I thought this would be more like having a cat.

Sleepy heads

2011-08-22T20:40:00.000-07:00

E and Soph are both in bed asleep--probably because they both have...bronchitis. Yepper. Took Soph to the doctor today, and she'll be out of school for another day at least. It's times like this that make me so glad E works from home. I can't even imagine trying to plan for a sub this week. Yikes.

In other riveting news, we're about 90% moved in. I guess that's the upside of moving twice in 7 months. We have really scaled back on the crap, which makes finding a place for everything much more doable. Our new funky 50s era split level came complete with a storage basement--no windows, no frills, just space--which is now referred to as the bat cave. It's also handy for those odds and ends that we can't seem to throw away. There's also a little room especially designed for storing canning. So, that's sure to stay conveniently empty.

I have a handful of pictures to find homes for, and then, I shall distribute the turtle collection. For some reason they stay in the box until everything else is done. And then I get to go through them and find just the right place for each one. I love my San Diego shell turtle from my gal pal Denice--complete with little wire glasses. My newest one is from Phoenix--and brings back memories of Katy and my dad. It's blown glass, and the shell looks like a little miniature galaxy. I have one from Santa Fe and one from San Francisco. Pretty much all of my family members and most of my friends have gifted me a turtle, and I love it.

My first turtle was actually a little stolen. I rescued it from a roommate who wasn't keeping track of it properly. It was ceramic jewelry holder with a removable shell. I had it for a long time--until toddler Janz (who is now a senior--gah!) knocked over a table and it smashed to simtherines. After that, the turtles kind of kept coming. When people ask me, why turtles?, I do have an answer. For one, they remind me that it's ok to go slowly. Also, they are always at home, no matter where they go. I dig that.

Today's best thing about being a mom: Watching Matilda. Yikes. The Trunchbull is scary!

Today's worst thing about being a mom: Netflix on demand guilt. I know she's sick, but 7 hours of TV/movies is still WAY TOO MUCH. God. I suck.

Pork Sickness

2011-08-17T18:06:00.000-07:00

Soph kept asking me today if people still get pork sickness. I thought for some weird reason she was referring to trichinosis--right? Isn't that what you get if you eat raw pork? So I went into this whole song and dance about cooking meats to their proper temperature and what have you.

She got way confused, and said she thought her teacher wanted kids to bring wet wipes to school because of pork sickness, and what did that have to do with cooking meat?

Light bulb. Pork sickness=swine flu. I'm assuming most of you got that one before I did.

Her backpack is ready to go, sitting by the front door. We now live less than a block from her elementary school, so she'll be walking. Her friend Beesley is picking her up at 8:30, and then off to the 4th grade.

Today's best thing about being a mom: Helping put new pencils in the new pencil box.

Today's worst thing about being a mom: Worrying about mean kids.

I promise to stop bitching

2011-08-16T15:50:00.000-07:00

sometime next week.

I feel like every single part of my life is unsettled. The only way to the other side is through it, I guess, so even though I mostly want to sit and bawl, I'm going to do some laundry and then unpack a few more boxes.

Today's best thing about being a mom: What? I have a daughter. Funny. Haven't seen her in a while.
Today's worst thing about being a mom: No really. Where is she?

30 Day Blog Challenge...FAILED

2011-08-15T18:19:00.000-07:00

Yup. Failed. No internet access, no time, no energy. I thought this move was going to be hard, but I really had no idea. It's not the moving so much as the unpacking and cleaning. Jesus, the cleaning. We were only in the other house 7 months. Just long enough to get it good and fucking filthy. I couldn't believe the refrigerator once it was empty. My family and I are apparently slobs of the highest caliber. I've spent at least 8 hours now trying get that place clean. It belongs to my in-laws, and I don't want them to think I trashed their house. That said, there are only so many hours in a day, and at some point, I'm going to need to unpack the rest of the boxes here--and perhaps plan a bit for the start of school. Sheesh

Today's best thing about being a mom: Going out together for lunch at Ninja.

Today's worst thing about being a mom: Having to supply regular meals even when life is chaotic as hell.

My carefully constructed bubble of denial

2011-08-11T16:08:00.000-07:00

has officially popped--and been replaced with an eyeball popping headache.

Today was my first day back at school. 7+ hours of meetings today and 7+ hours of meetings tomorrow. The summer is officially kaput. My mantra for tomorrow will be (as it should have been today) KEEP YOUR DAMN MOUTH SHUT. I just can't help saying what's on my mind sometimes, and I'm afraid that didn't endear me to my new principal today.

In Sophie news, my girl is turning 9 tomorrow. What? Yep, 9. I, of course will be at work and am ass deep in moving and work prep, so the celebrations will be somewhat more subdued than usual. Tonight I'm taking her to a play (The Music Man) and tomorrow she's being taken out to breakfast by grandma, lunch by grandpa, and then out for a crab dinner with mom and dad. This is the first year she's getting money instead of presents. I just don't have time, plus she wants to do a little "big girl" upgrading to her room, so I'm going to take her to Bed Bath and Beyond for a little shopping after we move in.

Today's best thing about being a mom: Yesterday we went out to dinner at our local cowboy diner, The Market Grill. (If you want it breaded, with gravy, the Market is your place.) As we were eating, she noticed a girl about her age, sitting at a table with 3, let's just say it, old farts. These 3 guys were going on and on and on about gun control laws and political conspiracies and who knows what else, and the little girl was obviously bored out of her mind, but trying to be good. Soph kept mentioning her--worrying about how bored she must be, and taking the grownups to task for not letting her in on the conversation. One of the Market Grill's main draws for Soph is the bank of vending machines out front. When she was done eating, I gave her a couple of quarters to spend while her dad and I finished up. She came back with some kind of little sticker book, took it over to the girl, and gave it to her saying, "Here. I bought this for you because you looked kind of sad.

Today's worst thing about being a mom: Every year it seems like I'm way stressed for her birthday. It's always right when the new school year is starting up.

Watching Weight

2011-08-10T07:05:00.000-07:00

I always thought Weight Watchers was a weird name for a weight loss program. Watch it do what? Decrease, I guess, but that's a bit like watching paint dry, isn't it?

It's been 6 months now since I signed up, and I'm down about 30 pounds.

When I first started blogging, YEARS ago, I was working my own weight loss program. It consisted of prescription diet pills, bulimia, and cigarettes. The physical results were fantastic. I looked super. Emotionally, though, things were pretty dire. So once I kicked all 3 of those nasty habits (mostly) the pounds didn't just sneak back on. They leapt--sprinted--jockeyed for position on various bits and pieces of me.

So now here I am, 6 months into this process of trying to do it the old fashioned way--eating less and exercising. And for several months, it was going great. Then the summer hit. BBQs and holidays and (lovely) visits to and from family and the slide down the slippery slope commenced. Thankfully, I haven't gained--but I haven't lost either. To be in my healthy range, I need to be down at least 10 more pounds, and those last 10 can be a bitch.

At the beginning of the summer, I alternated jogging and swimming--like, every day--and was making really substantial progress. I even sprouted a muscle or two. But now--I've lost that mojo. No matter how long I do it, jogging HURTS. I keep waiting for that day when I head out the door and fall into a zen like stride, but so far, I can only describe my runs as anywhere from excruciating to tolerable. As for swimming, it feels great. But finding all the swimming stuff, getting to the pool and jockeying for a lane is kind of a pain.

As a replacement, I've been doing at home "Walk Away the Pounds" DVDs, and they're fine, but not nearly as effective as the jogging and swimming were.

I know it's time to stop making excuses and just do what I know works, but not today. Once we've settled in the new house and I have a couple weeks of the new school year under my belt, we'll see.

Until then, my goal is to focus on portion control--and to get at lest a bit of exercise every day, even if it's just a walk. Better than nothing, I suppose.

Today's best thing about being a mom: We're going to see The Music Man--hopefully--today.
Today's worst thing about being a mom: School shopping

Because I said I would...

2011-08-09T09:32:00.000-07:00

here is day 2 of my 30 day blog a day goal.

I made the big mistake of starting Catching Fire last night--the second Hunger Games book, if you happen to have just landed on planet earth.

So now I need to pack and get ready for school, but also fight the urge to sit in my reading chair with snacks and just blast through that thing.

I always say that I'm not a big fan of the teen dystopias that seem to be all the rage, but that's not really the truth. I try to keep abreast of "what the kids are reading" these days, and I'll admit that the dystopian selections are super engaging. Hunger Games, Uglies, Unwound, Ship Breaker, and Matched all are pretty tough to put down once started. But they're no good for my apocolyptophobia, (I hope I just made that word up.) and like many others, I can't help but wonder why this particular genre seems to resonate so deeply with kids right now.

Soph is going to be spending most of the day with her great-grandma Gene, and I hope to bust ass and get some work done--both at home and at school.

Today's best thing about being a mom: Going for walks together--and stopping to sit under a shady tree and eat apples.

Today's worst thing about being a mom: Brushing her hair. As an almost 9 year old (!!) she should be doing this by herself, but her hair so thick and prone to tangles, that ain't going to happen anytime soon.

Why moving totally sucks

2011-08-08T08:52:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, I'm moving, again. That will mean we'll have lived in 3 different houses in the span of 7 months. Hopefully, this time we'll stay put for longer than a 2 year old's attention span, but who knows?

Why the move? I don't want to talk about it.

But when you move, you have to take stock of your shit. (Why the 40 remotes? None of them work. Should we throw them away? Is Soph now ready to give the dolls to charity? Does she play with the blocks anymore? If I give away the size 20 pants, will the weight suddenly land right back on my ass? Should we go ahead and move the 5 boxes of trash from the office, again, without going through them, again?) I just did this 7 months ago, and am barely recovered from giving away the board books. Plus, 7 months ago I gave away my size 14 pants, and now I wish I hadn't. I don't want to take stock of my shit, because that means taking stock of my life, and I try to avoid that as much as possible, even if to do so I'm forced to play Scramble for 3 hours a day.

Also, the sweet, kind souls who are helping you move get to see your shit. And I know they're not judging--but I still feel the need to create the illusion for them that I am an organized, together person who stores all the batteries and light bulbs in one strategic location, rather than spread out all over the house, handily lost so that each time we need them we just go to the store and buy more.

Plus, some of my shit is private. Last time we moved, someone, and I have no idea who, packed and moved the stuff in the sex drawer while I was over at the other house. Now don't get me wrong--it was nice of him/her to do that, and there was nothing too exciting in there, but nonetheless, someone, not me, put the condoms and what have you into a box, labled it "master bedroom" and packed it into the truck. Because in my heart, I'm really a Puritan about such things, this really freaks me out. (Aside, this box was lost, and only discovered--in the laundry room--1 week ago while I was finally UNPACKING THE LAST BOXES FROM THE LAST TIME WE MOVED.)

And not to get to "men are from mars women are from venus" about it, but men and women, at least E and I, don't see the process or the work involved in the same way at all. This causes us to have to communicate; something we've studiously learned to avoid after 15 years of marriage. We have to talk about expectations and time tables and money and work allocation. I get that he's the one who is going to have to move the washer and dryer and couches up stairs and down stairs. That will suck. But so does packing and unpacking the kitchen, pummicing (a word?) toilets, and suddenly realizing that the ceiling fans haven't been dusted in 7 months.

Did I mention I'm going back to work on Thursday? And that Soph's birthday is Friday?

Pity me.

Signed up for Weight Watchers yesterday...

2011-02-04T15:45:00.000-08:00

while eating a double cheeseburger and fries from Dairy Queen.

Because I am that girl.

Sheesh.

Today's best thing about being a mom: Our first day WALKING home from school together instead of driving.

Today's worst thing about being a mom: Soph quit holding my hand (she took my hand to begin with, not vice versa) whenever anyone she might possibly know walked by us.

Notions

2011-01-30T08:29:00.000-08:00

It's so nice to have a Sunday stretching out before me with all of the housework done. Yesterday we had a couple of pals over to break in the pool table, so today, with the exception of tidying up from that, I can just sit in my clean house and not feel like I have a million things to do.

So, the main items on the agenda for today are to tally and submit my troop's GS cookie orders and finish an afghan I've been working on for a few weeks.

There is one tiny little fly in my ointment, though. E bought Sophie this little kit that has a recipe book and silicone baking cups in it. I feel like it's called "Party in a Cup." It has recipes for everything from chocolate mousse to shrimp-cocktail cups to gazpacho. And I know he did it to be nice. And I know he didn't think "Hmmm. Here's something for Soph to nag Boo about until she goes mad and finally goes and buys the shit for it and spends 3 hours of her weekend preparing drippy and probably nasty recipes that no one will actually want to eat." I KNOW that wasn't the intent. But it is the reality.

I call them "Soph's Notions." That girl gets an idea in her head and is so fucking tenacious about it. Sometimes I worry that the OCD on her dad's side of the family is poking its rotten little head out. It's like she's in a constant state of disappointment because none of her visions are being completely fulfilled. From sales ventures to major theatrical productions, she wants things to happen, on a large scale, just so, right now.

Today's best thing about being a mom: Having a built-in duster.

Today's worst thing about being a mom: Sitting here trying to come up with a best thing about being a mom and getting interrupted like 8 times with questions and requests and just needing five fucking minutes already!

You know you were booked into a shitty hotel when...

2011-01-26T16:31:00.000-08:00

1. The hotel shares a parking lot with a gentleman's club named "Allure."
2. The front desk clerk makes you line-item initial 10+ items, including "no fires of any kind."
3. The room itself smells like feet.
4. The view out the window is train tracks and trailer parks.
5. The toiletries include shampoo but no conditioner.
6. The remote is bolted to the night stand.
7. There are HAIRS in the bed.
8. You spend the night laying on top of the bed, fully clothed, and spend the next morning checking for bed-bug bites.

Spent an un-lovely night last week at a dive in South Salt Lake, and have been exponentially grateful for my own bed ever since.

Today's best thing about being a mom: Listening to her giggle to herself while reading Calvin and Hobbes (again.)
Today's worst thing about being a mom: Not always, but today, freaking Girl Scouts. Don't get me wrong. I'm not a Girl Scout hater (well, not always) but after teaching teens all day, hanging out with a gaggle of giggling 8-10 year old girls for an hour brings out the Mrs. Hannigan in me.

Get good soon...

2011-01-25T19:37:00.000-08:00

When I'm trying to convince a class full of teenagers who really don't give a shit that there is, actually, a difference between "good" and "well," I often remind them that there is no such thing as a "get good soon" card. But frankly, I don't give a flying fuck if you want to call it good or well, just as long as some time in the near future, I can have a day or two of being in reasonably good health.

A couple of months ago it was the bizarre torso/boob rash from hell that none of the doctors could figure out. And now it's the cough that won't end. I hate to just keep upping the ante on medication, but have gone from OTC to antibiotics and now am on a steroid (Prednisol?) plus a super-fly cough syrup with codeine. The combination gives me wicked night sweats, and last night I literally (yes, literally) had to change the sheets twice after waking up soaking wet. (Either that or I grew some phantom male parts and enjoyed my first nocturnal emissions.)

Enough with the old lady health woes.

Soph is spectacular. She's in the school play (based on School House Rock...love it) and is one of the capital kids in the "Only a Bill" song. She's also ass deep in Girl Scout Cookie sales. Other than a minor incident with some nail polish and her bathroom counter, we're getting along great.

And she still keeps growing up, no mater how many weights I pile on her little head.

The older your kids get, the more you start to get your life back, but frankly, who wants it? By the time they're big enough that you have chunks of time for actual living, you've forgotten what to do with them, or you've gotten to old or rigid to do them justice.

Honestly, I think I'd much rather cuddle and read Olivia Forms a Band and make Care Bear costumes and even do all the kid wiping (noses, butts, etc.) than try to truly understand and engage in most of shit going down in the world today. Two little girls and only one crown at the play date? That problem I can solve. National health care reform? Fuck if I know.

Today's best thing about being a mom: Planning and making dinner together.

Today's worst thing about being a mom: Failing to keep us both at a more healthy weight.

Things that go bump…

2011-01-22T15:26:00.001-08:00

(This is an assignment I just finished for a literacy endorsement class I'm taking. It's a bit vanilla since it's for school, but I still figured I'd toss it up here.)

I'm 35 years old, and I'm afraid of the dark. This realization came to me a couple of months ago, when, because of the time change, I found myself walking to my car from a class after the sun had gone down, rather than before as I had done in previous weeks. I remember leaving the building and suddenly feeling my heart begin to thump, and then scurrying to my car like a frightened rabbit. The parking lot of SEDC, a harmless enough space which I had frequented weekly for several months, suddenly felt unsafe to me. While hurrying to my car, I nervously pushed the unlock button on my key chain several times, and when I slid into the driver's seat, I turned to check the back seat to make sure no one with malevolent intentions was hiding back there (even though I knew perfectly well that the car had been locked). I then speedily locked the doors and drove home, feeling anxious and confused and a little disgusted with myself

Surprisingly, even after this event, I hadn't put a name to my fear. It seems obvious on reflection, but it wasn't until a similar event occurred after stopping by Wal-Mart to grab a loaf of bread on the way home from work that I realized what was going on. I repeated the earlier process: hurry to the car, check the back seat, lock the doors, and then drive away feeling equal parts afraid and sheepish. On the way home, I quizzed myself. I am I afraid of being alone? On the contrary-- I enjoy solitude, and am more likely to feel upset by the lack of "alone time" in my life than by too much of it. Could I have developed a phobia of parking lots? Ridiculous. Like most working moms, my life is often a series of errands requiring me to get into and out of the car several times a day. Then I considered why my anxiety had cranked up on this particular errand, remembered my mini-panic at SEDC, and it hit me. The dark. I wondered-- really? Was I really afraid of the dark?

And the answer is, unfortunately, yes. I was, am, and probably will always be afraid of the dark. When I mentioned this fear to my mom, she chuckled a bit, and reminded me that this fear is nothing new, but somehow I had forgotten it. As a young child, my fear of the dark was a bit of a joke in the family. I refused to go trick-or-treating, pointing out that there was a perfectly good bowl of candy right here, thank you very much, and I didn't need to go traipsing about the neighborhood in the dark on a night known for its spookiness to get more. I also didn't like fireworks, and one or the other of my parents usually had to miss the show because of staying home with me. How embarrassing. No wonder I'd "forgotten."

My childhood fear of the dark was compounded in my adolescence when I began more and more to realize how my gender made me a target of violence. I remember being warned about going out at night alone. One particular youth activity sticks with me. A self-defense teacher came and talked to a group of girls about safety. He showed us how to hold our keys grasped in the fist, creating a mace-like weapon to fend off possible attackers. He told stories of women who got into their cars at night, only to be abducted by a hidden assailant in the back seat, and warned us to keep the car locked at all times. I remember going home feeling so unsafe, and feeling how unfair it was that that fear was generated because I'm a girl, a member of "the weaker sex."

As an adult though, I guess I began to just find ways around the fear. As a school teacher, my work day ends in the late afternoon, and so I'm usually home before dark. When there are errands to run once the sun goes down, I generally pass the buck to my husband. Really, I haven't consciously realized how I subtly maneuver my plans and schedule around this phobia until now.

Another minor hint in my adult life of my nyctophobia is my dislike of winter and my love of summer time. I've long described myself as being "solar powered person with no battery back-ups" and while the cold of winter repels me and the warmth of summer compels me, I think the root of my preference is light. In the summer, there are hours and hours of lovely light, and the evening stretches on and on. It's easily 8:00, and often later before I have to start thinking of wrapping up my "out and about" activities in order to beat the dark home.

Fortunately, my fear of the dark is very specifically limited to darkness "out there," and not "in here." That is to say, I am fine with darkness in my home. (In fact, in order to sleep well, I like a completely dark room.) Furthermore, I'm usually ok in the dark if I'm with an adult that I know. I feel no anxiousness sitting on my back porch with friends on a warm summer night, and I don't panic in a dark movie theater. It is only in public or unfamiliar places when I am alone, or with my young daughter, that I feel the panic, the feeling of being unsafe.

As a result, I've learned to avoid certain things. Parking lots are the worst, so I try and do most of my errands over the weekend instead of during the evening. Anywhere else in the car is a close runner up. In fact, driving alone on the freeway in the dark is something that I'll go to some lengths to avoid. I don't go for walks alone in the dark, and even with my dog I feel anxious, so I get less exercise during the winter months than I should.

I do feel embarrassed about this fear. After all, I'm not five. I'm a grown woman with a mortgage and a child--but somehow, I just can't shake it. So, do me a favor. If you invite me to the movies, just casually walk with me to my car after. If you need a ride somewhere, try to call someone else if it's late. Because I can do it. I can be alone, outside, in the dark. But I'd sure rather not.

Most exhausting week ever

2011-01-01T17:05:00.000-08:00

In one week, I managed to...

move
totally clean the old place
celebrate Christmas
take care of a kid with a very ugly flu (and she's still sick. Please god, please let her get well soon.)

Wouldn't have been able to do it without my family and friends. Thanks all. Going to fall over now.

Today's best thing about being a mom: Watching Ponyo
Today's worst thing about being a mom: Cleaning up shit and vomit

Just a suggestion

2010-12-24T11:45:00.000-08:00

Dear E,

You know I love you truly, madly, deeply. However, may I suggest that if you find yourself drinking wine out of either Sophie's crayola thermos or a bud vase, you consider washing a glass?

XO, Boo

Today's best thing about being a mom: Laying in bed together in the morning reading.

Today's worst thing about being a mom: Finding half eaten moldy oranges in the dress ups.

I miss my peeps...

2010-12-23T05:23:00.000-08:00

and I'm afraid some of them have given up on me.

I'm not a huge social butterfly and I don't have tons of friends, but I haven't seen or reached out to those I do have for so long. And I'm lonely.

Summer blasted by, and then school started, and my health hasn't been great. First I had a crazy rash for like, ever, and then the cough that wouldn't end. Add to that 3 of my besties have new babies in their houses, and now here we are, months later.

Sigh.

Today's best thing about being a mom: Having someone to play Uno with.

Today's worst thing about being a mom: We were both feeling sad and friendless yesterday. It was a blue, blue day.

3 years later...

2010-12-22T14:37:00.000-08:00

and I'm looking in boxes that I never unpacked from the last move. Dur.

I'm making progress, but slowly. Why is it that when I have house related work to do, I always find it necessary to play about 50 games of bejeweled blitz first?

Did I mention I'm 35. Thirty five fucking years old. So why do I still not feel like an adult? Adults do things like dust the shit on the plant shelves. Adults keep their cars clean. Adults have some recognizable filing system. I feel about 19 today. I just don't feel like I will ever get the hang of this grown up thing. Shit, the next thing you know I'm going to be building a beer bong, buying a Pearl Jam CD, and heading to freshman orientation.

Today's best thing about being a mom: Went and saw Tangled today. It's nice to have an excuse to see the new Disney flick.

Today's best thing about being a mom: I'm going to have to go through and sort out her room. Again. Nothing blows like packing up kids' rooms.

Still to do for Christmas

2010-12-20T11:03:00.000-08:00

(...another list. Hey, I'm moving and Santa is expected to arrive in less than a week. Doin' my best here!)

1. Stocking stuffers: I'm so bad at this! I always think I'm done, and then I realize I have nothing for stockings. So, I need 2 oranges, a bunch of candy, and a knickish knackish something for both of the kids.

2. E. Darn his hide. I can't decide if he REALLY only wants the Fringe season 2 DVDs that he ORDERED FOR HIMSELF or if I really need to go comb the town for something else amazing. Maybe I'll stick some sticky bows to my tits Christmas Eve and just give him a good old fashioned jolly rogering.

3. The CROCHET! Having decided to give my loved ones all small store bought gift plus a handmade crocheted item seemed like a good idea...in October. Now I am rushing to finish Mom's shawl, hats for the extended family boys, and other stuff for other people.

4. Cookies. When are Soph and I going to make cookies? Tomorrow morning? Sounds good to me. We need some Russian tea cookes, cut outs (where oh where are the cookie cutters!?), and I also promised her we'd make some almond bark. Ok. Doable.

This really doesn't sound like too big of a list, until you take into account that I also need to PACK AND MOVE next week.

Today's best thing about being a mom: Being forced to slow down and make cookies in the midst of the chaos.

Today's worst thing about being a mom: See above.

Questions...

2010-12-17T10:15:00.000-08:00

1. Is 35 too old to wear a big fake pink flower in your hair? (...because I'm trying to pull one off today.)

2. Is there any gracious way to smooth over receiving a gift from someone when you don't have anything to give them? (...because I thought we weren't doing gifts at work people!)

3. Is there any possible worse time to move than during the holidays? (...because I don't effing think so!)

4. Do kids ever outgrow acting like lunatics on the last day of school before Christmas vacation? (...because mine seemed to have all eaten crack krispies for breakfast today.)

5. Is there an age when you just say "no" when your kid asks you if there's really a Santa? (...because Soph asked me again this morning, and seemed really serious about it. And I said "yes" but am thinking...I don't know...that she really wanted the truth this time.)

Today's best thing about being a mom: Singing "Holly Jolly Christmas" together.

Today's worst thing about being a mom: Keeping the magic...but also keeping it real.

This is good news...right?

2010-12-14T15:41:00.000-08:00

So everything with the home sale is now official, and we'll be closing before the end of the month. The folks buying it actually wanted us out before Christmas, but I basically said, "Sweet baby Jesus in a manger. Are you shitting me?" (to E, not to them,) and so we'll be here until the end of the month.

And that means that we'll have to move. To a new house. Which we decided on today. It's actually E's parent's old house, which has been standing empty. It took me months to officially decide that it's the place for us, and now that the decision has been made, I feel quasi-barfy.

The pros are many. With family, financial matters are more flexible. This is good. Also, the house is simply gorgeous. Too gorgeous for the likes of me, I feel. It's plenty big, so now E's office and Janz's bedroom can be separate entities. Again, good. The yard is loverly. The neighborhood is nice. And did I mention it's only 2 blocks from my work? Pro, pro, pro.

But for some reason, I'm way stressed about the neighbors. They're all fancy Mormon ladies. I am none of above. Not fancy. Not Mormon. And more a gal than a lady. I fear they will hate me. And before we had decided to move in, I was pretty cavalier about it. But now, I have an almost first-day-of-school feeling in my tummy.

Today's best thing about being a mom: Who knows? I've barely seen Soph today. This morning we spent about 15 minutes together before I went to work, and she went over to her pal J's house right after school. Yesterday she spent the afternoon with her great grandma, so I hardly laid eyes on her then, either.

Today's worst thing about being a mom: Feeling more and more out of the loop.

It's a world of laughter a world of tears...

2010-12-10T18:28:00.000-08:00

Lennie died today.

It really shouldn't have come as a surprise. He pretty much dies twice a year, every year, so I shouldn't get so broken up about it, but every time I read the last chapter of Of Mice and Men aloud in my 10th grade English class, I bawl like a pregnant lady watching a 1980s long distance commercial.

I always think I'm going to make it through, but as soon as George starts telling Lennie that he isn't mad at him, and that they've got each other and he tells Lennie about the little place for the last time, I start to lose it. Stupid.

Then, I went and watched Soph sing in the choir at the school Christmas concert. And even though I'm not Christian or actually anything, every time a choir sings Silent Night I get all choked up. Add that it's a children's choir and my child is up there looking so earnest and sweet, and forget about it. I spent the rest of the hour, including the portion when the 2nd grade was singing "I want a Hippopotamus for Christmas"--accompanied on kazoos--snuffling into my scarf. Lame.

I also bawl when listening to live bagpipes, at parades when the flag goes by, and during Emmet Otter's Jug-band Christmas. It's so bizarre. I don't actually care for bagpipe music, and though I do love my country, I'm not an excessively patriotic person. Shit...Emmet Otter isn't even that sad.

But luckily, there was some laughter today too. My film class finished up Some Like it Hot, and I'll never get tired of watching that movie. So, so funny. I love how kids who think Jack Ass is the last word in comedy will totally bust up over Jack Lemon, in drag, playing the maracas. Priceless.

Today's best thing about being a mom: Listening to her singing with the choir. So, so, so sweet.

Today's worst thing about being a mom: Cleaning out the desk at school. Who knew so much crap could be stuffed into such a small place?

Busted

2010-12-09T13:53:00.000-08:00

I should have blogged this when it was still fresh, rather than waiting almost a week, but I had important things to do like sleep and go to meetings.

Several weeks ago, I totally rolled through a stop sign. This shouldn't come as a surprise, because I ALWAYS roll through stop signs--if I'm the only one at the intersection. It's a very slow roll, mind you, but it is not a full and complete stop.

So a copper was totally hiding out around the corner, just waiting for someone to roll through that particular stop sign, and I was the lucky bastard who got caught.

Of course, I was on my way to pick Soph and B up from choir, so I had to call the school and let the secretary (AKA, my mom) know that I was getting a ticket and would be late. So, here are the 3 worst things about getting that particular ticket.

3. E, his backseat driving skills honed by taking Janz driving several times a week in preparation for his driver's license test, has been nagging at me for weeks to stop rolling through stop signs. He was able to contain his glee, but only just, when I reported to him that he had been, in fact, right.

2. That bugger was expensive!!! 90 smacks for the ticket, and then 60 to go to...

1. Traffic school! What a frigging joke. The cop teaching the class was late. His power point was from 2003. Really people, for 60 bucks a pop, I feel like they can update the power point once every five years or so. Sheesh. On top of that, the dude spent so much time adrift in the land of digression, he flipped through the slides that actually had any information about traffic laws and the adherence thereof in about 5 seconds. I quit counting the type-errors on the ppt and in the handouts after about number 40.

Today's best thing about being a mom: Soph's memorizing the poem "The Swing" from Robert Louis Stevenson's A Child's Garden of Verses for her class talent show. I really need to post some video. She recites it with such enthusiasm and emotion. Precious.

Today's worst thing about being a mom: (Had to pause and think a while today. Nice.) I guess her sudden aversion to bath taking.

"HaCk--CoUgh"

2010-12-03T10:25:00.000-08:00

Nothing says happy anniversary--15 years for E and me yesterday--like a nice hacking cough.

But, that's the thing about marriage. We give lip service to the whole "for better or for worse" thing, but, at least for me, that's what makes 15 years of marriage worth it--workable--hell, possible.

So, rather than sitting in a fancy restaurant (well, as fancy as it gets in Southern Utah) eating crab and "remembering when," I stayed in bed coughing up chunks while E taxied Janz to karate, picked up take out, helped Soph with homework, and worked out the final details of our home sale with the realtor.

And that is why I love him and why I'm married to him.

The thing is, though, that's not why I married him in the first place. I married him when I was 20, and at 20 I wanted to marry him because he was sexy, smart, just bad enough to be interesting, and I had wanted to jump his bones ever since that first make-out session on the debate trip bus.

And don't get me wrong. My husband is sexier and smarter today than he was then, and his bones are still ever-so-jumpable. But. But I'm different now. In reality, we grew up together. Regardless of what the law may say, you're not an adult at 20. Shit, you can't even buy beer. And the fact that on our anniversary he took care of me, took care of our kids, and took care of business is what really keeps me going, is what makes me grateful, is what fills my heart and causes me to look forward to the next 15 years with hope and promise.

Today's best thing about being a mom: This morning, Soph was transforming her room into "Candy-cane Cove;" her idea of a winter wonderland, singing Jingle Bells all the while, with nothing but a few old decorations and a bag of pipe-cleaners.

Toady's worst thing about being a mom: 8-year-olds are sure hard to Christmas shop for. There are no "wow" items left. Plus, she's really moving away from the little kid toys and there's NO WAY IN HELL she's getting a phone.

Denial

2010-11-24T08:07:00.000-08:00

I've discovered that the crocheting is actually a denial mechanism. After making 2 afghans, 1 poncho, 3 hats, several dishcloths, and a crocheted crochet hook holder in about four weeks time, I began to wonder.

We're in the middle of a pretty stressful home sale...and until last week, I wasn't 100% sure where we'd be living during the holidays. As it stands, I don't have any idea where we'll be living 8 weeks from now. And at first, that was freaking me out. Then, after many attempts to get the situation under my control, I realized that basically, I have zero control of this thing.

And so I began to crochet. Well, and drink white russians. I've spent a substantial amount of money on yarn and Kahlua, but have, to some degree, maintained my sanity.

Soph's doing great. She loves the snow and loves the holidays. She did make me throw up in my mouth a little when she told me she'd been hypnotizing her friend "A" to stop eating her boogers.

Today's best thing about being a mom: Construction paper turkeys cut out in the shape of her hand.

Today's worst thing about being a mom: This year has been the worst one so far with her feeling left out because we live in Utah, but are not LDS. She asked me if she could be baptized the other day, and I tried so hard to explain why NO, she could not. But that's a whole different post, isn't it?

Crochet

2010-11-12T14:04:00.000-08:00

My granny taught me to crochet when I was 10. The potholder I made took me about 2 weeks, and the stitches were so, so tight that the thing could practically stand up on its own. But I was proud of it, and my mom kept it for years and years. It was my first and, I think, last crochet project.

Lately, I've decided to pick up the crochet hook again. A new craft/fabric store opened in town, and Soph and I love any excuse to do a little shopping there. (For some reason, I don't hesitate to spend money on myself at the craft store the way I do, say, at the shoe store. I'm not sure why.) So I bought some yarn, and a giant hook, and started to crochet an easy afghan that Katy had taught me.

Wow, was that thing a monster. For some reason, I decided to make it about 6 feet wide. I did come to my senses, and decided that 6 feet was a long, if reasonable length for an afghan. The edges are anything but straight. But, it's a pretty, fuzzy green, and looks pretty on the couch, if I fold it so that the mistakes are on the inside.

I made a second afghan, of somewhat more moderate dimensions, and at least marginally straight edges, and then, I started making granny squares. They're fun, and satisfying, and there's a nice sense of accomplishment at the end of each one. Of course, now I have a dozen granny squares and no idea what I'm going to do with them. Mostly, they're rugs and blankets for Soph's dolls. (Of course, it didn't help when Janz noticed the square I was crocheting, a pretty--or so I thought--sagey green and purple, and he said, "Hmmm. The Joker.)

My next project is a multicolored poncho for Soph. I can't deny, I think ponchos are super bitchin'. If hers turns out, the next one will definitely be for me.

Today's best thing about being a mom: Soph made me a bowl of oatmeal today. It's the first time someone has made me breakfast in a very long time.

Today's worst thing about being a mom: The oatmeal wasn't very good. ;)

Lookin' out the window

2010-11-05T14:16:00.000-07:00

It's November 5th, and 72 degrees! The breeze blowing through the window is more of a breath of summer than of fall, and the sweatshirt I threw on in "didn't do the laundry last weekend and I'm totally out of clothes now" desperation is way to hot. Bizarre. It reminds me of this book.

I've really enjoyed fall this year. Usually I'm so freaked out by school starting and Christmas looming that I curse the fall and refuse to open my eyes to its beauty. Maybe since this one has gone on for so long, I've worked through the baggage to a place where I can notice and enjoy it.

Yesterday I took Soph and her around-the-corner friend J on a little nature walk. They both are such little collectors. They want to take nature home with them in their pockets, and in mine when there's are too full. For J, it's shiny rocks. She just can't pass them up. I preferred her gatherings to Soph's, which were pine cones that dripped with sap. She'll still hold my hand on walks, and by the time we got home, we were practically stuck together.

So now I'm off to do my little bit of volunteer work for Soph's teacher. I can't make it in during the day to be a reading mom, so I spend some time on Friday afternoons getting the reading folders ready for the following week. Soph tools around visiting her old teachers and I have a chance for some one-on-one time with Mrs. S., so I see it as time well spent.

Today's best thing about being a mom: holding hands

Today's worst thing about being a mom: helping with math homework (So far it's not above my head, but folks, it's just a matter of time.)

What to read...

2010-11-04T10:52:00.000-07:00

Sophie is a good little reader. Not a great reader, mind you. She's on grade level, and all of her teachers have commented that she always reads with plenty of drama and expression. (No surprise there.) But the problem is, she doesn't want to stretch herself, and she won't ever, ever, ever finish a chapter book.

She'd much rather sit and read Calvin and Hobbes (again). In fact, that's pretty much all she wants to read. Even at bed time, when I read to her, she wants me to read her Calvin and Hobbes--reader's theater style, with her reading for Calvin and me for Hobbes. She even gives me notes about how she thinks it should be read, and interrupts me and shows me how it should sound if she thinks my interpretation isn't quite right.

And I'm just slightly, slightly concerned about this. Don't get me wrong. Bill Waterson is a genius, and I do love Calvin and Hobbes, but a little variety would be nice.

But really, who am I kidding. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, and with the exception of the books I'm reading for my young adult lit class, (Unwind--gag. The worst book I've had the misfortune of reading since Geek Love.) I haven't read anything from a new author in years. I'm perfectly fine working my way through everything by Terry Pratchett, Diane Wynne Jones, and Sharon Creech, and with rereading my beloved Tamora Pierce, and Shannon Hale, and other "She-roe" authors.

Today's best thing about being a mom: I've been crocheting these super easy afghans lately. I gave one to Soph and she just loves it. It's nice to make something for someone you love.

Today's worst thing about being a mom: Imagining adolescence.

Nostalga

2010-11-01T14:21:00.000-07:00

Wow. I abandoned this blog years ago, in favor of a fancy shmancy one on type pad. And then I never posted on the type pad blog. And then facebook came along and devoured the blogs, or at least blogging time/interest of most of my blogging pals. And then today in order to waste some time that I should be spending in productive ways, I began reading through these old posts. What a treasure. Not for anyone but me, of course, but all the same, what a treasure.

I'm not a picture taking mom, or a video making mom. And now that Sophie is 8, I've been mourning my lack of attention, my lack of appreciation of the precious days when she was little. And needed me. And skated on sprite on the new wood kitchen floors, and once stuck her new electric toothbrush in her butt. Sigh. But here, here is a record of those days. I had forgotten so many of our adventures together, and now here they are again.

So now, here I am, back again. I never really liked the type pad blog, frankly. It never felt like a home. And the only thing facebook is good for is playing bejeweled.

I basically quit blogging when my sister told me that her daughter, then 10, I think, had discovered and was reading my blog. It was very intellectually constipating. But now, I suppose, I feel brave again. At least for the present moment.

So, I hereby resurrect the blog. It won't be technologically savvy. But it will be a record. Because when my sweet Sophie Gene is 16, I'll think to myself..."Remember when she was 8, and still needed me?" And hopefully, look back here, and smile.

Today's best thing about being a mom: Halloween! This year, Soph dressed up as the "Bride of Dracula." NOT, mind you, the bride of Frankenstein. You see, her on again off again boyfriend (gasp, I know) "A" was dressing as Dracula, and the two wanted matching costumes. Walking around with a couple of cool moms, supervising the trick-or-treating, and then coming home for a hot apple pie (the cocktail, not the desert) was good fun. Also, I get to eat all of the Almond Joys out of her candy bag.

Today's worst thing about being a mom: Boyfriend!! Well, as many times as I've insisted that "A" is a BOY and a FRIEND, but not a boyfriend, and as often as Soph has assured me that she "KNOWS THAT MOM!" she still calls him her boyfriend when she thinks I'm not listening. Mostly they chase each other around on the playground, I think, but all the same. This makes my stomach begin to think it would be a good idea to digest itself.

With a Capital "T"

2009-08-14T13:30:00.000-07:00

Sophie is in trouble today.

Well...actually she was in trouble on Tuesday, but we haven't been able to squeeze her punishment into the schedule until today.

It all started on Sunday really.

Every summer our church (St. Jude's Episcopal) holds a Mass in the Time of Shakespeare (complete with queen, lutes, etc.) in honor of the Utah Shakespearean Festival that is our little town's claim to fame. We showed up last Sunday having missed the last several weeks, and not knowing what Elizabethan shenanigans awaited us.

For the service, they invite the actors from the Greenshow (the free before-the-real-show-show with dancing, singing, and again Elizabethan themed)to participate. Sophie--who is a huge Greenshow fan--was very excited to see these"famous" actors at her church.

So, after church, the hospitality ladies put on a super sweet high tea. We're talking crumpets and cream and silver tea pots here. Sophie and I ended up at a table with the Greenshow actors, and they were super sweet to her. They answered all of her questions and chatted her up and it was a thrilling experience for Soph.
But that was NOTHING compared to Tuesday when Sophie and I attended the Greenshow, and one of the actors recognized Sophie and singled her out to stand up and play a part in "The Scum and Ratsby Show" (think Elizabethan stand-up).

My girl was over the moon.

So we came home, and she was telling her dad about it--swirling and twirling around generally being spaztic--and she promptly spilled a huge class of water right on E's laptop.

It sparked and smoked and died.

I should add that Sophie as been told and warned and cautioned about fooling around in close proximity to her dad's computer desk. About 500 times.

There were tears all around, and while it was an accident, it was one she had been warned against profusely. Unfortunately, the incident happened on Tuesday; her birthday was on Wednesday; Thursday I had to be back at work (sigh)and she was scheduled to spend a day with Grandma; so the decided punishment--a full days worth of grounding to her room--couldn't actually take place until today.

Not the best case scenario I know.

Oh well. Wish me luck in holding my resolve today.

The dog won't come when she's called...

2009-08-12T13:32:00.000-07:00

and the dumplings keep burning.

And that is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to my complaints about the DS that Sophie (finally) got for her birthday today.

I held out for a long time on this one kids. But, E talked me around, and my shiny new seven year old is now the proud owner of a shiny new pearl pink Nintendo DS.

Have I mentioned that video games fill me with rage. I can't play them. I hate them. I hate trying to help Sophie play them. I hate that the stupid voice command on the Nintendogs seems completely shitty, and trying to make the fake dog answer her to her fake name like 50 times (which, by the way, made the REAL dog very antsy because he was like, "Hello! I'm here! Why do you keep calling me!) nearly lead me to have a nervous breakdown this morning.

Of course, she's enjoying the Cooking with Mama game, and even has on her chief's hat. After yesterday's REAL cooking experiment ("I made you a nice warm drink mom. It has milk, sugar, chocolate, butterscotch and cinnamon. The microwave is a little messy now.") I can't say that I'm sad that she is making octopus dumplings in a completely sterile environment.

Ultimately, I'm a complete and total Luddite when it comes to video games. I sound like an 80 year old woman walking around saying things like, "Kids these days don't know how to have fun anymore. All they do is play those new-fangled Pac-Man games."

But I said OK, and so, having made my bed, I suppose I aught to quit my bitching and lay in it.

So--Happy 7th birthday my darling Soph. You are the light of my life and the song in my heart. Please keep liking me for at least a couple more years. Also, it's almost time to put the DS away. You have 10 more minutes. I don't care if you're almost done with that level.

And then she turned 34...

2009-08-02T13:33:00.000-07:00

I kind of hate birthdays. It's like you should be having lots of fun and feeling very special, but ultimately it's just another day and while it's nice to get some cash and not have to do the dishes, I kind of wonder if it's worth the trouble.

Snapshots from the last few weeks:

Janzen watching in awe as I unloaded my first Costco haul. After he watching me put away the lifetime (well, 3 month anyway) supply of paper towels, toothpaste, laundry soap, etc., he asks, "Geez Boo. Is this for when the zombies attack?"
Sitting on the porch at the Jorgensen family cabin all day with my dear Jen. Nothing better to do than watch the Quaky leaves quake. Perfect.
Making my first ringer in horseshoes.
Cleaned out my closet. Finally.
Trying to find some jeans that fit with Soph...both of us struggling and unsuccessful. Her saying, "Mom, trying on pants just makes me too emotional."
The first red cherry tomato from the garden.
Turing the calendar over to August, realizing that school is starting any second now, and I am not ready.
Having the first truly, truly ugly fight with my husband in years. Then making up and realizing that I truly, truly do love this man.
Watching Soph gear up for her first jog with dad (her idea). Shoes on the right feet--check. Headband--check. Shaker cued to Dancing Queen--check. The girl is ready to rumble.
Sitting through my first visit to the dentist in WAY longer than I feel comfortable disclosing to anyone. Even the hygenist. Do I floss? Ummm. Sure. You bet. No cavities (I've never had even one.) but the punishment for my lack of dental care is now a series of fairly painful "deep cleanings."
Celebrating Erik's birthday with a picnic at Cedar Breaks--just us and the kids.

Home Run!

2009-07-18T13:34:00.000-07:00

"Mommmm! Geez--I'm going to second base!"

Huh?

The above is what Soph yelled at me when I opened the door while she was going to the bathroom.
Apparently, she heard someone (probably her dad) talking figuratively about "first base" and "second base"--spun the idea through the crazy mess and marvel that is her 6 year old mind--added a little prior knowledge, and figured he must be talking about bathroom business. I guess it makes sense in a way--number one/first base, number two/second base.

So now, when we walk the dog, it's "Ew...Jimmy just went to first base on that mailbox."

I haven't set her straight yet. While I'm confident I could explain first base with no problem, bases 2, 3, and home plate are probably better covered sometime in the distant future--like at the 5th grade maturation program.

(Ok--maybe a little before that. Lord. I'm going to have to have the sex talk with my daughter some day. I wonder how that will go. Personally, I got most of my information from various Harlequin romances. As you can imagine, I was slightly disappointed when my first encounter was nothing like "Savage Thunder." Apparently he hadn't read the book.)

In which she acts as t hough it hasn't been several months since her last post...

2009-06-23T13:44:00.000-07:00

Anyone else finding the solutions to systems of linear equations today?

I thought not.

Ahhh, summer school.

Somedays I just sit here with my thumb up my ass. Other days I explain the difference between socialism and communism to one kid, dash over to check on the girl doing the packet on invertebrates, and then desperately try to relearn polynomials to drag some poor senior through his last math credit.

GT.

We're four weeks and four days into summer, but who's counting.

I feel like this is the last summer that Sophie is going to be a little girl; next year is 2nd grade, and after that, or so I've heard, moms become creatures who know nothing, and are basically in the way.

So--my goal for this summer is to, as much as possible, enjoy my little girl. Well, that and have many more drinks than I do during the school year.

Here's a quick summary of the days that have blasted by.

Swimming Lessons
Soph ended up with a GREAT teacher. The scardy-Soph who wouldn't even put her face in the water at the beginning of last year now jumps off the diving board--in the deep end--and swims to the edge on her own.
(The last lesson was a bit of a gross-out comedy. Imagine a pool full of kids. Sophie has on her pink Speedo goggles and is having a tea-party at the bottom of the pool with the fairies while waiting for her turn to practice the elementary back stroke with the teacher. Suddenly she shoots to the surface. Her face a study of composed concern, she raises her hand, and in a just louder than normal voice calls out, "Teacher!" The teacher doesn't answer, as she busy drilling "Monkey/Airplane/Soldier "into the brain and body of a very reluctant student. Sophie calls again "Teacher! I need to tell you something!" Kathy, the teacher, finally heads over to Soph to ask what the problem is. Sophie tells her, "I think someone had an accident." Kathy asks, "Did someone get hurt?" Sophie whispers, "No. Somebody pooped." Kathy asks, "Are you sure?" Soph answers confidently, "Yep. It's over there. I can see little pieces coming off of it." After investigating with Soph's borrowed goggles, Kathy confirms the turd and evacuates the pool.)

Summer Reading
We're blasting through the Little House on the Prairie books. She's taken to wearing the bonnet my mom gave her daily and calling me Ma. I really, really want to get her to start reading independently,and try and tempt her with many and varied kinds of books from the library, but she just isn't interested. This is where I start comparing her to other kids, and me to other moms, and then feeling like shit for even making the comparisons and like even worse shit for finding us both a little lacking.

Other Shenanigans
As usual, I've over scheduled her, because there's nothing that makes me more crazy than trying to entertain a bored kid. Which, frankly, I'm not sure is my job, but which I do. My mom didn't taxi our asses all around town. We just played--or watched tv--or forced Jon to submit to being dressed as a girl complete with hula skirt and bikini top--but it wasn't like she was all that involved. Which I get. There were four of us. We had a built in playmate--or nemesis--and either way, there was someone to interact with. I guess my guilt at not having another kid has lead me to play mommy cruise director--a roll I'm ambivalent about. But there's craft camp and yoga and piano and cousin play dates and all other kinds of activities that we run around to. And not only do they keep Soph busy, they give me an excuse not to clean the house.

Am I the only mom...

2009-03-09T13:45:00.000-07:00

who feels a little overwhelmed (and slightly peeved) by the amount of shit that the elementary school wants me to keep track of?

Maybe I'm just stupid.

Lately though, it seems like I'm receiving a new dictum every day...

Wear the class shirt on Monday. (Which is a problem, as Sophie doesn't actually have any PANTS.)

Track 20 minutes of reading per night.

Return the leveled reading book every day.

Return LIBRARY books on Tuesday.

Start tracking addition reading minutes for the read-a-thon starting last Friday. (p.s. The letter sent home for said read-a-thon was abysmal. Shocking. Nearly impossible to read because of the shit-tastic usage.)

Turn in minutes for read-a-thon on Friday.

And that's just the crap I can think of off the top of my head. I don't know how moms with more than one child do it!

Don't get me wrong. I have nothing but love for my comrades at the elementary school. I couldn't do it. The same kids. All day. Plus the tattling and pants peeing and snotty noses. BUT maybe they could lighten up just a bit on my 6 year old.

In further bitching and complaining news, I hate the cold, hate the first week of daylight savings, (because frankly, I just don't see the savings. I don't think the SUN gets the memo about moving the clock an hour either way. It shines for its allotted shining time whether we call it 6:30 am or 5:30 am.) and I hate that my body was thrown so out of wack this morning, I didn't get in my, ahem, morning constitutional, and now will probably be backed up for days.

To balance things out, I can report that I love (ok, that's a strong word. How about like?) the Dead in Dixie books that Kodikins loaned me. I love that the crippling fear and worry I've been experiencing for the last several weeks seems to be on a brief hyatus. I love having my Daisy Scout meeting all planed out.

Here I Am. (But not to rock you like a hurricane)

2009-03-01T13:47:00.000-08:00

All day long today I've tried, just as an exercise, to not distract myself. Not to do those things I do to just past the time and numb the edge and dull the free floating fear and dread that seems lately to be so much a part of my human experience.

And I discovered that I do a lot of numbing.

I love to read--but often I read not because I necessarily want to--but because it keeps my mind distracted. (Because honestly, how many times can I really need to read Protector of the Small.)

And then there's the sitting down in front of the laptop to check Facebook, (I DID make myself give up Perez Hilton a few months ago) my various emails, my blog stats, back to Facebook, then to Go Fug Yourself, and then MSN, and then back to Facebook. It's pointless.

There's more. (You know---check the fridge, check on that chin zit, etc.) But my main point here is that the majority of my non-working or Sophie-care related moments are spent just trying to avoid my head.

So today, I just tried to say, "Ok head. Here I am."

And apparently, there's a reason I've been trying to avoid that.

It sucketh. I seriously, seriously don't know what to do with myself other than list all the things to be afraid of and worried about.

But I'm going to keep trying. I'm operating under the assumption that eventually I'll get to the end of the list.
I'm not sure what to do with that "other" time. My guitar case is dusty and my callouses are gone, but maybe that would be a direction. Also, I don't look at the blog as an avoidance mechanism. I do think it's reflective, so maybe I'll try to post more than once a month.

A quick Soph said:

Sophie can memorize about anything if you put it to music. We sang the Girl Scout Law to the tune of "Home on the Range" a couple of times at the last Daisy meeting, and she got it in her head. She's been having me help her, and now she has the whole thing memorized. I was pretty proud of her, so I asked her if she'd like to recite the law at our next meeting. Her reply:

"Oooo! Can I wear a cloak and wear a crown and make a speech?"

Deep Breaths

2009-02-22T13:49:00.000-08:00

I spent most of the week hanging on by a thread. Maybe it's my Mormon upbringing, but my gut always has told me that the world is one step from total meltdown, and this week, I had moments of true, true panic.

E has made me promise to quit listening to NPR, but I can't help it. I poke the power button of my car radio and just listen for about 5 seconds and then quickly turn it off. Little flashes like "...as Iran continues it's uranium enrichment program..." and "...the catastrophic down-turn of markets in Germany..." aren't doing much to dispel the ever increasing anxiety that has taken up residence in the pit of my stomach.

Plus, I spent the tail end of last week at a conference, and the lady who traveled and roomed with me was nice, and stable, and older, and kept saying things like, "Our daughter who is a financial analyst and who has been pretty spot on through this whole thing says to be ready for the next dark ages." When I explained to her that comments like that really disturb and upset me, and I asked if it was hyperbolic at all, she said no, but then went on to try and console me with a lecture on how the dark ages have been renamed the middle/medieval ages because there was still art and music and literature. That didn't help.

Eventually I had a full fledged panic-attack in the middle of dinner at PF Changs, had to excuse myself to go into the bathroom to shake and barf, and then returned to the table and asked if we could kindly change the topic from the inevitability of the loss of all our jobs to something slightly less vomit inducing.

And so much of it comes back to being a mom. I look at Sophie's beautiful, sweet face, and wonder what there will be for her. I imagine horrible scenarios in which she is starving or enslaved or blown up or dying from some crazy form of typhoid-germ warfare and then I get the shakes again and have to excuse myself to go in the bathroom and sob and try not to barf.

How about an abrupt change of subject?

So you know about the whole Mormon thing already. I was one, now I'm not, I live in Utah, and those guys have a pretty slick recruitment scheme in place for the kiddies. It's called Primary. And Soph wants to go.

Bad.

It's been a struggle for me on a number of levels. A few weeks ago when she came home from attending church and said to me, "Don't worry mom. There IS a Jesus. Joseph Smith saw him. Can Daddy baptize me?" and my brain tried to crawl out through my right nostril because it knew there was no way it could process that statement, I decided that maybe I had better start looking for some options.

What I REALLY wanted was some community/congregation that would be sweet to her, wanted to help the world, offered some kind of "Bible as Literature for Elementary School Kids" so that she could learn the stories--because they are a cultural phenomenon that are helpful to know--if for nothing else than literary allusions, and would fill in the vacuum that she seems to be feeling about being one of the only kids in her class who don't go to church. If they took it pretty easy on the Jesus question, that would be good too.

I was dropping off some Girl Scout (I didn't mention that I'm the new Daisy Scout leader?) stuff at the local Episcopal church (They're nice enough to let us use their space.) and happened to bump into their reverend/pastor/minister. A very cool lady (!) named Susan. I mentioned to her that my daughter was feeling very curious about religion, and we were considering a visit to the Episcopalians just to check things out. She lit right up, and was very, very kind. First she read me her "Robin Williams Top 10 Reasons to be an Episcopalian," t shirt, then she assured me that wherever I was in my journey, I, and my daughter, were welcome. She also told me that jeans were totally acceptable to wear, and that if we wanted to stay, there would be coffee hour after.

We've been three times now. Soph has the Sunday school teacher (a very sweet 8th grade girl) all to herself, and they mainly read children's bible stories and color. She likes it. I like sitting in the chapel; it has beautiful wood arches, and a very cool labrynth on the floor. I also like the community/congregation, and particularly the older ladies who tell Soph how pretty she is, give me a hug during the "peace," and put on a pretty impressive spread after church every week. And the coffee is pretty good too.

If only it weren't for the fact that I don't actually believe in God--Jesus in particular--it would be a perfect fit. I love how at the end of her sermon today, Susan said, "Let's get living!" I love how she seems to like ending the service with the Amiel quite, "Life is short. Be swift to love! Make haste to be kind!" I hate it when everyone recites the Nicene Creed. It reminds me that the reason the church exists is to worship God/Jesus, not to provide me with a silent place to sit, a nice cup of coffee, and a few words of encouragement.

They're starting an investigator's class next Sunday, and Susan invited me to come. In fact, I think I may be the investigator that the class is being held for. And I don't wanna. I don't want to have to say, "I think what you have here is swell. I love the sense of community and the way that you seem to want to do good in the world. I also think the whole Jesus thing is a bit of a crock." I don't know that they'd still let me come.

A quick Soph (and Madeline) said...

2009-01-04T14:31:00.000-08:00

So, big sis Mandy and I were shuttling Sophie and Madeline over to Grandma's house on New Year's Day, and the following conversation ensued.

Me: Wow! Look at all the snirt.
Madeline: What's snirt?
Mandy: Oh, it's something they said in Minnesota. It's that gross mixture of snow and dirt on the side of the road.
Sophie: (Thinking for a minute) What about snee?
Me: (Thick as a plank) What's snee?
Madeline: (Catching on immediately) Yellow snow! Snow and pee!
Sophie: (Definitely on a roll now) And snoop!
Madeline: Or snoo!
Sophie: (Triumphantly) And SNARF!

Somehow, I don't think this is what the Eskimos had in mind with their 100 different words for snow.

Only 2 days...

2009-01-02T14:32:00.000-08:00

of Christmas Vacation are left.

As always, depending on the slant of memory, it seems like it just started, and at the same time like it's been ages since I rolled out of bed at 6:00, hit the carpet running, and found myself sitting at my desk by 7:30.

Two other teachers and I held a SIOP training (strategies for English language learners and limited English proficient students) yesterday. Getting ready was SO stressful. The prospect of standing up in front of peers and telling them what's what is scary as fuck. But, if I'm being totally honest, I think I did ok. I always over prepare, particularly when I'm nervous, and that lead to a bit of a rushed feeling, but other than that, I don't think I made too much of a tit of myself.

(Want to know something else? As much as I dreaded it, and as nerve wracking as it was, teaching a group of literate, reasonably interested, well behaved adults was kind of...fun. They even got most of my jokes. In another life time, far into the future, it may be something I wouldn't mind doing as a regular gig.)

Christmas came and went with very little fanfare at our house. Soph didn't really need, or surprisingly want much this year, and seemed pretty content with the few things we/Santa picked out for her. She also really likes the keyboard Grandma gave her, and we like it too, now that we bought some head phones. In addition to a few toys, she wanted one of those rolly-back-and-forth-ball-ice cream makers, so I went ahead and bought her one. Ultimately E seems to have had the most fun with it. The oatmeal scotchie cookie dough batch was pretty dang delicious.

Mandy came for a visit, and Soph was thrilled to see the Albuquerque cousins. Things got off to a pretty rocky start. The Krause kids are more independent, focused players, and Soph prefers everyone all mixed up together, engaging in as many shenanigans as possible. But, by the last few days of the visit, they found some common ground and had a really fun time together.

Which leads to today. Erik and Janz are doing a little sparring in the garage. Sophie just delivered me a special drink (I'm pretty sure it's water and honey and maybe a little ketchup.) and is working through her usual Saturday morning activities. She's played orphanage with her dolls, fed the Hungry Hungry hippos their breakfast, listened to me read her a little Junie B. Jones, and watched a little Sponge Bob.

As for me, I started my period at about 6:00 this morning, and am feeling pretty pokey. It's time for me to get my ass out of bed, and begin to undeck the halls. Which is not nearly as fun as decking them. Less with the carols, snacks, and nog. More with the sweating and swearing. I may have to have an un-decking mai tai. That's traditional, isn't it?

13 years...

2008-12-03T14:34:00.000-08:00

of marriage.

Wow.

Yesterday was my wedding anniversary. Well, mine and Erik's.

We're planning a trip to Zion National park this weekend. It's where we spent our honeymoon, and where we like to return to just chill and reconnect.

The plan is to leave Saturday and return Monday, which led me to apply for a day off of work. I can either take a personal day, no questions asked, and pay for a sub, OR I can apply for an "emergency" day which requires me to give an explanation.

I wrote, "It's my wedding anniversary and we have a special event planned." How's that for a euphemism for, "Planning on having hotel sex"?

Spoiled Little Shit

2008-12-01T14:35:00.000-08:00

So I was at my mom's house on Sunday going through her old Christmas decorations. We found the old advent calendar that my Granny (dad's mom) used to send us every year. It's a long embroidered candle with a with 24 rings. She'd tie some kind of little wrapped gift on each ring, and we four kids would each take turns opening a present until Christmas day.

It's one of my favorite Christmas memories.

When we found it, and my mom offered to give it to me, I was thrilled and touched. I went to the store today, and carefully selected some little gifts for Sophie and for Janzen. I wrapped them in tissue, tied them with ribbon, and attached them on the candle.

Tonight, I unveiled the calendar, ceremoniously untied the first gift, (some lavender fizzy bath hearts) and gave it to Sophie to open.

Her response?

"Oh crap. I don't really like these."

So, I took the calendar down, told her I was going to give the presents to someone who would appreciate them, and sent her to bed.

So much to be thankful for

2008-11-28T15:10:00.000-08:00

There just really is no way to express it.

The bird's in the oven. Li'l sis Katy is chillin', catching up on old Buffy comics. The boys are in the back playing video games (of course) and Soph and I are watching a little Kung Fu Panda on the telly.

Janz brought along his Viking helmet to wear while devouring the feast. I guess I'll go ahead and let him wear it, as long as he also puts on a clean shirt.

Happy Thanksgiving to all.

Because I promised myself I would...

2008-11-24T15:11:00.000-08:00

here is today's blog.

Blogging is the closest thing I have to a hobby (sad) so I'm determined to spend some time at it every day.

(Sits and waits for inspiration.)

(Considers feeding Sophie a Kid Cuisine for dinner.)

(Gets up and microwaves least healthy meal known to man for Sophie.)

(Returns)

(Wonders if should admit that daughter is eating dinner in front of the TV. In her room. No. Don't tell them. The frozen dinner is enough. Combined with the tv, in the room no less, crosses the line from "keepin' it real" to "admitting defeat.")

(Casts about for something. Anything.)

(Twilight? Would they think I am a total middle aged teen romance reading/watching freak? It wasn't TERRIBLE. Fine cinema, no; cheezy, yes; vapid, at times; entertaining, well, yeah. And I did say Cedric Diggory was super hot YEARS ago. YEARS. Except for those times when he looks like Pete Doherty. But they probably wouldn't believe me.)

(Should I mention E's colon issues? No way. He'd shit.)

Well, apparently I have nothing to say today. Here's hoping that tomorrow Sophie says fuck in front of her grandma or something.

Yes she can!

2008-11-23T15:13:00.000-08:00

After I told her for the 100th time that no, she does NOT have a boyfriend, and that she and Aiden can be good friends, but not boyfriend/girlfriend, Soph answered,

"Well mom, Barack Obama is president now, so that means we have FREEDOM!"

20 minutes to myself...

2008-11-22T15:16:00.000-08:00

and no idea what to do with them, other than waste them.

I think I need a hobby.

Does blogging count as a hobby?

I guess it might if I did it more than once every fiscal quarter.

I'm looking for the passion people, and am not exactly sure where to find it.

In less self absorbed news, (actually, not really) this year I will be cooking my first official Thanksgiving dinner. My folks will be in Logan, and E's don't have firm plans, plus E has wanted me to cook him a turkey for 12 years now, so I guess this is the year.

I have provided everything but the turkey at many, many Thanksgiving feasts. I make a mean pumpkin pie (my secret ingredient is real maple syrup) and can do sweet potatoes, cranberries, and whatever else with no problem. But I've never stuffed and cooked a turkey. Ever.

I hope I don't fuck it up.

I'll only be feeding 5, myself included, so hopefully, I'll be able to find a fairly small bird. Li'l sis Katy will be there (thank God, as she is a very good cook and even better company) and because I'll be in my own kitchen/house and not mother or mother-in-law's, this year I can decree, "Let there be cocktails" and there will be. Sweet.

Riveting, ain't it?

In first grade news, the saying "Easy-peasy-cotton-cheesy" (said when a request has been made that is too easy to even justify. As in, "Soph, could you please clean up the mess you made with the frosting and peanut butter?" "Sure Mom! That's easy-peasy-cotton-cheesy!")has been officially replaced with "Easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy,"

That is all.

The Bird

2008-11-19T09:23:00.001-08:00

Ahhh…the bird.

Who doesn't love flipping the bird? I do. My students do. My daughter does.

That's right. Sophie Gene loves the bird.

Where she learned the bird, I can only guess, but she explained to me recently that she has become a surreptitious bird flipper.

That is to say, she knows she shouldn't do it, but it's just so fun she can't help it, so she often flips the bird…

In her pocket.
Inside her desk.
Under the covers.
While in the bath-tub.
In the back seat where I can't see her.

She knows it's not NICE to flip the bird, but isn't really sure why, and doesn't seem to care. It's the actual action of poking that little middle finger up that she likes. In addition to the covert bird flipping described above, she often "accidentally" flips the bird when counting, pointing, and otherwise gesturing.

My favorite was when she shot me a kiss (you know…you kiss your pointer finger, and then make a gun and shoot the kiss to whomever) on her middle finger. When I calmly inquired, "What the hell?" she explained, "Mom, that was a love bird!"

Jump Back!

2008-11-17T16:32:00.000-08:00

Damn it's been a long time. Let's pretend it hasn't; shall we?

So. Halloween.

Like all 6 year olds, Soph had been planning Halloween 08's costume since Halloween 07. She considered Annie, Pikachu,Tinkerbell,and about a hundred other characters. Then, as October rolled around, she had narrowed her choices to either, ahem, "Grave Yard Fairy" or "50s Librarian."

I'm pretty sure she saw the grave yard fairy in a costume magazine, but I still was pretty confounded as to how to pull it off. As for 50s librarian, can I just offer, what the fuck?

Long story short, I came across a 50s soda fountain girl costume, bought it, and told her it would have to do. Amazingly, she was ok with that.

Behold.
Of course, she went to 2 parties, plus trick-or-treating, and wore a different costume to each event. She decided to be a princess for the first one. I broke down and let her wear a little make-up; I mean, it was Halloween, after all.
Frankly, I don't think I took a picture of the actual trick-or-treating ensemble. I should have. She went with "50s princess" for that one, and was wearing a baby blue princess dress up with the pink cat glasses and a pony tale. I thought of talking her out of it for about 2 seconds, then realized that was absurd. It's her damn costume--why should I do anything but make sure she's warm and reasonably decent?

I'll close with 5 points of interest regarding me, as, apparently, I am a bit more than "Sophie's mom."

I'm making Thanksgiving for the first time this year.
I just bought new walking shoes.
I love pumpkin pie ice cream
I just read The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society.
I think it might be time to look back into the anti-depressant meds. 14 hours of sleep a night might be pushing it just a tad.

Oh. I'm on Facebook. Mostly for the Scramble. Which I'm surprisingly bad at, yet still enjoy playing. So drop by and challenge me to a game, if you so desire.

What's New? What's Old?

2008-09-17T16:37:00.000-07:00

What's new?

A truly, truly hideous haircut. There are no words, really.
Watching Monarch of the Glen via Netflix. It's lovely and benign, and if I'm being honest, it's loveliness and benignity are probably symptomatic of my current spiritual/personal/emotional rut.
Ants. In my house.
Jasper Fford novels--the Tuesday Next series in particular. Again, benign, though not perhaps lovely--brain candy though, without a doubt.

What's old?

Fear for the planet in general, my daugher in particular. I'm having one of those days where I'm worried that despite all my efforts, she will be kidnapped or raped or killed in a horrific freak accident or at the very least, will inherit a world with no resources or have to live through WW3.
Cosmic brain fuck over finally deciding that there probably is no god, and no point, and living in a human body is a weird coincidence that doesn't make sense combined with guilt for not just being grateful for food, clothing, a reasonably peaceful town, and a healthy child.

Send me a mental hug, will you?

Did I mention that school started last Thursday?

2008-08-18T16:39:00.000-07:00

Because it did.

I am officially ass deep in back-to-school shenanigans.

This year (fingers crossed) is shaping up to be a good one. The kids seem to be fairly human. Sophie is in 1st grade full time, so I don't have to taxi her around during my prep period. None of my 11th graders are reading below an 8th grade level. So--that should be swell.

Of course, I've gotten in the bad habit of checking the sheriff's office web page, and looking the jail bookings and most wanted page. Sigh. Two of my former students are on the most wanted page, and one or two show up at least weekly in the jail bookings. I need to quit doing that. It makes me feel like crap.

Time to go correct stuff.

She better have had the time of her life...

2008-08-12T16:40:00.000-07:00

because Sophie pretty much just had her last birthday blowout. Next year she can have a couple of friends sleep over, but the ginormous hoopla has seen its last year.

What can I say? The girl is popular. She's the only granddaughter in town, and most of our family lives here.
She goes to two schools. She knows a shit load of people.

The party was at the park, in a reserved pavilion (reserved people. That means back the fuck off when I'm packing up with, in all reality, 2 house left on my reservation and you want to use the pavilion which you did NOT reserve for your little family function.) We ended up with 16 kids (18 if you count the two crashers) and about as many adults.

The bounce house was fun, and no one needed stitches. (There were two serious head bonks and 1 kid stepped on a bee.)

Katy's cupcake rainbow was oohed and aahed over, and Sophie particularly loved it, (although for some reason she decided to have all of the kids at the party blow out her candles for her and make their own wishes.)

All in all, a success.

It never fails...

2008-08-09T16:53:00.000-07:00

You can plan a play-date.

Set up the play tent.

Outfit it with tea party stuff.

Buy new water colors.

And even glitter glue.

But ultimately, the kids will have the most fun blowing up 2 old balloons that they found under the bed, and letting them go in each other's faces, yelling "Who farted?" about fifty million times.

Snippity Snapshots

2008-07-21T16:42:00.000-07:00

My gal pal just sent me some very sweet photos of Soph. As I, her mother, haven't seen fit to take any pictures of her in the past 4 months, I'm sure glad someone else has.

The first two have a bit of a story behind them. Soph's two best friends are dare devils. She is not. So when they thought up the awesome plan of towing one another behind the Barbie Jeep in a bike egg, she immediately said, "Woah girls. I'm going to need my helmet for that one!"

Here the two of us are at the Montessori Mothers' Day party.

And this last one is just a day at the park early in the spring.

In further news, I made plans for her birthday party today. Even if I only invite kids who invited her to their birthday this year, I'm going to end up with about 15. Plus grandmas, and great grandmas, and other genetic hangers on. We've officially outgrown ice cream at Grandee's. So I bit the bullet, reserved a pavilion at the city park, and ordered up a bounce house. It's too pricey, but I'm hoping that the grandmas will contribute to the bounce house in lieu of buying her more crap. If any of y'all are in town on August 9th, join us for some sweet, sweet, bouncy fun.

Sunshine and Butterflies

2008-07-18T16:45:00.000-07:00

Ok, Ok. I've been on a bit of a downer the last few posts. Sorry. My plan is to cowgirl the hell up and forge ahead with a spring in my step and a song in my mother effing heart.

To that end, here is a (shortish) list of things that make me glad.

1. Budweiser "Real Men of Genius" ads. I know. Lame. And it's number one on the list. But that is some funny shit. My particular favorite is "Mr. Cellphone Holster Wearer." Because I totally know that guy.
2. Avocados.
3. My tomato plants.
4. Thunder storms.
5. Punctuating phrases with periods.
6. Joe Strummer.
7. Californication--the TV show, not the song. Watch it. It has tons of heart. Well, and tons of boobs. But an equal amount of heart and boobs.

Wonk

2008-07-17T16:45:00.000-07:00

I've been doing better in general the last few months. More with the exercise. Less with the snacks. More with the positive outlook. Less with the self loathing.

Enter this week.

Things have been down right wonky. I'm talking cookie dough, pizza, Maui Sweet Onion Kettle Chips, in bed half the day, not washing my hair, seeing a wookie every time I look in the mirror wonky.

And I wish I knew why.

Something tipped. Something that was causing me to feel the need to take care of myself and be productive and positive has gone awry.
I
n my head I list possibilities. My first day back at school is August 7th. (There is simply no August in summer vacation anymore.) E has switched jobs (I think I can safely say that now that he's officially told his old job.) and is working both for a short time. The house is for sale (because not having a yard is an issue). But really, I don't feel actively upset about any of these things.

What I feel is tired. What I feel is apathy. What I feel is hungry. What I feel is afraid.

You know, it might have something to do with being taught, the whole time I was growing up, that the apocalypse, the actual end of days, was probably going to happen in my life time. The "Second Coming" was always coming, and you had better have all your ducks in a row.

So when the world begins to feel unbalanced, I start feeling like I should start hoarding water and gas and, shit, I don't know, cracker snacks. Gas prices go up, and I immediately feel like the whole basis of Western society is going to fall to bits and I'm going to end up running through burning streets, clutching my daughter's hand, dodging bullets and searching for a cave or something to wait out the last great battle in. (With cracker snacks.)

I read about the economy failing, and my stomach decides that digesting itself is a reasonable response, as we probably won't be able to afford bread soon.

Some Mormons in recovery spend a lot of time focusing on the guilt that the church built into their lives. For me, it's the fear. And I don't really know how to deal with it.

So if you should see me at the grocery store, buying flats of canned goods and sacks of flour, just give me a big hug, and reassure me that the end, isn't in fact, nigh. That things get sketchy, and wonky sometimes, but that it will be OK.

A quick Soph said

2008-07-15T16:50:00.000-07:00

I'm determined to not throw away ANY produce. It's so damn expensive. The nectarines were getting a little past, so I decided to make smoothies as a snack for Soph and her pal as their afternoon snack. A little banana, nectarine, ice, milk, wizz in the blender. I was feeling pretty proud of myself when I presented them both a nice cool, frothy, healthy treat. Until Soph squealed.

"Jesus mom what is this? A bubbling vomit swamp?"

(Note to self. WAY less with the Jesus, or we're going to be ridden out of town on a rail.)

A word about yoga

2008-07-14T16:48:00.000-07:00

Sophie has yoga camp today. She LOVES it. I signed her up at the studio where I used to take yoga but stopped several months ago. Because, as I came to find out, I fucking hate yoga.

Ok. That was a little strong.

Thing is, I used to really love it. Sure I'd feel a little uncomfortable (read: like a beached whale) sometimes, but generally managed to push through it. Not so much anymore.

It's a lot of little things, I guess. The phrase that goes through my head about 80 times whenever I go to a class, "Why don't you shove it up your perfect little enlightened ass?" kind of sums it up though.

See, WAY back in the day when I was still going to church, people would sit around, talking (read: bragging) about "feeling the spirit." It's a Mormon thing. And I'd sit there feeling like shit on a stick, because I wasn't feeling it.

Enter the yoga folk. And their cleansing breaths. And their flowing energy. And I find myself back there on the pew, wondering if they are full of sparkly, enlightened bullshit, or if I'm somehow inherently flawed because I'm not getting it.

Add being surrounded by teeny bendy bodies, while mine is neither teeny, nor bendy (I have boobs people. Laying on my stomach and trying to raise my legs is uncomfortable and embarassing. And don't even ask me to turn upside down until there have been some serious, serious advancements in the field of boob support, because I'm likely to be smothered by my own tits.)

Yeah, yeah, I know it's not a competition, and that I'm suppose to modify and blah, blah, blah. Also, it hasn't escaped my attention that the root of the problem is (possibly) ME and not a centuries old practice embraced by millions.

But I still fucking hate it.

Melt Down

2008-07-10T16:50:00.000-07:00

Sophie is currently in the middle of a full fledged melt-down. She's on her top bunk with the covers pulled over her head wailing about how no one likes her, her mom isn't nice, she isn't nice, her life is too hard, etc.

The impetus for this Sophie melt? I bought the wrong hair clips at Walgreens.

The real story behind the tears?

I have my theories.

The main one is that it is just too, too fucking hot. So hot. By 10:00, it's 90 degrees and climbing. She wants to be outside and run around and go to the park and ride her scooter. But 1/2 a block down the road the reality of the heat sets in.

Also, she's bored out of her mind. There is only so much I can do. We invite friends over. Go swimming, bowling, do crafts--but ultimately, there are hours to be filled. We have no yard. She has no siblings here during the week (and Janz isn't much of a playmate when he is here on the weekends. What 14 year old boy wants to entertain his spoiled 5 yr old sister) and even an imaginative and resourceful little mind runs out of things to do after weeks an weeks.

A sub-category to the above is that she's bored with me. And frankly, I'm bored with her too. Ok. Let's tell it like it is. She's driving me bat-shit crazy. I'm about done meeting the wants/needs/desires/requests/ of my daughter. Every time I hear "Mama?" "Mom?" "Mommy?" I know that it will be followed with some THING she wants/needs/desires/or is requesting of me. And guess what? I don't wanna. I don't want to get anything down or put anything up or open or close or listen to or watch or do or undo. Anything.

It's not her fault. It's not really mine either. It just is.

So she watches too much TV (well, movies because the satellite is out) and I read too many books (Let's see, this week I've blasted through The Good Fairies of New York, Gossamer, Dragonbait, Good Omens, and another book of short stories that I can't remember.). I sometimes reassure myself that back in "olden times" when people couldn't go outdoors, they would sit around and tell stores, and that we're basically just doing that, although our stories are watched and read instead of listened to. But really I know that's bullshit.
I'd take her up the mountain, but there's always that one thing smack in the middle of the day that prevents it.

Today it's kid's yoga at 2:30; tomorrow I'm going to work at the jewelry store.

Excuses excuses.

Sweet, sweet summertime

2008-06-21T20:47:00.000-07:00

(This entry is also posted at www.missuzj.com, my new blog address. I'll be simul-blogging until the end of the month, and then will be posting exclusively at www.missuzj.com.)

It's so hard to post anything lately. It just seems like I have nothing to say. Tales of play dates and laundry aren't particularly engrossing.

The summer days are drifting away one at a time. Soon it will be July 4th, and then it's a quick slide down a steep hill to the school year.

Soph and I are having a really nice time together. She has swimming lessons every day at one, and while she still isn't actually swimming, she's getting close. Hopefully by the end of the summer we'll be able to go to the pool without packing the floaties. We've hosted several play dates, and I just love to spy on her and hear what she says to her friends when she thinks I'm not listening. Of course, the last time I interrupted her to tell her it was time to clean up, she was chanting "bippity bobbity boo" under her breath. When I left the room, I heard her say, "Crap. She didn't disappear."

No major mishaps so far (knock wood) other than a little run in she had with a ceiling fan. We were at a party at some friends' house, and I NEVER have much to drink when I'm being the "primary care giver," but E wasn't drinking and I was introduced to Sr. Mojito. Damn. Anyway, she climbed up on a bunk bed (unbeknowst to me) and there was a ceiling fan about 2 feet above it (!!) and she stood up and got clocked in the forehead. It could have been way worse, but I felt/feel pretty freakin' guilty for not paying better attention.

We've started reading short chapter books together at bed time. After blasting through a couple of Disney Fairies books (not as bad as you might think) we've started reading the Ramona books which she gets a pretty big kick out of. I enjoy reading them to her, so it's win-win.

I'm still Weight Watchering. Actually, I'm down 20 pounds, but have gotten pretty complacent the last few weeks. I need to step it back up. Thing is, getting skinny is a little scary. The fat is there for a reason. Not 100% sure what that reason is--that would be way to thoughtful and introspective of me--but as it started coming off, I did feel a little bit of panic.

I did notice, after a weekend of cocktails and cheese and s'mores and no exercise at the family cabin, (aside--the next time you are making s'mores, put a flat rock just close enough to the fire to warm it. While toasting your marshmallow, place a graham cracker on the rock with your chocolate on it. The chocolate will get all melty, and from there, it's just food porn. I'll let you use your imagination)that I felt tired and cranky--like I did when I first had the Epstein Barr diagnosis. So--wait--eating well and exercising makes your body feel better? Oh. Why didn't anyone ever tell me that before. ;)

Comment Whore wants to know:

How do you like your roasted marshmallows? Flaming? Golden? Do you have a technique?

Talet Show Video

2008-06-18T15:18:00.000-07:00

(This entry is also posted at www.missuzj.com, my new blog address. I'll be simul-blogging until the end of the month, and then will be posting exclusively at www.missuzj.com.)

Remember the South Elementary Variety Show? Sophie had such high hopes for her "performance" and then some serious stage fright turned her sweet solo into a dubious duet? (Alliteration strikes again!)

I finally received the video from the PTA, and after 2 hours of trying to figure out Windows Movie Maker and YouTube, I just may just be ready to share it with you.

So, I won't say anything about what a giant cow I am, or about how my shirt looks like a circus tent.

I will, however, note that Sophie is already planning her performance for next year. She says she's doing ballet, and I'll tell you what--if she gets stage fright next year, she's on her own. There are many things I will do for my daughter. I will sit through an hour of swimming lessons every day. I will fry her eggs "hotel style." I will leave fun mojito fueled parties early so that she can get enough sleep. I will read her Knufflebunny over and over again. I will wipe runny noses on my sleeve. But I will not dance on a stage in front of people. Ever.

Comment whore wants to know...

1. How stinkin' cute is my kid? and

2. What are 2 things you WILL do for your child and two things you WON'T do?

Tuesday Redux

2008-06-17T07:36:00.000-07:00

(This entry is also posted at www.missuzj.com, my new blog address. I'll be simul-blogging until the end of the month, and then will be posting exclusively at www.missuzj.com.)

One of the greatest things about updating the blog has been going back through old posts. I can't believe I've been doing this for 3 years, and I'm so, so grateful to myself for recording all of those "toddler moments" from when my girl was little(r). So, I've arbitrarily chosen Tuesday as redux day. I'll just pull a post from the archives, and have a look back at what Soph and I were doing around this day 1, 2, or 3 years ago. Lazy, eh?

Today's flashback is from 3 years ago.

6/19/05
THE CANDY MAN

I have yet to see the third, sixth, whatever it is, newest Star Wars movie. I'm not a die hard Star Wars fan, but I was disappointed by numbers 1&2 or 4&5, or whatever. No Han Solo (insert purring growl in appreciation of young Harrison Ford with a blaster), shitty directing, annoying amphibious creatures. Sophie has not seen any of "new" Star Wars movies, but, because of a strange connection she's made regarding Darth Vader, she's already his number one fan.

You see, the very first Pez dispenser that she happened to receive was Darth Vader. She knew nothing about his betrayal of the Jedi, or cyborg soullessness. All she knew was that if you lifted up his head--CANDY! And better yet, you can keep lifting, and the candy KEEPS COMING! That is why Sophie refers to Vader as, "The Candy Man."

So a couple of days ago, we were all sitting around, and decided to put in Episode 4--A New Hope--or as I prefer to call it, Star Wars. When Vader made his first entrance, Sophie was beside herself--not with fear, but with joyful appreciation. "Wook Mommy! Wook! It's the Candy Man!" She sat through the rest of the movie--enjoying Chewbaca, asking about Leah--but mostly waiting with baited breath for the appearance of the man who in her mind must be cousins with Santa Clause, or at least the Easter Bunny--The Candy Man aka Darth Vader aka Annakin Skywalker.

What's kind of odd about her camaraderie with Darth Vader is that she has this funny mannerism that we've been calling "Vadering" for about a year now. When she's particularly pissed, she'll hold her arm out stiffly, with her fingers spread and pointing straight forward and say firmly, "No Daddy!" (or Mommy or whoever.) We call it Vadering (as in--"Sophie just totally Vadered you") because it's like the thing Vader does to strangle that general guy in one or another of the movies. We know that she's especially pissed when we get a "Double Vader"--both hands out.

On another Sophie/Star Wars note, the other day she opened the fridge and dragged out a nearly full gallon of milk. I must have been comatose on the couch--because I didn't notice. Janzen walked by, oblivious to both Sophie and the milk, until she screeched, "Janzen--Don't put my milk away!" This, of course, clued both Janz and I into the fact that some milk intervention was needed. After I confiscated the milk, we laughingly discussed how Sophie had totally yet inadvertently tattled on herself. I said to Janzen--"She should have said, 'Move along Janzen. This is not the milk you're looking for.'" He thought this was so hilarious, he spent the rest of the day teaching her to say, "Move along. This is not the milk you're looking for."

Today's best thing about being a mom:
I should write more about my step-son. He's a total hoot. Plus, he is the most consciencious person with a Y chromosome I've ever met. Several times a day he says, "Boo (his nick name for me since he could talk) is there anything I can do to help?" I'm dead fucking serious. He says this. Then he helps. Folks--he's 11! Plus, we've started watching Monty Python together. We'll just be sitting around, and suddenly he'll say "Are you suggesting that coconuts migrate?" (If you didn't get that quote, we can't be friends--unless you go rent The Holy Grail immediately and watch it tonight.) It's pretty cool to have a kid (I think I can claim him as partially mine) who is also an incredibly funny and empathetic friend. (But of course, African swallows are non-migratory.)

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Getting a "Double Vader" just for suggesting that perhaps pulling the entire roll of toilet paper off the roll and putting it in the toilet isn't such a great idea.

What's a little wiping among friends? AND New digs!

2008-06-14T08:33:00.001-07:00

Sophie's friend Audrey was over all day yesterday. (My favorite Audrey story--she used to pronounce her "s" as "t." So, the first thing she ever said to me was, "How do you like my Hello Titty lunchbox?")

At one point, I heard Sophie holler, "Audrey! Hurry up!" Audrey replied, "Wait! I'm going poop!" There was a pause and then Sophie offered, "Need a wipe?" Audrey said, "Ummm. Sure!"

Luckily, I intervened in time, and explained to Sophie that Audrey was perfectly capable of wiping her own butt, and that if she needed help, a grown-up would handle it.

In FURTHER and more exciting news, I'd like to invite everyone to change up their links and start visiting me at the all new (insert drum roll) www.missuzj.com!

E bought the domain name for me for Christmas, and has been working since then to set up/design/create a super sweet new blogging pad for me.

I'll be simul-blogging for a while, but plan on posting exclusively to missuzj.com by the end of the month.

Comment whore wants you to...
Visit my new blog home and tell me what you think.

A quick Soph said...

2008-06-12T10:38:00.000-07:00

On the way out the door this morning...

"Mom. Are we real or are we in a book?"

A story I forgot to tell

2008-06-05T12:05:00.000-07:00

I always take Sophie on our end of the year field trip to the Zion Ponderosa Ranch Resort. It's about a 2 hour drive over the mountain, and that girl LOVES the school bus. The resort itself is kind of strange. Think of that place on Dirty Dancing, subtract the dancing, and add a zip line, mini petting zoo, and mountain bike trails and you're kind of getting there.

Anyway, it has a killer pool, which is where we spend most of our time.

While swimming, Soph overheard some teachers discussing the very thick, very sad scars on the upper arms of one of my girl students. Mrs. X mentioned to Mrs. Y that the student used to be a cutter. I heard the conversation as well, but assumed Soph wasn't listening, or that it had gone way over her head.

Now I have to back track. Soph's end of the year pet peeve at school was kids cutting (read with an incredulous Sophie voice) in LINE. The injustice of said activity was almost too much for her to take. How DARE someone try to insert him/herself in a line and not go to the end. She was particularly upset that the cutting went unpunished by teachers and even worse, that SHE got in trouble for tattling about the cutting.

So, in my motherly wisdom, I taught her the scathing verbal daggers which we at Mississippi Elementary school would use to call out and shame those who dared cut in line. Ahem. "Cutter cutter peanut butter!" and "No cuts no butts no coconuts!" I explained that when someone dared cut, we would simply say one of these seemingly magical rhymes, and they would then procede, post haste, to the end of the line.

Back to the ranch. I'm sure you know where this is going.

The story ends with Sophie chanting "Cutter cutter peanut butter" at my student as she walked down the bus aisle and me not knowing whether to shit or go blind.

Yet another facet of the world that I am unwilling/unable to explain to my 5 year old. Yet another fucked up thing to add to the list of fears to postpone until my daughter is an adolescent. Yet another occasion where Soph's sharp ears and my half-assed parenting got us both in trouble.

Comment whore wants to know:
When was the last time you were on a school bus?

"My mom says bunkbeds are only for boys"...

2008-05-30T12:14:00.001-07:00

... is what the little girl who just came over for the first time to play with Sophie said 10 seconds ago as she walked into Soph's room.

I have a feeling this isn't going to go very well.

UPDATE

The girls had a GREAT time. Great. Actually--it was a play date of 3. Sophie and 2 sisters, age 5 and 8. Playdough--sandbox--and the piece de resistance, a game apparently called "Princess Bum Bum." If you'd like to play, simply gather your friends, take turn calling each other "Princess Bum Bum" and then laugh until you're about to barf.

1st day of summer...

2008-05-27T06:58:00.001-07:00

And I'm thrilled. And freaked out.

The entire school year, I excuse myself from tons of shit I SHOULD (a big word in my brain today) be doing, promising to do it during the summer. So here it is. The summer. And all of the shoulds are swimming around in my stomach making me feel like I'm going to barf up my two boiled eggs and a banana.

What I need to do is be grateful that I have a job that gives me this huge chunk of time. I need to look forward to days with my daughter and time to catch up. So why oh why am I feeling almost panicky?

Here's the brain dump of all the "stuff" I've been planning to do. Starting now. (It's probably boring. It won't hurt my feelings if you want to skip it.) Oh. The list is categorized for your convenience.

Cleaning:
Everything. Clean EVERYTHING.

Wipe down all:
walls
floor moldings
wood cabinets
plantation blinds

Dejunk/Organize/Donate stuff in
Closets
Drawers
Cabinets
Garage

Sophie's Room

THROW AWAY CRAP
Go through clothing and give away all sizes under 6
organize book shelf
wipe down bunk bed
put toys, etc. in new labeled bins

Sophie's craft table

Clean it--and make her keep it up, or throw it out

CLEAN MY CAR
because it is truly, truly repulsive. Don't believe me? Look.

Health/Food
Plan menus for week
Go to the store once a week instead of 3 times a day
Establish a pantry
Increase walk from 45 min to 1 hr

School
Implement completely new filing system
Plan units for all 4 quarters
Help detention center with writing program

Misc
Start recycling. (No curbside here. Seek out options)
Go "up the mountain" at least twice a week
Limit Soph's TV to 1 hr or less every day
Grow Tomatoes
Have sex with my husband at least once a week
Help in Grandpa Cecil's garden enough to justify helping myself to produce at will
Keep toenails painted

I'm sure there are many, many more things that will come to me--but that's at least a start. In addition to the regular daily stuff, I'm tending one of Soph's friends every Tuesday and working for my brother at his jewelry store on Thursdays.

What the fuck am I doing sitting on my ass at the computer? I must begin. Now.

Comment whore wants to know...

What's your summer to-do list? And/or, click on either the picture of my trunk or Sophie's craft table to enlarge it. List everything you can see. Whoever can list the most items wins...something.

Last day of school

2008-05-23T07:23:00.000-07:00

This is Sophie on her very first day of kindergarten.

And here she is at her kindergarten graduation program.

(I tried to include a video, but after 3 hours of Blogger trying to upload it, I gave up. p.s. Am I not an excellent French braider?)

I can't believe how the time has gone by, and how much she's changed. It's uncanny what a different little girl she is now compared to 10 months ago.

Frankly, making the adjustment from being the mom of a toddler to the mom of a big kid has been a little rocky for me.

In a lot of ways, it's great--definitely less time consuming. I can take a shower without rushing and listening with bated breath for a crash/wail. I can say, "Get your jammies on and brush your teeth" and she can do it on her own. I don't have to monitor bath time. I drop her off at school, and she walks in by herself. She can pour cereal and put on shoes and put straws in juice boxes and wipe her ass and find her crayons and pick up her messes (in theory). There are a million and five things that she used to need me for. That now she doesn't. And I love that. And I hate it.

I hate that now I'm on the outside of so many things. I don' t know what she's thinking. I can't always sooth the hurts because they are much bigger boo-boos. Kids have started their nasty kid stuff. Calling one another names. Forming clubs that leave others out. Commenting on size and shape. The world has begun to open up in scary ways for her. She's beginning to see the ugliness and meanness. Two of her great grandmas have died--and so questions about death--questions that I do not know the answers to--pop up a lot. (Although she did inform me that as Great Grandma Tee-Tee has been dead for a year now, she is up in the third level of heaven with George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, and Jesus now. WTF??)

She watches and listens and so many of the things that freak me about about life, the universe, and everything are beginning to freak her out. I feel guilty about this. I've tried to keep my fears to myself, so I don't know if it's me, or just life.

This is a huge topic, and swims around in my brain constantly, and I'm not articulating it very well. So I guess I'll stop trying for now.

Comment whore wants to know...

If you're a parent, how are you making adjustments mentally as your child(ren) grow(s) older? And/or, if not, what's one thing you wish your parents had done differently in your early elementary years?

Why I do what I do (plus an asshole in the peanut gallery)

2008-05-22T19:05:00.000-07:00

SEA Graduation

I, of course, am LameTeacher. Having only 1000 characters to work with in the comments was quite a challenge, but I think that ultimately, my point was made.

Don't know why that apostrophe turned into a question mark, but it's really pissing me off.

The end of an era

2008-05-12T17:09:00.000-07:00

Soph has been attending the local Montessori school for the past 3 years. A week from Thursday, and that chapter of our lives will be closed. It makes me sad. That little house has been such a big part of our lives, and it's been so great for her. I feel so confident in the foundation she's built there, and know the rest of her education has a very solid place to rest. She has had the same teacher--the most steady, straight forward woman I've ever met--for three years. I don't think she'll ever have that kind of educational stability again.

BUT

I will not be one bit sad to have that extra three hundred smackaroos in the bank every month.

We're also coming to the end of her first year of kindergarten. She climbed in bed with me VERY early on Sunday morning (2ish) in tears because it had really hit home with her (at 2 a.m.???) that she had only 2 more weeks with her beloved Mrs. Wood. I swear to God--this woman was genetically engineered to teach kindergarten. Soph spent literally an hour talking about how much she LOVES Mrs. Wood. I love her too, and will miss her as well, but I will NOT miss Utah's crappy half day kindergarten. Two and a half hours is just barely worth the trouble.

On the flip side, I have her 1st grade teacher all lined-up (one of the MANY benefits of having a grandma as the school secretary) and I think Miss. Bagley is going to be great. She's a little young, but seems very with it. Also, she is so kind to Soph already. In fact, she (Miss Bagley, not Soph) is getting married in a couple of weeks, and sent Soph her very own invitation--which has a special place of honor on the refrigerator.

As for me, I'd give myself a C+ at best this year. My teaching wasn't awful, but I hit a bit of a wall. I'm just ready for the summer, and a chance to go through all my shit, and start fresh next year.

Comment whore would like you to please...

recommend a nice gift for me to give Sophie's teachers at the end of the year. They have both been such a blessing to her--and to me--and I want them to know that they're appreciated.

I hope I'm just depressed.

2008-05-06T20:04:00.000-07:00

Really. I hope it's just me. I hope the world isn't really a big shit sandwich ready to explode. And all the bees are disappearing. And I'm terrified for my daughter's future. And people do terrible things to their children. And there's just really no hope. None.

God I hope it's just me.

Koooooodie? Aaaaare you?

2008-05-01T11:15:00.001-07:00

When Sophie was three years old, she thought my dear friend Kodi lived in our back yard. Kods lived around the corner, (alas, we have both moved) and basically, when we were in the back yard playing, she was a fixture. So much so, that when Kodi wasn't present, Soph would wander around, looking behind bushes and furniture calling out, "Kodi! [Where] are you?"

Now though, we live on opposite ends of town, and I'm lucky to see her once a month. This blows. In fact, I'm beginning to worry a bit about if she's not ok, or if maybe I inadvertently said something stupid and hurtful and don't even know that she's upset with me.

We did go through a phase when we were first neighbors when shyness got the best of us. I'd call her, wanting to hang out, but for some reason not wanting to really ask. So our conversation would go something like this….

J: Hi. What are you up to? (I hope she says nothing and that she wants to come over.)

K: Oh. Not much. Just watching a snake show on TV. (And I'm kind of bored. I hope she invites me over.)

J: Ok. Well. I was just kind of bored and thought I'd call. (Ok Kods. This is the part where you say you want to come over.)

K: Oh. I'm glad you called. (Ok Becca. Now's the part where you ask me to come over.)

J: All right. Well, I'll talk to you later. (Rats. I guess she doesn't want to come over.)

K: Ok. Bye. (Rats. I guess she doesn't want me to come over.)

I thought we were past this phase. We've even laughed about it together, making fun of how insecure we both are, and why, sometimes, it's hard for adult women to make friends.

But now—it seems like we don't even call. And that makes me sad. Why is it sometimes hard to pick up the phone, send a quick email, or whatever when time has passed between friends? Am I the only one who struggles with this? I don't want to be a pain in the ass if someone is busy, or hibernating, or whatever, but on the other hand, I don't want to be neglectful.

So, I'm going to finish this post, and call my friend Kodi. Or maybe just text her. Because I'm a weirdo.

Comment whore wants to know…

Do you ever feel insecure/shy with your friends? Do you ever wish they would sometimes call and say, "In case you were wondering, I still like you. In fact I love you. I think you're smart and funny and clever and even though we don't see each other very often, you're still my friend"?

What didn’t they have when YOU were little (or, older than dirt)

2008-04-29T11:20:00.001-07:00

As far as Sophie is concerned, there have been four major time periods. And none of them end in "zoic." In her mind, the earth has gone through 4 major eras: dinosaur times, when Abraham Lincoln was president, when Grandma was little, and since she was born. That's it. I've tried to discuss this with her, but frankly, time is something we all pretty much take on faith. Sure, we've been TOLD that once humankind believed the world was flat and people actually PAID for their music, but for a 5 year old (five and four quarters, she tells anyone who asks her how old she is) the idea of a world that wasn't exactly the same as it is now is pretty suspect.

She has a lot of questions about this. We've had a lot of talks that start with her asking, "What didn't they have when grandma was little?" or "What didn't they have when you were little?" or, of course, "What didn't they have when Abraham Lincoln was president."

As far as what "they" didn't have when I was little, the list is huge. Sure, there are things like computers and cell phones, but I'm talking about the IMPORTANT things. The ones she is the most blown away by, however, include…

White boards (Think about it....Did you have white boards or chalk boards in your classrooms as a kid?)
Post-it notes (How did we live without the magic?)
Chicken McNuggets (These came out when I was 5, I think. I still remember KFC getting their panties in a twist and all those commercials about leaving chicken to the chicken experts.)
Seatbelts (I guess they were THERE, but mostly they were shoved behind the seat and covered in various car crust.)
Water bottles

Of course, I've had to defend myself a little, and remind her of the things we DID have that you can't get/see now. Like…

Jem (However, tons of episodes are on youtube, if you didn't know. Soph LOVES them. Bonus points if you can remember who Jem/Jerica's purple haired boyfriend was. Triple bonus points if you remember the name of the lead singer of the Misfits.)
The Hamburglar and Grimace
Shrinkydinks
Keytars

Ok. That list isn't by any stretch exhaustive. But I'm running out of time here, and wanted to highlight the IMPORTANT things.

As far as what "they" didn't have when Grandma was little, she's most interested in the fact that there were no pants—for girls. Soph thinks this is a sweet, sweet idea. Who knows why? She loves dresses, but why does she want to wish them on everyone?

In regards to what Abraham Lincoln and his peers had to do without, I pretty much tell her--everything. No batteries. No plugs. No Walmart. No grocery store. This freaks her out, and she feels very bad for him. Often, she'll console herself by saying, out of the blue, "Well, I guess President Lincoln had lots of horses. That must have been nice."

So…Comment whore want to know…

What DIDN'T "they" have when you were little? What DID "they" have?

A quickie "Soph said..."

2008-04-24T07:01:00.000-07:00

Last night as she was tucked in bed, about ready to fall asleep...

"Mommy--today was Sophie appreciation day, and no one appreciated me."

Cleavage Query (More with the clothes posts?)

2008-04-23T14:17:00.001-07:00

Is it ever ok to show cleavage at work? If so, how much? Is a centimeter too much? Two centimeters?

Why do I ask? Let me back up a bit.

In my school district, teachers can only wear jeans on Friday. (Yes. It's related. Give me a minute.) BUT on the other hand, I feel like it's necessary to keep things pretty casual with my students. They (alternative high/at risk kids) already have a very negative predisposition to all things schoolish and teacherly, and I need to be able to move around, sit on a table, and help them feel comfortable by being comfortable.

Enter my 4 pairs of brown pants.

Well, they're not all the same shade of brown. One is dark brown. One is light brown. One is a kind of a fuzzy tan. The other is a kind of grayish brown. Brown pants with a button up shirt Monday through Thursday, and jeans (hallelujah) with the school t-shirt on Friday. (You know you're a teacher if wearing jeans and a t-shirt on Friday is something you look forward to all week. You also know you're a teacher if in your nightmares, your GIVING the test in the nude rather than taking it.) Yesterday I shook things up a bit. I wore Capri pants (Jump back! They were tan though.) and a pink peasant-ish shirt. Also, the shirt showed about, oh, 1.25 cm of cleavage.

Let me tell you, I haven't had so many comments on an outfit since the time I left my fly down all through second period. A couple of teachers, and several students commented on how nice I looked. And honestly, it felt really good to hear it.

Then, I got this from Kendra. "Wow! Mrs. Jay you look so different! You actually look…good!"

Hmmm.

Apparently I've been looking a bit on the "haggard-lady-who-has-totally-given-up-on-herself-and- would-rather-you-just-didn't-look" side.

Now I realize that it wasn't the cleavage only that was garnering the compliments. Just the fact that I wore something different from the brown pants/button down shirt regiment was sure to catch some attention.

This morning, I decided to try on a couple of shirts that I hadn't worn since summer. They fit (mostly) and are very cute and springy, but because I got the boob gene, each one showed a bit of cleavage. Not porno cleavage. Not even PG13 cleavage, really. But cleavage nonetheless. Long story short—I didn't wear the shirts. Today, I'm back to the brown pants and button up.

(Yes, I realize there are noncleavage/nonbutton up shirts available in the world. But—there are fewer than you think. Also, a v-neck really goes a long way in creating the illusion of an hourglass rather than a, oh, let's say tomato.)

Where is this going? I don't really know. I do know that though I pretend that I don't care how I look most of the time, I really do. I do know that since losing a little weight, I kind of want to show it off. I do know that I am afraid of caring too much about how I look, or thinking that other people think I care too much about how I look.

Physical appearance is a tricky, tricky thing. How much should it matter? How much does it matter? Does it matter that it matters so much?

So…

Comment whore has 2 questions for you.

1) Cleavage? Is it ok at work? If so—how much?

2) What's your take on appearance? Why do you wear what you do? When does just caring about your appearance become vanity?

Back in the day

2008-04-19T08:51:00.000-07:00

My allergies are getting WAY out of had. Today I had to call in the big guns--The Claritin D. I hate this stuff. It makes me feel all hot and itchy and creepy.

So--I'm pretty much just trying to keep my shit together and not loose my composure. To that end, I was lying on my bed with a pillow on my face (ok, maybe the composure is a little lost) just letting my racing thoughts fight it out amongst themselves. Here's who won.

Jumpsuits.

That's right. Somehow, they ended up on jumpsuits. Particularly the two super sweet jumpsuits I owned, loved, and wore between 1989 and 1992.

My first jumpsuit was pink and white striped. It had silver snaps down the front, and I wore it in the eighth grade. I accessorized it with big white zig-zaggy hoop earrings and a silver banana clip (which was ultra sweet with my crimped hair). And let me tell you, I looked hot. That is not sarcasm. It is the truth. If I recall correctly, a boy fell in love with me because of that jumpsuit (well, that and my impressive rack).

Ryan Paris. Both of our families were Navy, and had been coincidentally stationed together twice. When I was 4 and he was 6, we somehow ended up in the tub together. His mom filled it with bubbles, and told us not to stand up. He kept threatening to stand up, and told me that he would unless I took a bite of soap. I did.

Several years later, he and his family came to Carmel to visit on their way to their next station--Japan. I had a party to go to, and was decked out in my fine and foxy jumpsuit. He took one look, and was besotted. Of course, he didn't say anything, but sent me a very, very intense letter from Asia declaring his undying love for me and begging me to write back. Being a self-centered bitch of a 13 year old, I don't think I did.

My next jumpsuit was bright green and laced up the front. Kind of a cross between MC Hammer pants and a renaissance bustier. I wore it in '91, as a sophomore, and totally rocked it as well. During spring break, big sis and I hit downtown St. George (Souther Utah's Spring Break mecca) and rocked that scene. My mom would shit if she knew how many Jeeps we jumped in and out of that day, or the number of complete strangers we gave our numbers to.

Sigh.

Comment whore wants to know...

What was your most fabulous '80s/early '90s outfit? Details please.

The mommies were nestled all snug in their beds...

2008-04-08T18:00:00.000-07:00

That's right. It's 7:00. p.m. And I'm in my pajamas, in bed.

Aren't lap-tops handy?

What can I say? It's the end of the school year and I'm absolutely beat. There are teacher quality portfolios to create, end of level tests to give, mentor logs to turn in, and the list goes on. Add to that the fact that I've totally changed my eating/exercising patterns, and just started my period, and I'm lucky to have made it to 7.

(Barfing update: Nothing to report. I did "eat past satisfaction" tonight, and frankly, a good purge sounds like just the ticket--but I'll be strong. Oh. E now calls it "#3," as in, "You haven't been going number three again, have you?")

What else? Soph is fine. Big. Currently in the tub, and from what I'm overhearing, some mermaids have crossed her one to many times, and she's about to exact some retribution. I can't believe she only has six weeks of kindergarten left. Kindergarten is still little. 1st grade is big. She's taking ballet, and digs it the most. Have I mentioned that she's been on a "pants strike?" Since, like, December? She will only wear dresses. Thank god for Land's End and Hanna Anderson. Every Sunday I hang her 5 favorite dresses up, clip her leggings to them, and she's good to go for the week.

Apparently that's it for now. I'm trying to blog at least once a week, so we'll see how that goes.

Oh. Add a new blogging friend to your lists. http://dmotherof2.blogspot.com/ is a pal of mine, and has some funny shit to say.

Comment whore wants to know...

When is your bed time?

I totally barfed today

2008-04-02T11:55:00.001-07:00

Sorry for the gross title. I'm just trying to keep it real. I have to post this, or else it's a secret. And if it's a secret, then I'm dealing with it on my own. And that, apparently, I cannot do.

I may have mentioned, that I'm doing Weight Watchers. (Skip this paragraph if you know all about Weight Watchers already.) Just the on-line thing—not meetings. Also, I'm doing the "core plan" which is way less with the counting points and way more with the whole foods. (Whole grains/no bread, whole chicken/no nuggets, whole potatoes/no fries. You get the idea.) Things have been going ok, not great.

You see my LAST diet (you know, the phentermine, cigarettes, and no food diet) worked SO GREAT! I lost like 10 pounds a day! It was sweet. My pants were literally falling off of my ass. Of course, there was that whole "losing my fucking mind" side effect, but you have to compare that with the results. So far on WW, I've only lost 7 pounds. In like 4 weeks. Sheesh. What is this?

Anyway, I'm going out of town, and Soph and I have a lunch date on Wednesdays. SHE got to choose the restaurant today, and she chose Grandees. The ice cream parlor that also serves sandwiches and soup. And white bread. And butter. And cinnamon rolls. And pie. And brownies. And a thing called a panookie. I tried to be good. I ordered a sandwich on wheat bread (note "core" but not TOO many points) with no dressing or cheese. And Soph had the chicken dumpling soup, roll, and butter. So I ate half of my sandwich, and felt like shit for having the bread and lunchmeat. Then I ate a bite of her roll. Then I had another one with butter on it. Then I thought to myself, "Self, you know, you could eat anything you want to for lunch today, and then just go home after you drop off Sophie and puke it up. You could eat ice cream. And that bag of chips. And the rest of Sophie's soup." And I listened to myself.

Damn.

Will I ever get a handle on this? Is it possible for me to try and lose weight, even in a healthy way (I've been walking DAILY and eating SPROUTED MULTI GRAIN CEREAL) without sliding down the slippery slope?

Poop.

Comment whore wants to know…

How much do you love me? Really. I need warm fuzzies today.

Last night I sang in front of 300 people

2008-03-27T13:47:00.001-07:00

That is not a joke. Here's what happened.

Sophie Gene, as some of you may have guessed, is a bit of a drama queen. She has been BEGGING me for months to be in a "performance." Not really having many performance options available in small town Southern Utah, she has had to live without the spotlight. Then a couple of weeks ago, she came home with a flyer about the South Elementary Variety Show. She was thrilled. Enraptured. Nearly peeing herself. So—we signed her up. Her original plan was to do a "ballet dance." Said dance was to be performed, impromptu, on the night of the show. Then she changed her mind. Maybe she'd sing a song. Which again, she wanted to just make up when she found herself on stage. Eventually, I talked her around to the idea of actually KNOWING which song she was going to sing before approaching the microphone.

Now then. PLEASE know that I am not a stage mom. This was all her idea. Eventually, she settled on "Popcorn Popping on the Apricot Tree" for her "number." (Aside—I seem to be filled with quotation marks today. Aside #2—do non Mormon people know the Popcorn Popping on the Apricot Tree song?) She rehearsed it a few times-including a jazz hands "Yeah" at the end (again, NOT added by me) and seemed good to go. Last night we ironed her dress, curled her pony tail, and headed for the elementary school gym.

Soph was one of 2 kindergarteners who had the balls to sign up. (The other actually HAD balls—he was a little boy who played a one finger version of the James Bond theme on the piano—priceless.) I was sitting in the front row, (of course) with three grandmas (of course) and could see her off stage, breathing deeply before it was her turn. Then, her name was called, and she walked on stage.

Sweet random lady lowered the microphone for her, and Soph took a step forward. Looked out at the millions of people. Made a little squeaking sound. Covered her face with her hands. And began to shake. I gave her about 15 seconds, and then climbed onto the stage with her. What else could I have done really? I gave her a hug and asked if she wanted to be done. She said no, and wouldn't budge. So, I put my arm around her and began singing. By about half way through she had joined in, albeit very quietly, and for the last couple of lines, the audience had joined in as well.

I do have video, but E was sitting toward one side, and pretty much recorded my back. The PTA is selling DVD's for 5 bucks though, and when I get mine, I'll share.

Comment whore wants to know…

Were you ever in a talent show? If so, what did you do?

Signs you may be watching too much Food Network...

2008-03-16T14:46:00.000-07:00

When your daughter has friends come over, she drags out her fake food and cooking stuff (and some of yours) and makes them play "Iron Chef America."

On a totally unrelated note, I just folded an ENORMOUS pair of purple panties that must be at least 14 years old. (Really enormous. I have to fold them like 4 times.)

No joke.

I remember buying the package when I was still living at home. Somehow I grabbed the wrong size, and, well, everyone knows the rules about returning panties. You just don't.

Somehow they became the back-up/back-up panties, and have survived moving, the dryer gnome, my dog and his disgusting preference for panty-snacks, and have had a place in my undies drawer for more than a decade.

So, comment whore wants to know, what is the oldest article of clothing that you own? Why do you still have it? Do you remember how you came to own it?

I need to pick my nose and fart.

2008-03-12T11:57:00.001-07:00

No, not right NOW, but OCCASIONALLY, I DO need to do both of these things.

You see, I've been attending these SIOP conferences (Sheltered Instruction Observation Protocol. Aren't you sorry you asked?) and I go up to Provo (the Mormon capital (or is it ol?) of the WORLD—really, they have stores like "Missionary Emporium" and shit) once a month for 2 nights and stay in a hotel with another teacher. Between the room sharing at night and in the morning, sitting in a conference room all afternoon, and group dinners and shopping excursions in the evening, a girl never gets a chance to do those private things that just simply must be done from time to time! By the time I arrived home on Tuesday night, my colon was about to burst, and I had a crusty in my left nostril the size of a quarter.

On a completely unrelated note, Soph got herself stuck in the baby swing at the park last week. Bless that girl's heart she has some seriously sturdy thighs. Danish thighs. Thighs that are storing up for that next cold winter when the lutfisk barrel is getting low.

(You know the anatomy of the baby park swing—yes? It kind of looks like a plastic diaper for a mutant four legged baby? Two leg holes on both sides.)

So she climbed in, and slid forward so that her thigh chunk squeezed through the hole up to her hip, and then kind of squooshed around the outside. When I went to lift her out, she wouldn't budge. After 10 minutes screaming ("Am I going to die here?") crying, screeching, and wailing by her; and pulling, pushing and threatening by me, I realized we had a fairly serious problem on our hands. I called by brother for a rescue (E was snowboarding) and tried to calm that girl the fuck down.

Then, I had an epiphany. I knelt on all fours beneath her and told her to stand up on my back. After she did that, her leg was lengthened enough for her slid the swing down, and I stood up and shimmied her the rest of the way out. Then I held her while she sobbed, "I'm just too stout." (Remember this? She won't say fat since then, and for some reason has settled on "stout" for her euphemism.)

And that, dear reader, is fodder for my next post which will be all about my recent entry into the land of Weight Watchers.

Comment whore wants to know...

Have you ever been stuck? Not in traffic, but really, really stuck in a small space where you couldn't get out? If so, spill.

I said, "Ohh...Daddy was just blowing up balloons."

2008-01-22T17:42:00.000-08:00

That of course, was the answer to the used condom question. What else could I say, really?

Christ.

You know, with everything I have to be grateful for, (you know, like food, clothing, shelter) I can still always find something to bitch about. Here's what's pissing me off today.

My contacts. Within 15 minutes of putting them in, they're like little shriveled tadpoles stuck onto my eyeballs. I can't see through them, and end up giving people really weird looks while trying to peer through the fuzzy spots.

My car. I know it's my fault that I look like I'm driving around the collection wagon for the DI (Salvation Army?) but it still pisses me off. If it were just my stuff, I could keep things under control, but with Sophie and all the shit she brings home between two schools, there's just no fucking way.

My dog. Enough with the licking already.

Dinner: I tried to make a little roast for dinner. But while it was cooking I ate a bag of bagel chips. So 1) I'm not hungry, and 2) the damn thing was pretty much raw. I cooked it for the alloted time, but my meat thermometer's gone missing (WFT?? It's not like a freaking screw driver that you use on whatever miscellaneous project and then promptly loose by putting in it a random drawer or cupboard. It's not like I was cooking a turkey in the garage or anything.) so I didn't really know if it was done. It wasn't, so Sophie ended up eating frozen chicken nuggets anyway, which was what I was trying to avoid by cooking the roast in the first place! I give up.

My daughter: AKA, the biggest drama queen in all the land. Her answer to any form of discipline is to break into tears and sob "Do you HATE me?" Or on the flip side, the lady at the library gives her a crappy free bookmark, and she announces, enraptured, to all present at the check out, "This is absoLUtely the BEST day of MY LIFE." It's exhausting. Lately, we're totally embattled over the cleaning of the room. She's big enough. She can do it. But she just goes in there and wanders around and makes a bigger mess and I am going to snap and go into crazy mom mode one of these days and just throw everything away. (Also, she's picked up Mrs. Hannigan's line from "Annie" and whenever she's mad at anyone, growls out "Kill...Kill...Kill!" Charming, I'm sure.)

Warning: Put down your beverage before reading

2008-01-06T09:52:00.000-08:00

Sophie found a used condom. (Totally E's fault) She brought it to me and said:

"Mom what IS this thing? It smells like a hotel!"

…and to all a good night

2007-12-07T14:11:00.001-08:00

That title really has nothing at all to do with this post. I was just thinking Christmassy thoughts and that popped into my head.

I recently received this little e-mail forward thingy with questions about your Christmas shtuff. You know—fake or real (trees, not boobs), to nog or not to nog (eeh. I'd rather have a rum and Coke, but will nog on occasion), etc.

One of the questions was something like: "Cards: Snail mail or email?" That was a problem, because "Not at all" was not an option.

I don't do cards. At all really. Not of the Valentine, Christmas, or even thank-you variety. I've committed many a social faux pas because of this, and am sure I have been the topic of more than one conversation about obvious breaches of social etiquette. I didn't even send thank you cards after my wedding. Shit. I was way too busy trying to figure out how to be wedded.

My mom sent out the family newsletter style Christmas card out a few times growing up, but mostly I think it kind of pissed her off. (A lot of things about Christmas seemed to piss my mom off.) We received several of those types as well, filled with glowing accomplishments and sugary sweet sentiments.

So—here's the Christmas card I would send out if I decided to tell the truth (well, mostly) about what really happened this year at the Jorgensen house.

Dear Friends, Family, and people who sent me a card last year so I decided I'd better add you name to my list this year so as not to be insulting,

Hi everyone! My, has this year flown by. With it being the holidays, it seems a good time to catch everyone up on the Jorgensen clan. Here goes.

Sophie started kindergarten this year, and has really been enjoying it. She's splitting her time between Montessori and public ed, and man is it ever a pain in my ass taxi-ing her from place to place in the middle of the day. Her favorite things about kindergarten are learning to read, art projects, the many new flavors of glue, and her very sweet and talented new teacher. Soph has also enjoyed the fact that her grandma happens to be the secretary, and has had a great time bragging about that to anyone who will listen. Outside of school, Soph has been making some great strides. She keeps her clothes on most of the time, has learned that for the most part, food isn't the best art medium, and has even quit trying to drink her bath water! We're very proud.

As for Janzen, that kid has grown about two feet. He's really growing into a man, and we're proud to announce that he has about 10 hairs on his chin and has started using deodorant! The 8^th grade is really agreeing with him, particularly since he's smarter than most of his teachers, and he only has to pay attention about half of the time to get good grades. In other news, I believe he's beaten about 50 video games this year, and added about 5,000 movie quotes to his repertoire. All joking aside though, Janzen is nothing but a blessing in our lives. You'd be pretty hard pressed to find a 13 year old boy who is better company than our Buddy-Sugar-Janz.

Erik is also doing well, but prefers not to have his personal life discussed at all with others!

As for me, what can I say. I've watched several TV series on DVD, including Angel and The Office. I've read several new young adult fantasy novels. I'm fatter and older and also crabbier. My car is dirtier, but my house is a little cleaner. My sex drive is slightly up, but then again, so is my chin hair count.

Happy Holidays to All!

Dear Scientists and Inventors of the World,

2007-10-23T11:04:00.001-07:00

So, you guys have made a lot of cool stuff. I really appreciate the cars and computers and flush toilets. Thanks. You've even made some pretty impressive strides in the feminine hygiene department. Pads for absorbing menstrual flow have wings, dams, and one I saw on TV last night can even ride a mechanical bull. So, props there too.

BUT

Here's what I need y'all to do. PLEASE invent a tampon with a wrapper and applicator that won't disintegrate in the bottom of my purse. That way, then next time I start my period while teaching 2^nd period to a bunch of adolescent boys, I won't have to scurry to the bathroom, discover it's out of toilet paper, go back to class and grab my purse, fish around in it, find the remnants of a month old tampon that has come unwrapped and slid out of the applicator, pick off the Teddy Graham crumbs and gum wrappers, and then try to shove it up my chotch.

Thanks! J

Oooh La La!

2007-10-22T09:15:00.000-07:00

Remember International Children's Day?

It's that thing at Montessori where on Halloween the kids don't wear their costumes, but rather, dress like a child from a foreign country? I THOUGHT last year that they were supposed to come dressed as a kid from their heritage, thus freaked out trying to put together a "Danish Girl" costume (and pulled it off quite nicely, if I do say so myself) and then showed up to a bunch of white kids dressed like they were from Hawaii, China, the Arctic, and Africa. So this year, Soph and I decided on France.

Voila!Pretty cute--huh?

Now I just have to figure out what to take for food. Soph wants to take crepes, but I don't know the first thing about crepe making, and think I'd probably fuck it up. Plus, isn't a crepe one of those things that you have to make and then eat pretty much immediately? Another idea was to make some mini quiches, but then again, I'm not sure how quiche would fly with the under 6 set. There's also croissants, which I could just grab at the store, but you know that dumb little voice in your head that urges you to be FABULOUS? It's kind of nagging at me. I hope it will shut up. What do you think?

Soph Said

2007-10-18T17:27:00.000-07:00

"Mrs. Wood said that I have to quit tasting what the glue tastes like."

Dear Mandy

2007-10-15T15:25:00.001-07:00

Wow. I think I've posted enough lately that I don't even need to start this post with an excuse/apology for not posting.

Now then, I love my sis, but she's not big on the calling. Frankly, neither am I. And since I need something to post today, I'm just going to write her a letter.

Dear Mandy,

Hey sugar! What's going on in the Krause House? I hope the kidletts are well. Is Zack still loving school? How's Madeline doing with the writing and homework? Is Clark-baby on the road again? Also, how is the Yoga class going?

Now then, the Jorgensen's. Well, we finally closed on the house. I can't fucking believe how much it costs to get a mortgage. Does anyone even know what title insurance is for? And mortgage insurance? They might as well call it getting fucked in the ass insurance, because that's exactly what it is. We did arrange for a little cash back, so I think we're going to put in a nice big Jacuzzi tub for me, and do a little work on the patio. In my head, I'm imagining a little Japanese garden space, but in my heart, I know we'll end up with some kind of covering and maybe a new patio set.

We got Sophie's Halloween costume, and I think she's going to be a very cute Princess Leah. E is planning on Han Solo, and Janz is going as Lando Calrisian. I don't think I really fit into the Star Wars mix, but we shall see.

School's going ok. Of course in my film class today, we were trying to write our Chicago reviews, and half the class hadn't been in class to watch the movie. I don't even know what to do with that. Tomorrow is the writing UBSCT, and I THINK most of my kids are ready. We shall see.

What else? Mom's doing better; no major philosophical breakdowns for a while. We all went to Chinese for Dad's birthday, and Jon, Katy and I went in on a digital photo frame for him. Katy is doing good—I think. Apparently she has something in the works with a guy named Giovanni, and she's picking up Soph from school for me a couple times this week.

Soph is so excited for Thanksgiving. She misses you guys like crazy. (Me too) I think the plan has become to have dinner at Mom's, and then adjourn to my place for dessert. I'm excited for you to see my new house. Where are you guys going to stay? That little house you stayed in last time worked out SO well.

Love you so!

Boo

Reason I’m a Petty Person, #102

2007-10-11T11:18:00.001-07:00

Yesterday was the Montessori family picnic. They have one twice a year and it's always a potluck. I always sign up to take a main-dish, and I always take a big homemade macaroni and cheese casserole. At a function like this, everyone tries to bring something fancy and delicious. You know the drill. It's mostly rich, fabulous moms who grind their own wheat and grow organic gardens, so they bring things like spinach and goat cheese salad with fresh pair (that one was good) or vegan chocolate chip cookies (WTF?). I, on the other hand, cook up a big vat of macaroni noodles with a white sauce made with whatever cheeses happen to be left over in my fridge, and top it with crunched up stuffing mix.

Everyone always bring way too much, and there are always tons of leftovers. Except for mine. My mac 'n' cheese is always gone. Dads are always standing around scraping the sides of the casserole pan, and at least one or two moms ask me for the recipe.

This brings me a ridiculous amount of satisfaction. To see my empty ratty Corelware pan sitting next to the beautiful Pottery Barn bowl full of marinated kalamata olives or some such thing absolutely makes my day. I'm still grinning about it.

And that is reason 102 that I am a very, very petty person.

It’s alive!

2007-10-04T10:59:00.001-07:00

It = the blog, and in all honesty, just barely.

My dears, I think this blog has jumped the shark.

As I sit here at my desk, munching my apple and pita chips with hummus (don't be impressed. Yesterday it was a teriyaki burger from Carl's Jr.) I really think I may have run out of things to say.

I've thought of blogging about school. I'm sure I could get huge chuckles over painfully bad writing that my kids sometimes turn in. Also, running a "best lie of the day" section would be easy/schmeasy. We could even do the longest/dumbest education acronym, or most asinine euphemism (how's "Student Involvement Activity" for worksheet). But I think I'd probably get fired.

Soph is just big. She's in school all day. Her daily exploits are often unbeknownst to me, her mother. Sure, at times she'll start singing "For He's the Jolly Good Butt Crack" for no apparent reason, but butt-crack songs do not a complete blog make.

So—I'm stuck. I can't blog in honesty about myself—because that would piss people off and make my life more difficult. I can't blog about my kid, because she's kind of running out of material. I can't blog about work, because that would lead to official reprimands.

I don't know what to do. Maybe some letters to inanimate objects.

Dear Work Chair,

You've been my work chair for a while now. On the outside you look reasonably nice. You adjust up and down, and tilt forward and back. You're very rolley, and spinney, and a not-to-vomitous shade of teal green. But chair, I know your game. Benign though you may be on the outside, a torture rack lurks underneath. All I have to do is sit in you for 2 minutes, and the pain begins. First a pang to the left of my lower spine. Then a pang to the right. My ass begins to fall asleep, and I start shifting around on my pelvis, my spine clicking like little mouse castanets. Well know this. Your time is almost up. Some day and soon, you'll find yourself dumpster diving. So there.

Dear Vitamin Water,

I bought you at Smiths for lunch because you were near the check-out and on sale. Apparently you are tropical citrus flavored, and are designed to give me NRG. Sweet. I could use some of that. I am noticing, however, that you contain no juice. Fine, fine, rest on your guarana content, if that's how you want to roll. If you can get me through 4^th period independent study, a play-date at my house with 2 little girls plus my own, help me actually make dinner instead of ordering take out, and keep me out of bed until at least 9:00, I don't care if your secret ingredient is dog shit. Ok. I would care. But not if it was, say iguana scale or even fish pancreas. If fish have a pancreas. I'm not sure about that. Anyway—keep on vapor distilling and reverse osmosising. Peace.

There--A post. Now then, because I am a comment whore and must go whoring around for comments, you have 3 options. 1. Tell me what you had for lunch today. Details please. 2. Tell me how much you missed me and how empty your life was without me. 3. You're on your own. Throw up a random comment like you usually do. You know, like "Wow! A teriyaki burger? I had one of those a couple of years ago and found a rat tail in the pineapple slice."

Blog Vomit

2007-08-15T17:59:00.000-07:00

Just stream of thought today. The mind is too shot to organize anything.

First--school starts tomorrow. I'm ready for...tomorrow. That's about it. The beginning of school at my particular location is tricky--because most of my kids won't remember that school starts for another week or so. So finding things that won't waste the time of the kids who are there, but won't need to be repeated next week is kind of a bitch.

I'm also trying to decide what to wear tomorrow. Katy thinks I should go with the "Erudite MILF" look. (Precisely what that entails, I'm not entirely sure. I've lost a little weight, but I still have to deal with the rack that ate Manhattan, and you'd be surprised how short a trip it is for me over to Beth the Bounty Hunter land. I went school shopping and bought some things, but I'm not thrilled with them. Confidence + comfortable + breathable fabric is just a pipe dream, I suppose.

In Soph news, she successfully exploded a soy sauce packet all over her face and the ceiling of the car today. You can imagine how that went, what with the salt content and the eyeballs and all.

What else. Oh--the little bit of weight I've lost. Well, I've been doing this in the morning. Surprisingly, I quite like it. You wouldn't think one would need a DVD to walk in place in one's living room, but apparently, one does. I also like the stretchy band. Then, in the evening, I walk the dog up in the hills behind our house. The only way I know I've lost a little is that I don't nearly slip a disk putting on my bra (you know, with the buckle in the front and twist to the back maneuver), because I've lost enough back fat that it slides around easier. That last sentence, by the way, was brought to you by a bonafide English teacher.

So--in honor of my be-sauced-car, tell me about the interior of your ride. Mine is repulsive. We're talking toys, garbage, fast-food bags (I know. I'm bad.), and other assorted Soph stuff. E calls it the fry wagon. If I were to peek in your car windows right now, what would I see?

Internal Soundtrack

2007-08-08T14:45:00.000-07:00

Just so you know, my internal soundtrack is NOT cool at all. It's mostly made up of silly kids songs and other shit that is just plain stupid.

For example:

Every time I pee, my brain plays "Turkey in the Straw;" really fast.

Also, when I check my blog, and no one has commented, my brain plays, "Everybody Hates Me. Nobody Loves Me. Guess I'll Go Eat Worms."

When Sophie is having a huge breakdown, which she is currently doing (She screams this high pitched scream, really, really loudly) it plays "Little Girls" from Annie. Particularly the part, "If I ring little necks, surely I would get an acquittal."

In other mind boggling news, I went back to work today. The kids don't come back until the 16th, but we get to be motivational speakered to death for a week before. Because, you know, I don't actually have any WORK to do (she said sarcastically).

So spill--what ditties does your brain play for you during the day? Or am I the only one. Also, why not tell me one thing one of your old English teachers did that was particularly cool/meaningful/useful in your real life.

More letters to inanimate objects

2007-08-04T06:57:00.000-07:00

Dear giant empty economy size bottle of KY warming massage oil that my mom keeps in Soph's bath toys at her house,

OK, so apparently you're great for filling with water and then squirting it around the bathtub, but doood! It's just WAY too disturbing to pull out the box and find you nestled among the rubber duckies and plastic funnels. The implications of your existence are just too, too, icky. So don't take it personally if the next time I see you, I throw you in the trash where you belong. Sorry.

Dear Grout,

Fuck you.

Dear half deflated birthday balloon that was floating around my room last night,

Thanks for scaring the freaking bujesus out of me. Laying in my bed at 3:00 a.m. trying to convince myself that you weren't a ghost or other spectral being was GT. Really.

Dear Coconut Body Butter I got from my birthday,

Even though I don't know if I'd rather eat you or rub you all over my skin, either way you're truly, truly delicious.

Dear grande iced sugar free 2% vanilla latte with no whip,

I think it's time for a break. It's gotten to where I can't imagine my day without you, and I think I need to learn to stand on my own two feet again. I just need to figure out who I am before I can figure out who WE are. What I'm saying is, it's not you, it's me.

Not again!

2007-08-02T08:40:00.000-07:00

Damn these birthdays seem to be coming around more and more quickly.

Today I'm 32.

That means that 2 days ago E turned 33, and in 10 days, Soph will be 5. Sheesh.

Because E had his wisdom teeth pulled recently, and has had some unpleasant complications, his birthday was pretty low key. I did, however, pull off a completely home made triple layer German chocolate cake that was something of a thing of beauty.

As for me, I've been having insomnia for the last several nights, and am feeling pretty zombified today. Currently I'm at work, still filing last year's crap (can't you tell) and later have a lunch date with the folks + Katy.

Frankly--I'm feeling pretty low. School starts any second, and the thought of going back is about as appealing as having a pelvic exam. So, in honor of my birthday and my shitty mood, I present to you:

32 Things I Hate

1. That horrible moment when you first get out of the shower
2. When people put empty containers back in the fridge
3. The unspoken rule that in Cedar City, the guy with the biggest truck gets the right of way at four way stops
4. Yeast infections
5. Sorting laundry
6. Having to fart really bad in public
7. When my coffee gets cold in like 4 seconds
8. Not having a good book to read
9. Filing
10. Trying to buy attractive, work casual, plus size clothing
11. Deciding what's for dinner every night
12. Lower back pain
13. Trying to get out of the car in my garage where I can only open the car door like 5 inches because it is so full of crap
14. Dog hair
15. Putting sheets back on the bed after washing them
16. Ants
17. The movie Rent
18. Chin hairs
19. Going to the post office to buy stamps
20. Angel, Season 4
21. Dusting
22. Squished worms
23. Car maintenance
24. Moldy cheese
25. Running out of things in the middle of a recipe
26. Laying in bed and not being able to sleep
27. When the copy machine prints lines on my copies
28. Pooping in a strange toilet
29. After you eat the the top layer of the movie popcorn and the rest has no salt or "butter"
30. Back fat
31. Armpit fat
32. Getting caught out in public without a tampon and having to do that toilet paper wad thing

So what do you hate? Let's focus on the petty, shall we? Y'all know I'm a comment whore, and it's my birthday, so humor me.

The End of Bacon

2007-07-31T18:17:00.000-07:00

Don't worry. Bacon has not come to an end. I'll explain in a minute.

E had his wisdom teeth out a few days ago, and he's having a pretty rough time of it. I, as the nicest wife in the land, have been trying to cook tasty yet chewing-optional meals, and frankly, I'm running out of ideas. I've done mashed potatoes, broccoli cheese soup, chicken and dressing casserole, and tonight, we sup on baked-potato soup.

Baked potato soup is just regular potato soup, unless you garnish it with 80 gagillion calories, disguised as bacon, cheese, and sour cream.

Which leads me to (told you I'd get there) bacon.

MMmmm. Bacon.

Sophie's favorite part of bacon is the "end of bacon." That is to say, the pure fat part on the end of the bacon. When I cook bacon (not often--well ok, more so lately because I've become addicted to the BLT) Soph politely requests everyones "end of bacon" as in, "Daddy. Can I please have your end of bacon?"

Janz, likes his bacon a little on the soft side, unlike his dad who likes it crispy. Me, I really only like the good bacon from the deli--meaty and cooked until just crisp enough to hold itself upright if you hold it out horizontally.

Anyone remember Sizzelean? My mom used to buy the hell out of that stuff. My brother LOVED it. If I recall, the breakfast of his dreams, as a child, was 2 over easy eggs, mashed up, with little pieces of Sizzelean broken up in it. My mom preferred hers on a bagel, with peanut butter. I shit you not.

How about you? What's your bacon preference. What's your perfect strip? Crispy? Floppy? Any good bacon stories?

In further news, I'm going to rename my blog, and give it a huge face-lift. Now that my girl is almost 5 and going to kindergarten, motherhood has actually become a bit more like having a cat than it was back in the day. I just clean out her litter box occasionally and she's good to go. J/K. Thing is, the only way this blog is going to survive is if it moves in a new direction. It's going to be more about yours truly than the Sophinator, though she'll still have a starring roll. Suggestions as to the new title are officially solicited.

Haiku Hodge-Podge

2007-07-19T15:03:00.001-07:00

Which one is Sophie?
The begoggled one of course.
Gotta love that grin.

The living room just
wouldn't be ours if Sophie
was wearing pants

"In our new house, we'll
have room for a bunk bed," said
Mom, and stuck to it.

Kitchen from the left
The cabinets and counter tops
had me at "hello."

Kitchen from the right
If I waited for clean-ness
You'd never see it

Sea World Baby--Yea!
This is post lost Sophie, and
pre dolphin-show soaked.

Dad and Soph and Janz
Posing 30 feet or less
from our hotel room

Now mom joins the fun
Soph provides the camouflage
For my muffin top.

Two Jorgensen kids
Breakfast at our regular
Spot at Snug Harbor.

2007-07-18T16:27:00.000-07:00

You know when you haven't cleaned under the couch for a LONG ass time, and you think to yourself, "Self, I haven't cleaned under this couch for a LONG ass time; I'd better do that. Then again, it's been a LONG ass time since I cleaned under here, so I don't really want to." So the fact that it's been so long keeps you from doing it, and eventually you move, or buy a new couch, or things begin to evolve and crawl out from under the couch, or whatever, so you finally clean under the motherfucking couch.

What I'm trying to say, very awkwardly, is that it's been so long since I've blogged because it's been so long since I've blogged. So, I'm going to act like I've been blogging all summer, and not try to catch up all in one fail swoop. (Is that right? Is it a fail swoop? How did the swoop fail?)

The new house is lovely. It's actually kind of aggressively tasteful, so mainly I've been tacky-ing it up a bit. There are still boxes in the garage, and the living room contains 3 boxes (one for E and I each to take to work, and a huge one that Soph has cut a door in and decorated and that I am desperate to throw away but know she will freak out and so haven't yet) but for the most part, we've officially moved in. I'll post pictures some day. I don't want to be like, "Hey everyone, check out the pull out drawers in my pantry and the sweet, sweet, built ins in the dining room and living room," but, then again, I kind of do, too.

Soph is having a good summer. I MUST post pictures of her at swimming lessons. She has these lime green goggles that she won't get in the pool without, and no matter what swimming suit I buy her, it's perpetually all the way up her ass. Makes for some highly entertaining moments. We had a tricky start, and she wouldn't even put her face in the water at first, but now jumps off the edge all on her own (with her life jacket on) and lets her swimming teacher take her out and practice all her strokes.

Ok that's it for now. More later.

SAAAN DIAAAGOOO

2007-07-16T17:19:00.000-07:00

Well,

Since Missuzj is no longer posting, I'll post some shit from our vacation. Sorry, no clever quips or any shit like that.

Maybe she'll eventually share some stuff with ya'll.

Til then...well, whatever.

Shown above: We have the lighthouse at Cabrillio National Monument, the great MissuzJ hanging onto her favorite tree, the California Cyprus. And last, but certainly not least, SG "striking a pose" at the Cabrillo tide pools.

The VaKay also included a trip to Ocean Beach where we swam with sea otters and witnessed a grown man shitting on the floor of a public bathroom not five feet from the toilet.

There was also a 6-hour excursion to Sea World that involved Sophie being equally terrified and thrilled at all times. Oh yeah, she also got lost. But we found her, so all's good.

Pretty sweet.

As a frequent vacationer to Los Angeles, I was shocked to spend time in a Southern California city that wasn't like being ass-raped with a metal pipe by a pussy-grader.

I mean, I've been to San Diego before, but, never spent any actual time that didn't involve a rowdy concert and heavy drug use.

The best moment from the vacation involved Sophie attempting to comunicate (in Spanish) to the largely Latino hotel staff that they needed to keep the resident ducks "in-check" so she could enjoy her vacation in peace.

Hopefully MJ will return.

E.

So Long

2007-06-16T19:16:00.000-07:00

Heading out for a family vay-kay tomorrow. San Diego for 5 days. I am more nervous than excited, but then I've always been a nervous traveler. See y'all next week.

Who Whom it May Concern:

2007-06-12T08:22:00.001-07:00

Some letters I've been composing in my head to inanimate objects...

Dear Uterus,
Really, couldn't you have waited to slough your lining for a couple of more days? Vaginal bleeding and moving just don't go well together. Please keep this in mind for next time.

Dear Epstein Barr Virus,
Look bitch, I told you not to show your face around here anymore. You just skulk around and wait until I'm tired and stressed and my guard is down, and then WHAM. Get out. Stay out. Next time I'll be asking with a baseball bat. With nails in it.

Dear New Walk in Closet,
Oh my darling, where have you been all my life? Do people really live this way? Somehow it just doesn't feel right to have shelves for all of my shoes--for there to be built in drawers for accessories--for there to be so much space. Now that I've found you, I'll never let you go.

Dear New Shower Massager,
Wow. Was it good for you too?

Dear Phone Company, Electric Company, Dish TV, and All Other Companies:
Look. Four hours is a long time. Can't you get your shit together and get here at a specific time? I don't have time to sit on my ass waiting for you. I have things to do. I've deducted $100.00 dollars from my bill, as that is what I estimate 4 hours of my time is worth. If you don't like it, you can suck it.

Los Libros

2007-06-08T06:23:00.000-07:00

Well 12 boxes of books are packed and as of right now, I'm finished packing...books. That's it. Books.

Those boxes don't include the cookbooks, Sophie's books, Janzen's books, or the various books under beds, in the bathroom, and in other nooks and crannies, which will probably add up to at least 5 more boxes. Sheesh.

Today my mom, the world's best and most experienced packer is coming over to lend a hand. I'm grateful, but hesitant for her to see the built up detritus of the last 8 years of my life. I think I'll put her to work packing the kitchen, which should be fairly safe, and I'll start tackling Sophie's room.

I'm not even THINKING about the basement which includes Janzen/E's room and the laundry room. That would just make me mad. That is, both crazy and angry. Or the yard. My goal is to get the stuff we need to live comfortably up to the new place by Monday. That leaves me 4 days to gather miscellanea and clean before the new guy moves in.

Have I mentioned that I hate this? Plus, my period is starting any second, and I can tell from the little sores on my eyelids that the Epstein Barr is creeping up again.

So, send me prayers and love, and hopefully this time next week, I'll be posting on my awesome new kitchen, the beauty of central air, and vastness of my new master bedroom.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
I brought home a big box filled with packing peanuts that I had pilfered from my bro's store. She checked it out and announced, "How remarkable! A box filled with snow!"

Today'w worst thing about being a mom:
Picking up the packing peanuts

Facing Facts

2007-06-06T08:06:00.000-07:00

I've been totally ignoring the fact that I'm moving in, like, 3 days. There is a pile of boxes sitting by the front door, but that's about it. Today I need to face reality, and get my ass packing!

Yesterday was Soph's first day of summer pre-school, and boy did those 4 hours go fast. I went to what I thought was going to be a one hour "gentle yoga" class. What I got instead was 2 hours of Kundalini. Kicked my ass. But I'm surprisingly not sore today. In fact, I'm feeling pretty good. The Kundalini is supposed to do tons of stuff with your nadis (sp?), the energy pathways through your body. I don't know if I buy it, but I do feel somewhat energized. I better. Some of that Kundalini stuff is bizarre. My favorite was sitting cross legged, cross-eyed, and puffing out our cheeks for like, 5 minutes. No--wait. The laying on out stomachs, humping the shit out of the floor (I think she called it "hip bouncing").

After the Kundalini was an my eye appointment, then a quick trip to the dollar store for a birthday present for my nephew (I'm cheep, what can I say. I did score a 4 foot water gun though. His mom was thrilled.) and then it was time to pick up the girls. ("The girls," for future reference, are Soph and her friend A. They are going to be a matched pair pretty much all summer.)

Needless to say, I did zero packing. And what I need to do post haste is quit playing around on the computer and START. But I don't wanna.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
This morning she was sitting by me while I was checking out the celebrity gossip. She pointed at this picture and asked, "Is that you mom?"

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Remember those packing boxes I mentioned? I can't convince her that they're for me to pack with, not for her to make dolly cradles, trains, castles, etc. with. She's already ruined half of them.

I TOLD you I would.

2007-06-04T15:21:00.001-07:00

And see--here I am, another day, another post.

Today has been busy. Among other things, I took Soph to get the rest of her kindergarten shots. It sucked. But not quite as bad as I thought it would. E was kind enough to meet us at the Dr.'s office, and between the two of us, we kept Soph pretty calm. She needed 3 injections, so two nurses tag teamed it--each giving her a shot in either arm in tandem, and then a quick poke in the leg. There was shrieking and tears, but they were surprisingly short lived. Including the one from her finger poke blood test, she is now sporting 4 Hello-Kitty Band-Aids, and is very proud of all of them.

After the Dr. was the dreaded trip to Wal-Mart. Soph needed a new swimming suit, and I needed a small tent to wear over my suit, as tonight is the first night of our mommy-and-me swimming lessons. This is the first in a series of 3 sets of lessons, and the only one to which I must be present. Of course, I'm going to have to tame the pit-beards and do a little up-keep in the nether region before then. Have I mentioned that I HATE shaving.

Next week is moving week, and I keep trying to get myself to start boxing books and other stuff that we don't really NEED, but the motivation just isn't there. Maybe tomorrow when Soph is at her first day of summer pre-school.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
Continuing the JC saga from last time, today I was talking to her about my spiritual beliefs, of which, I really have none. I told her, "Baby, when you get bigger YOU get to decide what YOU want to believe. There are a of ideas about life and death and Jesus and God. Just make sure that you decide for yourself what YOU want to believe." Her reply, "Can I believe that I'm a unicorn?"

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
The shots. You know, several moms who I know and respect have chosen not to have their kids immunized. It's their choice, of course, but I can't say I agree with it. I've read up on the stuff, and feel pretty sure that I know the risks, some of which are very scary, and holding her down to get poked SUCKS, but if I lost her to something I know I could have prevented, I know if I couldn't live with myself.