Friday, January 28, 2011
Bernie wasn't pumping gas.
Neal gets so frustrated at me because I usually don't get gas until the light comes on. All the stations in Keizer are at least ten cents more a gallon than Costco, so I wait till I'm in the neighborhood to get gas. But I was thinking, it only saves me about $1.50 per tank, so is it really worth it? Probably not. But, Costco has the Bernie Factor.
Monday night, Neal and I had tickets to a Trail Blazers game. I haven't been to an NBA game since I was in high school, so this was pretty fun. I used to LOVE basketball, and I knew all of the players and the good teams and I watched every single Jazz game. Then I got married and somehow, I just don't care anymore. It must have something to do with marrying a non-jock. Or, maybe we're too busy being in love to care about basketball games.
We had a great time. Our tickets were Club Seats, so there was all you can eat food and drinks for the entire game! Good food, too. And coke products. And candy bars. I may or may not have come home with a few snickers and twix stashed away in my Mormon purse. During the game, I remembered why I loved basketball so much. I got pretty excited, and I think I embarrassed Neal with my yelling and Oooing and Doh!-ing. My older brother used to always tell me to "Shut up!" as we watched basketball games on the tv.
All of my kids are sleeping over at Neal's parents house tonight. They even took the dog! I feel like a teenager who is left home alone for the weekend! A boring teenager, who doesn't throw parties or even drink. But, free, none the less, to watch what I want on Netflix, or walk around in my underwear (I do that sometimes anyway), or eat ice cream without waiting for the kids to go to bed so I don't have to share. Neal and I are going out to dinner tonight, and who knows from there. . . I am still on the fertility wagon, so maybe we'll do some work!
Dang fertility wagon. I've been thinking, I hope by talking about my private, secret, personal feminine matters, I'm not giving the wrong impression. Our quest to have more children is not in any way born of feelings of deficiency, or lack of blessings or gratitude. We are so grateful to have 3 kids. THREE! That's a lot of humans. And they're great. And if that's all we have, I am perfectly ready to accept that and be grateful and never be sad that I couldn't have more. Because three kids is such a wonderful blessing. And there are so many others that go through so much more to have any children at all. I hope I've never given the impression that I'm frustrated or not at peace. Yes, this medicine is the devil and I wish I didn't have to take it, but oh well. It is what it is, and I'm happy with whatever the outcome.
Until then, I'm sure I will continue to update on our progress and give those little details I'm sure you wish you'd never read. Like "post-coital." And, if it bugs you? Meh. I really don't care.
Monday, January 24, 2011
If an "apology" section existed in the Sacrament meeting programs, I would have sent off a submission yesterday for smelling like fried potatoes when we sauntered into the meeting as a wafting family, and plopped our foodie butts down on the bench. We had a breakfast-dinner on Saturday night, with left over hashbrowns. And who doesn't love a breakfast with those left over hash browns made into cakes and fried to a crisp in hot oil? One of my favorites. I'll tell you who doesn't like it - those who were sitting next to us and had a sense of smell. Particular apologies go out to any pregnant blood hounds in the congregation. Oh well. Breakfast was tasty, and the husband was a happy fella with a full belly. My work is done.
I have a dilemma. We have what's called a "community library" in Keizer. It's nothing more than a room full of donated books, with old volunteers who work from 1-4 pm. Seriously, a room in the downstairs of one of the old city buildings. I've donated some pretty good books to the library too. Like best seller, hard copies, because I'm cool like that. Anyway, over the summer, we went there a few times and checked out some books, all of which I returned. I'm sure of it! Well, I got a phone call a couple of days ago from a seriously old man who told me I still had "The Outsiders" and some other book. What? I have no way of proving that I turned them in, and he assured me that they're not on the shelves and I still have them in my possession.
So, what do I do? I'm thinking I just do nothing. Maybe they'll call me a few times. I hope they don't make me pay for them, because they were donated in the first place. I just won't go back there again, I guess. Who needs libraries anyway?
"Why would you want to read when you got the television set sitting right in front of you? There's nothing you can get from a book that you can't get from a television faster."
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
My parents had just moved across town into a rental house while they built their new house. I was home from college for the weekend because my brother had just returned home from his mission. This was my first time at this new house.
Naturally, we were having a little "Welcome Home" gathering for my brother. I was helping my mom bring food out to the yard for the celebration. She handed me a gigantic bowl of hot nacho cheese. I carried it through my Dad's office to go out the door. But I didn't make it. Neither did the cheese. I dropped the bowl of hot nacho cheese into the red shag. When the bowl hit, it was like an eruption. The mushroom cloud of cheese hit the ceiling. And me. And my dad's computer. And the keyboard. I'll never forget what nacho cheese looks like when it's inside of a dot matrix printer.
What's funny, is my mom immediately knew what happened, almost like she was expecting it from her clumsy daughter.
That same day, after a change of clothes, I was exploring my parents new place. I went to go see the garage. I opened the door, and walked inside of the dark room. And fell straight down. It was the cellar, not the garage. My mom screamed as she watched me fall. Then we laughed. We're still laughing.
Last Thursday night, I was finishing up the dishes with Sarah. I noticed something in the sink and thought it was a long piece of ice. It was sticking out of the sink. So I grabbed it and pulled. It was a shard of pyrex from the handle of my 9x13, and it sliced through my thumb pretty good. Like, "Sarah, go get dad" good. It was evening, and my urgent care clinic was closed. I was NOT about the go to the ER, just to have them super glue my cut back together while they stole all my money. So Neal skipped his meetings and took me to Target to go shopping for our own glue. I walked through the store with my hand in my pocket the entire time, bleeding into a rag. It didn't stop bleeding till morning.
We found the skin glue. Actually, I'm pretty sure it was a mixture of gasoline and lemon juice. With maybe just a pinch of salt to give it "HOLY HELL" stinging status. One week later, I can finally take the band-aids off!
It's healing quite nicely.
I skipped dish duty for a few days. Monday I decided I could help again. While drying the large salad bowl, I dropped it. Of course, I tried to catch it, but only ended up slamming my hand down on top of broken bowl. Five more cuts. To the other hand.
Glass slivers were everywhere! Seriously, everywhere. Check under your chair. I'm sure there are some glass shards from my bowl.
Which leads me into my parental practice of promising my kids I would never get mad at them for breaking dishes. Because I break them all the time. There were a few years where I only had plastic cups, because I was such a disaster. And, I broke all the glass ones so only the plastic ones were left.
I may not get mad at them for breaking dishes, but I DO embarrass them every time that Bruno Mars song comes on the radio. I sing it really loud, slap Sarah's leg, and funk my neck around. They hate it because they tell me I ruin the song. And embarrass them. I'm especially gyratious (is that a word?) while at stop lights.
Yesterday as I was taking Sarah to school, that song came on just as I was dropping her off. I told her I was going to sing it to her out my window as she walked away.
"They got nothin on youuuuuuu baby! Nothing on youuuuu baby! Nu nu nu nothing on you girl. Nu nu nu nothing on you!"
Just threatening to do that was enough to turn Sarah's face red in anticipation of the agony. I spared her this time.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
For the last few years, we've had our bed on risers. More room to store things, like dust, or socks, or a slipper, or errant toys that get kicked under the bed. The usual. Oh, and my ice axe that I plan on using on a robber, if the occasion ever presents itself, and a gun or two (don't worry, the guns are trigger locked).
Monday, January 10, 2011
A benefit to having a dog who grows hair: no shedding. A downer to having a dog who grows hair: cutting the hair. It takes forever, and I'm way too cheap to pay someone else to do it. So naturally, as the way most homes with dogs go, mom ends up giving the bulk of care to the dog. Note to self: I'm pretty sure I'm more of a cat person. Don't get me wrong, I love Molly. Dogs are just more maintenance than cats.
I won't pay someone else to cut Molly's hair, but I DID spring for the self-serve "Pup in a Tub." They have a place to groom your own dog, and nice tubs to wash the dog. No stinking up my bathroom! Anyway, but the time we were done (two hours of back-bending-hair-cutting and bathing), we were exhausted.
Of course, I did not want to make dinner. So Neal took us all to Roundtable for pizza. I asked anyone if they wanted a salad bar. Nope. So, I was the lone salad bar eater at our table. The kids are like their dad - pizza is pretty much the best food ever. Why would I want to eat salad? I'm pretty sure the workers were glad to see us go, because Abby is very fond of bouncing in their booths and leaving greasy hand prints all over the backs of the seats. It was nice and we had fun.
After pizza, we headed to Petco to buy some dog food. You can't take your kids to a pet store without looking around at all of the animals. Kate loves the chickens (parakeets). Sarah? She preferred the dog-product section.
Neal put it on her, and when some fellow customers came around the corner, she frantically tried (in vain) to get it off. We had the cross-your-legs-laugh of the weekend right there in the back of the store. Sarah's face can turn quite red.
Next, we moved on to the rat/gerbil/hamster/guinea pig/ferret section. Ok, rats have the biggest, draggiest, grossest testicles! We were thoroughly disgusted. I don't think it would be possible to hold a male rat and avoid touching the testicles. Ugh, I'm getting the gags just thinking about them. Another note to self: don't own a male rat.
Aside: we have been rat owners before. When Sarah was about 3, Neal took her to the pet store to buy a rat. I was at work. When I came home, we had a rat named JoAnn.
And yesterday, we were spending our Sunday evening at Neal's parents watching the original "True Grit" with John Wayne. We saw the new one on Friday. Really good show. Both versions. Anyway, Neal's dad mentioned to Sarah that one of his friends granddaughters got a compound bow for her 11th birthday. Suddenly, I heard Sarah say, "WHAT?? A compound bow for her 11th birthday!! I am 13, and MY parents haven't so much as bought me a POCKET KNIFE!! That is SO not fair!" My ears perked up. Neal and I looked at Neal's parents with puzzled expressions.
"Uh, you want pocket knives and bows and arrows?? That is the first time we've heard tell of that (we'd been watching too many westerns at this point). Since when did you want weapons for your birthday?"
"Since forever! I want to collect pocket knives and go deer hunting!" (Keep in mind, this is our girl who would have joined PETA a mere 4 or 5 years ago)
I've heard that teenagers can be confusing. We're still a little puzzled. I guess Neal now has an excuse to get back into hunting and gun-buying.
Speaking of deer hunting, Abby's favorite movie right now is Bambi. I think I see a future familial confrontation coming down the "love at home" pipe.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Lucky for Kate, the procedure was done with sedation. Sarah wasn't so lucky. It was just some medicine to make her loopy and forget. Boy oh boy, Kate would make a funny, happy drunk! We had such a good time laughing at her as she kept laughing and falling over and saying crazy things. On the drive home, she kept saying, "Why is there a pig in the car?" and "Who is the big, fat lady in the car?" I answered "me" to both of those questions, but she wasn't convinced. She doesn't remember anything except a machine (the xray machine) and some of the car ride home. That's good stuff!
We shall see how things go.
Speaking of good medicine, I'm back on the anti-depressant wagon. It's kind of depressing really, but then you take them for a week or so and don't feel depressed about it anymore. Amazing! The last 6 weeks have been a doozy. The fertility medicine doesn't help my already unstable condition. It has wacked-out my hormones, which have always been a bit wacked to begin with. Just ask my parents, six siblings, husband and children. One day I'm cool, the next day, I'm crazy. It's been pretty intense. Like, "Mom, why are you acting so weird?" intense. And Neal pulling me aside, and tenderly saying, "We need to do something about this."
Neal, by the way, is a freaking saint. Seriously. I love that man.
So basically, I've been a mess since Thanksgiving. Mad, sad, bad, rad and everything in between. And an extra helping of depressed. It's been nearly impossible to drag my butt out of bed in the mornings, because I'm not sleeping well. So, when I would get my butt downstairs for morning prayers and scripture study, I was bringing a grouchy butt. Seriously. And when Mom gets grouchy, everyone gets grouchy (I hate that pressure, by the way). One morning, I was growling at everybody and everything. We were taking turns reading the scriptures, and after every verse, someone would say something snarky to someone else. Sarah finally said, "Could we please stop the dramatic pauses in between every verse?!" Well said, Sarah.
I'm feeling a little better for now, and don't feel so much like I'm treading water and slowly sinking.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
The traffic, however, did get a little hairy the week before Christmas. They have arrows and a certain direction that people are to drive, so there is some sort of order. And those of us who live in the neighborhood can drive the opposite direction so as not to get stuck in traffic. It worked most of the time, except when some retards would think they were being so smart and they would drive the route, super slow, in the opposite direction.
Overall, it was really fun to see all of the creativity. There were tons and tons of nativities, which is nice to see, seeing how it is all about Jesus. There was one house in particular, that had a cross out front that was covered in lights. Reddish/orangish lights. I never did get a picture, and for that, I am sorry. But it looked just like a cross on fire. I'm not sure that was the image they were trying to convey.
I love nativity sets, and I like to collect them. Of course, we try and teach the little kiddos about who everyone is. By the time Christmas rolled around, Abby was pointing to the people and saying, "Mary Joe! Jesus Joe! Daddy Jesus!" She's getting there.
Speaking of nativities, in primary a couple of weeks ago, the music leader was having kids pick out figures of the nativity and arrange them on the table. One of the kids pulled out a shepherd and said, "Hey look! A terrorist!" It's so hard not to laugh.
Of course for Christmas, at least one of our kids got a coloring book. It's kind of something I always remember getting as a kid, so we carry it on. Not for 13 year old Sarah, of course. She would roll her eyes and snort if we got her a coloring book. But Kate got one. I was so proud when I found Sarah and Kate huddled over the coloring book, giggling, and writing speech bubbles by all of the characters. Most of them were saying something about poo, I'm sure. Ahhhhh, just like what their mother and aunts used to do to their Christmas coloring books. It was a proud moment.