Big kids at the party (Kiri and Janz) 

The Birhday Bunch 

Katy's Creation 

Birthday Girl 

Cinderella--The morning after the ball 

Thankful

I thank the Lord, or the Great Goddess, or whatever deity it was who sent a lovely and cool morning to Cedar City.

I thank her (or him)for sending Jimmy to my family. He's taken to laying in my lap on his back, like a baby, while I scratch his belly and talk baby talk to him. He's been a blessing to all of us. Janzen gets outside more. Sophie has to surrender the center of attention. I get to rub a warm puppy belly in the cool morning air, and Erik smiles more often.

I thank him (or her) for sending me Sophie who has made the last three years of my life worth living. Watching her run around in her new princess panties this morning--one side snugged up in the crack of her fat little butt--was more blessing than I could ever deserve. Sitting on the couch at 6:30 while she served me up a breakfast of a plastic chicken leg, fake peas, and an apple juice box--assembled with care in her play kitchen, was a more lovely way to start the day than even sleeping in until 10:00 could be.

I thank her (or him) for Janzen--for letting me be a part of this exceptional boy's life--even though I didn't give birth to him. Yesterday at Sophie's party, a butterfly party hat perched on top of his fabulous dollar store fedora, a baloon tied to the top for good measure, he was totally himself: individual, fun, willing to be silly, and an attentive and loving big brother to his little sis.

I thank him (or her) for Erik. He never fails to take care of all of us. I heard him sneak out this morning at 6:00--his anxiety and insomnia pushing him out the door--but he returned to us an hour later with a cornucopia of gas station fare. Pop tarts for the kids. Vanilla cappucino for me. He knows my back is seconds from going out today, and has been a total Nazi about me bending over or picking anything up. I never ever have any doubt about how much he loves me or how much he loves his kids.

I thank her (or him) for family and friends. Katy took the day off yesterday to create the most beautiful Cinderella cake a 3 year old could ask for on her birthday. It truly made Sophie's birthday to see Katy unveil that gorgeous cake. My mom showed up with balloons, presents, and to remind me of my 8th birthday, a package of princess panties, wrapped, for Sophie to open at the ice cream parlor. My dad had the trusty digital camera as always. Sweet Kodi rushed to the party from work--in the rain, and she and Kiri ate cake and ice cream with us, were great sports about the crazy kids, and gave Soph the most fabulous feathery sequined Barbie chair in all the land.

At the expense of sounding like a bad episode of Oprah, it's time for me to start saying thanks, and stop bitching. I am very blessed.

Happy Birthay to Sophie

Three years and nine months ago, two blue lines changed my life forever. I took that pregnancy test just to prove to myself that I wasn't. I was. Today my daughter, Sophie Gene, is turning three and sometimes, even though she is as much a part of me as one of my limbs, as much as I love her, I still expect this whole thing to be some big mistake or a strange practical joke.

As a little girl, I wanted to be a mother. My mom tells about how I would lift up my shirt and try to nurse my dolls. But when I came into my teens and twenties, I crossed motherhood off of my list of things to do (for several reasons other than that of pure terror).

For one, I felt that mothers are/were the most scrutinized creatures on the planet. Just ask anyone you know--her mother fucked her up in one way or another. The psychoanalysist's question, "Tell me about your mother," has become a cliched joke. Crazy, weird, and just plain evil people blame their lives on their mothers.

Even more frightening to me before having Soph, was the knowledge that mothers can be, and often are, crazy themselves. Ever read Beloved or Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood? Crazy mothers are everywhere--just turn on the TV or look in your backyard. My own mother definitely had her crazy moments. Some of my most vivid childhood memories of her are her bimonthly screaming and crying breakdowns on the state of the house. She once attacked me with a wet towel I had left on the floor. I was afraid of The crazy mother because I knew I had the potential to be her. When Janz was two, I threw his toy fishing poll across the room and broke my favorite vase. I once lit Erik's favorite baseball cap on fire (in the barbecue grill of course--safety first). The line over to crazy didn't look to hard to cross. I'd been on the other side a time or two.

I also knew that whatever I did, I would never be a perfect mom. During my entire pregnancy, an imaginary but very mean OB nurse/drill sergeant marched around with her clipboard bombarding me with questions. "How many wet diapers should a newborn have each day? What is cradle cap? How do you tell the different between real and false labor? Do you have enough onesies and booties? What is this--a pacifier? Haven't you heard about nipple confusion? And what is this? Baby powder with cornstarch? ! Didn't you read our memorandum about babies breathing in cornstarch and its link to SIDS? What kind of mother do you think you'll be anyway?"

Well--the truth is, I'm not the kind of mother I thought I'd be. Sophie still sleeps with a bottle, something I swore she'd never do, and she's THREE for Christ's sake. I let her eat in front of the TV on a regular basis. I've had WAY more crazy mom moments than I care to share. I pretty much expect the mommy police to show up at any moment of the day.

I suppose that at times I do feel like a member of the strange cult of motherhood. I've been through all the initiation rites. I've been pooped on, puked on, handed a booger. My mother, who by the way is now one of my best and dearest friend, assures me often that Sophie is a smart, sweet, dear little girl rather than the possessed demon child that I sometimes think she is.

So happy birthday Sophie. I guess someday I'll get used to the fact that I'm your mom. I promise to keep trying my best to do my best for you.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
While she was playing in the "Funplace" at McDonalds today (I know--germy gross etc., but it's her birthday after all.) Sophie managed to rip her dress. When I asked what happened, she said, "The stepsisters did it mom!"

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
My back is totally killing me from lugging around all 40 lbs. of my very sturdy little gal.

Back to School

Lordy Lordy. (Who the hell says "Lordy" anyway? My dad grew up as poor white Nebraska railroad trash. I'm not dissing--I'm embracing my heritage. I never know if I should smile or cringe when I find myself saying things like, "I reckon so" or "Quicker than a chicken on a June bug.") Were was I. Oh yah. Lordy-ing. School started for me yesterday. The faculty of my school met to come up with a new mission statement, new "belief statements" and new measurable goals. So. We broke into groups to work on the mission statement. It took for freakin ever. They just should have said, "Rebecca--will you write us a mission statement?" because in the end, that's what happened. Here's what I came up with. "Our mission is to reintroduce our students to the rewards and value of education, and in doing so, help them to become literate, socially aware, life--long learners." Not bad--eh? I should write speeches for politicians. I can always pull some smooth sounding shit out my ass.

Anyhoo. Today I had to do the "Writing Across the Curriculum" training (Notice--the acronym is WAC.) I'd rather teach 15 of the meanest hardest teenagers than face a room full of 40 teachers. Teachers are notoriously bad at being students. They talk, to each other and on their cell phones; they get off the subject; they think what you are saying applies to everyone but them. But--I got through it ok and managed to keep there attention for 90 minutes or so.

Sophie got to bring cupcakes to day care today--as her birthday is tomorrow. I just spent $95 dollars at Walmart on presents and party stuff. I bought a Disney Princess fold out bed/sleeping bag thing (because currently we play sleep-over ALL THE TIME), an Eleyna "Farytopia" Barbie, a big container of play food for the play kitchen, "High Ho Cherrio," princess plates, party favors, and balloons. Birthdays are kind of an expensive pain in the ass, but she's worth it.

After our very bad day on Monday, the last 2 days of school meetings have actually been quite pleasant. (Are popsicles safe for dogs? Jimmy just totally snaked Sophie's and gulped it down in one bite.) It's been nice to get the chance to miss her a little instead of feel totally smothered by her.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
When I took the cupcakes to day care, both of her teachers were absolutely gushing about how smart and cute Sophie is. I felt like the world's best mom--instead of the world's worst.

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
I paid the day care bill today. That shit is EXPENSIVE!

I am officially the worst mother in the world. I have yelled at Sophie all day. That child will not do one thing I ask her to do. I say, "Please get in your car seat" and she runs down the side walk. I say, "Please lay down for your nap" and she runs down the hall. I say "Please come here so I can change your pull-ups" and she sits down and plays with her toys. I'm so fucking tired of that kid not ever ever ever minding me. I don't know if I've just raised a total brat or what. Undoubtedly, it's all my fault. If I want her to do anything--anything at all, I have to start counting to three, and threaten to spank her, and actually spank her and I honestly don't think I want to be a mother anymore. I'm serious. I can't even type some of the awful stuff I've said to her today. Jesus Christ. Who ever ever in their right mind sent me this child? It's definitely enough to challenge one's belief in a benevolent god or goddess. Just now I literally threw her on her bed and slammed the door. I should be fucking arrested.

An Ode to Amanda

(Don't worry Katy--Yours is coming soon.)

Sevenish months ago, my sister moved away from me and relocated in Albuquerque. At the time, I was more than just a little pissed-off. I felt like we had made a definite agreement--whether it was spoken or not--that we were in this thing together, that the partnership known as "The Smith Sisters" would never be broken up, come hell or head hunter. In fact, it's only been recently that I can talk to her husband (who was, in fact, head hunted and did what he thought was best for his family and career by taking a very lucrative job in New Mexico, but, whateva) without making a conscious effort to be nice.

In our sisterly partnership, I do think that I lucked out being the younger sister. Being 18 months older, Mandy was kind of like my Sacajawea growing up. She checked things out first--and I was always able to learn from her experience. She went to school first, got a bra first, had a boyfriend first. Plus, I definitely reaped the benefits of her battles with my parents over curfew, dating, and allowance. When I got my period--I didn't tell my mom. I told my big sister. She totally hooked me up with the information and supplies I needed. Although she got her drivers license first, I was able to cruise around with her--sans parents--and experienced the freedom of a drivers license without having to take drivers ed!

Not only did I get the benefit of her experience, I also got the benefit of her stuff. Mandy always had cooler stuff, and I am by nature a borrower. Bless her heart for not killing me--because I was ALWAYS taking her clothes--make-up--and whatever else I felt like helping myself to. Sometimes I would drag my feet, letting her get out the door before me so that I could nick one of her sweaters. We'd get on the bus--and she's notice, but it was too late. I actually taught myself to read by stealing her Sweet Valley High novels. Having no interest in the shlop they were giving me to read in the 2nd and 3rd grade, I didn't take to reading. BUT there was kissing in these books, plus my mom said I was too young to read them--so there you have it. In Flagstaff this last weekend, I cruised over to her hotel room, and saw her make-up bag on the bathroom counter. The little sister in me came out in full force, and I couldn't help helping myself to her Clinique powder and cool nude/sparkly eye shadow.

18 months isn't TOO big of a gap, and growing up, we were often on equal ground. When moving around, we knew we always had each other. We ganged up on my little brother together. We played dress-ups together. We wrote notes to each other on the program at church.

As you can imagine, two teenage sisters, both stacked, both easy on the eyes, both clever and fun to be around (if I do say so myself) was more temptation than many boys (and some men) could handle. (My poor parents!) Some poor guy would come around to pick me (or her) up, or hang out, and would get a load of my (her) sister. Immediate conflict would set in between his poor brain and weener. "What? There are two of them? Do I have the best one? Can I have both? How much can I flirt with the sister without pissing her off? Maybe after a few months I can, kind of, switch." For the record--MANDY was the first one to steal a guy from me. His name was Darryl. We were all in a community theater version of The Snow Queen. He and I hit it off, and it wasn't that he didn't like me, or liked her more (I think) but like a long line after him, he just had to have a sample of BOTH Smith Sisters. Surprisingly enough, I don't think we really let guys come between us. It was kind of us-against-them, and they were seriously outnumbered.

During our college years, we experimented on the fringes together. For a short while we were roommates. We left the LDS church around the same time, and shared the pain, and pleasure that decision brought together. We drove the same kind of car--two gray Escort hatchbacks lined up on the street outside my parents' house together. College was a bit tricky for us at times. We fought over girl friends like we had never fought over boys. Ultimately, though, the wisdom of our honorary big sister brought and end to that nonsense.

As women, we have moved away from the competition of our teenage and college years, and trade off the role of leader. I married first. She became a mother first. Now, we look after each other and each other's kids. Last year I had a disaster with day care for Sophie, and I didn't even have to ask her--Mandy just offered to take her for me one day a week. When Madeline, Mandy's oldest started talking, she called me "Momma Boo" for a few heavenly weeks.

I know that I had a hard time organizing my thoughts here. What I really want to do is say thank you to my sister. Thank you for learning life lessons first, and passing them on to me. Thank you for letting your little sister tag along. Thank you for being my friend since I was born. Thank you for loving my kid, and letting me love yours. Thank you for being the woman I look up to most in the world. I love you.

Good news and Bad news

I sat down to check my blog and--low and behold--the whole thing was back!

The day I deleted it, Erik very sweetly tried to set it back up again, by creating a new blow--with the old template and name, but obviously all my posts were lost, along with links, comments, and other important stuff. A very kind anonymous soul had copied the files from the Google cache (isn't it great how I can type that like I know exactly what it means, when actually, I have no fucking idea) so I had most of them, but no way really to repost them (that I knew of) and most of the comments were lost.

Then, just now, I logged in, and BLAM! Two blogs named "I thought this would be more like having a cat" appeared on my dashboard. The kind kind folks at blogger help must have responded to my email pleas and worked their blogger magic.

Of course, I'm always running blindly along with this blog thing--thinking I'm savvy when actually, my blogger IQ is probably close to that of plankton--so I quickly copied the 3 posts from the new blog onto the old blog--and deleted it.

Along with all the new comments.

To everyone who wrote a comment when I was being pissy and blog-destructive, thanks so much. Those comments ment more to me than I can say, and I'm kicking myself in the ass with a steal toed boot for loosing them. Plus, I have to admit, that I'm a bit of a comment whore anyway. (I really should just have them emailed to me, but I'm afraid that I'd just be checking my email ALL THE TIME!)

So--thanks blogger wizards. You are wise in the way of the force.

Of Pups and Parties

I'm beginning to hate my dog. Ok. I don't hate him, I just want him to SHUT THE FUCK UP! We had to have him boarded the 2 nights we were in Flagstaff with my sis and her family, and you would think we were gone for weeks. It was sweet that he was so happy to see us, but now if he's not being played with constantly, he whines and whines and whines. I'd rather deal with anything in puppies and/or children than whining. Sophie is having a nap at my mom's, and what I WANT to do is clean my house, read my book (a very silly Nora Roberts on loan from my mom. Here's a sentence or two for your amusement. "Desires she'd ruthlessly buried broke the surface and screamed into life. Riding on the thrill, she dragged at his shirt until her hands found the hot, bare skin and dug in." Don't tell my students that their teacher sometimes indulges in a steamy romance.)

Ok. Scratch that. I don't want to clean my house at all. But, it is really repulsive. Some of the more repulsive things I can see from my perch at the computer are 2 chewed up pig ears (for the dog. He loves them. Don't ask me why.), a pair of peed in princess pull-ups, and a 1/2 eaten pop-tart. Usually I can say in honesty that my house isn't dirty--it's just cluttered. Today we've crossed the line, and unfortunately it falls on me to fix things.

Sophie is currently napping (I hope) and my mom's house. We bought stuff at the craft store to make birthday invitations today. Her party is scheduled at the ice cream parlor for Friday at 4:00. They let the kids come back and make their own Sundays--so I'm HOPING that it will be fun for her.

Now, I must clean.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
Getting to buy sparkly stickers.

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Birthday party planning is kind of stressful.

I started out this post by looking for pictures of sheep--to reinforce how sheepish I feel about being such a drama queen. Then I tried to be funny and compare myself to Cher or whoever else that pulls the publicity stunt of announcing that she's gone for good--and then pops up again a week or two later.

Both methods didn't go anywhere--and seemed very forced and shallow. Well--they were.

A couple of days ago, Erik and I had an ugly scene that involved my blog--indirectly. It had more to do with choices and trust and boundaries. I'd like to fill you in on all the gory details, but will leave that to him if he feels comfortable with it. Anyway, my response was something along the lines of--"Fuck that. Fuck you. Fuck the blog." And I deleted it. I was totally shocked by the sense of loss that came along with that choice. I literally spent all day yesterday in bed, in tears. Some of the tears were marriage related--some mother related--some Sophie relate--but many were blog related.

I tend to be pretty fuzzy on boundaries--and assume that just because someone I love is upset or has a problem--that it's my job to respond--to fix. I'm learning slowly but surely that I don't have to feel other peoples feelings for them--or even with them. I also tend to be a bit of a self destructive punisher of myself. When I want to loose weight--I don't do things that are good for me, like eat right and exercise. Instead I take diet pills and make myself throw up. (Sadly, and this is exactly how I feel, I've been too lazy to throw up lately and have put on a good 30 lbs.) As far as the blog--Erik didn't ask me to delete it. I did that on my own--as a punishment to myself, and as a result, to him. I don't know where I learned that hurting myself is a great way to punish others--but, there you have it.

I'm absolutely sick about all the posts that are gone--because I had hoped to share them with Sophie when she's older. I have an email into blogger help to see if there's anything they can do, but I'm probably just screwed.

As far as all the kind comments--thanks. I'm kind of embarrassed, and kind of having a Sally Fields moment (You really like me!).

Quitty McJen mentioned a few days ago that anyone who blogs likes attention--or something to that effect. I think all of us (maybe just me) down play the importance of our web log--either posting or reading--but know that in reality, that it IS important. It's a way of getting a little validation for your life; of connecting to the world at large--which is often such a scary and unfriendly place--in a friendly way. Keeping a blog is like being a little Who--yelling out, "I am HERE! I am HERE!"

I was very touched and surprised by Erik's post asking me to come back. He and I had a long talk, and both feel like for all the trouble that my blog has caused, it has actually helped him to understand me better. He has asked me to continue it, and has asked me to let him be responsible for his reaction to it--rather than feel like I am responsible. I'm going to try and do that.

Now then. On to the important stuff.

Sophie Gene. She is currently stricken with a virus called "Herpangina" or otherwise known as "Hand Foot and Mouth." The symptoms are high fever, vomiting and very very sore, um, sores in the mouth that make eating, and drinking pretty unpleasant. Other symptoms that I've noticed are a tendency to hit her mother, refusal to take any medicine that may make her feel better, and general all around orneriness. I took her to the doctor 2 days ago, and the brand spankin new nurse practitioner was a complete (sorry--I must say it) retard. I told him TWICE about the sores on her mouth, but he didn't look. He was about to write an antibiotic prescription "just to make sure" when I said firmly, "Would you PLEASE look at the sores in her mouth." He did and said, "Oh! That's herpangina!" "Really," I replied, trying to restrain the fist of death from delivering the fatal beating that he so obviously was in need of. "What's that?" He didn't really know, and looked it up in his little palm pilot. Yadda Yadda Yadda

So anyway, she's doing a bit better today, though the hitting symptom seems to be getting worse. I'm going to be brave and take her to Flagstaff anyway--and pray that she doesn't infect my sister's kids. I'll have to curtail her licking of them at least.

Janzen is back with his mom, and I miss the HELL out of him. He's such an easy kid to be around. I miss our chess games, his silly sense of humor, and most importantly, I miss how he would unload the dishwasher for me every morning. (Ok--that's not the most important thing--but I do miss it.)

Jimmy is currently at the vet's being boarded for 3 nights. After he shat in my mom's bedroom, I didn't want to ask her to tend him again. Plus, she wanted to come along with us, and is feeling very hurt that Mandy and I wanted some sister time sans Mom. The house training thing is going kind of, um, shitty. Literally. I'll spare the details, but finding little brown curly-q's of puppy shit in the corners is not pleasant.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
When I was bawling yesterday, Soph decided that I must need a mom. So she said, "I'm Mommy, you're Sophie," and proceeded to try and "make me better." She brought me her silky, her gatoraid, and her bear, and sang me a lullaby.

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Unfortunately, the angel of yesterday has, in the manner of most 2 year olds, become a devil today, and she slapped me right in front of Kodi for not letting her eat a giant spoon full of sugar. I don't know if I was more angry at her, or more embarrassed at how bratty she acted in front of my friend. Sigh.

MissuzJ's husband here, posting with a plea to her readers, sisters, soulmates, and friends to help me bring her back to the Blog.

While I didn't read MissuzJ's Blog very often, I did see the joy and relief she felt by sharing herself and her "shoot-from-the-hip" style of motherhood with a group of like-minded souls, friends, and even casual passersby who simply happened to enjoy her clever writing about her adventures with Sophie.

In all honesty, I am somewhat responsible for the Blog's deletion and I will just say (sans details) that a handful of mostly unrelated issues "piled-on" and led MissuzJ to this hasty decision.

Upon discovering the Blog's deletion I felt heartbroken...for her.

So, if you are willing, please help me by posting your pleas to bring back MissuzJ.

Lazy List

I spent so long commenting on little sis's post today that I decided to just use my comment for today's post. Yes, I am one lazy ass. I did augment the list with some shoddy and quickly taken pictures from the digital. (As if anyone really cares.)

Things I love today: (Tomorrow I may hate all of these things. Who knows.)

Big glasses of iced tea with condensation dripping down the side.

Sophie hugs.

Clean mop-boards. (Janzen cleaned them for me--can you believe it?)

The smell of rolls baking.

Having a great new book to start.

Tomatoes from the garden.

Sleeping puppies.

Plucking a particularly burly chin hair (loving the plucking--not the hair).

Sophie going down for a nap with no fuss or arguments.









Catching the end of "Good Will Hunting" on TBS while folding laundry. (I know you don't REALLY have to choose--but really, isn't Matt Damon SO much yummier than Ben Afflek (sp)? I mean come on ladies. You know you want to teach him a lesson.

Getting 11 comments on a post. (Thanks all for the kind birthday wishes.)

Babies with blue tongues



Things I hate today: (Chances are I'll still hate these things tomorrow.)

Morning breath. (mine and others)

Chipped toe nail polish.










Fevers. (Sophie's is 101.4.)

Hemorrhoids. (Lucky you--I couldn't get that picture to download--JK)

Cleaning the refrigerator.









Having to do a tiny load of red things in the washing machine.

People who put things that are not books on the book shelf.

Back fat.

That one hair on the front of my ankle that I keep missing when I shave that is now 1/2 inch long.

Starting a book and thinking it will be great and then finding that is kind of sucks (A Great and Terrible Beauty. Avoid it.)

Not knowing what to do with that weird pile of stuff on the kitchen counter that really isn't trash--but doesn't really have a home either.

Oh, so many candles.




Today's best thing about being a mom:
Teenage boys who will clean!

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
I'm guessing it will be my trip to the doctor with Sophie this afternoon.

Happy Birthday to Me!

Last night, while I was laying in bed trying to get to sleep without excessive pharmaceutical assistance, I was trying to remember what I've done for my birthday for the past 25 years. (I wish I was turning 25 today--nope, it's 30. But I don't remember anything before turning 5.)

The first birthday I remember, my 5th, mom and dad took us all to Knotts Berry Farm. We were living in San Diego while my dad was stationed on the destroyer "John Paul Jones." I had seen a commercial of a little girl at KBF chasing a piglett, and decided that pig chasing was the ultimate in birthday fun. My sweet mom looked all over that damn place with me for the pig chasing, but alas, there was none to be found. That was to be my first experience with false advertising, and with birthday disappointment.

The next birthday I remember was in Minnesota. It must have been #7. What I remember about that one is that it was a moving day. My egocentric little mind had just assumed that we wouldn't even THINK of moving on my birthday. I was pretty shocked that my parents would presume to move on a day that should, by rights, totally revolve around me. My mom tried to make up for it with a Little Bo Peep cake--complete with ceramic Peep and sheep. I was some-what mollified.

My 8th birthday I remember very well-because it was my first official birthday blow-out. I got to invite my friends to that Mecca of birthday ballyhoo, Chuck E. Cheese. There, my mom surprised me with 2 of my most memorable birthday presents ever. The first was a Cabbage Patch Doll--an indispensable part of any little girl's plaything inventory in the early 80's. The second was a package of UNDERPANTS. WRAPPED. THAT I OPENED IN THE MIDDLE OF CHUCK E. CHEESE IN FRONT OF ALL MY FRIENDS! Oh. The humiliation.

The next several birthdays are pretty fuzzy. I remember a very cool sunshine cake surrounded by little cupcakes that were the rays, a trip to Sizzler (very high class in my child mind) to see just how many fried shrimp I could eat, and various other brief flashes of candle blowing and present opening.

My 15th birthday was special, because I went on my first real date. The LDS church lays down the line pretty heavily--absolutely NO DATING until 16, but my parents were moving us to Utah in a couple of weeks, and I had a very sweet (then--later is another story) steady boyfriend who asked my parents for permission to take me out on a real date for my birthday. We went to a very upscale Italian place by the ocean in Big Sur. He then took me for a walk on the beach, and pledged me his undying devotion. It's a sweet, but somewhat silly memory, considering that his undying devotion lasted about 3 months after I moved.

The REAL first date on my 16th birthday was totally lame. This kid that I barely knew, who always smelled just a little weird, took me to see "Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey." He had the nerve to try and cop a feel 1/2 way through. I talked him out of it by getting up and moving over 2 seats.

No birthday memories turn up again until my 20th. Erik and I were dating, and he took me to Kolob Canyon (part of Zion National Park) for a moonlight picnic. I worked for a concession there at the time. So we were sitting up at the top of the 5 mile scenic drive, and I was swigging a strawberry kiwi wine cooler, (gag) when the local danger ranger showed up. Lemuel Pratt was the world's biggest douche bag. The kind of cop who bragged about how many tickets he wrote per day. So--he gave me a ticket for under aged drinking, and Erik one for contributing, and basically ruined my birthday.

I'm sure that my birthdays since then have been lovely--just kind of unmemorable. Lunches with mom--dinners with Erik--nice gifts from friends. Today will be more of the same.

So--happy birthday to me. 30 years down--who knows how many to go.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
When we picked up Sophie from my mom's yesterday, she threw her arms around me and said, "I've been missing and missing you!"

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
She just dumped her whole breakfast--yogurt, eggs, juice, all over the rug in the living room. Dude. Maybe I'll let the pup come lick it up.

Happy Birthday to Erik

It's my hubby's birthday today. We're going up to Salt Lake tonight--killing 3 birds with one stone actually: taking Janzen home, having birthday hotel sex, and getting Erik to a meeting he has up there tomorrow.

My mom's keeping Sophie and Jimmy (for this, she her place in heaven is definitely assured) --the plan is for them to stay at her house, but there is a chance that they'll come here, so that means CLEANING! The plan had been to clean when Soph went down for her nap--but as usual, when I really want her to nap, she doesn't--so I'm going to tackle the house with her tackling me.

In honor of Erik's birthday--here are a couple of Erik lists.

Erik's weird food things:

Erik is literally terrified of raw chicken. I once chased him through the kitchen with a raw chicken leg. Janz and I laugh about the time Erik said, "Janz--don't come in the kitchen--there's raw chicken in here," much in the same tone he might have said, "There are rabid wolverines in here."

He won't eat corn unless it's on the cob. Salsa with corn? Noooo. I don't think so. Corn in soup? Think again.

When we first got married--Erik filled me in on the "big 3" which are: eggs, peas, and tomatoes. We've whittled the list down to the big 2--tomatoes are now acceptable in certain venues; but eggs and peas--never.

If you wanted to do something nice for Erik, you could:

Bake him a German chocolate cake--his favorite. The icing must be at least 1/2 inch thick.

Watch Big Trouble in Little China with him--but don't talk during the movie--that really pisses him off.

Clean out his car.

Talk about talk radio with him.

Buy him the new season of Aqua Teens on DVD.

Do his laundry--because his wife swore an oath 9 years that she never would--and has kept it.

Let him take a nice long run in the morning.

Help him find his keys, wallet, hat, or other assorted items that he is sure to be missing.


Reasons you should be jealous of me (missuzj) for having Erik as a husband:

Yes--he is as hot as he looks in his pictures.

He's a great dad to both of his kids. He knows how to PLAY with kids, and they love him for it.

He's dynamite in the sack.

He's a computer genius, and is willing to help however he can.

He will read to you in bed at night.

He gives foot rubs.

Does a bear shit in the woods?

I currently have a roll of toilet paper sticking on a branch of the shrub by my front door.

"Why?" you may ask.

Well--because Sophie's current favorite thing to watch on TV is the Charmin Ultra commercials. She loves the little bear. She loves the little bear's mom. She loves the little song they sing. She loves that the commercial deals with bathroom things.

So--she sneaked a roll of toilet paper outside, and stuck it on a branch "Like the bears Mommy!"

When I dared to try and remove it, we had a 3 alarm melt down. So, because I am the most permissive mother in the woods, the paper remains.

In addition to the questionable front door decor, we also actually play Charmin games. Sophie takes a long strip of TP from the roll, and looks at me expectantly. My job is to then say, "You don't need that much little bear!" and the model how much TP she needs. Sigh.

Also, she loves to recreate the very scientific experiment of putting the TP in a cup, adding some water, and turning the cup upsidedown to show just how absorbent the TP actually is. She was VERY pissed that we didn't have any blue water. While Janz and I were playing chess with our Marvel comics chess set (My knight is Spider Man--how cool is that?) Sophie stuffed a wad of TP in my glass of Pepsi, turned it upside down, thus spilling my last Pepsi all over the table, and announced, "With Charmin Ultra, less is more!"

I think we're going to watch less TV from now on.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
Janz and I have started playing chess on a pretty regular basis. I suck at chess, as I can't think of more than 3 moves in advance. I'm just a hair better than he is. It's great to have a kid who is old enough to play games with.

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Wondering what the neighbors must think

Tiny Dancer

The summer is winding down, and I really can't stand the idea of going back to work. As much as I sometimes bitch, there are many worse ways to spend the day than chillin' with Sophie Gene.

Sophie went to day care today, and I went in to my classroom to start working on my planning for next year. My goal is to have the whole year loosely mapped out--and to build really solid unit plans for all of first quarter. The beginning of the year is always tricky at my particular school, because we never really know who is going to turn up. We'll get a hand full from the previous year, plus a bunch of state custody kids, but it usually takes the kids from the "regular" high schools at least 3 weeks to fuck up enough to be sent over to us.

So I usually start out with a short unit on brain development while I'm waiting for the troops to arrive. The kids bitch that they shouldn't have to learn human biology in English--but I feel like they really can benefit from knowing exactly how the brain stores information. We talk about how threats (like tigers and tests and ex-girlfriends)--even perceived threats-- move brain function to the brain stem--the fight or flight center of the brain which has no language--and no higher thinking capabilities. We talk about how much water the brain needs--about how much sleep the brain needs. Of course, all the while they are reading and writing and listening and speaking--all of the things that they are supposed to be doing in English--they just don't notice.

From there, I go several different directions, depending on the class. My 11th grade English kids will start off with The Crucible. Our essential question for that unit (the essential question is the "so what?"--the why are we even learning about this in the first place) is "How do the Puritan roots of our country still affect our daily lives today?" We watch quite a bit of the movie--but also read a lot and do some written responses and some acting. I end The Crucible with a mock trial in which we put Abigale Williams on trial for depraved indifference to human life and conspiracy to commit murder. So far--the county attorney has totally stood me up, and I've had to learn a lot about both of these charges on-line--but the kids have a surprisingly good time with the trial. Most of them are pretty familiar with court room procedure, having themselves been involved in the court system.

10th grade is a little trickier. With them, I start out with the writing right away--and hit it pretty hard. Most of them never knew or have totally forgotten what a paragraph is.
They write short, one paragraph reflections for me about themselves--on topics like school lunch in elementary school, their first bike, their first day of high school. We do this while reading The House on Mango Street, a beautiful little novella that you should read if you haven't.

Sorry to give you a play by play of work stuff. It's just kind of consuming my thoughts now that there are only a couple of weeks until school starts.

If anyone has great (or terrible) memories of high school English, please leave a comment. I'm always looking for new ideas.

Today's best thing about being a mom:



Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Thinking about going back to work

All aboard the potty train!

I have my hands a little full at the moment--potty training Sophie and Jimmy. Of course, I'm using different strategies with each of them, but there are actually several similarities.

With Sophie--I've made myself change from the disposable pull-ups to the cloth training pants. This way--I'm WAY more vigilant about asking her if she needs to go, and she can tell when she's wet. We've worked our way through the first potty chart, and I need to make her a new one. I think I'll get a prize box for her to choose from if she keeps her panties dry all day.

Of course, the smart little shit has figured out that all she has to do to get me to drop everything is to tell me she has to go. We walk into the grocery store, and she announces that she has to pee. So we truck to the back of the store, get her on the pot, and exactly 2 drops of pee come out. We finish our shopping, stand in line to pay, and right before it's our turn to check out, she announces that she has to pee again. Another trip to the bathroom. Another 2 drops of pee. The same thing goes for nap time, bed time, dinner time, breakfast time, or whenever she's doing something she doesn't want to be doing.

With Jimmy--we're using the crate training method. He doesn't love the crate, but is doing better. He's confined to the crate, the kitchen, and the back yard. So far, we've only had a couple of accidents and he's starting to get the hang of things. Unfortunately, he uses his potty trips to seek out every disgusting thing that has been hiding in my back yard--and then eat it. His favorite vile back yard treats so far are fossilized cat shit and decrepit dead bird.

With both, I find myself asking several times a day, "Do you need to potty?" I also find myself celebrating successful potty trips either to the back yard or the bathroom by saying, "Woo hoo! Good potty!" Sophie and I have a potty song we sing--which I skip with Jimmy. He prefers a liver treat.

I'm HOPING to have both of them successfully potty trained by the time I go back to school. That day is fast approaching, no matter how I avoid looking at calendars and ignore the back to school signs and sales all over town. This has been a truly lovely summer. I hate to see it slipping away.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
Janzen has been here for a week, and will be here for another. Yesterday I bought him this cheap fedora like hat at the dollar store. He's such a funny kid; he absolutely LOVES it. We were driving home from the store later, and I was listing all of the things I had accomplished that day. He said, "Plus, you bought me a $5.00 hat that makes me look like a genius!"

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Sophie is torn between euphoria and intense jealousy for Jimmy. She is taking the "if you can't beat them, join them" approach and is literally peeing on the lawn, and demanding her drinks in bowls so she can lap them up.

Jimmy Thing

Well--the new pup is here. Erik has named him Jimmy. Sophie is ecstatic, and very thrilled by the fact that Jimmy has a wiener. Much to Janzen's delight, Jimmy has taken quite a shine to him, and is currently sleeping in his bedroom in a laundry basket lined with towels (Jimmy, not Janzen) while Janz plays video games. More later.

I must be loosing my mind.

I mentioned a while back that my husband's birthday is coming up. Actually, it's on the 31st of this month.

Let my back up a ways now. When Erik was young, his dad was a total workaholic, but in sudden misplaced spurts of wanting to actually parent his kids, he would bring home a dog. After bringing home the dog, Dad would totally forget about it, as would the kids, and eventually, Mom would take over care of said dog, until she lost patience with the whole thing and took it to the pound.

So, as an adult, Erik has always wanted a dog--to make up for the lack of normal dog-ownership of his childhood. I've poo-pooed the idea for 10 years now. Yes, a while back we took in my parents old dog, Buddy, a border collie who was on his last leg, while they built a house--but really Buddy was more like a piece of hand-me-down furniture than a dog. But I'm doing something very foolish tonight. I'm bringing home a puppy for Erik for his birthday.

I love my husband and he's a great dad, good worker, etc., but tends to see the glass as basically half empty. Because of some work situations and the situation with my step-son, I've watched the joy drip out of his life bit by bit. A couple of weeks ago, while I was driving Janzen home to Salt Lake, I said out of the blue, "Why don't we get your dad a puppy for his birthday?" Of course, Janzen was all over the idea--he's an 11 year old boy after all.

So--I started looking in the paper, the pet store, checking with friends, and trying to find a great puppy for Erik. He hasn't ever wanted a papered fancy dog--but mentioned once that he'd like to have a golden retriever to run with. So on Wednesday, Janzen and I were taking the car to the car wash, and picked up a "Pioneer Shopper"--an independent cornucopia of classified ads for Southern Utah. Looking for a pygmy goat? No problem! Want to work from home and make up to $2000 an day? It's in there! So, while sitting there together, the car being blasted by the high pressure jets of the car wash, Janzen reads out loud to me, "Golden Retriever/Border Collie puppies. Call for details." Now we all loved Buddy--even though he was old as sin, and as a young dog, he was smart as a whip and great to be around. So this seemed like the perfect puppy. We called--they gave us the details, and to make a long story short, are meeting Janzen and I tonight in the parking lot of our Super Wal-Mart with a puppy.

Christ.

Janzen and I have sneakily purchases puppy stuff and hid it. I bought a book called the "Everything Puppy Book" which mostly scared me. Anyone know about this "crate training?" It seems kind of hard core to me.

Plus, Sophie already pees all over the place, and tears the house to pieces.

Ok. Breath. It will be ok. It will be fun. It will make Erik happy. It's only a puppy.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
Sophie should be taking a nap, but she just came out of her room, naked except for her princess pull-ups and her new tap shoes. She LOVES her new tap shoes. The dance class was mainly a success. I don't know how thrilled I am with the teacher, but I stayed and watched, and Sophie sat in my lap for a while, and participated a little, and dragged me out to dance with her a couple of times. They're learning a little dance to "5 little monkeys jumping on the bed" which is cute. I was hoping to see more creative movement and less "everybody stand on your spot and tap your left toe" stuff, but we'll see. Anyhoo--Sophie in tap-shoes is a pretty sweet sight.

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
I'm beginning to think that I will never ever be allowed to sleep in again. This morning she climbed in bed with me at 6:30. Not too bad, but I remember the days (3 years ago) when I had a day off of sleeping until 9:00, reading until 10:00, wandering in and having breakfast. Shit and Fuck. Here she is again. I guess it's going to be a no nap day.

Pre-dance lesson pictures

What's that?

Let me watch Dora! 

HOLD STILL! 

In about an hour, Sophie has her first dance lesson. (Really--it's just fun creative movement while wearing a leotard.) She looks SO FREAKIN CUTE that I tried to get some pictures, but she wouldn't hold stil for the 1/100th of a second I needed to get her picture. Here's what I got. I'll try and post about her class later today. 

Weird things I like

Coming up with something new and interesting to blog about every day (ok, 3-4 times a week) is getting tricky. Let's see here. How about I borrow an idea from a very accomplished blogger--sarcomical--(I'm way to lazy to add a link. Check my "on line peeps") and do some listing.

Weird things I like:

I like to---

go to the movies and buy Red Vines, a Sprite, and popcorn. Then I bite off both ends of a Red Vine and use it as a straw to drink the Sprite. It makes the Sprite kind of cherry-ish, and then when you eat the licorice, it's kind of soggy in the middle and frozen on the outside.

fill up my ice cube trays.

eat the crunchy corners of the cake, brownies, or whatever. (Does that make sense?)

watch the Real World/Road Rules challenge.

clip my husband's toe nails and clean out his ears. (Eww! Gross-I know) (p.s. When we were separated, he said that he knew I was going to come back when I offered to cut his toe nails for him.)

read the same books over and over--especially The Blue Sword, The Hero and the Crown, Dragon Song, Dragon Singer, and Anne of Green Gables. All young adult books, I know, but I guess I'm young at heart.

make up annoying games to play in the car--like "Who can think of the most songs that have to do with food? (ex. Blueberry hill, Pour Some Sugar on Me, Cornflake Girl) and "Who can think of the most words that end in "ation" (ex. creation, masturbation, reincarnation, clay-mation)

diagram sentences.


So, if after reading this list, you no longer like me--I'll mourn your missing numbers on my counter. If, however, you're inspired to share any weird things that you particularly like, please do!

No best and worst thing about being a mom today. Sophie has an ear infection and is too grouchy for words.

Independent Women Pt. 1

Well, I've been a bit of a blog slacker for the past few days. I have 2 good reasons, however. Reason 1 is that my right wrist and forearm are killing me from too much computer time. My body is trying to tell me (screaming at me, actually) that I need to find a better way to spend my time. In all honesty, I don't really watch TV too much anymore. I've switched over to the computer, which, though it is a bit more brain stimulating, is not a good trade-off for real life.

Reason 2 is I had to get the new Harry Potter read. I'm not a super Harry Potter freak--I mean, I wasn't at the bookstore at midnight on Friday. I did, however, have a copy reserved, and picked it up early Saturday afternoon. When it comes to books, I'm a total binger. I don't read in small quantities. I devour books. So--The Half Blood Prince has been duly devoured, and I have a couple things to say about it. (Don't worry--no spoiling.) Since book 3, I haven't enjoyed the stories as much--though obviously enough to keep reading them. 5 was particularly hard to plow through--and I can best describe it as sullen. 6 was better--but was completely plot driven--very little as far as the character development or world building that was so fun to read in the first few books. I understand that Rowling has had thousands of pages to do both of these things--and may feel like she's given enough of this wizarding world and funky characters that inhabit it--but I miss it and wish she would keep giving her readers more of the fun details and minutiae that made the early books so impossible to put down. As far as what actually happens in book 6, all I'll say is this: 1 thing happened in it that I NEVER thought would happen, ever, and 2 things happened that I've been expecting for some time.

Well--that took longer than I had anticipated. I didn't mean for this post to be a book review. On to the Sophie stuff. Sophie's most uttered phrase lately is "I can DO IT!" If I remember correctly from my Psych 101 class, she's just moving from Erikson's Autonomy vs Shame and Doubt stage into his Initiative vs Guilt stage. (According to Freud, the sick fuck, she's moving from the Anal stage into the Phallic stage, and while she has been informing me that she'll have a wiener when she grows up, I refuse to believe that she has penis envy, or that her complete future personality and success depend on if she can successfully take a shit or not.) I think that other than a little mommy-itis, she's a pretty autonomous girl. When she sees a kid her size out in the world, she marches right up to them and says, "Hi! I'm Sophie! Let's be friends!" She's gotten much better about being left at a grandma or friend's house. I believe that as much as and almost 3 year old can, she know who she is and has a great amount of confidence.

Now, however, we're moving into that tricky initiative stage. She's decided that she can and should do things for herself. Don't get me wrong--I WANT her to be able to do things for herself, but right now, it's just so much more work for me. She has this little chair that she drags with her everywhere to reach things. If I don't watch her closely enough, I'll find her on the kitchen counter, having fetched the jam from the fridge and ripped open the bread, trying to make herself a "jam samwich." When I try to help her with this task, she tells me to go away. The end result is usually very sticky and jammy and a huge mess for me to clean up.

Other things she wants to do by herself are pour drinks, wipe her butt (p.s. The flushable "Kan-doo" kid's wipes are THE BOMB), put videos and DVDs in the player and take them out, use scissors and glue, and get in and out of the car. Again, I really do want her to be able to do these things--to take the initiative and get and do what she wants, but unfortunately, it's a huge pain in my ass. It's messy and time consuming and frustrating for both of us.

I don't remember this event, but my mom often tells a story about me when I was about 4. (I was a VERY independent child, and was known for saying, "I can fick it myself!) I had tried to make my own bed, and was pretty proud of myself. Later my mom came along, and without saying anything to me, remade the bed. After a while she found me crying in the closet, and had no idea what was wrong. When she asked, I told her, "I made my bed all my myself but it wasn't good enough for you!" I'm trying to keep in mind the lesson of this story, and just grit my teeth as I wait for Sophie to climb into the car when I'm in a hurry.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
I love to lay in Sophie's bed with her and read her a story. We checked out "Mrs. McTats and her House Full of Cats" today, and had a read and a snuggle before nap time. It was lovely.

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Cleaning up after the "jam samwich"

Found some old pictures

While cleaning out my dresser drawers (shocking) I found an old picture CD my dad burned for me almost 3 years ago. Here are the highlights.


This is a picture my dad took when I first told him and my mom that I was pregnant. I had taken the test about 10 minutes before and raced to my parents house. I was so terrified, surprised, excited, and basically freaked out, that I just needed to be with as many loving people as I could. Erik was surprised and terrified as well, but was very sweet about sharing this first couple hours of my pregnancy (that we knew of) with my folks.





This next one is the most pregnant picture I have of myself. I don't know WHAT I was thinking with the red dress. Obviously this is my baby shower. The two cute gals on the right are Kodi and Kelli--two of my best girl friends.


Here is Janzen holding his baby sister for the first time. I can't believe how young he is here. Look at those cheeks!











This one is Sophie's first bath at home. The irony is that only moments ago she gave her teddy bear a bath in a bowl of water that she filled up herself by climbing onto the counter while I wasn't looking.

If it's not one end, it's the other.

If you happened to read my post yesterday, and actually did say a prayer to whatever god or goddess you may pray to, THANK YOU, because the day was remarkably cluster-fuck free.

The kids were great with the exception of a couple of little neighborhood kids who tried to argue with me when I said they couldn't come over to play because Karynn (my sis-in-law) was gone. They tried to give me shit but I turned on my best teacher voice, and gave them a withering displeased teacher look, and they soon saw the light. Bless their hearts--they didn't know with whom they were dealing. Sophie had a wonderful time playing with the cousins (she calls them "my boys") and I even had a chance to read in my book for a while.

I do have one complaint, however. Little Jesse, the one year old, had a runny nose; not a little clear trickle either, mind you, but a literal fountain of viscous green goo. Now, in a pinch with Sophie, I have been known to wipe her nose with my shirt, and sometimes even my hand. I've been handed numerous boogers, and even been witness to her first booger snack attempt. However, she is the fruit of my loins, and I have to say, that the mucus of other people's fruits really grosses me out. I was wiping that little nose ALL DAY and every time the snot managed to circumvent the tissue and get on my hand. Eww.

On a different note, in the next 3 weeks, Sophie will be turning 3, my husband will be turning 31, and I will be turning (gasp) 30. The 3 and 30 mommy daughter duo should be an interesting combination. I remember when I discovered I was pregnant (I wouldn't call my sweet Sophie a mistake--but neither would call her a plan) thinking "I'm too young to be a mom." This thought, of course, was ludicrous, because, at the time I was 27 (maybe 26?) and could easily, by that time, have given birth to a multitude of children. For the most part though, I'm glad I waited until my late 20's to have her; but when I see my girl-friends' kids, (they all started quite a bit earlier than me) who are all over 10, being incredibly self sufficient, I sometimes wish I were past the bum-wiping stage.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
Sophie's hair has gotten SO LONG! It's almost down to her waist when it's wet. If I put her in front of a good show with a popsicle, she'll let me French braid it. We've done a crown over the top, farm-girl braids, renaissance-ish side braids--you name it. It's so beautiful.


Today's worst thing about being a mom:
I'm getting pretty tired of wiping a butt that isn't mine. Damn, I see a lot of that kid's butt.

Wish me luck!

I'm off with Sophie to tend my sister-in-law's boys. She has a 1 year old, a 5 year old, and a 7 year old. With Sophie at almost 3, that gives me 4 kids to chase with 2 years separating each. I've packed all the Yu-Gi-Oh and Dragon Ball Z movies for the 5 and 7, and have all of Sophie's Care Bear stuff for her and 1. We'll be there from 11:00-4:00. Pray for me.

I. Am. Not. Fucking. Pregnant.

Ok. The shit has truly hit the fan. I've known that the weight is coming back on, but I didn't know things had become this dire. Here's what happened.

My mom and Sophie had a playdate yesterday afternoon. Sweet Aunty Katy asked me if I'd like a hang-out session with her, so we went to get pedicures. Very decadent, I know. So there I am, my calluses being shaved off by a very nice Asian man, sitting a bit reclined in the massagy chair with the rollers working their way up and down my back. I was lulled into a nice foggy place where there was no cat-shit in the sandbox, no chocolate pudding on the walls, no peed in panties in a baggy in my purse.

Then, although she spoke very little English, the lady working on Katy's feet (I'll let Katy tell that story.) managed to say something that totally ruined my afternoon, my day, my year. She patted her stomach, looked at mine, and asked me, "When baby come?" Darkness fell upon me like a plague o'r the land. I answered her coldly, "She's about to turn three." I then picked up the magazine next to me (Elle) and was faced with page after page of skinny-minnie Linsay Lohan pictures. Barf.

A little advice people. Unless you happen to be in the delivery room with her, and actually SEE the baby crowning, DON'T ASK A STRANGER IF SHE'S PREGNANT!

This is the second time this has happened to me. The first was a year after Erik and I were married. We went back to the B&B where we had spent part of our honeymoon for our first anniversary. I had put on about 20 pounds that year--and obviously felt like total shit about it. The first night we were there, the owner of the place motioned to my stomach and said, "I take it congratulations are in order?" I was totally stumped. At first I thought she was referring to the fact that we had made it a year without dismembering each other. Then I realized what she meant. "No," I whispered. "They're not." We left first thing the next morning.

So--the plan is, start South Beach right away, take Sophie swimming or for a long walk every day, and quit going out in public.

Sorry for another long post about my weight. I'll get over my little pity party soon. That comment just really got to me yesterday. Tomorrow I promise more of the exploits of Sophie Gene who is currently being a very good girl and eating her Fruit Loops.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
We're giving a tea party today for my mom and grandma and Katy. We get to go shopping for little dainty treats together, and then we're going to set a pretty table with flowers and doilies and wear dress-up hats.

Today's worst thing about mom:
The temptation to sit on the couch and snack

Reflection

At the middle and end of each school year, every teacher in my district has to write a reflection. It's a very structured writing assignment designed to help us see where we are, and where we want to go. First we write about what we should keep doing. Then we write about what we should stop doing. Then we should write about what we should star doing. Every year, it's a piece of cake for me to list what I should start and stop doing, but thinking of what I should keep doing is HARD! Here's my "how's the summer going" personal reflection. Here goes.

Things I should keep doing:
Playing silly games with Sophie
Reading tons of books
Keeping my toe-nails painted
Watering my outside pots

Things I should stop doing:
Playing computer Scrabble 1+ hours per day
Checking my blog for comments 5+ times per day
Putting off the house work
Laying on the couch until 9:00 watching cartoons with Sophie
Putting off getting ready for school next year
Eating tons of junk
Giving Sophie a bottle at bed time
Letting the inside of my car become a smelly dumpster
Going out to eat so much
Drinking Cosmopolitans on an empty stomach (sorry Paul and Jen)

Things I should start doing:
Taking a walk every morning before it gets too hot outside
Drinking more water
Dusting the house--at least monthly
Cleaning under my bed--at least yearly
Cleaning out the refrigerator--at least weekly
Doing yoga again
Calling my brother and sister
Going to the grocery store and planning meals instead of eating out ALL THE TIME!
Teaching Sophie how to pick up her own toys
Teaching Erik how to pick up his own toys (ha--but true)

I'm feeling kind of bored and boring today, and my house, as usual, is a fucking pig sty. I'm going to go take my pills, do the dishes, and clean up the living room. (I won't subject anyone to another list of all the shit that is on the floor today, but it includes various things Sophie used to make instruments this morning and about half a bowl of popcorn that her dad made for her last night. Speaking of her dad, we're apparently not speaking. Sometimes this marriage thing feels like running on a hampster wheel while wearing 40 pound army boots and juggling porcupines.)

We needed something to do this afternoon, so we made chocolate cake! 

Janzen is very good with the mixer.

Sophie's just here for the batter! 

He made the cake ALL by himself. I'm trying to raise a kindler, gentler, mohawk wearing pre-teenager. (So--what do you think about the hair? When Sophie saw it, she said, "You're mommy is going to spank your butt for painting your hair!" Then she said to me, "Can I paint MY hair?"

Butter and Cigarettes and Rambling and Self Disclosure

In my next life, when I get to design my own world, butter and cigarettes are going to be wonderfully nutritious and good for you--kind of like soy. (Am I the only one who HATES soy? I hate soy milk. I hate tofu. I hate those little soy nuts. I'm tired of people trying to get me to eat soy!) Doctors and nutrition gurus will say things like, "Just try and work butter into your diet where you can. Have some on your toast in the morning; add a little to your vegetables; put some on your popcorn." It will be the same with cigarettes. Instead of advice to use the stairs and park far away from the grocery store, it will be, "Try to have a cigarette on your lunch break or squeeze one in before bed time."

My body and I are in this constant struggle. About 5 years ago, I started taking yoga and actually realized that I HAD a body. Before this, I just went around in it, but never paid much attention to it (other than basically not liking it). Because of several experiences as a teenager with horny boys (and some men), combined with church related guilt about sexuality, I spent a lot of time thinking that my body was inherently a bad thing. I honestly don't know if I'll ever feel comfortable with the body I have.

Of course, my yoga practice totally went in the shitter when I had Sophie, and for the past 3 years I've been either ignoring or actively being destructive toward my body. My weight has gone up and down, thanks to diet pills and eating disorders. I've started smoking again and use butter fairly indiscriminately. I haven't spent hardly any time outside just enjoying the mountains and desert and feeling the sun and wind and sand and registering that my body and I are a part of nature.

So this morning I finally went to the chiropractor because I literally couldn't relax my shoulders. They were somewhere up around my ears, and wouldn't come down. My chiropractor isn't a crackity crack guy. He does trigger and pressure points. Anyhoo, he put his thumb on this place on my neck, and I start bawling like I'd just watched the end of "Finding Neverland." Not from physical pain--though it did hurt--but from some bizarre internal emotional or spiritual pain that had been sitting in that spot for awhile. Apparently, this spot triggered some of that body hate fucked-up feeling stuff, because today I'm feeling very reflective, and, well, fucked-up about it.

After the chiropractor, instead of going home and cleaning my house (it's Sophie's pre-school day) I drove up the mountain, found a rock to sit on by the creek, and, well, sat. This is something I haven't done in YEARS. I used to do it almost religiously in the summer time. I sat and sat and felt the sun and put my feet in the freezing water and bawled again for a bit and came to a couple of mild realizations.

One--that mothers are women and people too, and when we forget that-- forget that our internal struggles with ourselves and our spiritual nature and all the shitty luggage that we carry around with ourselves still need to be addressed and given validation and contemplation, things can go awry. (I love the word awry. I also love the word nebulous, but couldn't find anywhere to work it in today.)

Two--that I live in a beautiful, beautiful place, and I need to start sharing it more with Sophie. When I was in college, I was outside so much that I always knew which phase the moon was in. I spent more time outside and in the mountains than anywhere else. Of course, much of that was because the mountain was a great place to go for any, um, socially unacceptable activity that you cared to participate in. Now that I'm big--and limit my socially unacceptable behaviors to a couple of Jack and Cokes every once in a while, and have a house with air conditioning, and a daughter, and, and, and, and, and, the mountains and desert have become strangers to me.

Although he's not one of my Favorite poets, I love this Robert Frost poem, "Acquainted with the night."


Acquainted With the Night

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain--and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-by;
And further still at an unearthly height
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.


It's one of the only poems I make my students memorize. I feel like I've lost my acquaintanceship (a word?)-- my friendship with the natural world, and with my body, and that it's time I call both of them up for a lunch date.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger.

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Totally loosing track of yourself

Peanut butter and Goldie

A while back, I promised Sophie that I'd buy her a goldfish. (This promise was made at the hospital when she was having her elbow x-rayed, and frankly, I think I got off pretty easy with just a goldfish. She was so upset, I almost promised her a kitten. Yikes!) So, I totally forgot about the fish promise, and then yesterday, she reminded me. After doing a bit of goldfish research on line (Apparently, the bowl is NOT an acceptable home for goldfish. But--tough shit, I can't afford a tank for a 2 year old) we headed off to the pet store.

25 bucks later, (2 fish, one bag of purple sand/rocks, one canister fish food, one bottle "Goldfish Life" water purification drops, one bowl) we came home and assembled the fish bowl. As you can imagine, Sophie was quite excited, and was talking a blue streak to her new fish, (Do you want me fo jump for you fishies? Can you swim around? Do you like your rocks?) and was not dissuaded at all by the fact that they had nothing to say to her. At first she named the fish "Goldie." Goldie being a collective noun that referred to both fish. Then she decided to call them Goldie and Gold. Finally, she settled on Goldie and Peanut butter.

This morning, luckily before she checked on our new pets, I had a look in the bowl. Poor Peanut butter was oddly still, and lying in his/her side. Peanut butter was deceased. I informed Erik of Peanut butter's sorry end, and he gave me one of those, "What do you want me to do about it?" looks. I said--"You're the man! Get it out of there and flush it!" He asked if I had purchased a net--which obviously I had not, but I advised him to use one of the slotted spoons. (Which I just found still sitting in the bathroom counter. Ew) He did, but wasn't thrilled with the job, or my telling him that it was his job, as the man, to dispose of any and all dead animals found in or around the premises. Oh well.

So when Soph noticed that Peanut butter was gone, I told her that s/he was sick, and had gone back to the pet store. Yes, a lie, but I didn't want to tell her that her fish had died. I'm not ready for life and death discussions with her just yet. Getting basic anatomy and bodily function stuff explained is hard enough right now. Hopefully Goldie is a little more resilient than her pal, and will be around for a while.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
We went and got a library card today. She wanted to check out her books alone, so I gave her the card and she very seriously presented it to the librarian along with her Little Mermaid book. It was the sweetest thing.

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Dead fish

Shit! Shit! Shit! God Damn!

A few days ago, when her water wings weren't working at the public pool, Sophie said, "Shit! Shit! Shit! God Damn!" My mother was there. Ouch. The look that crossed her face (my mom, not Sophie) was a perfect blend of horror and hilarity. And where, you might ask, did Sophie learn to say "Shit! Shit! Shit! God Damn!"? That would be me, of course.

As you may well imagine, I've been trying to watch my mouth since then. Apparently I've been using the word "freakin'" a lot: as in, "Get out of the freakin' way!" to slow driving motorists. How do I know I've been saying "freakin'" a lot? Not because I'm self-aware. I try very hard not to be, actually. It's because Sophie has said the following things today.

When is it my freakin' birthday?

This pizza needs some freakin' cheese!

Where's my freakin' Cheer Bear?

I peed in my freakin' panties!

As an English teacher, I can say that it's quite clever that she figured out that "freakin'" is an adjective, and that it always comes right before the noun. As her mother, I'm pretty freakin' appalled. (Hmmm. "appalled" is an adjective, so if "freakin'" is modifying "appalled," it's an adverb in that sentence.)

Today's best thing about being a mom:

Playing hide and seek

Today's worst thing about being a mom:

All of your bad habits are put on display in the form of your child for everyone to see.

You know you're potty training a two (almost 3) year old girl if...

You know you're potty training a two year old girl if...

1. You're favorite/best find at Walmart was Disney Princess Pull-ups.
2. You put your desk-top publishing skills to use by creating a personalized potty chart--complete with pictures of the Barbie Jeep that is the reward for 3 poops in the potty.
3. You've used the phrase, "Don't poop on the princesses!"
4. You've made up a song and dance to, umm, sing and dance after every successful trip to the potty. ("Sophie peed in the potty ya! And she kept her panties dry! Can you give me a high five Soph? Can you give me a high five Soph?" The dance is a kind of shake your butt and kick your legs thing.)
5. You performed said song and dance with your daughter, in the public bathroom at IHOP, in front of spectators, because not to do so would make her sad, and ruin the continuity of your rewards system.
6. You've pulled your daughter's favorite teddy bear out of the toilet--but not gotten mad, because she was teaching him how to go potty when he fell in.
7. You've read "It's Potty Time" (a book complete with a button that makes life-like flushing sounds) 10 times already today.
8. You've been asked the question by your daughter, "Can I see your poop?" and complied.
9. You've searched ALL OVER CEDAR CITY, unsuccessfully for princess stickers to go on the potty chart (which is divided into 2 sections: boxes for successful "pee pee" and "poop" trips).
10. You're beginning to wonder if changing diapers until she's 5 might just be easier.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
Today Aunty Katy and Grandma bought Sophie a fairy costume--skirt, wings, antennae (I didn't know fairies had antennae) etc. The cuteness was literally ricocheting off of walls.

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Refer to above list.

Grandee's Pictures

Madeline and Sophie check out the Juke-box

Grandma and Janz at Grandee's 

Brother and sister bonding