Speaking of the English Language... and a belated Gung Hay Fat Choy...

First thing to do:  everyone should know what a prepositional phrase is right... What?  you don't remember?  because I KNOW I had to memorize a list of 20 prepositions back in the eighth grade, and memorizing this list was a real pain in the tush!  Until I realized what a preposition WAS...  then it seemed to click and I passed off the list the next day :)   A preposition is a word that describes WHERE your subject is... you know... In, On, Above, Behind, etc...  (the etc... stands for the other 16 which I'm sure I could come up with if I had all day... but you know, that whole real life thing intervenes...) So, pick a prepositional phrase right NOW and remember it... write it down if you must because you'll need it again in a few minutes.  (besides, I fully expect you to include it when you leave a witty comment)

It just so happens that aside from being born on a minor holiday in THIS country - I was also born on Chinese New Year - beginning the Year of The Rat...  so rather than blame that persistent upper lip growth on my Spanish heritage - this is where I throw the blame... dumb rat.  This is a source of no pride, and really has nothing to do with this post except to segue into the fact that my son and I decided to celebrate the Chinese New Year here at our house this year... It was his night to cook anyway so we spent a lot of time shopping for veggies, then slicing then EXTREMELY thin and (because I only had regular pork chops in the freezer) grinding my pork in the magic bullet.  

One minor problem... I bought the "spring roll wraps" like the recipe said...  umm... but I'm too stupid to use them.  So the NEXT day we finally made these (after the M.O.T.H. ran to the store and bought the proper egg roll pastry)

Seriously... these were perfect...  watch out Panda Express... my son may not beg to go there quite as often now...  (because it's REALLY likely I'm going to do this weekly...)
Now, remember your prepositional phrase?  Good... keep it in mind...  you'll need it after I tell you a story about a boy I was crushing on throughout High School and a fireside where we were not really paying attention...

So I sat there with Crush and a friend of his when Crush opens the hymn book and teaches me a little game...  namely the one where you read the title of the hymn and place the phrase "under the bed" after it...  Because I immediately opened my hymnal to a song titled "I Know that My Redeemer Lives" I suggested we at least change the phrase to "behind the refrigerator" - hey, I was a Molly after all (and those of you who knew me way back when can kindly stop laughing  now).  I warn you - do not teach your children this game...  do not play this game during a slow testimony meeting...  do not blog about this game when you know a member of your bishopric might be reading your blog... (oops)

Instead - use the version of the game I use at my house - we call it the prepositional phrase game (and my kids DO actually know what a prepositional phrase IS thanks to this game) and we use it with our fortune cookies - before opening everyone has to choose their prepositional phrase (boy am I sick of typing that) and then cracks open their cookie to read it out loud with their phrase...  Trust me... it's hilarious...

So go ahead...  add your phrase...  mine was "In the mustard jar"... but that one was lame...

Okay:  Try some of these... and I'll stick some of our fave phrases out there just for fun...

Ride your ambition to the skies In the toaster

It's always worth taking the trouble to praise people Under the couch

You will meet a tall dark Stranger Between 2 slices of bread

Right now you need to be patient On the roof

*side note... my daughter opened the last one about being patient after throwing a 20 minute fit about not eating her food (which was a sandwich because she would not even TRY the egg rolls...)  I decided it was really for me... but I let her keep the cookie!  

The English Language Is Really Dumb Sometimes...

My favorite word in the world is Content...

Not this kind...

con·tent ¹  (kntnt)

n.

1. Something contained, as in a receptacle. Often used in the plural: the contents of my desk drawer; the contents of an aerosol can.

2. The subject matter of a written work, such as a book or magazine. Often used in the plural.

3.

a. The substantive or meaningful part: "The brain is hungry not for method but for content, especially content which contains generalizations that are powerful, precise, and explicit" Frederick Turner.

b. The meaning or significance of a literary or artistic work.

4. The proportion of a specified substance: Eggs have a high protein content

I like THIS one!

con·tent ²  (kn-tnt)

adj.

1. Desiring no more than what one has; satisfied.

2. Ready to accept or acquiesce; willing: She was content to step down after four years as chief executive.

tr.v. con·tent·ed, con·tent·ing, con·tents

To make content or satisfied: contented himself with one piece of cake.

n.

Contentment; satisfaction.

Why?  Well think about it... really honestly and truly - what could be better than to be content.  To be at peace with who you are and not want to change.  To be beyond merely "happy" with your lot in life but be "done" to the point of not wanting anything else at all...  That's my ultimate goal in life...

I'm not being selfish, I want (there's that WANT again) my family to be content as well.  So why is it that I usually end up with THIS instead?

con·ten·tion  (kn-tnshn)

n.

1. The act or an instance of striving in controversy or debate. See Synonyms at discord.

2. A striving to win in competition; rivalry: The teams met in fierce contention for first place.

3. An assertion put forward in argument.

It's just not right folks....

Good Mom vs. Healthy Mom

I’m not going all June Cleaver or anything but it seems that our society has re-defined “good mom” so many times that it stretches to include anyone who doesn’t beat their kids or leave them a box of saltines for dinner...  hmmm... there are days that I need to stretch the definition almost that much maybe.  But as a general rule I like to think that this good mom is the one that is spending some quality time with each of her children making sure they’re happy and well-adjusted.  

Recently: 

T and I have been making bread... we’ve pulled off some sweet rolls, cinnamon pull aparts, dinner rolls,  etc...  Tonight we almost  made some lovely eggrolls to celebrate the Chinese New Year...  ummm, we'll tell that disaster story later!

W and I have made some great peanut butter cookies, can you believe he’s almost 12 and didn’t know the fork trick!   He did at least make an effort to save my waistline - he added chocolate to the mix after the first 2 pans...  rendering them inedible to mom... well, except for that one that I picked out the M&M's...

P and I haven't made any food yet but it is on the schedule to make a batch of oatmeal cookies for a cub scout requirement!

H and I have run to Wendy’s to cash in her free frosty certificate - of course my strawberry shake wasn’t free, but it was time together!  She's also been trying out her Easy Bake Oven... and a good mom compliments her daughter's efforts right?

M has been begging since Christmas to make “Zoe’s recipe” - a sugar cookie recipe that came with some new doll clothes - so we did.

So, I think the choices are to be a good but "happy sized" mom OR a skinny mom that says No more than my kids want to hear... because as good as it sounds, I doubt my kids are going to be excited about learning to make tossed salad and hummus.

Sunday Shorts

no, I'm not planning on wearing shorts today (it's kinda cold out... even here) - but I have to quickly share my funny (Church starts in one hour)!

You need to know.  T is our oldest, he's 13 and has had a pretty typical semi-rebellious childhood which occasionally includes not returning home when we've asked.  W is our second - 11 still and not quite to that stage.  

W asked recently to do something with a friend... a sleepover I believe...  We've tried to get away from these because of the resultant crabbiness the next day from lack of sleep.  So, we said No...

W's response?  "We believe that men will be punished for their own sins, and not for T's transgressions"

Bwa - hahahahahahahahahaha

but no, the answer was still no.

(why is this funny?  See here)

Singin', Dancin', Clappin', and taggin'...

Last night M.O.T.H. and I headed off to see a play at the local community theatre - Singin' in The Rain.  I worried because we had neglected to procure tickets before the event... and my worries were rewarded with the ticket seller telling us that yes, indeedy - the show had sold out.  Hmmm... what to do.... apparently what to do is to stand around for a good many minutes debating the show times for the rest of the run as compared to your ridiculous schedules... and then stand around for a few more minutes debating whether to go home and wait for tomorrow's box office or to just buy the tickets now...  and then stand around for a minute or two more because it looks like that lady right there might be holding a few tickets...  and then she MIGHT just ask if we're looking for some... and we MIGHT say yes...

Indecision MIGHT pay off... good thing for our evening that it worked out that way this time!

The show was pretty good - now of course, nothing can compare with Donald O'Connor and his portrayal of Cosmo that (for me) stole the movie away from Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds (what hacks!) I can honestly say I enjoyed myself - even though at the heart of my being I am a theatre critic and it's hard for me not to mention some of the decided pathetic acting and iffy vocals... I'm getting past that... really.

And OF COURSE at the end - there was a standing ovation...  now I'm sorry but in my mind this "standing O" thing is a rare treat - reserved for a spectacular and amazing performance - and sometimes to be delivered on the final night of the run just because it's over...  but I swear to you - ever since moving to Utah it seems that this "rare treat" is delivered over and over again - at each and every performance... regardless of the level of performance.  Hmmm... maybe it's related to the fact that there seem to be "treats" at every other kind of public gathering around here?

Oh - and, because y'all deserve a rare treat:  I was tagged by my friend Malinda to share a photo (there was some 8th this, 8th that rule... but all my photos are crammed into one large photo library - so I flipped to 15th page and the 15th photo... and this was it)

this is W and H a few years ago - we celebrated M.O.T.H.'s birthday by going up the canyon and letting him cook us a good meal over the fire followed by his famous dutch oven cobbler.  As a bonus, though I'm ashamed of it now, he also cleaned the dutch oven upon our return home...  Hmmm... looks like I'd better start planning for the big man's birthday this year, I've got somethin' to make up for!

Sleep-Blogging

I took Spanish Classes throughout High School and then again during my years at the Y...  The language is in my blood (1/4 Spanish)  but finding it on my tongue... that was a bit harder!

I knew I had made a major language breakthrough when... (drum roll please) ...I started dreaming in Spanish.  I did - my dream self was conversing easily in her non-native tongue and chatting animatedly with all sorts of other people in said tongue.  It really didn't matter that some of the dream-people I spoke with weren't Spanish speakers.  Pshaw, why let reality ruin a nice dream?

The thing is... what does it mean when I start dreaming about blogging?  Last night my dream self typed up a killer post and it was so darn witty I kept thinking "I should write this down"...

I didn't, and now I'm upset over the lost post potential - just trust my sleep memory, you would have been rolling in the aisles (RITA... now THERE's an acronym that's not likely to  catch on...)

 Who knows, next time I might wander down here to the computer whilst I sleep and actually type it up... and then we'll move from "stream of consciousness" blogging to "unconscious blathering"

Compartmentalizing My Life - a.k.a. The Party of The Year

Once upon a time life was simple:  I had friends in the town I lived in and I usually lost touch with those friends from the towns I used to live in...  that was the way of the world - and much as I hated losing touch, it was bound to happen eventually.  M.O.T.H. and I have lived in 8 cities since getting married 15+ years ago...  we've been "settled" for the last 6 1/2 years, but before that it was a little crazy - or maybe a lot crazy... at the time it seemed normal to move every year and uproot the family for one reason or another!  Did I start this paragraph by saying life was simple?

Life Isn't Simple... never was apparently - but you'd THINK now that we're settled it would be simpler.  After all... we've been at the same elementary for the past 6 years (no, none of the kids have been there that long - but we do have 5 kids so they're working their way through frustrating all of the teachers)

Since I started my computer obsession though I sometimes feel like I'm putting my life into little compartments, sorting out my long-lost facebook friends from my bloggy friends from the people I actually see in real life on a regular basis.  Is this bad?  I KNOW that some of you  BBFFs are there on facebook (although I'd have to I.D. myself if I were to "friend" you since I don't look much like Audrey Hepburn after all)... Sometimes my facebook friends drop by the blog, I have real life friends that read my blog...  some of them are also facebook friends - they've crossed all those magical boundaries somehow...  

If I had my druthers (and a few million dollars to spare) I'd throw a big party and invite all y'all (one of those places we lived was Wichita - that's where THAT saying comes from) and get my life into one nice BIG box.  Family/Friends/People I've Never Met but who are hilarious all getting together for a big shin-dig...  And as long as I'm spending Imaginary Funds (ooh, I should run for government office) I'm going to rent out the Taj Mahal and fly us all there - Z could be in charge of the devotional - with Yoga by Firefly, Sher makes great Ginger Cookies, CC can handle the menu...  (yes, we'll hire a little help since the budget for said pseudo shin-dig is immense)  Shoot - considering that there are a variety of doctors/lawyers/pastry chefs among my family/friends on facebook we could probably live quite comfortably for awhile...  especially if I forget to invite the lawyers (Heather, you can still come - just tell him it's a R.S. thing...)  Oh, and it's not fancy dress, but Swirl, could you at least wear some matching shoes?

And hey - since some of the insane bloggist friends are participating in another fun event (Blog across America) we can just make the Big Bash the last stop on the tour...  (hey you, stop bursting my bubble - I know where the Taj Mahal is!)

Anywho - that's where my brain is this morning - all over the place.  (in a slightly less gross way than it sounds)

Mr. Puffy Head

Many many months ago the ManOfTheHouse invested in his health - he bought one of those BowFlex home gyms...  I say "his" health because try as he might I have not been able to convince myself that I enjoy this exercise.

Flash-forward to yesterday when sweet little M is helping me put away some of the many videos and DVDs that inevitably get left out during the weekend of fun and partying that happens at our house.  (yeah, go ahead and read that really sarcastically - it's okay)

M finds the "Xtreme Instructional Video" by bowflex (not because it was watched - but let's not get started on THAT gripe) and asks me "why is this guy a puffy head"

Puffy head?  Oh - well NOW I get it, now that I've seen the picture (note: this is NOT the same picture...  but M assures me that this guy is also Mr. Puffy Head)

I (being the intelligent and all-knowing mother that I am) explain the process of weight lifting and the building of muscles... I think I lost her somewhere during the discussion of Amino acids - but she's pretty bright so she caught up.  (yes, I'm kidding)

The kicker:  then the sweet and innocent child asks why M.O.T.H. is not "puffy" - at which point the conversation was abandoned because I had to hysterically laugh while e-mailing M.O.T.H. to tell him that his daughter thinks he's a flabby wimp.

but for the record - he's as manly as can be... he's just got a biker's body instead of a steroid users' body - besides, those "puffy" muscles are really nauseating me... 

Another Story Rug Installment

Partly because I know everyone loves to hear about my past - and partly because I am really in a writing funk - I am going to share another childhood story...  except this one took place when I was 17... so maybe young nearly adulthood?

Anyway - My dentist had declared that the wisdom teeth needed to go.  This scared me out of my mind...  I hate that gas in the dental office (gave me funky surgery flashbacks more than once), and I hate injections (especially in the mouth!) and to top if all off... I didn't swallow pills too well (read as "gag", "spew", and "Yog" every time I tried)  something about my Dad telling me a Sudafed was chewable when I was about 5...  

So knowing that I needed to take these anabolic steroids before and after the tooth removal in order to avoid the chipmunk look - my vanity won over my psycho-somatic fear of pills...  and to be honest, but the time it came to needing to take the Percodan AFTER the procedure, I was REALLY good at swallowing pills.

When scheduling the procedure I hadn't known that the very day of the yanking would also be my first day in the theatre for my directorial debut (ummm...  actually - not all that exciting, I was directing "The Good Doctor" by Neil Simon for the Senior night of plays).  I didn't dare miss this - I needed to be there... so, being the good little girl I missed only my morning classes (AP english, all my academic classes) but made sure to get back to school in time for chamber choir, jazz choir, and theatre...  

Remember how good I was at taking Percodan?  Well, I took 1/2 a pill (they were HUGE - 1/2 was plenty!) and waltzed into the school... I didn't feel any pain at all...  I made it all the way to the choir room before I needed to rest.  I sat down in the choir director's chair (really, a stool... really tall...) and I rested my feet on his music stand (the big heavy type, not those wimpy ones).                     Well...  soon I noticed that my feet were moving further away from my body... to my Percodan influenced mind it appeared that my legs were getting longer.  To my 4'11" body this was an exciting prospect - me?  Tall?  Awesome!!!!              For anyone that knows me they should also know that I don't know how to shut up... even when it might cause me great embarrassment for many many MANY years to come!  I loudly and proudly announced to the room:  "My legs are growing - I'm going to be Tall!!!!"

I'm pretty sure this was the point in the story where my friend J (whose wife is probably reading this... Hi S!) came over and gently lifted me down from the chair and told me he'd drive me home.  

What?  Go Home?  Helk no!  I needed to be there to direct my show... besides, J was directing the other show and my Percodan induced mind was not about to give his cast MY day in the auditorium!!!  So, J escorted me down the hall, up the stairs and to the stage... where he left me to wait for my cast.  

Next?  Hmmm... I'm not sure, something about standing up and walking backwards to get a good look at the stage maybe?  All I remember was suddenly being at the bottom of the orchestra pit on my bum...  luckily - I was already ON pain pills, no need to worry!  I did get out of the orchestra pit...  and I made it through the rehearsal...  and I have little memory of the direction I gave - but somehow there were some HILARIOUS additions to the stage actions the next time we rehearsed :)

I don't take Percodan anymore...  I've learned my lesson :)

Some people just can't handle their mind-altering medications... humph!

Say what you mean already!

I'm sometimes amazed at the answers I get from my kids...  "I don't know" being chief offender.

Are you hungry for lunch?  "I don't know..."  what?  you really aren't in tune enough with your stomach to decide whether or not you would like to eat something yet?  

Which movie would you like to watch?  "I don't know..."

Hmmm... "I don't know" sounds a lot to me like "I'd like to spend a few minutes alone in my room whilst I consider being a more communicative and sweet child"

It certainly sounds like they're not hungry and have no desire to see a movie!  We did end up driving home from Wendy's once without a meal for the Teenager because he "didn't know" what he would like...  (sorry to the two blog readers who are avoiding fast food... I'll try to be more considerate in the future)

Is it our fault as parents?  Do we cause this by not being straightforward enough?  I always wanted to offer my children choices - but they're not very good at making them.  Ooops, wait, I just realized that comes directly from my DNA...  I now look up menus online so that I don't take as long to decide at the restaurant.  (no, I'm not kidding - it's saved my marriage... but THERE I was kidding)  Could it be related to parental inability to just say what we mean?  Should we be asking our toddlers if they need to "tinkle" or should we just come out and be scientific about it?  Should we be super honest when leaving them at nursery and say we'll be back in two sweet hours or is it okay to say "I'll be right back"  Is it possible that all of this indirect communication is related to my children's inability to answer a question?

Sorry - I'd expound some more, but I really have to make a trip to the euphemism :)

Inherent Brilliance VS. Further Education

Now I'm not saying that I'm "brilliant beyond the glory of the sun" or anything - but I'm no dummy (no offense to Crash).  I always got good grades and could figure things out pretty well.  Even math - I hated math - but I could understand it.   I wasn't valedictorian or anything, but I graduated in the top 10% of my class even when they added in the American History fiasco...  (a topic for another day/year entirely).  I got decent test scores, I got into the college of my choice and I can tutor any of my kids (and many of their friends) on the work they bring home from school.  I'm no Einstein - but my IQ is above average and I consider myself reasonably smart.

The point here?

I really had plans to write a witty and wonderful blog post this morning - but instead I started "fixing" my book blog.  I decided it really needed to have those cute little Labels for each post... so I started adding them.  I was thinking that it would make the blog easier to search...  will it?  I still don't know because after adding about 30 labels on the oldest  posts (with about 40 left to go) I haven't figured out the next step...    I need a bloggy class!  That, or I need to ask my kids to figure it out for me :)  

Anyway - this is my not so formal apology for spending all of my allocated blog time adding what might turn out to be pointless labels...  but rest assured, I will figure out this out sooner or later and then "watch out world..."

maybe THEN I'll go back to college and decide what to do when I grow up!

 

Man's Search for Happiness...

That search has got nothing on me...  I've been searching for years - happiness I think I've found (at least for brief stretches when I can hold on to it) but the thing I'm still searching for is a decent RAZOR!  Why on earth is this so difficult?  It probably has something to do with the fact that until recently I was content to use the same disposable pink (sometimes orangish) razors that I've been  using since I was 13 years old and was finally allowed to shave my legs.

Side Note:  Why on earth was that such a treat?  Razor burn, nicks, stubble...  I think I'd gladly wait until marriage if I had it to do over again!

A few months ago I decided that at the ripe old age of 36 I was finally old enough to have a real razor... you know the type - the handle is not meant to be thrown out but the blades are to be replaced every once in awhile (no, I don't know how often... I just replace it when it no longer cuts)  

The problem with this razor is the noise...  there's a little squeaky noise that it makes as it glides across my skin... no amount of lathery soap or shaving cream seems to completely silence it and ManOfTheHouse gets a good laugh at the abandoned puppy sounds coming from the shower.  Not to mention that if I want a really close shave I need to shave, let in enough cold air to give myself a good chill, and then shave again.  This is a technique I've been practicing since the good old days which I completely blame on some boys which were friends but were NOT boyfriends...  each time we'd go somewhere and hang out together they'd manage to pass judgment on whether or not the girls had shaved sufficiently well...   No worries, there was nothing "weird" about this - I learned to wear jeans no matter how hot it was and I was known to purposely avoid shaving if I knew we'd be around them...  why do I even remember this?  

But seriously - before my "stream of consciousness" writing becomes embarrassing - I could really use a good razor...  one that doesn't squeak and one that doesn't require a chilly break in my otherwise warm and wonderful shower...  any suggestions?

A time to relax, A time to pull out my hair by the roots...

you see, today was Stake Conference.

For those of you who are reading this 

and thinking that I'm a bad speller and 

wondering why people would confer 

about steaks... Just pretend I said "today 

was a large 2 hour church meeting with 

about a thousand other adults and their 

children...

My husband and I both sing - a few 

conferences ago we had Elder Uchdorf 

speak to us and I had the privilege of 

singing in the stake choir while hubby sat 

in the audience and kept the kids under

control

This conference - a men's choir... seems fair...

Anyway... it seemed fair ahead of time!

If I'm being REALLY honest (and I guess I should be since it's Sunday) I would say that they actually did very well for the first 90 minutes... After that M was thirsty (and gum was NOT acceptable even though I had 5 flavors with me!), the lady in front of us offered her baggie of animal crackers, the darn colored pencils started breaking and the DOTS game (a.k.a. "pig in a poke") was drawing to a close.  

I resorted to drawing doodles with the kids and praying for it to be over soon.  When Mr Stake President (whom I greatly adore most of the time) stood up to speak I showed M the clock, promising her that we could get a drink when the hand was straight up...  

11:57 - I think "shoot, he's not winding up and there's a choir number left..."

11:58 - hmmm... perhaps I can distract her for awhile with something...

11:59 - Po says "M, look at the..." before I silence him with a withering look

12:00 - The talk is ending, choir number beginning - I shush Po again as he starts to point

12:01 - M notices Po this time (maybe because he's whispering about the clock and waving his arm at her?) and she is MAD that she is not currently drinking from the fountain...

12:03 - the song is over - I silence M long enough to get through the prayer - and we BOLT from the room....  fountain?  nope, straight to the car...  and of course it takes us 15 minutes to leave the parking lot and get to our house which is normally 3 minutes away...  

Come to think of it, I don't think she had a drink when she got home - but she DID eat her weight in Macaroni and Cheese.  Yesterday I bought a CASE at the big sale...  she's as happy as a pig in mud :)

Maturing...

I'm going to admit it... I love the comics - not ALL the comics mind you, but every once in awhile there is a "laugh out loud make the rest of the family wonder if I'm choking" funny bit there...  

and then quite often there are the comics that we relate to in a more "ooh, yeah - truth is kinda funny but I'm only going to snicker because otherwise I might cry" kind of way...

For many many years - the comic that I most related to was Baby Blues...

If you have more than 1/2 a child you can relate I'm sure...  And oddly enough - Wanda and her husband (whose name I can't remember and am far too lazy to look up) were having their 2nd and 3rd little sketches at the same time that our 2nd and 3rd sons were being born.  My oldest may take offense that he was constantly being compared to Zoe, but hey... if the shoe (or the panel) fits...

As we've grown into a slightly older family I have begun to relate to other comics besides Baby Blues... for instance...
Yep - this very comic is actually currently hanging on our bathroom door - where our boy T has been known to deplete the entire water supply for the region.  Jeremy's obsession with his friends, his music, and food - it all rings true.  The girl part...  ugh - I'm trying not to be THAT mature yet!!!

Sooooo, here's the interactive bit - how mature are you?  Are you into Family Circus?  Doonesbury?   Cathy?  (Man Of The House DESPISES Cathy... it's funny actually)   

and hey, I really like Pearls Before Swine too... even though I can't say that I "relate" to anything about it... being human and all...

Foam-bia...

Well, since I've admitted to two of my Phobias yesterday I figured I'd go a step further and just get the other out there as well.

First - we must review - I hate thorns... I hate Russian Olive Trees... I love my Sister in Law from Russia though!  This Site has no special name for a fear of thorns so I guess I'll have to come up with something on my own...  pokephobia sounds too much like I'm afraid of some kids' card game... which while that may have some truth is not what I am going for...  Maybe I'll leave it up to you, you can name that phobia for me...  what, no ideas?  that word verifier is sure to give you some good ideas isn't it?  The closest I can come up with is Aichmophobia - which is a fear of needles or pointed objects...  yeah - that doesn't quite work for me because I can sew with needles all day - and pointed objects in general don't give me the willies... but I STILL refuse to go into my parents backyard because there was once a Russian Olive Tree out there and even though my Dad chopped it down there may still be some stray thorns in the grass...

Second - as I admitted to in the comments yesterday I hate having my feet covered... same goes for my hands.  We'll just go ahead and call this an extremity specific form of claustrophobia.  Seriously, I could be locked in a small box and not freak out as long as I had enough room to maneuver so that I could remove my socks and shoes.  Anyone who saw yesterday's post should be shocked that I never learned my lesson on this one - but aside from that one incident and the fact that I have the most calloused feet this side of the Mississippi this has not hindered my life much.  Wait, oh yeah - the glove part did cut short my dental assisting career... I got over that.  I was for awhile quite afraid of the dentist (Dentophobia) but then I realized I wasn't afraid of the DENTIST, I was afraid of THE dentist... MY dentist... I got a new one and my teeth are happier and healthier :)

My last phobia (or at least the last one I had BEFORE reading that list) also has no name...  seriously people - there are four DIFFERENT words to describe one's fear of prostitutes and venereal disease but if I'm afraid of Foam there's nothing???  that's right - Foam, I said it - I just can't stand the way it feels!!!  This is nothing debilitating - I can be in the same room as foam and all...  and actually if it's covered I don't have issues...  I mean I'll sit on the couch - and even though I know there's a foam divider between the select comfort mattresses I still roll over to Q's side to steal the covers.  So actually it's not just foam I'm afraid of... it's NAKED FOAM...  okay, now I'm shivering at the thought of touching it...  that's enough talk!

and hey - do yourself a little favor... if you are in the least bit "suggestible" you may want to avoid reading that list...  because know I'm debating Agateophobia (fear of insanity), Albuminurophobia (fear of kidney disease) and Arachibutyrophobia (fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of the mouth)... and that's just the A's!

Gather around the story rug folks...

I've been promising this story for awhile - and while some of you (family and childhood friends) may already know the basics there are OTHER blog-readers who are shocked to know that I spent the years spanning 1980-1985 on crutches!  Ooops, I think I just gave away the ending... 

While hiking this past Friday with my family there were a few lovely bushes near the trail that sported some VERY LARGE and very SCARY LOOKING thorns...  knowing my phobia Q wisely warned me of said thorns and I steered as far as possible to the other side of the trail while still following the "stay on designated trails" signs.  My youngest kids have not had to witness me around thorns (except when I refuse to touch the roses they get at their dance concerts) and thus thought this was HILARIOUS.  (note, there is nothing funny about this...  really... so stop laughing at my wussy behavior!)

I did eventually (an hour later on the return to the car) get up my nerve and get close enough to take a picture of the thorny bush (though not close enough to get a GOOD picture - thus the google images provided one).

You see (finally she gets to the story) when I was a mere 8 years old I was playing at my Grandmother's house in Loveland CO.  My siblings and I were all out in the yard playing with the Willy Waterbug (a glorified sprinkler) running around barefoot on the grass in the shade provided by many large Russian Olive Trees.  I'm pretty sure it was June - maybe it was my sister's birthday?  My memory has some holes... kinda like my foot was about to have.  (there I go telling the story all out of order)  Well, now that I've spilled the beans - I'll jump ahead to the point where there is a large and scary looking thorn sticking out of my foot - which of course means that a part of this thing is also sticking IN my foot!  Then came the freaking out... which I don't specifically remember, but I'm sure it happened...  what I do remember is my Uncle D (just 5 years older than me) coming and trying to calm me down and reaching to pull out the offending thorn.  I remember THIS part of the freaking out...  I did not want him to touch it and insisted he instead carry me inside to where my Grandmother was.  Thinking of course that she would have a better option than pulling it out...  nope, she just yanked it out.  No blood no harm right?  Nope...  but we'll get to that later - just remember that you actually WANT a puncture wound to bleed - at least a little bit!)  

Then, my grandmother being a grandmother, my foot was subjected to a hot tub of water infused with Epsom Salts.  Apparently it's a Panacea - draws out the nasties or something...  I just remember it was REALLY HOT and my foot still hurt like @#^&!  (though at 8 I'm sure I didn't use such language!)

Gap in Memory... maybe I passed out... maybe my grandma put some medicine in a spoonful of Applesauce to get me to chill...  anyway - my mom eventually came back and since it was some important event like my sister's maybe birthday we were dragged off to the shoe store.  I remember hopping through the aisles of Sears while my mom rolled her eyes (because of course Grandma had told her it didn't even bleed... and besides, she'd used EPSOM SALT!).  I sat down and the shoe salesman brought a cute pair of blue suede shoes (yeah, I'm actually not kidding) that had Pooh Bear on one sole and Tigger on the other.  (this I remember?  the brain is truly strange isn't it?)  My left foot was pretty swollen by now and my mom instructed the shoe salesman to just make sure it fit my right foot - I'd wear both of them later.  (oooh, this might count as foreshadowing...)

The huge swelling and the fact that my foot was HOT made my mom realize that this was more than a scratch.  Shoot - maybe if I hadn't been such a hypochondriac between the ages of 0-7?  At this point we made our first hospital visit...  what do I remember about this?  I remember being separated from my mom briefly... of course at the time I didn't know the WHY of the separation... the staff was busy accusing my mother of child abuse in another room... apparently the foot was that ugly.  I think I'm glad that my mom was not the camera bug that I am!!

Loooong Story - Reeeallly Condensed at this point...  surgery, surgery, new doctor, surgery, lots of infection and being isolated in a "clean" room in the hospital while one incision was allowed to heal without the benefit of stitches, surgery, surgery, new doctor, surgery...  all in all they removed bits of bone, muscles, tendons - probably some other gory stuff too...  at one point I remember being able to push on one side of my foot and the other side of my foot would bulge out because of some weird abscess.  I remember during one surgery they removed my birthmark from my toe because it might cause complications... (that really ticked me off because my brother and I had matching birthmarks).

In fifth grade (having never worn that stupid Pooh Bear shoe even though Tigger had long since been worn down past recognition) I remember my bus driver promising me a party when I finally got off of crutches - but just like the shoes that I never wore that didn't happen, because by the time I was off crutches I was in seventh grade!

Luckily I had cheated often enough along the way (and gotten a few breaks here and there from the crutches) that I did remember how to walk...

Finally - age 13, the gawkiest age of all and I get to lose the crutches... oh happy day Calooh Callay...  I was ecstatic!!!  and then "honey, I think we need to get your eyes checked..."  (nope, no great story behind the glasses... I was just nearsighted)

Oh - wait!  You have to know the coolest part...  the "new doctors" that came into the picture... My sainted mother didn't tell me that part until later (thanks again mom) but the reason we switched doctors wasn't insurance or anything so mundane.  We switched every time the doctor gave up and told my parents that it was time to amputate.  Again, thanks Mom!!!!

The moral of the story?  Wear shoes, doesn't matter who pulls out the thorn, blood isn't always a bad thing, if the shoe fits, never cry wolf, and trust your mom!!!  (and never, never,  never plant a Russian Olive tree...  really, don't - I found out yesterday they're considered noxious weeds in many of the Northern counties of my state)

Newsflash! - The World is ROUND!

and I know because my kids pointed it out when I was coming up with my latest excuse for not blogging recently!  Apparently none of you would have believed "fell off the face of the earth"...  This blog has been stagnant... and my poor book blog looks like I haven't read a thing (and yet I have!) 

Of course, this brings to mind all of those News Blurbs - you know, the ones that grab your attention and make you actually want to stay tuned for the 10 o-clock news...  and then they save that story for the very end.  Staying up 'til 10 is really no big deal for me... but most days staying up 'til 11 is a touch harder - apparently it has something to do with getting old?  At least that's what the teenager says.  You know what though - half of the time that News Blurb that promises "new findings about your health" is telling me that excessive fat can harm your health - or that drinking a lot of water can reduce your risk of constipation.  What's with that?  Why is it "news" when we've known it forever?  (or at least we SHOULD have known it forever!)

So what have I been up to?  Well, you'll just have to trust me that you don't want the details because it turns out I've been rather ill...  can't seem to completely kick the flu bug that I picked up.  I woke up feeling a little punk still this morning and saw my son picking at the last of yesterday's Cinnamon Pull Apart Bread... kind of felt nauseated - but then realized that it wouldn't make me feel SICKER, so I had a piece... I was right, didn't feel any sicker at all, even after two more pieces :)

F.Y.I. - Cinnamon Pull Apart Bread is a great way to utilize that dough that doesn't quite work out...  I was going to teach the boy how to make Cinnamon Rolls... but using the old recipe in the new bread machine just didn't work as well...  

Hopefully now that the kids are back to school I can be a blogger extraordinaire :)  Tomorrow I'll finally tell the story that I promised a long time ago...  since some of you have thought I was exaggerating when I said I spent 1/2 my childhood on crutches.  (yep, a little exaggeration... it was really closer to 1/4)