Time Flies...At Lightspeed

Has it honestly been three months since I wrote? I really think there's something wrong with my Blog account, because I'm positive it hasn't been three months. I guess all those posts I wrote in my head didn't type themselves.

Well, I honestly don't have much to say tonight. Just hello, how are you, how's life in cyberspace? How are all you 26 little letters that make up my blog (but let's not forget the em-dashes and the en-dashes)?

That reminds me of something a friend told me the other day. Her friend just had a baby and honestly named her Abcde, pronounced Abseduh. Ummm....really? First of all, not sure how you get that sort of pronunciation from those three sequential consenants. Second of all, don't they know that once that child gets to school, the teacher will take one look at the roll (because that name will probably and alphabetically be the first one listed...unless you have an Aaron...or Aaliyah, or Aandy in your class...this parenthetical tangeant is way too long), give a very long pause, and probably a very loud gaffaw, and then give up (you may have to go back to see the beginning of that sentence. Sorry. Didn't plan that one out.).

The other name I've see recently is this one-- "La-a." You'd think it's pronounced "La'ah," right? Oh no. It's "Ladasha." Really? That child will be "La'ah" for her whole life. Here's the other problem. In most situations it's probably written with a hyphen insead of an en-dash or em-dash (two of my favorite grammatical tools) because that's all most poeple use. So really, her name is "Lahyphena."

"Lahyphena!"

Say that three times fast. It will make your day.

Boo

So immediately when I wrote the subject line for this, my mind jumped to To Kill A Mockingbird and I've gone on a full and complete mental tangent before I've even started into this post...focus, girl.

I'm planning Halloween. Actually, I will admit, I've been planning Halloween since about March, but we can just gloss over that point. Starting in August sounds much better than starting in March.

And when I say "planning Halloween," really that's just code for "I have it all planned out and now I'm just collecting my materials." And my excuse is that then I have that long to find the best prices, find the best costume pieces, and to sew things...which for me to finish (or start) sewing something is an absolute heroic and epic event. But the truth is, I just love Halloween.

No, it's not even that I love Halloween. I love the excuse to dress up in a costume. Because now that I'm an adult, if I put on a cloak or a full ball-gown and went to Target, people would look at me weird. Sometimes I envy those little girls who get to go out in their Cinderella dresses and people just chock it up to "Oh, Mom lost that battle this morning." But I'm way beyond that.

You see, I have an extremely active imagination. Always have. And to be able to be someone else for a day or a few hours is so much fun. That's why I love acting. It's like big-kid pretend play that's socially acceptable.

Anyway, going back to Halloween. Remember what I was saying earlier about the mental tangent? Apparently I do it more often than I thought. So the costumes are all planned out, and I have some small pieces of my costume and Ben's costume. E has informed us that she is going to be Cinderella, Daddy is going to be the Prince, and I am going to be the Cruel Stepmother.

Why doesn't the prince have a name? That always bugged me. Sorry, tangent.

Ben and I also need costumes for an adult Halloween party we go to. So, for that, we have Sherlock Holmes (yes, I know...my obsession has waned, but is far from over...see previous post on my Sherlockian fixation) and Irene Adler. I'm currently in search of some red hair dye that looks good and will come out in 1-2 washes.

Sigh. Believe it or not, this is actually better than I used to be. When I was younger, I used to start planning on November 1st. Maybe the 2nd if I was lazy. For your perusing pleasure, I've taken another mental tangent down memory lane and complied a list of my most memorable costumes below.

Point being, I can't wait for when Ellie really gets into dress-up. I will SO TOTALLY play with her whenever she asks. And of course, it won't be that I'm enjoying myself at all...I'm just being a good mommy. :)

Princess '85
Little Bo Peep '86
Snow White '87
Sleeping Beauty '88
Bride '90
Cheerleader '91
Maid Marion '92
Native American '93
Japanese Girl '94 (The sleeves of that kimono were awesome candy receptacles)
Juliet '95 (I really wanted to be King Arthur, but it just didn't work out)
Tooth Fairy '96 (this was one of the best)
Princess Leia '97 (of course)
Princess Eilonwy '98 (NO one knew who I was)
Hermione Granger '99
Gospel Girl '01
Zombie (in a haunted house) '02
Wednesday Addams '03
Eliza Doolittle '04 (though most people thought I was the bird lady from Mary Poppins)
Violet Baudelaire '05 (Again, no one knew who I was....problem with being little-known literary characters)
Christine Daae '06 (Ben was the Phantom)
Witch '07 (in a really sweet 70s thrift store dress with an 8-months pregnant tummy)
Queen Amidala '08 (E was Princess Leia and B was Anakin...I looked really freaky)
Glinda the Good Witch '09 (E was Dorothy, B the tin man) and Morticia Addams (with Ben as Gomez)
The Cruel Stepmother '10 (hopefully Fairy Godmother or something instead) and Irene Adler (with Ben playing a very handsome Sherlock)

Major Decision

So at church I and three other women are in charge of all the kids during Sunday School. A week ago I taught them a lesson about how God helps us find our path in life. I told them a story about how I knew what I should study when I got to college.

So that got me thinking about my various career choices through the years. Some of which I thought you might all enjoy.

When I was about six-years-old, my cousin John, who is three years older than me, really loved airplanes. He had models strung up all over his room, and he was convinced he was going to be a pilot.

I thought this was so cool, so I decided that along with a ballerina, gymnast, and 3 other things that are escaping me (I remember there were 6 in total), I was going to be a flower girl. Now I'm not sure where I got this idea, but I was going to be the one that gave him a bouquet of flowers when he got home from his fighter pilot missions. That's a promising career right there. All that public education being put to good use.

Fast forward two years. I've given up the flower girl career path but haven't ruled out the other 5 options. My parents took us camping on Mount Lassen, and we attended a ranger program on Volcanology. Now before you jump over to Wikipedia, volcanology has nothing to do with Star Trek (though with my adolescent Star Wars obsession, many people wondered). It's the study of volcanoes. Something about those slides of lava flows and plugs flashing on a screen under the night sky while sitting on the sloping side of a dormant volcano spoke to my 8-year-old heart, and I was hooked.

For eight years, that's what I wanted to do. Now, looking back on it, I don't know if it was because it really did fascinate me, or if it was because it was different and I enjoyed the sideways looks I got when I told people my chosen career path. Because, let's face it--my ballet-dancing, theater-rehearsing, indoor schedule didn't seem to mesh with the adventurous, lava measuring, volcano hiking persona of a volcanologist.

I think I just liked that no one but me could define it.

At 16, I changed my mind. I took high school biology and fell in love with genetics. And then archaeo-genetics...yet another one no one could define. But it was very cool. I mean, what's not cool about using genetics to identify really really old dead stuff?

Then I got accepted to BYU. I remember going to something at BYU before I started, and saying I was double-majoring in Archaeology and Arabic and minoring in Acting. Right....

But that's what I started as. I nixed the Arabic for Hebrew, and started my Archaeology courses, hoping to become a Biblical archaeologist.

Okay. Let's look at this logically. 4 years of undergrad. Lots of travel to the Middle East. Then at least 4 more years of a doctorate degree and after that, constant travel around the world. Yeah, that totally sounds like me. And for those of you who don't know me, that was meant to be sarcastic.

And after all that, I ended up with a degree in Creative Writing.

And now I stay home with a 2-year-old.

Could life get any better?

Bullseye

So I'm greatly troubled.

Our Target store is getting fresh produce.

Now, that's not what's troubling me. In fact, when I found out, I got up and did a little Scottish Reel I was so excited. I mean, come on, I'll never have to go to the grocery store again. It's the best news I've had since I found out Target was going to start staying open until 10:00pm. I honestly counted down the days until August 31st last year. So the concept of fresh produce is heavenly.

But Target....oh goodness. What are you doing to me?

I walked in...and there were movies in the active wear section. Ummmmm....what? And pajamas squeezed between socks and toddler clothing. I started to feel a little...anxious.

So I kept walking. I stopped. Where were the kitchen appliances? Where were the vegetable peelers? Where was the flatware?

The next aisle...why couldn't I get my cart down this aisle? Why was it so narrow?

Then I went to my list. Because let's face it. I spend a good hour wandering around and loading up my cart with those heart-tingling red-tagged clearance items before I actually get to my "required" list.

I needed hand soap. So I went to its usual spot. Not there. I checked the adjoining aisles. Shampoo, deodorant, hair products. Still no soap.

So I turned the corner and turned on my newly honed Holmesian skills and started looking for clues. More toiletries. Toothpaste. Face soap. First aid items. Still no hand soap.

At this point, I have passed the make-up and am quickly approaching the aisles I know to be grocery aisles, and I'm starting to panic. I've never not been able to find something in Target. Due to my approximately 116 annual trips to Target, I've learned the layout perfectly. And now the hand soap is alluding me.

Finally, there it is, facing the candy aisle, at the very end of the row, wrapping around the end cap.

Now I ask you, what kind of lunacy is this?

You have to understand. Target is my sanctuary. Target is where I go when I have nowhere else to go. Target is my second home (E even told me during a Target run, "We live here, Mommy.") When my sanctuary and second home is in chaos....where am I supposed to go???

So, Target, if you can possibly move that July 22nd produce date up, you would forever secure the loyalty of your already number one customer. When considering that, please keep in mind that I single-handily keep you in business.

Thank you.

Poetry

In honor of Mother's Day, I wanted to post a poem that I heard on a PBS special and absolutely loved. Very funny, and very fitting to honor all those moms we love.

The Lanyard - Billy Collins
The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.

No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.

I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.

She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light

and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.

Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truth

that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.



Happy Mother's Day!

Lint-tastic!

So I just washed a blanket.

Just your average blue, nondescript blanket, nothing special.

Now, this is not a blanket we use much because of it's tendancy to speckle everything that even looks at it with blue lint.

I didn't give much thought to washing it.

But, to my horror, here's what sprung out at me when I opened the dryer....



And no, that's not the blanket. That's just the lint!

Since you may or may not be able to tell from the pictures, let me give you some specs on this lint pile:

Height: 3 inches
Width: 6 inches
Length: 12 inches

That's volumerically 216 cubic inches of lint.

It's out to get me, this blanket.

Elementary School, My Dear Watson.

Today's topic: Obsessions.

And maybe fictional character crushes.

Now, all of this is a little embarassing to admit, and I'm feeling a little vulnerable as I confess this realization about myself, but it's all for the sake of writing and expression, right?

So I've finally come to the conclusion that I tend to obsess. I find something I like, and I completely engulf myself in it almost to the point where I could very easily let it take over my life. Take my middle school years, for example. Saw Star Wars for the first time and spent three years waiting in movie theater lines, wearing unflattering men's t-shirts, buying action figures, and convincing people to call me "Yoda." I have boxes and boxes of Star Wars memorabilia, costumes I made, incriminating Fan Fiction, you name it.

Lucky for all of you, I got over that one.

Then there was my on and off again Phantom of the Opera obsession. I can still sing every line to that entire musical.

And the list goes on: Inspector Gadget (yes, even the Matthew Broderick version), Series of Unfortunate Events, Monk, Michael Phelps, Wikipedia, Jane Austen, Harry Potter, etc.

Fortunately, most of these have been shortlived, but, nonetheless, somewhat intense. The worst are those coupled with fictional character crushes: Luke Skywalker, Inspector Gadget himself, The Phantom, the list goes on.

The most recent obsession: Sherlock Holmes. Saw the new movie, picked up the book that had been sitting on my shelf unread for 4 years, and now that's all I do. If I'm not reading one of the 56 short stories or 4 novels, I'm watching Jeremy Brett's masterful interpretation of it (keep in mind, this is only going on while E is sleeping...I'm not being neglectful).

My husband, B, has even gone so far as to tease me about my supposed crush on Mr. Holmes. I guess he's decided that a pipe-smoking, cocaine-shooting, detective is my type.

Now, there's a topic. Fictional character crushes. As odd as they are, I think we've all had them. I still remember coming out of Anastasia and all my friends swooning over an animated Demitri.

And who hasn't fallen in love with Mr. Knightly or Mr. Darcy?

Then there was my mom's crush (sorry to expose you, Mom) that we still tease her about to this day. Though hers was a historical figure...infinitely more dangerous. :) She fell for Colonel Chamberlin after watching Gettysburg. For the longest time, she never heard the end of it. We quoted his lines. We took her to Gettysburg and told the guide to tell us everything about the Colonel. I even think that floating around her house somewhere is a Chamberlin quotebook and a giant Chamberlin poster that showed up amongst her Mother's Day gifts that year.

My dad was the worst. Since Jeff Daniels played Chamberlin, every movie Jeff Daniels ever made started showing up at our house. I think it was probably Dumb & Dumber and Space Chimps that ruined her impression of Chamberlin...er...Daniels. I wouldn't be surprised if everything with Jeremy Brett -- excuse me, Red Lips, as B calls him--or Robert Downey Jr. starts showing up in our DVD player.

The whole thing is a little juvenile, isn't it? So fifth-grade.

At least I go into things completely whole-hearted, right? Shouldn't this discovery of how I obsess make me see my true nature as someone devoted to and passionate about life and things she loves? I have to see things through to the end. Once I finish reading and watching everything, I'll very likely completely and suddenly move on.

I don't know. If I start buying Sherlock Holmes action figures, please get me some help before I try to convince you to call me "Dr. Watson."

Now, off to 221B Baker Street....

Stalling

The company has left, the trip to the zoo is over, and now it's time to write again.

Today's topic: Handicapped restrooms. Now, I don't usually talk about bathroom stuff, but this story is too funny and makes too much of a point to be overlooked.

So the other day, we were at Target buying more Magic Erasers*, and I had to use the restroom before we left. We paid for everything and made our way into the lovely Target restroom.

At the time, my wonderful 2-year-old was buckled securely into the cart--a necessary measure if you know my 2-year-old. Or if you know any 2-year-old. So we make it into the restroom, and of course, I head for the roomy handicapped stall since there's no way I'm going to take E out of the cart and let her run free in the bathroom.

To my dismay, it was occupied. Now, I understand that handicapped people obviously have first priority here. Moms with strollers or child-laden carts are a distant, but necessary second. But through my powers of deductive reasoning, I determined this occupant wasn't in a wheel chair, nor did she have a walker or crutches or anything else. Doesn't necessarily mean that she didn't need a handicapped restroom, but Target has another stall with all the features of a handicapped stall that just isn't as big.

But I needed THAT one. So I waited. And waited. And waited. I thought about getting E out of the cart and taking her in with me unfettered when an image popped into my head of her squeezing her way under the door of the stall and running out into the store while I'm...you get the idea. So I waited. And waited some more.

Finally, when I was at my exploding point (both emotionally and physically), I pulled E out of the cart, left it there to block 3 other empty stalls, and squeezed into the other handicapped stall so at least I had a little more room.

As I'm sitting there, E starts putting her hands on everything. It's "E, don't touch that" and "E, that's gross." And then, amidst my cries of "E, no, no, no!" she does something terrible. She undoes the latch on the door.

Now, if you remember correctly, I had chosen the smaller, albeit roomier handicapped stall. And if you know anything about handicapped stalls, you'll remember the doors swing outward. Fairly quickly.

So here I am, E starting to take off out the door, sitting there incapacitated, with a door wide open to the restroom and its inhabitants. Somehow I managed to get it closed before E escaped. And by this time, the woman who had taken her time in the stall next to us was done and gone, no idea the trouble that she had caused.

Now, like I said, if you need to use the handicapped restroom, by all means, it's yours. But if you don't have a physical need, and you don't push around a child-yielding device with four wheels (or three, I guess), then please, please please, think of us poor moms juggling diaper bags, strollers, and yes, children who just need a little bathroom break and please, find your way to another stall.

The same goes for dressing rooms.



*Disclaimer: I did not actually buy Magic Erasers on this visit. This statement was just a little comedic aside and is what one might call "creative liberty." But my overactive conscience is at work. I'm a horrible liar.

It's About Time

So I decided that since I've been blogging in my head, it's probably about time to start writing everything down.

Today's topic: The Magic Eraser.

My wonderful little sister decided last week to come visit us after she finishes up her finals today. Hooray! This is an excellent development. We're all very excited.

So I set out today to clean the bathroom. Now, you have to understand, my fabulous little sister is very...clean. She's the ultimate housekeeper, craft-goddess, and head cook and will make someone a wonderful wife someday. But that sort of puts the pressure on me. My house has to be clean. Cleaner than when my mom comes to visit, but not quite as clean as when my mother-in-law comes to visit. When she comes I have to create the illusion that I'm perfectly capable of taking care of her son and granddaughter.

But let's be honest here. I'm not a cleaner. In general, my house is picked up and wiped down, but I'm really not a scrub-for-hours-and-use-your-elbow-grease kind of girl. I'm more of a pull-out-the-Clorox-wipes-and-call-it-good kind of girl.

Today I decided to tackle the shower door. Our house was a foreclosure, and I don't think the people who owned it before us even so much as tried to Windex that door. It's bad. I've tried all sorts of things on it, and nothing really works.

So today, I go to pull out some Clorox wipes, and I spot several boxes of Magic Erasers. Now I don't want this to turn into a commercial, so I'll forgoe saying which brand they were, but let's just say, the ones with the blue scrubbers on the back were sort of a dud, the store brand were okay, and the name brand were awesome! Anyway, since I am a "child of the media," I remembered seeing an image of someone scrubbing a shower door in the commercial and thought, hey, this could be an easy way out of using Tilex or Soft Scrub. SO I gave it a shot.

Magic Erasers, where have you been all my life? Besides in my cleaning supplies cabinet waiting to be used, I mean. It was awesome. How do they do it? I'm sure this is one of those miracle products that 20 years from now they're going to come out and tell us we'll all die because we used them. It's too good to be true.

I started tackling the shower tile. Little did I know, we have tan grout. Not white, tan. Our grout is tan. Three erasers and an hour of uncharacteristic scrubbing brought that out. It's actually kind of ugly. I think I liked soap-scum white better.

So, to my wonderful little sister, I hope when you shower, you'll look at that tan grout, think of my hard work, and smile. Know it was all for you.