I, like many of you, have drawers in my kitchen. They are very handy for holding things and even more handy at hiding things. For example, my drawer at the bottom of a row (column?) of three other drawers. This is where I keep-- but mostly lose-- kid stuff like crayons, coloring books, times table flash cards and math homework packets (perhaps this is why my kids are no math geniuses).
And I call it (cue ominous dum da dum music) The Drawer.
Every few years, after much yanking and pulling, I will pry that drawer open and think, what the hey, I think I'll clean this puppy out. But maybe not so chipper.
Mostly these moments come when I have something new to lose in the abyss of The Drawer or my children are MIA and won't see me throw things away they have forgotten but from which they will not willingly part. This week, however, the stars aligned so both of these events were in concurrence: no children and new stuff.
I know you're dying to know what I bought for The Drawer, so I will tell you.
More stuff. The educational kind. Because I read that book about the Tiger Mom (or at least the articles about the book) and decided to get in on that whole make-your-kids-be-successful-so-it-looks-like-you're-a-pro-mom thing.
Thus my little soon-to-be-smarty-pants tiger cubs and I went to the learning store where they sell lots of teachery things and when you walk in you think I could totally home-school but then you remember that would entail your kids being at home with you trying to school them instead of enjoying a kidless breakfast with your friends. And so you come to your senses and decide to just buy them stuff that is hard enough to make them super smart but easy enough to do without parental help.
A hundred dollars later you walk out of the store with a bag that is almost as light as your now empty wallet and think, These kids dang well better turn out smarter than their mother. But maybe with more curse words thrown in, if you're me anyway, because they don't count if they're in your head.
Of course I needed somewhere to store all of our fantastic new braniac products in those rare moments when my little Einsteins won't be using them this summer and the most logical place for that is The Drawer.
And so I cleaned it. And here are the interesting things I found:
* Slightly used, but still in good condition, with hardly any marks on the pages, workbooks from the
Tiger Moms R Us store, purchased in summers past.
* Many, many, and I do mean many, gallon size plastic baggies. I was wondering where those had got off to.
* Enough broken crayons, dried-out markers, nubby colored pencils, and glueless glue sticks to fill each of those thousand baggies. Twice.
* Gift certificates for free food items at various local restaurants we don't frequent due to love for our clog-free arteries. Given to my children by said producers of processed "food" as rewards for reading books. So they can be both fat and nerdy. (In case you're wondering, I did not throw them away because I'll use them in a pinch when I don't feel like cooking. I call those days summer).
* The notepad I bought for a dollar at Michaels months ago because I liked the witty quip on it and I needed somewhere cute to write my grocery and to do lists. The forgotten quip was not nearly as witty as I remembered, but still wittier than the "I Sell Houses" quip on the notepad I have been using. Though that one was $1 cheaper.
There were lots of other fun things in there too, but I'm sure your drawer has the same stuff. If not, I will dig my drawer crap out of the garbage to send to you. Shipping and handling not included.
In the meantime, I am going to bask in the joy of The Drawer's cleanliness.
At least until tomorrow when my kids get home.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
The Sound of Silence
Listen...
Do you hear it?
That, my friends, is the sound of silence (cue Simon and Garfunkle background music).
"But, what have you done with the children?" you ask.
Well, I left them in Las Vegas. And--to answer your next question about what kind of mother leaves her children in the City of Sin-- the kind who has saintly in-laws willing to keep them for a week.
So what am I going to do with my kid-free week? Well, since you asked (you're just chock full of questions today) here is my list:
* Clean and organize all of my closets
* Make my garden grow -- the food plants in it, not the weed ones (that part I've mastered)
* Pay the bills and make a budget that will magically make it easier to afford to pay the bills
* Throw away all the crap my kids have collected-- and forgotten-- but can't possibly live without if they see it in the trash
* Turn our garbage dump back into a garage
* Not eat the dozen Bundtlets from Nothing Bundt Cakes that are in my fridge
* Fill the water barrels. Because it's been two years and they are not going to fill themselves
* Learn how to use my food storage
* Get some food storage
* Write a book
Here is what I have actually accomplished:
* Eaten only two bundtlets
* Stared at a blank computer screen
* Surfed (the internet)
* Got a pedicure
* Had lunch with friends
Mostly though, I have sat in my too quiet house trying to enjoy the silence, but really just missing the noise.
... Maybe not the fighting noise though.
...Yeah, definitely not missing that.
Do you hear it?
That, my friends, is the sound of silence (cue Simon and Garfunkle background music).
"But, what have you done with the children?" you ask.
Well, I left them in Las Vegas. And--to answer your next question about what kind of mother leaves her children in the City of Sin-- the kind who has saintly in-laws willing to keep them for a week.
So what am I going to do with my kid-free week? Well, since you asked (you're just chock full of questions today) here is my list:
* Clean and organize all of my closets
* Make my garden grow -- the food plants in it, not the weed ones (that part I've mastered)
* Pay the bills and make a budget that will magically make it easier to afford to pay the bills
* Throw away all the crap my kids have collected-- and forgotten-- but can't possibly live without if they see it in the trash
* Turn our garbage dump back into a garage
* Not eat the dozen Bundtlets from Nothing Bundt Cakes that are in my fridge
* Fill the water barrels. Because it's been two years and they are not going to fill themselves
* Learn how to use my food storage
* Get some food storage
* Write a book
Here is what I have actually accomplished:
* Eaten only two bundtlets
* Stared at a blank computer screen
* Surfed (the internet)
* Got a pedicure
* Had lunch with friends
Mostly though, I have sat in my too quiet house trying to enjoy the silence, but really just missing the noise.
... Maybe not the fighting noise though.
...Yeah, definitely not missing that.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
These Are My Sister Wives, Except They Don't Sleep With My Husband
Subtitle: P.S. They're Not Married to Him Either (remember my post about Mormons and how they don't practice polygamy anymore? Still True.)
Today is my 38th birthday. I know this because my Irish twin brother called me and so I asked him how old he turned last month. 37. So that makes me 38.
And you know what? 38 is pretty great.
Better than 28, when I was trying to figure out how to be a new mom and lose the 60 pounds of pregnancy weight I had put on.
Loads better than 18 when I was trying to figure out everything, but somehow knew it all.
So I'll take 38 and celebrate. Which I did on Thursday because one of my oldest (as in, I've known her for a long time, not, she's-an-old-lady old), best friends threw me a rockin' birthday party.
Here is a picture of us, not at my party, but in Hawaii a few years ago during our Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition shoot. Don't be jealous of our supermodeliness.
A lot of friends came to my party which made me feel very special-- I like to feel special. And grateful. Because I don't think there is a better group of women anywhere. You can disagree with me and tell me how great your friends are. And I'm sure they are. But my friends are still better than your friends. And this is my tribute to them:
![]()
From the back, left to right
Karen: one of my Original Girlfriends whom I've known for almost 20 years now since she was a Laura Ashley dress, Doc Marten wearing (at the same time) freshman at the BYU. She knows all my secrets and will drive through L.A. traffic to come party with me and my friends in the O.C. even though most of us are blonde and tan.
Allyson: we spent three years of playgroup and pre-school together and then had to break up when our kids went to school. Now we have to settle for seeing each other every six months or so, but that gives us lots to talk about and it's always fun to catch up.
Sally: my investment club co-hort, gardening guidance counselor, and never grouchy neighbor. She likes me even though she is the nicest person in the whole world and I am not.
Heather S.: an actual model, she is generous enough to not get dolled up too often so she's only pretty instead of gorgeous. Then the rest of us don't feel so bad.
Valerie: mother extraordinaire who can hold her own in any crisis. I'm so glad there are people like her who have the courage--unlike me--to raise a lotta kids and raise them well.
Tracine: who is not going through chemo, she just needs a haircut in a bad way. She is one of the most interesting people I know. And I love to hold her baby.
Camille: I've tried to get adopted into her family because they are so awesome (not that mine isn't, hers is just 900 miles closer). She holds the title of The Most Creative Woman In The World. And I love to hold her baby too.
April: for years our paths crossed sporadically. I'm so glad they cross on a more regular basis now. Plus I want to go shopping with her because she always looks cute.
Alison: she's helped me birth my babies, find my dumb dog, decorate my house, raise my kids, and thrown me three awesome baby showers and one fantastic 38th birthday party...Seriously, what would I do without her?
Kjersten: she doesn't just bring the party where ever she goes, she IS the party. There is no one more fun than this girl. She has a talent for making everyone else feel like the center of attention.
Heather B.: this girl throws the parties. And they are AWESOME. No one is more generous. Everyone knows she has a lot because she gives so much.
Monica: we've shared many a breakfast and it's my favorite part of the week. She's tried to move away but we just keep pulling her back in. Because our lives are better with her.
Clea: I made her burned grilled cheese once when she was sad and she's still grateful for it. If I need to know something about anything, I ask Clea. Or if I need to borrow some cowboy boots, Clea's my girl.
Katie: she has 4 kids under the age of 6-- half of whom are twins-- and yet she still finds time to plan and organize a Daddy Daughter Sock Hop. Here is a peek at its fantasticness:
![]()
For which I spent my birthday making poodle skirts so my family could party without me. But I love her anyway. She amazes me. (Did I mention 3/4 of her kids are boys, and well-behaved ones at that?)
Jenny: we've preschooled and playgrouped our way through all of my kids and three of hers. We've quilted, activity dayed, exercised and park dayed together. We've laughed a lot and we've mourned a lot. And we're still mourning the loss of her son and our dream that one day my girl #2 would be Tess Hess.
Sheridan: my friend who teaches babies how to hypnotize people into having more of them. But I could be wrong about that, so you should read her blog here: enjoybirth.com/blog. She is awesome and one day we will go shopping again only this time I will make sure she wears a proper bra instead of packing one unpadded enough to be crumpled into her purse.
Angela: the better half of the "young Larsens." Good thing I like her so much otherwise I just might resent being part of the "old Larsens."
Brooke: she married my cousin's ex-boyfriend and still likes me even though I often introduce her to people like that. Co-room momming is just one of her many, many talents.
Bethany: who came late after the picture was taken because she was busy teaching all of our kids to swim so they don't drown in frothy swimming pools filled with whipped cream and flailing arms and legs. Best. Swim Teacher. Ever.
And a shout out to a few more girlfriends, far and near, who couldn't make the party.
Melanie: who inspires/encourages me to write and lets me win at Scrabble and games with trains. If you haven't read her book, you should. It's called The List and you can go here to get it: http://readandwritestuff.blogspot.com/
Nikki: who has enough faith to ride through the chaos of raising 7 kids--twins,triplets,single and soon-to-be single--with her hands in the air, screaming with joy. And sometimes frustration.
Paula: she's taught me that faith means more than just living your religion and I learn from her example every day. We will always have Belize.
Anonymous: she gave me the best girlfriend quote ever: "if God wanted me to have sex with my husband every night he would have given me more energy." AND I wish I could give credit where credit is due, but I don't want to embarass her.
Big Emma: her girls are my girls and I can always count on her for shopping and cooking advice. I just wish she were still close enough for me to invite myself over for Sunday dinner.
Lynn, Beth, Suzi: the other three Original Girlfriends. The Dancing Queens who could have warned Shawn what he was in for living with me, but were kind enough not to. Girl(s) You Know It's True...Ooh Ooh Ooh, I Love You.
These are my sisters. We laugh, cry, eat, bunko, read, swim, beach, play, and mourn together. We take care of each other and each other's kids. We can see each other once a day, or once a year, but our bonds of friendship keep us tied together no matter how far apart we may be.
They are like my sister wives, only better because I don't have to share my husband with them. Which is good, because he is also awesome and has spent many Thursdays and a few weekends alone so I could have my girl time.
Many thanks to all of you and the many more who aren't on this list but are still my sisters. My cup runneth over.
Today is my 38th birthday. I know this because my Irish twin brother called me and so I asked him how old he turned last month. 37. So that makes me 38.
And you know what? 38 is pretty great.
Better than 28, when I was trying to figure out how to be a new mom and lose the 60 pounds of pregnancy weight I had put on.
Loads better than 18 when I was trying to figure out everything, but somehow knew it all.
So I'll take 38 and celebrate. Which I did on Thursday because one of my oldest (as in, I've known her for a long time, not, she's-an-old-lady old), best friends threw me a rockin' birthday party.
Here is a picture of us, not at my party, but in Hawaii a few years ago during our Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition shoot. Don't be jealous of our supermodeliness.
Karen: one of my Original Girlfriends whom I've known for almost 20 years now since she was a Laura Ashley dress, Doc Marten wearing (at the same time) freshman at the BYU. She knows all my secrets and will drive through L.A. traffic to come party with me and my friends in the O.C. even though most of us are blonde and tan.
Allyson: we spent three years of playgroup and pre-school together and then had to break up when our kids went to school. Now we have to settle for seeing each other every six months or so, but that gives us lots to talk about and it's always fun to catch up.
Sally: my investment club co-hort, gardening guidance counselor, and never grouchy neighbor. She likes me even though she is the nicest person in the whole world and I am not.
Heather S.: an actual model, she is generous enough to not get dolled up too often so she's only pretty instead of gorgeous. Then the rest of us don't feel so bad.
Valerie: mother extraordinaire who can hold her own in any crisis. I'm so glad there are people like her who have the courage--unlike me--to raise a lotta kids and raise them well.
Tracine: who is not going through chemo, she just needs a haircut in a bad way. She is one of the most interesting people I know. And I love to hold her baby.
Camille: I've tried to get adopted into her family because they are so awesome (not that mine isn't, hers is just 900 miles closer). She holds the title of The Most Creative Woman In The World. And I love to hold her baby too.
April: for years our paths crossed sporadically. I'm so glad they cross on a more regular basis now. Plus I want to go shopping with her because she always looks cute.
Alison: she's helped me birth my babies, find my dumb dog, decorate my house, raise my kids, and thrown me three awesome baby showers and one fantastic 38th birthday party...Seriously, what would I do without her?
Kjersten: she doesn't just bring the party where ever she goes, she IS the party. There is no one more fun than this girl. She has a talent for making everyone else feel like the center of attention.
Heather B.: this girl throws the parties. And they are AWESOME. No one is more generous. Everyone knows she has a lot because she gives so much.
Monica: we've shared many a breakfast and it's my favorite part of the week. She's tried to move away but we just keep pulling her back in. Because our lives are better with her.
Clea: I made her burned grilled cheese once when she was sad and she's still grateful for it. If I need to know something about anything, I ask Clea. Or if I need to borrow some cowboy boots, Clea's my girl.
Katie: she has 4 kids under the age of 6-- half of whom are twins-- and yet she still finds time to plan and organize a Daddy Daughter Sock Hop. Here is a peek at its fantasticness:
Jenny: we've preschooled and playgrouped our way through all of my kids and three of hers. We've quilted, activity dayed, exercised and park dayed together. We've laughed a lot and we've mourned a lot. And we're still mourning the loss of her son and our dream that one day my girl #2 would be Tess Hess.
Sheridan: my friend who teaches babies how to hypnotize people into having more of them. But I could be wrong about that, so you should read her blog here: enjoybirth.com/blog. She is awesome and one day we will go shopping again only this time I will make sure she wears a proper bra instead of packing one unpadded enough to be crumpled into her purse.
Angela: the better half of the "young Larsens." Good thing I like her so much otherwise I just might resent being part of the "old Larsens."
Brooke: she married my cousin's ex-boyfriend and still likes me even though I often introduce her to people like that. Co-room momming is just one of her many, many talents.
Bethany: who came late after the picture was taken because she was busy teaching all of our kids to swim so they don't drown in frothy swimming pools filled with whipped cream and flailing arms and legs. Best. Swim Teacher. Ever.
And a shout out to a few more girlfriends, far and near, who couldn't make the party.
Melanie: who inspires/encourages me to write and lets me win at Scrabble and games with trains. If you haven't read her book, you should. It's called The List and you can go here to get it: http://readandwritestuff.blogspot.com/
Nikki: who has enough faith to ride through the chaos of raising 7 kids--twins,triplets,single and soon-to-be single--with her hands in the air, screaming with joy. And sometimes frustration.
Paula: she's taught me that faith means more than just living your religion and I learn from her example every day. We will always have Belize.
Anonymous: she gave me the best girlfriend quote ever: "if God wanted me to have sex with my husband every night he would have given me more energy." AND I wish I could give credit where credit is due, but I don't want to embarass her.
Big Emma: her girls are my girls and I can always count on her for shopping and cooking advice. I just wish she were still close enough for me to invite myself over for Sunday dinner.
Lynn, Beth, Suzi: the other three Original Girlfriends. The Dancing Queens who could have warned Shawn what he was in for living with me, but were kind enough not to. Girl(s) You Know It's True...Ooh Ooh Ooh, I Love You.
These are my sisters. We laugh, cry, eat, bunko, read, swim, beach, play, and mourn together. We take care of each other and each other's kids. We can see each other once a day, or once a year, but our bonds of friendship keep us tied together no matter how far apart we may be.
They are like my sister wives, only better because I don't have to share my husband with them. Which is good, because he is also awesome and has spent many Thursdays and a few weekends alone so I could have my girl time.
Many thanks to all of you and the many more who aren't on this list but are still my sisters. My cup runneth over.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Work is Fun, But Fun is Funner
So yesterday was the last day of school, which left me a little teary-eyed. And not because I have to --I mean, get to--entertain my children an extra thirty hours per week now. No, my tears were because I loved my girls' teachers and was sad to tell them good-bye. Especially my fourth grader's. Mrs. J. is a once-in-a-lifetime kind of teacher and I am praying my younger girls get her so I, at least, can experience her thrice in a lifetime.
I got to know Mrs. J. pretty well because I was one of her room moms. It was kind of a big job because she does a lotta stuff for her students, so yeah, it took two of us. Luckily we're both Mormon moms, so, according to what Mrs. J. knows about Mormons, we are crafty (but not in a Beastie Boys She's Crafty, sort of way--I'm assuming), we bake, and we have very organized closets. I did not correct her on that last one. But co-room mom and I did have to step up and show her we could craft and bake. Sew (get it?) we made her a quilt and it's awesomeness made her cry. And, for the last day of school party, I took the industrial size bag of Krusteaz from my food storage and we made pancakes for the kids.
Mrs. J. was mightily impressed. I did not mention that the Krusteaz was the extent of my food storage (I'm hoping the apocalypse is not scheduled for tomorrow). I did tell her that she, too, could totally do the Mormon thing if she wanted. I have connections so, you know, it wouldn't be that hard to get her in. I think she's thinking about it and now I can say I've done my missionary work. For life. Glad I can check that one off the list before I'm translated.
After I dried my tears my girls and I headed to the park for the annual Last Day of School Whipped Cream Fight. And then to the pool, because there was no way in Hel....ck I was letting those sticky monsters into my car or house.
And you know who else was at the pool? About four million other people under the age of twelve. I actually had to watch my children to make sure they didn't drown under all those other bodies. This was no easy task, not just because of all the other little people, but also because of the whipped cream cloudiness of the water.
I also grew concerned that the minions would realize they vastly outnumbered their oppressors (collectively known as The Mom) and would rise up against us. I envisioned life after the overthrow and shuddered at the thought of radio and TV stations playing only songs and shows produced by the Disney machine. When I Realized life wouldn't be much different than it is now, I relaxed. Plus the minions were too busy trying to drown each other to recognize the perfect opportunity for mass rebellion.
Now that the last day of school fun is out of the way, mission Work Is Fun can begin. Today is the day we catch up on all the things we've put off in the midst of the last-weeks-of-school chaos that usually ensues about January. Things like, cleaning the bathrooms, throwing away a year's worth of school papers/lunches which have accumulated in backpacks, putting said backpacks away until September when I am ready to trip over them again, feeding the dog (she's probably pretty hungry by now), weeding the garden to see if we have edible plants growing there, etc. etc.
We should be able to finish most of that today. Except... I just got a text about a pool party/BBQ going on right now at a friend's house. And it is Summer Solstice, so technically it's a holiday. So maybe we'll start those jobs tomorrow.
Except... I promised the kids we'd go to the lake tomorrow. Plus we've got swim lessons at 6:00. So there's no real point in starting something we won't have time to finish. We'll start Friday.
Except... well, Friday is Friday and you can't really say TGIF if Friday isn't fun.
And Saturday's my birthday. So, you know, that's another holiday.
We'll start Monday. I mean, a week after Monday since the kids are going to their grandparents' for a week (have I mentioned I love my in-laws?). I'm sure the dog is just fake starving anyway. And I can only smell the bathrooms when I'm near the house. So I guess that's one more reason we should maybe not stay home today.
I got to know Mrs. J. pretty well because I was one of her room moms. It was kind of a big job because she does a lotta stuff for her students, so yeah, it took two of us. Luckily we're both Mormon moms, so, according to what Mrs. J. knows about Mormons, we are crafty (but not in a Beastie Boys She's Crafty, sort of way--I'm assuming), we bake, and we have very organized closets. I did not correct her on that last one. But co-room mom and I did have to step up and show her we could craft and bake. Sew (get it?) we made her a quilt and it's awesomeness made her cry. And, for the last day of school party, I took the industrial size bag of Krusteaz from my food storage and we made pancakes for the kids.
Mrs. J. was mightily impressed. I did not mention that the Krusteaz was the extent of my food storage (I'm hoping the apocalypse is not scheduled for tomorrow). I did tell her that she, too, could totally do the Mormon thing if she wanted. I have connections so, you know, it wouldn't be that hard to get her in. I think she's thinking about it and now I can say I've done my missionary work. For life. Glad I can check that one off the list before I'm translated.
After I dried my tears my girls and I headed to the park for the annual Last Day of School Whipped Cream Fight. And then to the pool, because there was no way in Hel....ck I was letting those sticky monsters into my car or house.
And you know who else was at the pool? About four million other people under the age of twelve. I actually had to watch my children to make sure they didn't drown under all those other bodies. This was no easy task, not just because of all the other little people, but also because of the whipped cream cloudiness of the water.
I also grew concerned that the minions would realize they vastly outnumbered their oppressors (collectively known as The Mom) and would rise up against us. I envisioned life after the overthrow and shuddered at the thought of radio and TV stations playing only songs and shows produced by the Disney machine. When I Realized life wouldn't be much different than it is now, I relaxed. Plus the minions were too busy trying to drown each other to recognize the perfect opportunity for mass rebellion.
Now that the last day of school fun is out of the way, mission Work Is Fun can begin. Today is the day we catch up on all the things we've put off in the midst of the last-weeks-of-school chaos that usually ensues about January. Things like, cleaning the bathrooms, throwing away a year's worth of school papers/lunches which have accumulated in backpacks, putting said backpacks away until September when I am ready to trip over them again, feeding the dog (she's probably pretty hungry by now), weeding the garden to see if we have edible plants growing there, etc. etc.
We should be able to finish most of that today. Except... I just got a text about a pool party/BBQ going on right now at a friend's house. And it is Summer Solstice, so technically it's a holiday. So maybe we'll start those jobs tomorrow.
Except... I promised the kids we'd go to the lake tomorrow. Plus we've got swim lessons at 6:00. So there's no real point in starting something we won't have time to finish. We'll start Friday.
Except... well, Friday is Friday and you can't really say TGIF if Friday isn't fun.
And Saturday's my birthday. So, you know, that's another holiday.
We'll start Monday. I mean, a week after Monday since the kids are going to their grandparents' for a week (have I mentioned I love my in-laws?). I'm sure the dog is just fake starving anyway. And I can only smell the bathrooms when I'm near the house. So I guess that's one more reason we should maybe not stay home today.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Politics and How To Avoid Kissing Your Cousins
The subtitle of this post is: Why My High School Mantra Was Genealogy, I Am Doing It, My Genealogy, And The Reasons Why I Am Doing It Are Very Clear To Me*
When I was 12 my family moved from the thriving metropolis of Boise, Idaho to the not-as-thriving semipolis of Burley, Idaho and I was thrust into the grade/middle school phenomenon of "going with" someone of the opposite sex. Now, before anyone pulls out any For the Strength of Youth pamphlets, let me just say that 1) I'm old and it wasn't written yet, hence my weakened youth and 2) to "go with" someone at the age of 12- in a town where most kids weren't allowed to date until they were 16- involved very little of actual "going" anywhere. At least until we were 14 and got our driver's licenses. (Then there was some going, but still no dating because the boys asked girls to "go with" them, not "go out "with them--there's a difference.)
So, anywho, during one of my first recesses (this is where all the going with magic happened) at my new elementary school a girl very helpfully pointed out a cute boy she thought I should go with. And he was a very comely lad indeed. The problem? Well, I had already gone plenty of places with this boy because he was, in fact, my first cousin. And since we lived in Burley, Idaho as opposed to say, Burley, West Virginia-- or even Buckingham Palace-- my new friend's attempts at matchmaking were squandered on me.
What does this have to do with politics, you ask? Well, let me tell you. Do you know who else I just discovered is my cousin? Mitt Romney. But that's not all. John Huntsman is too. By way of my great-great-great grandfather, Parley P. Pratt. I know, I know--many of you are oohing and ahhing over my new found political connections and the power I now wield because of them. The rest of you (I'm looking at you Mormon friends) have just realized you too, are related to the same presidential hopefuls by way of the same ancestor. Because that whole polygamy thing really worked as far as increasing posterity goes (notice my use of the past tense here because, and I cannot emphasize this enough, MORMONS NO LONGER PRACTICE POLYGAMY*).
And guess who else is my cousin by way of old Parley... one of (I was a fickle fourteen year old) the boys I "went" with-- without going anywhere-- in the ninth grade. I'd like to say we broke up after our week-long like affair because of our shared DNA, but I honestly don't think we gave it a second thought. If we weren't showing up at the same family reunions, we weren't cousin enough for it to count.
This boy is not to be confused with the one who may have had a crush on me and helped me cheat my way through computer class. No, that was my mom's brother's wife's nephew. So it probably would have been less weird for me to go with him-- without going anywhere, of course-- than to not go anywhere with my distant cousin.
You may be wondering if I have anymore of these fantastic stories about former boyfriends who also happen to be cousins. Why yes, since you asked, yes I do.
Like the time in tenth grade I was going with a boy (and since he had his own car we actually were going somewhere --lunch--but it wasn't a date because I wasn't sixteen yet) and he pointed to a kid and said, "there's so and so. He's my step-brother" And I replied, "Really, because I think he's my cousin." That night I verified with my mom that my boyfriend was, in fact, her cousin's step-son. And just to throw another twist in, she added that the same cousin's ex-wife (the mother of my boyfriend's step-brother) was my mom's brother's wife's sister. Got that? It means I was going with--but not dating-- my step-double second cousin.
Then there was the time I went on a student council trip to the state capitol for some very important mock governing with other aspiring politicians from Burley High. Our late night strategy sessions--as is wont to happen with those in power--turned into a game of Truth or Dare. But first my second cousin (not to be confused with my double second cousin--this was just a single second) and I had to lay down some ground rules that no one could dare us to kiss or do anything like unto it. Because we did attend the same family reunions. Which left only two boys I could be dared to kiss--one of whom I wanted to kiss even less than I wanted to make out with my own cousin. It took some serious political strategizing to get out of that quandary, I tell ya.
So what is the moral of this delightfully long post? Were it not for the wise advice learned from an old Primary song about genealogy--even with its unfounded assumption that the reasons for doing genealogy were very clear--I would have unknowingly kissed a lot more cousins. So sing your Primary songs, folks. You never know when they'll come in handy.
* For those who never had the pleasure of singing this song, like I did during the three--count them, three--hours of church I attended each Sunday as a child (and still do, btw), here is a link: oops, sorry. Apparently this song is now Family History, I Am Doing It and makes very clear, unlike the original version, the actual reasons we do gene...I mean, family history. And it's not to avoid kissing our cousins. Who knew?
** And, let me just add, that guy on Sister Wives and the women in funny dresses on the news ARE NOT PRACTICING MEMBERS OF THE CHURCH OF JESUS CHRIST OF LATTER DAY SAINTS (otherwise known as Mormons Who Don't Practice Polygamy. At least not since 1890).
When I was 12 my family moved from the thriving metropolis of Boise, Idaho to the not-as-thriving semipolis of Burley, Idaho and I was thrust into the grade/middle school phenomenon of "going with" someone of the opposite sex. Now, before anyone pulls out any For the Strength of Youth pamphlets, let me just say that 1) I'm old and it wasn't written yet, hence my weakened youth and 2) to "go with" someone at the age of 12- in a town where most kids weren't allowed to date until they were 16- involved very little of actual "going" anywhere. At least until we were 14 and got our driver's licenses. (Then there was some going, but still no dating because the boys asked girls to "go with" them, not "go out "with them--there's a difference.)
So, anywho, during one of my first recesses (this is where all the going with magic happened) at my new elementary school a girl very helpfully pointed out a cute boy she thought I should go with. And he was a very comely lad indeed. The problem? Well, I had already gone plenty of places with this boy because he was, in fact, my first cousin. And since we lived in Burley, Idaho as opposed to say, Burley, West Virginia-- or even Buckingham Palace-- my new friend's attempts at matchmaking were squandered on me.
What does this have to do with politics, you ask? Well, let me tell you. Do you know who else I just discovered is my cousin? Mitt Romney. But that's not all. John Huntsman is too. By way of my great-great-great grandfather, Parley P. Pratt. I know, I know--many of you are oohing and ahhing over my new found political connections and the power I now wield because of them. The rest of you (I'm looking at you Mormon friends) have just realized you too, are related to the same presidential hopefuls by way of the same ancestor. Because that whole polygamy thing really worked as far as increasing posterity goes (notice my use of the past tense here because, and I cannot emphasize this enough, MORMONS NO LONGER PRACTICE POLYGAMY*).
And guess who else is my cousin by way of old Parley... one of (I was a fickle fourteen year old) the boys I "went" with-- without going anywhere-- in the ninth grade. I'd like to say we broke up after our week-long like affair because of our shared DNA, but I honestly don't think we gave it a second thought. If we weren't showing up at the same family reunions, we weren't cousin enough for it to count.
This boy is not to be confused with the one who may have had a crush on me and helped me cheat my way through computer class. No, that was my mom's brother's wife's nephew. So it probably would have been less weird for me to go with him-- without going anywhere, of course-- than to not go anywhere with my distant cousin.
You may be wondering if I have anymore of these fantastic stories about former boyfriends who also happen to be cousins. Why yes, since you asked, yes I do.
Like the time in tenth grade I was going with a boy (and since he had his own car we actually were going somewhere --lunch--but it wasn't a date because I wasn't sixteen yet) and he pointed to a kid and said, "there's so and so. He's my step-brother" And I replied, "Really, because I think he's my cousin." That night I verified with my mom that my boyfriend was, in fact, her cousin's step-son. And just to throw another twist in, she added that the same cousin's ex-wife (the mother of my boyfriend's step-brother) was my mom's brother's wife's sister. Got that? It means I was going with--but not dating-- my step-double second cousin.
Then there was the time I went on a student council trip to the state capitol for some very important mock governing with other aspiring politicians from Burley High. Our late night strategy sessions--as is wont to happen with those in power--turned into a game of Truth or Dare. But first my second cousin (not to be confused with my double second cousin--this was just a single second) and I had to lay down some ground rules that no one could dare us to kiss or do anything like unto it. Because we did attend the same family reunions. Which left only two boys I could be dared to kiss--one of whom I wanted to kiss even less than I wanted to make out with my own cousin. It took some serious political strategizing to get out of that quandary, I tell ya.
So what is the moral of this delightfully long post? Were it not for the wise advice learned from an old Primary song about genealogy--even with its unfounded assumption that the reasons for doing genealogy were very clear--I would have unknowingly kissed a lot more cousins. So sing your Primary songs, folks. You never know when they'll come in handy.
* For those who never had the pleasure of singing this song, like I did during the three--count them, three--hours of church I attended each Sunday as a child (and still do, btw), here is a link: oops, sorry. Apparently this song is now Family History, I Am Doing It and makes very clear, unlike the original version, the actual reasons we do gene...I mean, family history. And it's not to avoid kissing our cousins. Who knew?
** And, let me just add, that guy on Sister Wives and the women in funny dresses on the news ARE NOT PRACTICING MEMBERS OF THE CHURCH OF JESUS CHRIST OF LATTER DAY SAINTS (otherwise known as Mormons Who Don't Practice Polygamy. At least not since 1890).
Monday, June 13, 2011
Definitions of Computer Terms: Or Why I Shouldn't Have Cheated Off That Guy In My 9th Grade Computer Class Who May Have Had A Crush On Me But Was Also My Cousin (by marriage)
Boot Up: What I do to my feet when the temperature here drops below 70. As opposed to Bikini Up, which is what I used to do at the BYU when the temperature rose to anywhere near 70. Good thing I didn't try out for any nationally televised dance shows while I was a bikini'd up Cougar.*
Flash Memory: Those times I have a vague recollection of something I am supposed to remember--like my age-- before it disappears again.
Flash Drive: What I do when my kids have to be driven the one block to school so they won't be late. Also known has Weekday Mornings.
Hard Drive: That time I drove by myself the 12 hours from my house to my parents'. In one day. With my three children. And a broken DVD player.
Input Device: Forks, spoons, knives and- in the case of my children- fingers, or any other food to mouth carrying utensil.**
Memory Stick: That velcro place in my brain where useless things I would like to forget--i.e. Poison Lyrics--have stuck and will haunt me long after I have forgotten everything of importance. I Won't Forget You Baby, indeed.
Monitor: Something I should do to my children. At the very least.
Server Farms: A place, usually in a rural area, where waiters and waitresses are grown.
Storage Device: Places where my children keep the crap they get from birthday parties and other such functions that they couldn't possibly throw away. Bedside Tables, Shelves, Dressers, Floors and any other piece of furniture I would like to see the surface of, but can't-- thanks to the piles of old Valentines, used erasers, gum wrappers, rocks, shells, and a variety of unidentifiable school projects currently covering them-- fall under this category.
* For my friends who don't follow BYU and its foibles, here is what this joke is referring to: http://universe.byu.edu/node/16343
** I know I could have gone another direction here, but I'm keeping it clean, folks
Next Up On The Blog: How Many Degrees Of Separation Are Required Before Dating A Cousin Is Acceptable and Other Dating Adventures From My Youth
Flash Memory: Those times I have a vague recollection of something I am supposed to remember--like my age-- before it disappears again.
Flash Drive: What I do when my kids have to be driven the one block to school so they won't be late. Also known has Weekday Mornings.
Hard Drive: That time I drove by myself the 12 hours from my house to my parents'. In one day. With my three children. And a broken DVD player.
Input Device: Forks, spoons, knives and- in the case of my children- fingers, or any other food to mouth carrying utensil.**
Memory Stick: That velcro place in my brain where useless things I would like to forget--i.e. Poison Lyrics--have stuck and will haunt me long after I have forgotten everything of importance. I Won't Forget You Baby, indeed.
Monitor: Something I should do to my children. At the very least.
Server Farms: A place, usually in a rural area, where waiters and waitresses are grown.
Storage Device: Places where my children keep the crap they get from birthday parties and other such functions that they couldn't possibly throw away. Bedside Tables, Shelves, Dressers, Floors and any other piece of furniture I would like to see the surface of, but can't-- thanks to the piles of old Valentines, used erasers, gum wrappers, rocks, shells, and a variety of unidentifiable school projects currently covering them-- fall under this category.
* For my friends who don't follow BYU and its foibles, here is what this joke is referring to: http://universe.byu.edu/node/16343
** I know I could have gone another direction here, but I'm keeping it clean, folks
Next Up On The Blog: How Many Degrees Of Separation Are Required Before Dating A Cousin Is Acceptable and Other Dating Adventures From My Youth
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
I've Given Up Herding and the Cats Have Gone Feral
After a 2 1/2 year hiatus from my 3 post blog, I am back! Is that the clapping of my one follower I hear? Thanks Sheridan!
So what have I been doing for the past 2 1/2 years, you ask? (And I notice you didn't ask after my children which leads me to believe you don't think they are as entertaining as your own--but you are wrong). Well, for one, I moved. Which is probably why I started a blog one day anyway. To avoid the packing. And then I was unpacking. For a year. Then there was some furniture buying and decorating to do. That took two years. And there was that game on Facebook I spent a lot of time playing but can't remember the name of now. That was a year well spent.
I did some other stuff too, like forget how to get to my blog. I found it again just recently. But then lost it. Luckily I found it again today and will bookmark it so as not to lose it. Once I've figured out how to keep track of this slippery thing, I'd like to change the title/url/whatever-it's-called-at-the-top-of-the-page thingy. Mostly because it's pretty long and I couldn't remember exactly what it was which made finding it even more tricky. But also because I've given up herding the cats (by which I mean my offspring, not real cats which I don't like ever, whereas my children I only dislike occasionally) who are currently running feral somewhere in my neighborhood. I call it "expanding their minds by using their imaginations." My neighbors call it neglect and have started leaving bowls of milk out in an attempt to tame them. Good luck with that!
Speaking of feral animals, I was reading in the paper this morning (while yelling at my kids to quit reading and get ready for school) about San Diego County's feral pig problem. Apparently rural San Diego--yes it exists--is chock full of wild pigs. Besides evoking images of Lord of the Flies, these pigs are a problem because they eat the native animals' dinners (rude), and some kind of acorn that grows into something environmentalists like. But that's not all. They also, reportedly, chased a bicyclist who had to climb a tree to get away from them. Clearly they have to be stopped.
And they will be, if San Diego has it's way. The county wants to hire people to eradicate the pigs anyway possible. Even by shooting them from helicopters if necessary. Sow (get it?) why am I telling you this? Because here's the irony of the whole situation: guess who is against San Diego's plan. Well, PETA, obviously, because they don't find shooting wild pigs from helicopters to be very ethical (they should maybe give those pigs a good talking to about the ethicality of eating things they shouldn't and harassing men clad in bike shorts). But also Ted Nugent. Because he thinks only wusses (I'm editing the Nuge here) kill things with anything other than a crossbow (I may have actually forgotten his real reason for objecting to the plan, but this is probably close enough.)
Here are some other things I have learned today:
1) If you drop a bowl full of cracked eggs on the floor, that mess will be hard to clean up. Unless you have a dog. In which case, let her earn her keep and get a nice shiney coat in the process.
2) If you decide (with the help of a pleading friend) to make lemon bars for some PTA thing, you should have enough lemon to do so. Otherwise they will lack that lemony flavor you're looking for in a lemon bar.
3) Also, if you forget to put the flour into the lemony part of the mix, they will not set. Put them in the fridge until they are set enough to be cuttable and then try, unsuccessfully, to shape them back into squares. Then, if you are me, send them to the PTA thing-a-ma-jig anyway because you've already wasted four eggs-- shiney dog coat excepted-- and you're not going to waste all of that sugar and butter too.
So what have I been doing for the past 2 1/2 years, you ask? (And I notice you didn't ask after my children which leads me to believe you don't think they are as entertaining as your own--but you are wrong). Well, for one, I moved. Which is probably why I started a blog one day anyway. To avoid the packing. And then I was unpacking. For a year. Then there was some furniture buying and decorating to do. That took two years. And there was that game on Facebook I spent a lot of time playing but can't remember the name of now. That was a year well spent.
I did some other stuff too, like forget how to get to my blog. I found it again just recently. But then lost it. Luckily I found it again today and will bookmark it so as not to lose it. Once I've figured out how to keep track of this slippery thing, I'd like to change the title/url/whatever-it's-called-at-the-top-of-the-page thingy. Mostly because it's pretty long and I couldn't remember exactly what it was which made finding it even more tricky. But also because I've given up herding the cats (by which I mean my offspring, not real cats which I don't like ever, whereas my children I only dislike occasionally) who are currently running feral somewhere in my neighborhood. I call it "expanding their minds by using their imaginations." My neighbors call it neglect and have started leaving bowls of milk out in an attempt to tame them. Good luck with that!
Speaking of feral animals, I was reading in the paper this morning (while yelling at my kids to quit reading and get ready for school) about San Diego County's feral pig problem. Apparently rural San Diego--yes it exists--is chock full of wild pigs. Besides evoking images of Lord of the Flies, these pigs are a problem because they eat the native animals' dinners (rude), and some kind of acorn that grows into something environmentalists like. But that's not all. They also, reportedly, chased a bicyclist who had to climb a tree to get away from them. Clearly they have to be stopped.
And they will be, if San Diego has it's way. The county wants to hire people to eradicate the pigs anyway possible. Even by shooting them from helicopters if necessary. Sow (get it?) why am I telling you this? Because here's the irony of the whole situation: guess who is against San Diego's plan. Well, PETA, obviously, because they don't find shooting wild pigs from helicopters to be very ethical (they should maybe give those pigs a good talking to about the ethicality of eating things they shouldn't and harassing men clad in bike shorts). But also Ted Nugent. Because he thinks only wusses (I'm editing the Nuge here) kill things with anything other than a crossbow (I may have actually forgotten his real reason for objecting to the plan, but this is probably close enough.)
Here are some other things I have learned today:
1) If you drop a bowl full of cracked eggs on the floor, that mess will be hard to clean up. Unless you have a dog. In which case, let her earn her keep and get a nice shiney coat in the process.
2) If you decide (with the help of a pleading friend) to make lemon bars for some PTA thing, you should have enough lemon to do so. Otherwise they will lack that lemony flavor you're looking for in a lemon bar.
3) Also, if you forget to put the flour into the lemony part of the mix, they will not set. Put them in the fridge until they are set enough to be cuttable and then try, unsuccessfully, to shape them back into squares. Then, if you are me, send them to the PTA thing-a-ma-jig anyway because you've already wasted four eggs-- shiney dog coat excepted-- and you're not going to waste all of that sugar and butter too.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)