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Saturday, September 10, 2011

I Am A Winner!

My parents always told me I was winner. Sadly, having never, in all my thirty-eight years, won anything, I've sometimes questioned whether they were just being nice.

But no more. Because today I am an actual winner. And here is what I have won:

I know, right? If there were three words to perfectly describe me these are definitely them. I'm not just sweet, I'm irresistibly sweet. People can not resist my powers of sweetness.
And versatile? Oh my goodness. You should see the many ways I can do stuff with things!

Many thanks go out to Jill, who nominated me for this award (which I am not sure is two or one. Is every  one who is irresistibly sweet also versatile? Are they two gifts that always go together? You can't be sweet wtihout being versatile? And vice versa?), and who has a blog here: that totally makes me LOL and often has me ROFLing.

Many thanks also go to the people who know me personally and will not be commenting on this blog about how I am actually more resistibly sarcasctic than irresisitibly sweet in real life.

As a recipient of this award I am now required to do the following:

                      1. Thank and link to the person who nominated me. -check

                      2. Share 7 random facts about myself. -will do

                      3. Pass the award to 5 blogger friends -will do

                      4. Contact and congratulate the nominated blogs. -will do

(I totally just copied and pasted that from Jill, because I could also win the Will Take Shortcuts award).

Here are the 7 random facts about me. Drumroll please:

1. It took years of practice and hard work, but I can touch my nose with my tongue. Impressive, I know.

2. I used to have an irrational fear of the ocean and everything in it. So I learned to scuba dive. Which taught me that 1) there are even more scary things in the ocean than I ever imagined and I still don't want to touch them and 2) I should not be afraid to try new things.

3. I got my driver's license when I was 14. No 14 year old--particularly my 14 year old self--should be allowed to legally operate a two ton killing machine.* But I think I'll go ahead and mine that period of my life for some very entertaining blogposts.

4. I love bacon, pork chops and pork tenderloin, but I will not eat ham. Or Canadian bacon. Those Canadians can not be trusted when it comes to bacon.

5. Band-aids gross me out. If my children choose to bleed, they have to administer to their own wounds.

6. My grandpa invented the tater tot. But I don't really like them..

7. The pride I take in being from Idaho borders on the annoyingness of Texans and their silly "Texas Forever" pride. But I don't ever want to live there again.

Here are my nominees;
1. Becca
2. Kelly
3. Kimberly
4. Kristine
5. Angie

Whew. That took a little bit of work. Still, it was pretty nice to win something.

I just hope it doesn't happen again anytime soon.

Unless it involves a giant check and Ed McMahon.

But, I think he may be dead. I should probably go Google that now.

* Two ton killing machine was an actual description used in one of the Driver's Ed films I was forced to watch. There's very little else I remember from that 12 week course. Except for the screams of my fellow instructees coming from the backseat of the car when I drove.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

How Thinking About Hoarding Makes Me Cry

In celebration of Labor Day, my family decided to forgo barbeques, the beach and all other fun day-off type activities in favor of actual labor. There may have been some strong arming and rallying cries of "School starts in two days! We need to get organized people!" on my part, but it was all in the spirit of celebrating our laboring forefathers fight against The Man. I got to play The Man. (I find I often get to play the part of the oppressor).

Some people spring clean, but I find a good before-school-starts cleaning to be far more beneficial. And necessary, by virtue of the fact we have neglected doing much cleaning all summer. And heaven knows nothing-- except homework-- gets done during the school year. And so the cleaning of closets, bedrooms, playrooms and such had to happen.

When I told Girl 1 we would REALLY be cleaning her room, because she could no longer use her floor as her closet, her response was, "I'm afraid I may be one of those people, like on that show, that can't throw anything away because they keep everything."

Me: "Do you mean Hoarders?"

Her: "Yeah, that one."

Me: "When did you watch Hoarders?"

Her: "At Grammy's"*

Me: thinking I should probably not be happy about her watching this show, and also assure her that her inability to throw things away is actually a laziness problem, as opposed to a psychological one, but instead, saying, "Well, you probably are a hoarder, judging by how much crap is currently littering every surface of your room, but if you clean it up, you'll be cured. Then we won't have to worry about the dog being buried alive somewhere in here and finding her when she's all crusty and decomposed."

Her: "I don't want to be one of those people... But I don't want to clean my room."

Me: "Start cleaning, or I will." (this is code for "I will throw everything you love in the garbage.")

And so we cleaned. And I wish I could write an inspiring story about how we worked together as a team and had so much fun and I taught her so many valuable life lessons as we went. But really, it just sucked and I said things like, "When are you going to need your notebook from 2nd grade again? You're in 5th grade now." and "We are NEVER having a doggy spa at our house again, so you can go ahead and throw away that schedule you made" in a really loud angry voice.

Part of the problem with cleaning her room was the little part of me that didn't want her to throw away that 2nd grade notebook. I wanted to sit down and look at it and remember her three years ago and what she was learning then. Because now we are reaching a point where she knows so much and I can feel her slipping away a little more each day.

She makes me crazy, but I want to hoard her.  I'm torn between wanting to watch her grow and learn and wanting to keep every little piece of her locked away in a treasure box that I can keep all to myself. But not in a creepy/Mom's-gone-crazy way. I just want to be able to pull her five year old self out of that box and spend a little time with her. Then put her away and pull out her two year old self-- before she had sisters-- and we would sit in the rocking chair reading and cuddling.

I wish I could keep every picture she's drawn, every story she's written, every project she's completed. I wish I could remember every funny thing she's done and every word she's said-- at least the nice ones. Mostly, though, I wish time wouldn't go so quickly.

I spent a lot of years thinking it couldn't go fast enough. Years of pregnancies, diaper changes, potty training, permanent markers on fresh painted walls, permanent markers on freshly bathed children. Years of questions about what could we possibly be thinking leaving markers out--again.

Now I think it all went too fast. I should have used one of those permanent markers on my memory because I'm forgetting too much of who she was.

And darn it, this post was supposed to be a funny one about hoarding.

But now I'm crying.

So I guess my next post will be about the funny hoarding tendencies of my parents and in-laws. I have none of my own, of course. Except when it comes to my children. If I figure out how to hoard them without all their crap, I just may do it.

* other shows watched at Grammy's house: Cops, Lock Up, and UFC fights. It is a price I am willing to pay for a week alone with my husband once a year.