my blog is anyways--random posts about stuff you probably don't care about.

But, it's my blog.  That's why.

Totally Random Tuesday

• Ever have those days (weeks, months...) where nothing seems to be getting done?  Yeah, that's today (this week, this month...).  I can't seem to muster up the energy to get much done past the normal stuff.  I keep thinking this whole getting up early thing is getting easier and then I have a day or two like the last two days, and I can't seem to kick the feeling of being completely wiped.  I need some purpose to work towards aside from keeping the kids and pets alive.  Preferably not something that is related--in any shape or form--to the basement.
• I have been trying to eat better the last little while.  More for how I feel while running then for any weight loss benefits, though those are nice icings for the cake--if it actually happened.  As it stands, I've lost something like 8 pounds (8.4 pounds, but who's counting, right?) in the last three months. But then, I succumb to a lunch at Taco Time and top it off with a Milky Way candy bar and I feel like crap.  Not because I ate at a fast food joint.  I don't really care about that.  It's that I feel like crap.  And so it's not worth it.  But yet, I still do it.  More often than I'd like.
• We have to bribe Josh--4 years old--to go to church.  And even that technique is pretty hit and miss.  Today, I went in search of new church clothes for him, but he was onto me.  He practically took a fit in the store and screamed more than once "I don't wanna go to church."  Meanwhile, I also had to pick up new clothes for him since he's grown out of everything else.  We came home with two Alvin and the Chipmunks t-shirts (because every kid needs two of them, right) and two dinosaur t-shirts.  He's easy to dress if nothing else.  No, no he's not.  He still has to wear his school clothes to bed on Sunday and Tuesday nights.  Otherwise, he'd be attending preschool in his skivies.
• I thought I'd welcome the cooler weather, but I haven't so much.  It's cold to start with, and then it heats up, and then it gets cold again.  And I'm constantly taking off jackets and putting them back on.  The last two mornings I've come home from my run and climbed back into bed (perhaps, why nothing seems to be getting done) and I can't get warm.  I sit under the shower for 20 minutes and then I'm cold again.  I don't know what to wear.  
• Speaking of jackets, I got the deal of the century on a "jacket" at Sears today.  "Jacket" because it's short sleeve and so it kind of defeats the purpose of being a jacket--an article of clothing you wear to keep warm.  But it's dang cute and it was $60.  I got it for $5.  Nevermind that I have nothing to wear with it.  Details, details.

Unhumorously Humorous

So, Thursday was our Humorous Speech contest at Toastmasters.  And for a girl that was SO shy that she peed her pants during class picture time in Kindergarten instead of telling the teacher she needed to use the restroom, it's amazing I was standing up there.  In front of all those people. Trying to make them laugh.

I came in 2nd.  Just so you don't feel like you have to scroll down to the bottom and miss all this wonderful stuff I'm spewing out up here.  And yes, there were more than 2 speakers.  There were four.  Thank you.

When I sat down to write the speech, I had a few ideas in my head.  But, I couldn't get them to come out right.  It was a little nerve wracking to WANT people to laugh at you.  I've spent so long NOT wanting them to laugh at me, and now I did.  How was I to achieve that?

But I finally settled on a topic Sunday and went with it, more because I was running out of time than anything else. 

Drum roll please....

College Football and my inlaws.  (and by in-laws, I mean the ENTIRE extended family.  Not just, you know, the "in-laws".)

I think I painted a 100% mostly fairly nearly accruate portrayal of my in-laws and their devotion to the game of BYU college football. 

And if the outcome of yesterday's game would've been different, I might have put most some of that "accurate" speech here.  But I value my life, so suffice it to say I kept it clean, I made them laugh, and I put a few jabs about myself in there.  And I didn't say anything that I wouldn't have said in front of them.

On a good week, when BYU didn't just get their pants handed to them on their own turf.

I will share this story though:

Wade and I met shortly before I was to return to school for my second year at CEU in Price, Utah.  It was a sad, foresaken place that no longer had a football team and I didn't grow up watching the game either, so I didn't know. 

I DIDN'T KNOW!

All that next year, we got together for the weekends, either here in Salt Lake or there in Price.  And not a single weekend was spent watching football.  Wade didn't even so much as turn on the radio in my presence. 

We married the following June and I settled into my new life blissfully unaware.  That is until one day in late August when I suggested we go camping that weekend.

"We can't go camping." Wade looked at me like I was nuts.  "It's the first football game of the season."

"What about next week?" I asked.

"There's another game then too."

So, there you have it.  He tricked me into marrying him. 

But the winner of the contest was a much better speaker.  He's been doing this for a few years now and he had some great stories.  I don't know that they were any better than mine (because, really, how can you compete with BYU football and my in-laws) but his candor was a lot smoother.  He definitely deserved to win, so I can't be sad (though I am--a little--because I'm intensely competitive).  But now I know what to work on for the next contest.

All in all, it was a lot of fun and a great experience.  And, like I mentioned, I was insanely shy up until I was like 15, so it's a miracle upon miracles I was even there.  But I've gotten a lot of encouragement over the last few months from family and friends and family of friends who comment on how "funny" I am, so that makes me feel good. :)  Thanks everyone!

Book Review Friday 09/18/09

Book: Picture Bride
Author: Yoshiko Uchida
Pages: 216

In any history--personal, family, or national--there is a lot to be proud of, but there is some to be ashamed of.  It's what makes it a history.  This period in American History is certainly not a proud one, and, sadly, is one that is often overshadowed by other atrocities that occured during the same time period.

Picture Bride is the story of Taro and Hana Takeda.  Hana arrived from Japan to Oakland, California in 1917 as a bright-eyed 20 year old sent to marry Taro.  She only knew him from a picture that had circulated around her hometown and was dismayed to find that he didn't resemble that any longer.

As she shuffled into her new life, Hana came to the realization that life with Taro, and America, was not all that she had pictured it would be.  Life was not as ideal as it had been painted in Japan, but bound by a duty to her new husband and to the family she left behind in Japan, Hana bears the pain of being an outsider in a country that shunned those who were different.

The story weaves itself through nearly 30 years of history, eventually leading to the Japanese-American internment camps of World War II after the attacks on Pearl Harbor.

As the story unfolds in the camps,  I found myself ashamed that this was what the American people did to an entire group of people, based on their nationality.  As though we weren't fighting a group of fascists in Germany with somewhat the same mentality at the same time.  While I "knew" of the Japanese-American internment camps, it is not a unit that is often dwelled on in American history classes.

I found this to be a very well written look at the history of the early Japanese immigrants to this country.  I thought the characters were well developed and intriguing.  I was surprised that the Depression Era was skimmed over seeing as Taro was a shopkeeper and must have felt that particular strain.  But I did find the parts about the internment camps very enlightening and informative.

Definitely a good read for anyone interested in this particular era.

Tea Parties

Once upon a time, Princess Sandra was invited to a tea party with other princesses from a different kingdom.  She use to know these princesses, back before the kingdoms got split, but she wasn't very close to them. She had a good time getting to know them better.  She would have considered them her princess friends.

Every month, they'd invite Princess Sandra to their tea party where they would hold intellectual conversations about books and politics.  They talked about books a lot.  You would have thought they were at a book club instead of a tea party, if it wasn't for the tea.  These princesses said they enjoyed having Princess Sandra at their tea parties because she was so funny.  They seemed to really like Princess Sandra.

Then, one day, they stopped inviting Princess Sandra to their tea parties.  Princess Sandra made some phone calls and discovered they were no longer holding tea parties.  No biggie.  There was a lot going on in Princess Sandra's land that she needed to oversee, so she went along her merry way, though she would remember every 4th Thursday at 8:00 pm how much fun she had at her tea parties.

One day, Princess Sandra crossed the river that divided her kingdom from the other princesses' kingdom.  While at the castle of a princess friend, she noticed a slip of paper announcing the return of the tea parties.  Princess Sandra was so excited, though a little confused as to why her tea party princess friends hadn't called her to invite her.  She decided to call the new princess in town, who was in charge of the new tea parties.

Princess Sandra called and asked the new princess if it would be okay if she came to the tea parties, seeing as they use to be an entire land event instead of just a kingdom event.

The new princess informed Princess Sandra that they were trying to keep the tea parties just for the princesses in their kingdom.  In response to Princess Sandra's audible gasp, the new princess said "I'm sure they won't send you home if you show up."

Princess Sandra ended this very awkward conversation as soon as possible and came to a few conclusions:

(a) No one really leaves Little Princess school
(b) It still hurts to be rejected
(c) You don't want to mess with Princess Sandra.  She knows people.  She can put together a pretty good tea party.  One that you will wish you were at instead of at some lameo party that bills itself as "exclusive".  Everyone is invited to Princess Sandra's tea party.  She doesn't  discriminate based on what side of the street river you live on.

Please Come to Boston

A few months ago, I started tossing around the idea of doing another marathon.  I talked to my running buddies and we agreed to put it on the back burner until after we were done with our half marathon.  H. went off to Hawaii for 10 days and C and I have been picking back up the pace we left with (going even faster.  Look at us!) and we called a group meeting tonight at "our" restaurant (Cafe Rio) to discuss the possibility of doing a marathon in 2010.

We decided to go for it.

It helped I had detailed plans laid out for us, including our training runs and what pace we needed to run them at.

I'm a nerd that way.

As I was putting together our training numbers, I noticed something...man, we're close.  SO close to qualifying for Boston. 

Boston, for any non runners out there, is the marathoner's mecca.  You have to qualify for Boston by meeting a pretty stringent time limit, and that's most of the lure.  To push your body to that point. 

Your prize for qualifying for Boston?  You GET to run another marathon...one significantly harder than the one you did, that was mostly downhill, that got you to Boston.

But it's Boston.

So, I also put together a training plan for Boston--which requires us to run 26.2 miles averaging 8:23/mile.  Which is about 23 miles and a full minute per mile faster than what I'm currently running.  (when I say we're close to qualifying for Boston, I mean to say that if everything goes well and we can meet our goals I've lined up for the rest of the year, we're like in Chicago.  But we're closer than Salt Lake).  I laid it out there, just to see.  And the response was pretty good.  We'll go for it if we can and we're ready.  If not, we'll try again later.

Crazy. (Yes, yes I am.)

But, man, that would be AWESOME!

I think I only know one person who's actually run Boston.  I get butterflies just thinking about it. Boston for my 30th birthday! That would be SHUWEET.

Who's Kid is This?

I think it's been well established that Josh is kind of a peculiar child.  For example, his first real babysitting experience was sometime last year.  I left him with a girl from the neighborhood, before I had Aunika, so I could be somewhere (makes sense.  Babysitter needed so I could go somewhere...hmm...).  The babysitter made him macaroni and cheese for lunch.  Nothing out of the ordinary.

Ever since that experience, he insists that EVERY babysitter make him macaroni and cheese.  EVERY time.  Doesn't matter what time of the day it is.  One morning we left him with a babysitter to go out for something or another.  She called in a panic at about 9:30 am.

"Josh is insisting that I make macaroni and cheese.  Is that okay?"

"Sure.  Why not?"

Now, I just tell the babysitters "listen, he has to have macaroni and cheese.  I know it's 7 am, but it's better for everyone involved that you just make it and call it good."

Except for that I forgot to tell the babysitter on Saturday morning.  But, I came home to find a half eaten pot of macaroni and cheese on the stove, so she must have gotten the memo.  Most likely in the form of "I have to eat macaroni and cheese.  It's what I have to eat.  My belly and my arms and my legs will DIE if I don't get macaroni and cheese."  No 12 year old wants that hanging over their head.  Mac and cheese it is.

I think it's OCD.  And it's genetic.  And I don't think it's from my side of the family.  But maybe it's just being four.  I'm sure genetics plays a role somewhere though.

So, yesterday, I was doing finances, which involves, among other things, an excel spreadsheet.  Josh was watching me, fascinated.  I closed everything when I was finished and handed control of the computer over to him.

He played a few games at pbskids.org and then called me into the room.

"I'm looking for the page with the windows."  He told me.

"Windows?"  I asked.

Josh gazed over to our window (the computer room is, in fact, our bedroom.).  "Not square like that one."  "Like this shape." He said, tracing what looked to be a square in the air with his finger.

"Hmmm..." I responded.

"Follow me, mommy."   He said, getting up from the chair and running into his room.

We stood in his room and Josh tilted his head to the side so I did as well.  Everything had a sideways view about it. 

"Shaped like this window, mommy."  Josh replied, glancing at his retangular window.  "Lots of them."

"Oh, an excel spreadsheet." I said, returning to the computer and opening up a blank sheet for him.

"YES!" he excitedly exclaimed.

Why he wanted an excel spreadsheet, who knows?  I don't ask questions.  But he was happy playing around on that for an hour.

This morning, after I got back from my run, I noticed a bunch of paper retangles cut out on the computer desk.  Upon further examination, turns out he made a "manual" excel spreadsheet.  Complete with numbers and everything.  Do they teach you this is preschool now, because I was a junior in high school before I even knew what an excel spreadsheet was?

Man, this kid cracks me up. 

And for the record, geniusness runs on MY side of the family.

Book Review Friday 9/11/09

Last year, I wrote a book review every (well, almost every) Friday from a book that I read that week.  After I had Aunika, I wasn't reading as much, so I quit doing the reviews.  However, I've been reading a lot more now that she's a little more independent.  I thought maybe I'd return to the book reviews next year, but I decided to start today--some random Friday in September.  

So why do I do these reviews?  Well, aside from making me look incredibly smart and astute, I think we should all be reading more.  Perhaps, maybe not me, because I have read three books this week, and now I'm bordering on "recluse" and "neglectful" and other not-so-nice adjectives, but we--as Americans--should be reading more.  Maybe something I say in one of these reviews will prompt you to go out and read the book.  Or steer clear of it.  Or pick up that book you've had on your nightstand for the last three months.


And it's one more chance for you to read my (very witty) writing without me actually having to come up with some random topic to talk about on those weeks when it's the same daily grind.

But, most importantly, it's my blog.  That's why.

Book: The School of Essential Ingredients
Author: Erica Bauermeister
Pages: 240

This particular book is on the Reader's Choice List from the Salt Lake County Library system.  Twice a year, they come out with a Reader's Choice List that runs for three months.  The books are picked by the librarians and then the readers choose their favorites.  They give out awards to the people who read the most or some random thing, the only stipulation being that you live in the county.  Which I think is a crock since I pay them $80 a year to be allowed the privilege of checking out their sainted books.  So I should be given a chance at the $15 gift certificate to Barnes and Noble too.  But, that's for another day.

I read this book--surprisingly, since after doubling my workload with children, I haven't done this--in one day.  (I'm a fairly fast reader, so this doesn't mean that I sat in bed and read while my children ran amok.  Maybe.)  I was fascinated.  My only complaint is that I wish it were a longer book.

The story follows eight students in a cooking class held one Monday a month.  It begins with Lillian, owner of Lillian's Restaurant, and class instructor.  Then, each chapter is one of the students in the class; how they came to be in the class, certain key points in their lives.  Each person--as in real life--has things they're hiding. 

Intertwined in the storyline are these incredible dishes they make in class.  Though the recipes aren't in there, since Lillian doesn't use recipes, I'm sure you could follow what she's saying to the class and duplicate the meals.  You know, if you were into that sort of thing.

All in all, I thought it was a great story with a lot of interesting material.  I just wish there were maybe 15 students instead of 8.  The book served as a reminder that no one is as they seem.  We are all hiding something.

Gone Bowling

I recently embarked on my third season on a bowling league. This is a little out of character for me. I'm not really into the whole organized fun-time. But, it's turned out to be a lot of fun. Hence, why I keep going back.

Each season starts when the kids go back to school and lasts until the end of May. It can kind of drag on at the end...like maybe it goes on for 5 or 6 weeks too long. But, during the winter, it's a great activity to get me out of my house. Otherwise, I'd probably just stay in here and stew in my own juices until springtime.

For $8.50 a week--frankly, the BEST $8.50 I spend--I get three games of bowling and a daycare to put Josh (and eventually Aunika) in for roughly 2 hours. I bought my own bowling shoes at the beginning of last season and my own ball at the end of the first season.  I'm a bonafide bowler now.  Even have a towel and everything.

Last season, I was in charge of the daycare and I hated it. It was stressful and took the fun out of bowling. People, even adult women--maybe, especially adult women--can be so petty and unbelievable.  I just want to show up, play my three games, and go home. I'm asked to vacuum the nursery every once in a while, but that's a small price to pay for 2 hours of "freedom".

There are six teams comprised of three members each. Each season, I've been sort of the "last man picked" person. I'm not really picky about who I play with as long as they're reliable. I'm certainly not there to win anything. I'm not even that good.

Or I wasn't. Until somehow, I've become a bowling-semi-diva.

The first season, I averaged close to 100. It was pathetic. But, I was having fun, and that's all that matters. Last year, I averaged around 120. Not bad. I was an exceptional bowler when I was nine months pregnant (go figure) but each week, I'd have to come home and soak in the tub because it hurt so bad to bowl. After I had Aunika, I never really could match the kind of awesomeness I had at the beginning of the season.

Last week was our first week of the new season. I didn't, as usual, have a team.  But luckily, two ladies from the ward scooped down and picked me up.  Nevermind that they're both older than my mom.  That's immaterial.  They're still a fun group of ladies and I keep them young.  One has been on a bowling league for 20 years.  She has the second highest average in the league (out of 18 players.  I'm number 5, thank you very much.)  The other one is in Alaska right now, but she's not such a great bowler.  She has a lot of fun and that's all that matters anyways.  She'll be back next week.  Maybe she'll have improved over the summer.

During the first week, you set your average and your handicap. The handicap is used to level out the playing field. The lower your average the higher your handicap. The unwritten goal of the first week is to try to sandbag your score but make it look like you were really trying. I did pretty good the first two games, 112 and 113. But the third game, I went crazy. It was strike after strike with a few spares thrown in. I came out with a 172. That hosed my handicap and my average, now a 134. I left kind of disappointed. That's a lot to live up to every week when you're really only a 120 average kinda gal.

This week, I was late thanks to a four year old who was being a brat (the story of my life) and a telephone call just as I was leaving, and so I had to bowl fast to catch up. I hit my average of 120 the first game and raised it slightly to 128 the second game.  By the third game I hit my stride and emerged with a 162.  We BLEW the pants off the other team and are currently sitting in first place for the league.

Look at us--we're the Nine Pin Wonders!

New Name. New Look

I decided to change things up a bit here.  I hope you likey.  Let me know if something is too hard to read or what not.

East Side vs West Side

Sunday, we celebrated our 7 year anniversary in this house. By celebrating, I mean to say that we stayed up until 6 am (yes, 6 am) to finish prepping our basement to be primed. But THAT story is for another day.

(Remember the basement? I know. It's been like a year.)

But seven years?!? Where does the time go?

Almost eight years ago, we were looking at buying something when we were somewhat led to this location. Our families and friends thought we were nuts, living so far away. Most of them still do. As though it doesn't take the majority of them the same amount of time just to hit a freeway entrance as it does for us to get to our destination in Salt Lake (30 minutes--pretty much anywhere in the Salt Lake Valley). But whatever.

Tooele County sorta gets crapped on by the rest of the Wasatch Front. It's like the red-headed step child of the tri-county area of Salt Lake, Utah and Tooele Counties. It's true there's some unsavory people in Tooele. They're a little strange. But, I contend that the same goes for Salt Lake and Utah Counties, but since the population is greater in those two areas, it's not as noticable. But Tooele is an afterthought for many people.

We were initially led--by God or intution or whatever you want to believe--out here. When we bought our house, we were starving college students, but the mortgage was less than what we were paying for our one bedroom apartment on the "east side".

Time out. The East Side vs. the West Side debate.

I grew up on the "West Side". West Valley. I went to one of the poorest, lowest performing high schools in the district. I survived. Even managed to get a full ride scholarship--to CEU, but at least it was paid for and bonus, that's the only school I applied to anyways. I got an incredible education by some incredible teachers. Teachers who did not start out as teachers, but rather as professionals who made it big--we're talking millionaires here--who then went BACK to school to get their teaching certificates and give back to the community by teaching in the ghettos.

My dad made pretty good money but instead of buying a bigger house in a "better" neighborhood, they took us on trips and did things with us, educating us that way.

Over the years, it seems like I've been branded as a West Sider. As though my very existence as a human being can be tied to what side of State Street I lived on. Still to this day! Seriously, grow up! I've been told that "your parents have a really nice house." As though we all lived in shabby tents on this side of town. And I've also been told, astonishingly, that "I would never have married someone from the West Side." Seriously? One of the traits that your potential mate has to have is that they had to have been raised on the other side of State Street? Wow! Let's not worry about the little things like morals and values and common interests. Heaven forbid we're compatible. One block west of the blessed State Street and it's over, baby.

Sorry...seems, I have a lot of pent up hostility centering around this issue...

Geosnobs--a term I call those who only see the location and don't pay attention to the details, or the people--have always driven me crazy. You are no better than me because you happen to live east of State Street or the freeway or on the other side of the tracks. Wade's brother's girlfriend--a fellow west sider like me--put it best when she said "actually, when my parents moved from our home on the "east side" (2100 S and 500 E) to Magna (way west), my life improved quite dramatically." I love it when people claim to be East Siders when they live two blocks from the division line.

This is not to say that location isn't a major player in where one should choose to live. It's only saying that by putting yourself up on a pedestal--or worse, looking down on someone else--because of that location only makes you look petty and insecure. News flash: Child molesters and pedophiles live on the East Side too (and they go to church. I know. Shocker.). Drugs and violence creep over there as well. You could make the argument that since there's no East-West-Germany-like wall separating the two classes of people, the unsavory characters are merely trespassing on your side from my side. But, I could argue differently.

But anywho, back to me and my house.

Because it's MY blog, that's why.

So, yeah, we've been living in this vast, barren wasteland for seven years now. And you know what? We love it. We've looked at moving back to the valley, but then we hear the stories of how it takes people two (2!!!) hours to get home from work on a Friday night and we're glad we don't live there. (I hear, a lot, that it's quite rare, but it seems like every time I'm out and about during rush hour and I'm listening to the traffic report, it doesn't sound so rare. It sounds like a daily nightmare). But more importantly, we don't fit in in the valley anymore. When we were seriously looking, we felt out of place. As though everyone could see through us and instinctively know we weren't made from the same cookie cutter as them.

But the best part--in a few short weeks (end of September? end of October? Christmas?) we will have a five bedroom, three bath house that we are paying less for a month then our one bedroom apartment. And since we're no longer starving college students, that house will be paid for in five or less years. And that, my friends, is a deal and a half.

The Low Maintenance Friends Plan

About a year ago, I adopted the Low Maintenance Friends Plan. This has revolutionized my life considerably. Mainly, by dropping (more or less) those friends that drained me emotionally (High Maintenance Friends) I am more capable of dealing with the trivialities of my own life. And I'm happier. And I'm wealthier. And I've lost weight. And I'm gorgeous. Drop dead gorgeous actually. I even tan now. And my hair's gone blonde and it's chic and long....

Note: If you are reading this, you're most likely on my Low Maintenance Friends Plan. Maybe. Perhaps you're just family, in which case, I can't boot you anywhere (except for, as the case may already be, you can stop inviting me to family functions. In which case I will just continue to make biting remarks here on my platform. I'm, of course, not referring to last weekend's debacle since that didn't turn out to be a "party" I wanted to be at anyhow. But, so you know, for future reference, pass the word along that it's a secret party without us or prepare to pay. [cue evil laugh]. Now back to our regularly scheduled programming...)

Low Maintenance Friends (LMF) are just that. They're there if you need them. Or not. Because they have lives too. And you understand that about each other. Some had crappy--really crappy, not just oh-I-couldn't-stay-out-past-10 pm crappy--childhoods, but they've risen above it and are functioning members of society. Some, like me, had great childhoods. We all have skeletons in our closets, but we don't use them to garner attention or pity from those around us.

When you agree to do something, as a LMF, you do it. Whether it's a race or a bake sale or subbing for my class in primary on Sunday. You know that whatever your LMF has agreed to do, it will be done. Even if it kills them. Or nearly kills them. A commitment is a commitment is a commitment.

There's no need to call and check in with your LMFs. If they decided to go camping this weekend, great! If they're going to their mom's house for the day, even better. LMF's remember that you spend every Tuesday with your mom and so they don't ask why you weren't home when they came over. In fact, LMF's never ask why you weren't home. They assume you had something better to do.

You know that your LMF has many obligations and roles in her life to fulfill--just like you--and that she can't always be "there" for you. But, you also know, that if life was getting painfully tough, she'd drop everything and come get you for some ice cream, diets be damned. At the very least, they'll talk to you on the phone and agree that your husband was being a dork.

LMFs don't have someone else call you--or worse, text you--to relay a message that they could've easily told you themselves, but feared your reaction. In short, they've actually graduated from Jr. High. They take responsibility for their actions. You and your LMF understand that sometimes promises have to be broken and things have to be said that aren't polite or nice, but that once the air is clear, everything is much better.

LMFs don't whine incessantly about things they can't change. Or worse, they don't whine incessantly about things they can change. They change them. LMFs don't get so caught up in other people's lives that they don't realize their's is falling down around their ankles. They especially don't get caught up in your life because they know they don't belong there. They can be themselves around you and know that you'll love them no matter what. They don't put on airs or try to be someone they're not to impress you.

LMFs don't try to "define the relationship". You're not dating. You won't be getting married. There's no need to hash over your "relationship" time after time after time. If you have a grievance, you approach your LMF and let her know. She nods her understanding, tells her side of the story, and it's done.

Now, this isn't to say that I have no HMFs out there. I do. Apparently, lots. But I've limited my contact. I don't get involved with their drama. I offer my support for their life's trials, but I don't immerse myself into their lives. HMFs are still good people, but LMFs are a girl's best friend.

Thank You Notes from September 1

Dear Honest Library Patron,

Thank you for turning in my $10 bill to the circulation desk. I'm sure you remember me. Really, who wouldn't? I was the one with the three-ring circus that following her around. I arrived with a baby in a stroller and an eager four year old and my mom. My mom is kind of hard to pick out because she insists on standing far enough away that the casual observer might not notice that she is, indeed, part of my circus. My initial stop was to pay a fine at the circulation desk with the $10 bill, but then I found out that if I waited until next week and brought in a few cans of food, they'd waive it. So I stuffed my $10 into my pocket at the same time my four year old--who I taught to LOVE the library--was yanking on my hand to go pick out more Diego, Dora, and Bob the Builder books. Which of course I LOVE to read over and over again until my head starts spinning and I'm talking in stunted sentences.

After we picked up his books and I was given a generous allotment of about 5 minutes to pick out books for me, we headed up to the check out computer, where my four year old insisted that he run each and every book--18 in all--through the scanner, despite barely being tall enough to see over the ledge of the counter while standing on his tiptoes. All this while my 9 month old in her stroller was pulling down everything within reach and screeching like a hyena and my mom was looking at the pet rats--I know she HATES rats. HATES them with a vengence usually reserved for murderers and ultra right-wing conservatives. But she was observing them for quite some time while a line of other library patrons waited patiently for my four year old to scan. each. book.

I'm not sure where I lost my $10, but I'm guessing it was at this particular point.

After gathering my trio of circus acts, I left and went to the store, where I couldn't find my $10 bill and nearly took a fit in the parking lot. My mom helpfully suggested that I clean out my purse sometime soon, at which point I might have glanced at her with something resembling a death glare. She then insisted that we drive back to the library and I run in to ask if someone had turned in a $10 bill (honestly, as if!) and so to placate her (and because I felt a little bit bad about the death glare and accompanying comment suggesting that I was well aware of the fact that I needed to clean out my purse), we did just that. As I neared the front door, I thought about just standing inside for a few minutes and then leaving, but I gathered my courage and asked the lady behind the desk. She looked at me like "yeah, as if" but dutifully went to the back room to see.

"When did you lose it?" she casually asked as she returned.

"About 10 minutes ago." I said with a laugh, trying to convey that I knew there was no way someone would turn in a $10 bill but it was worth a shot.

At which point she handed me my $10 bill and a look that said something like "go ahead. Take away the new book we would've bought for some deserving child. Maybe your child even."

So, thank you very much for being honest.


Dear Child Tender at the Gym,

Thank you for taking my overly curious four year old for 45 minutes yesterday so that I could get some peace. Despite the spin instructor not showing up, and some stupid rule saying that I can't leave my less than 2 year old in the nursery with you, I had a wonderful 45 minute workout on a bike, where I got to read in (almost) complete silence. It was a nice feeling that I haven't felt in a long time.

Ah. It was just what I needed to get back in the car with said four year old and make the 15 minute drive home, where he continued to pepper me with question after question. After question.

Dear Neighbors,

Thank you for kindly averting your eyes when I walk by, because I'm pretty sure you can hear what goes on behind closed doors at my house. I would like the record to show that it is my four year old who screams like a girl, and not in fact, me (usually). He's quite unbelievable, isn't he?

Dear Aunika,

Thank you for reminding me why we wanted a second child. You're so easy going and happy. You don't cry a lot. You scream like a hyena and screech like a chimpaneze in public, but other than that, you're perfect.

Dear Josh,

Thank you for reminding me why we should stop at two children.