pleeeeease

Parents, please put longer shorts on your young daughters. I'm sick of seeing bum cheeks hanging out all over town. You buy their clothes, don't you? You don't want guys oogling her bum cheeks do you? This could all be solved with just a few more inches of material. Heck, I'll buy it for you. She might put up a fight now, but you're saving her from  being seen as someone who needs to use her body to get attention. Then she gets a reputation, her self-esteem plummets because it's based purely on her fleeting looks, she withdraws socially, stops applying herself in school, doesn't graduate, and has to go to clown college. Do you want your beautiful daughter to go to clown college? I didn't think so. Buy her some longer shorts. She's too smart and too funny to wear those kinds of clothes.

Emotional, late-night blogging

I cannot sleep. So, of course, I'm blogging. My past experience has taught me that writing during the wee hours of the night/morning never really turns out well. But, alas, here I am. I feel like a million words and phrases are running through my head and I don't know what to do with them. Perhaps that's the curse of someone who writes for a job. Sadly though, I don't have anything interesting in my life right now to write about. So now would be the time to close your browser window if you're expecting to read something exciting.

I am working on a freelance project for the company I left about nine months ago. They needed some help and I was feeling up to the task. It is really fun and really stressful. I am sleep deprived and my brain is fried. Please consider this my apology for the phone call I forgot to return, the text I forgot to reply to, and the meeting I accidentally slept through on Sunday. I will be back online mentally in approximately 3-4 weeks. I see dead . . . lines.

I am feeling really grateful lately for good friends. God has blessed me far beyond what I deserve in the friend department. Lately, I have received phone calls, texts, or visits from friends at times when I have needed it most, and they had no idea! I'm grateful for friends who act on the thoughts that pop into their minds. I have benefited greatly from it. Because, you know, life is just hard sometimes. For everyone. Even those of us who like to pretend that we don't have bad days. We do. We just ugly cry ourselves to sleep and wake up the next morning to a breakfast of peanut butter M&Ms. These friends are of all ages and all walks of life, and I love them each dearly. Some are new and some are long-time friends. I love that they have a million other things going on in their lives but still make me feel like a priority. Because really, it doesn't take much. A phone call, a short visit, a thoughtful text, following through with plans, asking about someone because you genuinely care. Everyone needs at least one friend like this. How did I ever get so lucky to have multiple? Yeah, I have some crappy friends, too. I think they're just part of the package deal.

God loves me. And he's taking care of me with the help of my family and friends. I am ridiculously blessed. Anytime I feel frustrated with my ninety year-old body I have to laugh. Everything else in my life is so wonderful that I had to have something for a trial. I'm not trying to be one of those people who blog all about their "perfect" life. I make fun of those people and my life is far from perfect. For instance, I begin sentences with prepositions. Also, I'm not sure whether or not I actually brushed my teeth today.  I have the same everyday problems we all have. I just have a ridiculously wonderful husband, a loving, supportive family, and friends who are answers to my prayers. What more could someone need, right? (Besides some new boots for fall.)

Every 20 Years

Have I really been alive long enough to see a fashion cycle come full circle?? Like I learned in school, fashion repeats itself every 20 years. And here is proof.

This photo was posted in Target Style's Facebook page the other day. You see that green-plaid backpack in the bottom-left corner??

Yeah, I had an exact replica of that bag when I started fourth grade, I think it was.

In case creeping up on my 30th birthday wasn't enough to make me feel old . . .

The worst part is, I never planned on being old. As a child, I made all sorts of plans for my life. But the me I always saw in my head was young and awesome. Not old and lame. I am really having a hard time with this growing up business.

Over the shoulder boulder holder . . .

 . . . or as they are more commonly known: bras.

What an awful thing to do to a woman.

I had to go bra shopping today. By myself. Somehow I managed to make it 29 years with never going bra shopping alone. My mom had been my most frequent bra-shopping partner. Once or twice I went with a sister. And I went to VS once with a friend because I'm pretty sure we had no dates and no prospects one weekend night and needed some bra shopping to distract us.

Today I went to Target. They are having a sale on under things this week, in case you're interested.

Why do I feel like a pedophile when I'm bra shopping by myself?! And why on earth did the Target people put the bras on the outside of a store "block" with walkways on three of its four sides?? It felt like every sex offender had just been released from the local jail and delivered to Target by bus. And they all just happened to be passing by the bra section while I was thumbing through the bras. I got such an eery look from one of them that I put the brightly-colored bras back and went for the neutrals. Then, on my way to the fitting room, every young, innocent teenage boy in town passed me. It made the ten yard walk feel like a mile. I felt like I had been breaking some kind of law, when I was simply trying to buy underwear. I just wanted to yell, "It's underwear, people! You wear it, too. I didn't ask for these appendages on my body.  Trust me, I'd much rather go without a bra." Unfortunately, that's frowned upon in our society. Is it France where the women go breezy free? I think I want to live there. When you live in a society that allows you to wander braless without the judgement of others, that's when you know you've arrived. I call that Utopia. Or, Bratopia. Yeah, I like that one.

The moral of this story is, just don't go bra shopping. Because eventually the bra fairy will magically drop one off on your doorstep that fits perfectly. That's what I'm banking on. Because I put all of my bras back on the hangers and walked out empty handed—like any rationally-minded adult would do. Right?

I have the same problem shopping for other female-related products. But that's another story for another day. Probably not on this blog. Because I'm too immature.

Maybe someday I'll grow up. Maybe when I'm 30. That seems like a good age to grow up.

On the eve of my twenty- . . . uh, third birthday

Wow, I can't believe I'm already going to be twenty-three.

My close friends and family know what a big deal birthdays are to me. More specifically, my birthday. I whole-heartedly embrace the birthday month approach with a special focus on the birthday week. It has been a pretty sweet week. I love spoiling myself and letting others do the same as they see fit. It's the little things . . . like when I was frosting the brownies the other day, I was going to hand the spatula over to my husband to lick. But then I came to my senses. "Birthday week," I thought to myself. And we all know what happened next. (Except for my husband who had no idea there was ever a frosting spatula to be had.) And I slept in a day or two this week, took extra long showers, had a Coke, spent time with some close friends, had my hair done, and watched Leave it to Beaver whenever I felt the urge. All of this and it's not even my birthday. I can't wait to see what I have in store for myself tomorrow on my actual birthday.

This year for my birthday, I got a house. At least that's what my husband keeps telling me. And I tell him that I can't wait to see how he plans on topping that next year. Tomorrow we will have been in the house for two weeks. It has been an exciting, tiring, frustrating, and blessings-filled two weeks. We feel really lucky to be in this house in an area that we really love. It's not perfect, but it's wonderful. Being the planners that we are, we've been planning for and looking at houses for two years. And, just like everything else in my life, I had plan A in mind all along and ended up with plan B, which is exactly what we needed. It's amazing how quickly this house has felt like a home. But maybe that's just because it's something I share with the person I love where other people we love come and visit.

I love yard-work husband. I see him tooting around on his lawnmower, digging all around with the shovel. I hear power drills and roto-tillers running on evenings and all day Saturday. I love it. And he does, too, which is great. It reminds me of my dad, and for some creepy reason, I love that my husband reminds me of my dad. Now I just need to get him some Hawaiian shirts and a straw, wide-brimmed hat for the summer and the resemblance will be uncanny.

I'm actually having fun working on the inside of the house. I hate decorating; it stresses me out. But the place is getting really clean and organized. And every once in a while I find myself able to buy a decor item and place it without too much stress.

The biggest problem in organizing the home is trying to figure out what to do with all of my books. I think I counted over ten boxes of books when we moved. And then . . . there are all the boxes of my teaching stuff. More and more boxes of other books.

As I was packing the books at our apartment, I came across this book, coincidentally during the same week of Maurice Sendak's death.

I love this book, always have. But I really love this particular copy of the book. This was the first book that a teacher of mine ever gave to me. It was Mrs. Casteel in first grade. I loved her so much. I still have such vivid memories of her face, her clothes, her words, and how she made me feel (and that one time I got in trouble for talking when all I was doing was telling the people by me to stop talking). In my mind, she was the world's greatest teacher. 

She gave me this book as a reward for reaching my goal of reading 100 books . . . I think that was in one term. I don't remember for sure. But for the sake of making me seem like a brilliant six year-old, let's say it was in one term. I read that book over and over and over and each time I read it, I would remember the pride I felt in reaching my goal. I imagined that my teacher had gone to great lengths to purchase and choose this book for me. Though, after teaching school myself, I realize it was probably a freebie book she received from the book orders. But again, let's choose to remember the glorified version of the story. 

I love Where the Wild Things Are. I love it because it reminds me that I love reading, school, teachers, and the positive impact that teachers can have on children. Mr. Sendak may have been sick of the book and sick of being known for the book, but I love it. I love books, all ten+ boxes of them.

Things that make you go hmmm

Someone's mom was too tired to fight this battle today. 

Boy child wearing lady shoes: 1

Mom: 0

Friday, Friday!

(I know, I hate that song, too.)

Even the unemployed can appreciate a good Friday. 

Especially one that is filled with best friend-matching fingernails,

 matching toenails,

and a Barbie smile.

Life lessons . . . Again and again

Adulthood is just a series of life lessons. In my early 20s I learned that life never turns out how you plan. It took me a really long time to learn this lesson, being the planner that I am. But the bigger lesson learned here was that things always work out like the should, and often even better than you'd planned. So I still make plans, but I keep them flexible and *try* to roll with the changes that inevitably come up. I'm a work in progress. But I am getting better at it all the time. I am so grateful for all the things that have happened the way they have up to this point. I am so happy.

I know what my current life lesson is, but I'm also having a hard time learning this one: be grateful for the things that you do have instead of focusing on the things you don't have. I have a body. I am also having a really hard time being grateful for the body I do have. I have a lot of physical limitations. I've always had some, but right now I have more. I have been really lucky up to this point, because even though I have had some limitations, I have still been able to do most of the things I wanted to do. The past eight monts I have been severely limited in what I can do. This is really hard for someone who is used to being as busy and active as I am. I watch a lot of TV now. I used to hate TV. Now I hate that I like it and that I have "shows." I'm crying just thinking about it. I want to go, run, weightlift, do yoga, go, go, go, but I can't. And if I do, I can't walk for the next few days. I want to have babies- lots of them, right now. I can't. I want to hold a crying baby and change poopy diapers. I want to teach a child to read and share my hundreds of books with them. I want my days to have meaning. Instead I keep waiting. And I know that this will all make sense someday, because it always does. That's the beauty of faith. So for now I take it a day at a time and try to enjoy want I can do, while plotting to kidnap other people's children. I can walk. I can do water aerobics with the women over 70. I can do Zumba, which is surprisingly fun. And I can take advantage of all this me time to write a thrilling romance novel about vampires. Maybe I'll write an entire series and someone will turn my series into blockbuster movies. Who knows?

Why is it so hard to be content with what you do have? I'm trying so hard. I even force myself to smile when I feel like crying. It doesn't do much for my face since I'm an ugly crier. I take a mental inventory each day of my many blessings and then I feel so silly for ever feeling sorry for myself . . . Until the next time I feel frustrated with my situation. I feel really silly publicly admitting to this weakness, but I know I'm not the only person who goes through these emotions. Sometimes even knowing that everything will turnout okay doesn't seem to make things immediately better. And the truth is, as soon as you make it through the current trial, there's a new one waiting for you. So maybe I am grateful that I have this trial and not a worse one. And I should be grateful that my Heavenly Father thought highly enough of me to send a trial my way. Maybe I even chose this trial before I came to Earth. Even as I'm typing this I feel a little bit better. So, thank you for taking this journey with me through this sappy post. Here's to being strong enough to handle any trials that come our way!

"They're all Punzels"

I think Halle wants me to train for a marathon. At least that's what my trip to Target with her felt like. I have never in my life seen a child run so fast, while laughing so hard. I'm sure the other shoppers were glad for the free entertainment, especially those who caught my near-splits while rounding a corner. After what seemed like hours of chasing her through every aisle and clothing rack, she came to a screeching halt when she saw the aisle full of PINK! That's where I shot this little video.

What this video doesn't show is the trail of pink items she had pulled of the shelves in her path of destruction. I shot this a little too late. She had been carrying that large box of princess Barbies across the whole length of the toy section to find her mom and ask her if she could get them. What dedication. Then she was lured in by a Punzel doll she had never seen before and all the other princesses were carelessly tossed aside. Yes, that pink bouncy ball on the ground was once her prized possession, too. I stood back and laughed as she struggled with the ball bin for a while, certain she wouldn't be able to pull the pink one out from the bottom. But she did. What a funny little stinker.

As memorable as this trip to Target was. I have sworn to my sister that I am never going again with her and the wee ones. Just like I swore a few months ago.

Days of my life

Now that I have a lot of free time, I've been working as a substitute teacher for some of my friends and former co-workers. It helps me feel like my brain isn't turning into mush. And it's great because I hardly ever have to sit down, which is what I try to avoid most of all. But mostly, it's been really, really fun. It really makes me homesick for teaching. But this way I get the teacher fix without having to sit for hours planning the curriculum or dealing with parents.

In case you haven't noticed, I don't use my last name on my blog. I don't even use my husband's name. It's a small effort to try to maintain some sense of privacy from would-be serial killers. If you do know my last name, you know that it's not very common and that it might sound silly to some people . . . some very young people. Last week when I entered a second-grade classroom, I introduced myself and the entire class burst into laughter. Sadly, I had the same reaction when my now-husband first introduced himself to me.

Things that I miss about working in an young elementary classroom:
1. The calling out of "teacher, teacher" whenever someone wants your attention.
2. The line up of kids waiting to hug you at the end of the day.
3. The boys in that line up who wind up to give you a super hard high-five slap.
4. Pretending that the high five really hurt your hand.
5. The copycat stories. One student raised her hand last week to tell me that I remind her of her aunt. Then consequent responses from multiple students followed. I reminded someone of their mom, their cousin, their sister, and so on.
6. How every unfamiliar noise kids hear sounds like a fart to them. This is followed by endless giggling.
7. When talking about the north and south poles of the earth, Santa is inevitably brought up.
8. Kids aren't afraid to dance in music class.
9. Young kids grab my hand to get my attention before telling me about something they have that's contagious.
10. "Are you a teenager?" I always say yes.


I've also been filling up a lot of my time lately with baking. This too keeps me busy while not having to sit down. But I think I'm going to hang my chef's hat up for a while. I have wasted one too many bags of M&Ms or chocolate chips on cookies that go flat. And you can't give flat cookies away (though I tried), so you just end up keeping them all and eating your weight in flat cookies. So I'm taking a break because I'm a quitter. Kind of always have been.

As evidence to back the theory that I'm a quitter, I'm going to quit this blog post with out a concluding paragraph.

Rabbit Eyes are Watching You

Have you seen this?! Have you SEEN this?!

It's no secret that I am a fan of Cadbury Mini Eggs. And I'd be lying if I said this was the first Cadbury purchase I've made this year. Or even the fourth. But that's not the news. First, a back story.

I live maybe a half mile away from a Walmart. I grocery shop there. So sue me, hippies. Actually, don't sue me; at least not until I've had time to brush up on Legally Blonde. Anyhow, so long as I've shopped at this Walmart (years) they have NEVER, I repeat, never carried the Cadbury Mini eggs. And just to be sure no one's pulling a fast one on me, I scour the store each visit during Cadbury season. All of this is strange because in the Cadbury '09 season, I spotted the candies at the Clinton Walmart. And in the Cadbury '11 season, I found the candies at the Layton Walmart. [Minds are no doubt blown at this point.] 

So today, as I was perusing through the seasonal candy aisle at my local Walmart, a familiar purple bag with yellow lettering caught my eye. And then it was made very clear to me, as a beam of light shone down from the heavens onto . . . a bag of Cadbury Mini Eggs. In my Walmart? Could it be? Yes. It was true. I picked the bag up, and to my delight, it was no ordinary bag of candies. It was a ONE POUND+ BAG. If I'm not mistaking, I heard angels singing. Naturally I scooped it up and carefully placed it in my cart. And then I looked back to the shelf where I'd found the bag . . . and here's the funny thing, the space that had originally held Cadbury candies was now mysteriously filled with candies of the Reeses variety. Strange, I thought. But not unheard of. So, on I went with my grocery shopping . . . all the while grinning because of my discovery.

But here's the thing. Once I got the bag home, I noticed something. Has that rabbit always been on the packaging? And is it a little eery-looking to anyone else? Does it seem like maybe that rabbit had one too many Cadburys before that photo was taken. I swear that rabbit is NOT on the other bags, but I honestly can't remember what the smaller bag looks like now. I have pound-bad blindness. I see the whole world in pound bags now. But what's even stranger is that I swear the rabbit's eyes follow me when I walk around the room. It's as if he's saying, "I, and I alone, know how many calories of chocolate you have consumed today. You answer to me now." And then I just feel sad. Chocolatey over-dosed sad. I can't help but wonder if the FDA or some other government organization mandated that creepy rabbits be placed on all pound bags of Easter candy to help subconsciously regulate the caloric and sugar intake of people who purchase the candy. I mean, this is the only logical explanation.

And so now that I have this knowledge, I need to act. I know now what I need to do. I need to drive a few extra miles to Smith's to buy the smaller bags of candies sans the creepy rabbit and enjoy my Eater candy. Because, hey, Easter only comes around once a year.

[That awkward moment when you realize that you just wrote an entire blog post about candy. I need a puppy.]

Brain Dump

I have had a lot of time to blog lately. But the funny thing is, now that I have the time, I have less desire and less brain capacity for blogging. Weird, I know. I think it's because before, when I was working, I was so busy doing expository writing all day that I just couldn't wait to do some sort of nonsense, stress-free writing. Now my days are full of nonsense.

Speaking of nonsense, have you seen this?



This is funny for two reasons:
1) Elmo sings about not wearing clothes—works on so many levels.
2) Elmo is naked.

While we're making lists, here's another one. There are two kinds of people who (or whom, I'm too tired to look it up) I have no more patience for: Obsessed Twilight fans and "woe is me" people.

Grown women who obsess over Twilight need a hobby . . . or a boyfriend . . . or need to spice things up with their husbands.

Woe is you! Woe is all of us. As Norm says, "Life's a beast and then you die." (Edited for web appropriateness.) You are not the only person who has problems. News flash: everyone has problems—at this very moment. The more time you spend feeling sorry for yourself and moping, the worse the problems seem. But if you can see outside of yourself and try to spend time doing things to help other people, your problems will seem to be much more manageable, even if they don't go away. Plus, you're kind of a downer.

And, finally, to end in a quote from a timeless classic and still follow my theme of lists:

"There are two kinds of people in this world: Those who like Neil Diamond and those who don't."
-Bob
What About Bob