Summertime

Hello?

Hello?

Is anybody still there?

I read somewhere that you're never supposed to apologize for taking a break from blogging. So without any apology, but at least an excuse, I've simply been having a great summer. I've managed to check a few blogs here and there, leave a comment or two, and do all my online banking, but for the most part, I've avoided sitting at my kitchen table and tapping on these keys.

It's just that people have started to ask where I've been.

I have been:

• To Bear Lake for a family reunion. This was the first time we've ever done anything like this. Five whole days with everyone, camping or condo-ing, lakeside and firepit - it was wonderful. So wonderful and busy, in fact, that I didn't take any pictures other than this one. Troy is becoming quite the dutch oven chef!

• To Scout Camp. Two days up in the mountains with 8 and 9 year old boys. It was actually a lot more more fun than it sounds.

• To the pool. Cam and Aaron are pretty self sufficient when it comes to swimming now, so I can be super lazy and relax in the shade. Occasionally they come back for a sunscreen reapply, a drink, or a snack, but for the most part, they are just gone. They are off with friends (with a stern warning about never playing the hold your breath game), jumping from diving boards, having water fights, and getting very tan and blond.

• Watching my garden grow. And even eating from it every once in a while. Troy put in square_foot_gardens for me this year, and we've been having a moderate amount of success. No weeds, a few bugs, and Oliver, who has been determined to snatch plants from the soil and race all over the yard playing with his leafy and apparently delicious new chew toy. More on the garden later.

• Reading. At Bear Lake and the pool, I've been (finally) reading A Thousand Splendid Suns and The Kite Runner. Both were "couldn't put 'em down" and "can't stop talking about them" kinds of novels. I've also read a few tabloids. Don't judge me...it's summertime and I'm by the pool. Of course, I wrap it in an Ensign.

• Biking. Continues to be something I really really enjoy, especially now that Troy can go with me. We went every day at Bear Lake and try to go for at least 15 miles when he's home.

• Playing tennis. I'm actually fitting in everything else around the tennis. If I'm not practicing with the league, I'm there for lessons with the boys and just playing for fun. I'm better than I was last year, I have lots of friends playing with me, and I LOVE IT!!! The courts close at 10pm, but I think I could hit balls all night long. If I'm not at home, there's like a 90% chance that I'm at the tennis courts.

• Keeping cool. Swamp cooler's been working splendidly, and after a buying a whole new compressor for my car, the air conditioner in there has been doing fine as well.

Aaaaaahhhhh, summertime.

What have you been doing?

For Your Viewing Pleasure Horror

In the continuing saga of my foot...

My workout shoes were feeling like they needed to be replaced, plus they were looking kind of dingy after wearing them all winter. They were size 7 Avias. If I'd been smart, I would have bought another pair of size 7 Avias, but I was enticed by a cute pair of New Balance crosstrainers.

In the store they felt fine, very cushion-y and supportive, and they seemed wide enough to not squish the bones in my delicate feet. So I bought 'em.

Within a week or two my foot started hurting. Sigh.

Now I've had New Balance shoes before and didn't have a problem, so maybe it isn't really the shoes. With the warmer weather I've been doing more, walking Oliver, the occasional game of tennis, etc. Maybe it was a combination of the two. Whatever it was, the foot was in bad shape.

Since the past has taught me nothing, I waited a few more weeks just to make sure that it wouldn't go away on its own. Now the nerve was visibly swollen and my toes were spreading worse than ever. I was hobbling around and complaining to my family. I needed another shot.

I made an appointment with a new podiatrist- the last one was so freaked out by me taking the video, I wasn't sure he'd see me again. I sat in the waiting room and visited with a 90 year old World War II vet. He was funny and he kept calling me young lady, while he told me stories about the ships he served on. The waiting room was decorated in a nautical theme and I think that's what got him going.

A white-haired woman moved past with her walker.

More old people, some brought in by their own grey-haired children.

When the nurse took me back I asked her if I was the youngest person she'd seen all day.

"Oh, definitely. But last week we had a fifteen year old in here - he'd been injured."

I have the feet of old people.

The doctor took some x-rays just to see how bad it was. This isn't my x-ray, but it could be - except mine is worse. See all that lovely space between the other bones, where, I don't know, nerves could comfortably rest? And see how the bones are touching inside the circle? That's exactly where my neuroma is, only it looks like my bones are actually chipping away at each other. The doctor asked if I'd had some sort of trauma to my foot. Nope, just me walking on it, hehehe.

The nerve between those bones is so swollen that it pushes the toes apart in a permanent deformity.

So here's the plan:

We're going to manage the pain throughout the summer with the injections. Surgery to remove the nerve rarely works - nerves can grow back, painful scar tissue, bad recovery time - but possibly, if I'm still having the pain coming back in the late fall, the doctor wants to do a nerve decompression. He'll cut down through the top of my foot and clip the ligament that's holding my bones so darn close together. That oughta do the trick.


He'd do the clipping now, except that summer is coming up and he wants me to enjoy it. I can still play tennis. Plus, like all the other doctors, he's hoping that a few more shots will make it go away. I hope so too.


So here's my most recent shot. It hurt so bad - but he wondered if previous injections had not been deep enough and long enough - and he was making sure to go very deep and very long. Whatever that means. All I know is that it hurt worse than any of the other shots I've ever had.

I think I say that every time.


I was bending forward to video it and I had a "birthing a baby" grimace on my face. As he injected the cortisone and alcohol into the nerve, I could see my toes spreading farther and farther apart. They grew longer and it felt like they were going to literally pop off my foot.






When it was over I sat back and exhaled. I must have looked pretty bad - the nurse ran to get me a drink and told me to stay put until I felt better.

I suggest that you do the same.

Smarter Than a Fifth Grader? Um...No.

Math was never my best subject - I spent much of middle school and the two years of high school math struggling to make it through. My Dad (also known as Mr. Math) would help me with my homework. Bless his heart, he was patient and knowledgeable; I was emotional, dramatic, sarcastic, angry, weepy and frustrated - a teenage girl. I could write the heck out of any English assignment, but when it came to math, my brain just couldn't wrap around the formulas and algebraic functions containing polynomial equations with coefficients and variable x and solution y!

I have no idea what any of that means...I typed math words into a search engine and that's what I came up with.

Now I function just fine in the real world.

I can balance a checkbook - though I don't. It's all online and frankly, I trust the credit union more than I trust myself.

I can figure a tip at a restaurant. I round up, do tithing plus half of tithing at lunch, tithing plus tithing at dinner.

I can figure the sale price at Kohl's. The tithing formula works here as well - or I just look at the little sign...it's already done.

And I can double or halve a recipe.

For over two decades, that's all the math I've needed.

Thanks again, Dad. It wasn't you...it's me. I've accepted my lack of math skills and I'm doing fine.

Until last week with Cameron's irresponsibly handled homework packet. There were a few mathy pages.

Most of them, Cameron did just fine. He's a whiz at math. But as the night got later, he was ready to throw in the towel and I was pushing for completion - remember, this was before I knew who to blame for the pile of homework. He came to a page that initially stumped him, and instead of giving him time to figure it out, I went all "Oh give me that...let's just get through it". Have I mentioned that I get a wee bit cranky past 9 pm?

The problem went something like this:

Tom and Tina opened up ten bags of jelly beans and dumped them into a bowl. They separated the beans by color and counted them.

Who thinks Tom and Tina need to get a life?

Cam added up all the amounts and came up with 1990 jelly beans. The rest of the questions were like this:

There are 57 black jelly beans. What percent of the jelly beans are black?

And on and on through the rest of the colors.

I. Was. Dumbfounded.

I looked through the math book - I couldn't find anything that made sense. We had a calculator, but I didn't know what to do with it. Cameron wanted to go to bed - he just didn't care anymore.

I can do percentages - I swear I can - when it's take 30% off a pair of shoes. Why was this different? We punched numbers into the calculator but it wasn't making any sense.

It was past ten, but I did the only thing I could think of. I called my Dad. Yeah, I'm almost 40, useless to my kid, and seriously math impaired. Daaaaaaaaaad!

I tried not to revert back to the emotional, dramatic teenager that he must remember well.

But Dad wasn't available. Mom was, though, and she knew exactly what to do. Seriously, is everyone smarter than me when it comes to math? Was I dropped on the math part of my brain? Have I had a stroke? How is it possible that my brain can't grasp this?

I told Cam the formula and he was all "Oh yeah, I remember". He whipped through the rest of the colors, found the percentages and added them up to equal 100%. Easy breezy.

Except I'm still scratching my head and my Mom wants me to come over for a little math lesson.

I'm sure my Dad would advise against it.

Anyway...do you know this?

If you have 1990 jellybeans and 57 of them are black, what percentage is that?

15 Minutes of Shame

Last Saturday started off with a calorie-burning bang. I went to Zumba- a Latin dance inspired exercise class - and worked up a sweat and a very red face. Serious fun.

Ate a healthy breakfast and then went to the grocery store with my mind full of all the healthy items I would be buying. For some reason, brussels sprouts were on my mind. I read somewhere that they are nutritional powerhouses and I was determined to eat them. But as I was driving around looking for a parking spot (it was Walmart on a Saturday morning, 'nuff said) I noticed that both entrances were staked out by cute little girls in uniforms.

Girl Scouts.

Crap.

They had posters and smiles and dynamic little personalities, and they weren't letting anyone by without a strong invitation to buy their cookies.

Again, crap.

I called Troy from the safety of the car.

"I'm about to be attacked."

"What's up?"

"Girl Scouts. At Walmart. They won't let you in unless you buy cookies."

"Just say you're not interested."

"They're at both entrances."

"Just walk on by. Pretend you're talking on the phone."

"But they're cute and smiling. With missing teeth. They have uniforms. And braids."

"So get some."

"I don't want cookies in the house. I bet they have Thin Mints."

"Goodbye."

Why, oh why did the Girl Scouts have to be at Walmart? I just wanted my brussels sprouts and whole grain bread and high fiber cereal and my soymilk.

But the braids...

I bought two boxes.

By the time I got home it was 11:30. The boys helped me put away the groceries (I did get my brussels sprouts, by the way) and as a reward, they got the box of Tagalongs and strict orders to eat them all.

I ate a healthy lunch and then changed clothes and went on a bike ride. Burned a few more calories and froze my ears. Home by 12:30.

The rest of the day went something like this:

12:30-1: Dishes, laundry, various other household things. Not eating Thin Mints.

1-2: More laundry, folding and putting away. Working on a Primary lesson. Drinking water.

2-3: Fixing food for the boys, a phone call, staying busy and NOT eating the Thin Mints.

3-4: Ate a healthy snack, showered and did my hair and makeup. Hey, it's Saturday.

4-4:30: Laundry, glance at the lesson, read blogs while NOT EATING the Thin Mints. Hehehe...I didn't really look at the lesson again.

4:30-5:45 Took Aaron to the doctor and then to Petsmart to buy a new collar for Ollie. He has hidden the old one.

5:45-6: Picked up Cam from a friend's house, came home, heated leftovers for the boys. Took a final load out of the dryer. Drank big glass of water.

6-6:15: Sat down to clear out the Tivo and ate an entire sleeve of Thin Mints.

6:15-6:20: Gave other sleeve to the boys with instructions to eat them all and not let me have any. Even if I begged.

6:20-6:30: Stole one Thin Mint every minute.

6:30-6:45: Rounded out my "dinner" with a half bag of steamed brussels sprouts, angry at myself and cursing the Girl Scouts.

Yeah, that's me.

Do you have a Girl Scout Cookie story of shame? Please share. Tell me I'm not the only one!!!

Tagged Again

My friend and frequent commenter on Movie Quote Monday, Pinklady, tagged me last week. So just in case there's anything else I haven't already told you...


Ten years ago I was: 29. Cameron had just turned one and I was happily immersing myself in Mommyhood. Seriously, I was having the time of my life with him. I worked at the sign company (part owners) just 2-3 days a week and my sister, Kelly watched him for us. I was Young Women's president in our ward. We were finishing all the paperwork to adopt another baby, and I was getting excited to open up our adoption with Cameron's birthmom. I was happy with my weight (this is significant only because I can pretty much tell you my weight and pants size at every age, also what diet I was following. There have been fluctuations.) and I was doing a step class 3x a week. I was trying my hand at scrapbooking.

5 things on my to-do list:
1. I need to clean out our storage room. This will still be on my list a year from now, just wait.

2. Make a dentist appointment for Troy. He says something's brewing in his mouth, and that's not good. I think I'm still paying on his last dental bill.

3. Continue building up my food storage. The boys call it the grocery store in the basement.

4. Catch up on my tivo. I'm waiting for Troy to be home so we can watch American Idol and Lost together.

5. You know there's some laundry to fold. That is the absolute first thing on my list today. Okay, after I'm done blogging. And after I get back from Sam's Club. And after I do some dishes. Maybe I'll get to it.

3 bad habits:
1. I'm too critical of myself.

2. I let the waiting-to-be-folded laundry pile up. Oh, you probably already know that, so that doesn't count.

2. I spend what we earn in a paycheck to paycheck kind of way. Getting better on that one.

3. I correct Troy's grammar. I can't help myself. He replaces the word loan with borrow, as in "Will you borrow me your nail gun?", and it's like fingernails on a chalkboard until I blurt out the correct phrase. I think he's just doing it to bug me.



If I suddenly became a billionaire: I'd be debt free, with awesome savings and retirement accounts. My family would be debt free. Missions and college would be paid for. That doesn't even touch it, does it? I need to start dreaming bigger.

Things I like to snack on: Well, is it a healthy day or an I don't care kind of a day? If it's a healthy snack, I like blueberries, edamame, and Baked Tostitos Scoops with Walmart brand Peach Pineapple Chipotle Salsa (don't knock it till you've tried it). But I can eat an entire bag of those chips and a whole bottle of that salsa at one time, so that kind of crosses it off the healthy side. If I'm throwing all calories to the wind, I love ice cream, chocolate, chips and dip or salsa, and Flamin' Hot Cheetos. I have no portion control and I need to balance the sweet with the salty.

Places I've lived: Speedway, Indiana - you could hear the racecars going around the track; Salt Lake City, Utah, then on to Sacramento and San Jose, California, and then back to Utah.

Things people don't know about me: I've never had my nails done. I still have a baby tooth that never fell out. That's it...I think I've told everything about me. If there's anything you want to know, go ahead and ask.

I tag Mrs.J and Nora.

The Number One Reason I Love Troy

Last month I received a jury summons, asking me to be available for this entire week. I registered online and held on to the little card with the phone number one it. I was supposed to call the night before to find out if I needed to appear, starting on Monday.

I wasn't worried. I'd been called to jury duty several times and never had to go in. Calling to check each night was mildly inconvenient - but that's all I had to do. Actually having to serve did not even occur to me. I went ahead and scheduled things all week - orthodontist appointments and swimming lessons for the boys, etc. I wouldn't have to go in, right?

I think the biggest reason I was in such denial was the location of the court. It's downtown. I do not drive downtown. Ever.

Really.

I used to - I worked close to downtown and drove on errands and generally made my way around the city, doing what needed to get done. It didn't seem like a big deal. So what changed?

Well, I got married to a guy who loves to drive. Troy can find any place in any city. He's comfortable on the roads and so for the last 19+ years, he's done all the driving whenever we are together. I've gotten used to relying on him. We also live in a suburb of the "big city", but that suburb has pretty much everything I need. I can go months without leaving my little corner of the map. I'm used to it here.

But it's not just that - not just that I've grown accustomed to not driving downtown. It seems there is an anxiety issue that has developed in recent years.

In my head or not, it was very very real and very very apparent after I called on Monday night and found out that I had to appear in court on Tuesday morning. I listened to the recorded message three times to make sure I'd heard it right. Apparently, people actually do have to show up.

As it sunk in that I would have to go downtown, my mood became tense and irritable. I had a stomachache. I was pacing and worrying about all the things I'd have to deal with in driving downtown. It was all I could think about - the driving...the driving! The actual possibility of being on a jury didn't phase me, the inconvenience of taking off work and leaving the boys, not a problem. It was the thought of driving out of my comfort zone and into the downtown area. It was making me physically ill.

If Troy was going to be home, he would simply drive me there and pick me up when I called. No question, he would do that. But he was leaving that day, so I wouldn't have a way to get home.

"Take Trax.", a few people suggested. That's a good idea, really, it's just that I've never been on Trax, and the thought of navigating that by myself just about put me over the edge of my anxiety attack cliff.

Troy went over his "best way to go" directions. Each instruction built up another worry.

It would be rush hour - I haven't dealt with that in over a decade.

The bad storm on Monday - roads could be icy.

If the roads are wet, the glare off headlights is horrible.

I've never been there before - what if I couldn't find it?

Troy started rattling off freeway and exit numbers and saying things like "Make sure you're in such and such lane or you'll miss it." I started feeling like I was going to throw up.

Finding a parking place.

Parallel parking. Starting to sweat.

And with the storm, what if the roads aren't cleared and there is no parallel parking and I have to navigate a...a...(gasp)...parking garage?

What if I make a turn onto what I think is a road and all of a sudden it becomes a freeway that I can't get off of and then I'm late ? I started to shake.

What if...what if...what if...

And that's how I ended up in the fetal position, crying, on a Monday night.

Hey, for some people it's flying or public speaking.

Here's where Troy saved the day and my sanity: He got up hours before he needed to - being late was not an option and he didn't even question why I wanted to leave an hour and a half early - and drove alongside me to the courthouse. He led the way, a knight in his pickup truck, and I followed in the Explorer.

He did take the freeway route however, and I called him on the cell to whine.

"I'm in hell," I said, tensing up over the high speed and the snow and ice and all the other racing cars. "Just to let you know."

"I know. You're doing fine."

"H-E-Double toothpicks, Babe. Did we have to take the freeway?"

"It's rush hour - I'm getting you there on time. Stay in this lane."

"I hate this."

"You're doing fine."

And then we took an exit, made a turn or two, and lo and behold, we were there. He found me a metered parking spot, half a block from the courthouse. I turned off the engine and a wave of relief washed over me. I had made it.

Troy waited while I ran inside to get a parking permit to put on the dashboard. I hugged and thanked him for the millionth time. I was shaking, but it wasn't from the cold - the relief was followed by an adrenaline rush, and I couldn't stay still. I was giggling and shaking and trying to do some deep breathing to calm down. He hugged me tighter.

We said goodbye. Troy turned his truck around and headed back home. He got a few more hours of sleep before he had to drive to San Francisco. He shrugs it off, but really, that's the nicest thing he ever could have done for me.

Thanks, Troy. I wouldn't have made it without you. You are the best husband!!! Thank you for putting up with me.

I walked back through the snow to the courthouse. Jury duty, here I come.

I was 30 minutes early.

Sweet.

Tag! I'm It.

I have been tagged - the first time ever. It's that thing where you reveal a few little-known things about yourself and then "tag" someone who reads your blog, then they have to go and do the same thing on their own blog. Sort of a modern day chain letter. If you ignore the tag, I think your blog deletes itself or something.

My first thought about revealing facts about myself was that I've already shared most everything. I've written about my feet, my colon, my love for 80's music and Zac Efron, the way our gerbils die and how I love to watch Troy get his eyebrows waxed. I am an open book.

And then I actually thought of a few more.

As always though, there's a little backstory to explore first.

I started reading some blogs belonging to some friends of mine maybe a year and half ago. There was my childhood friend wahwee, and her husband loudboy, the older sister sugarbritches, just to name a few. All of a sudden I was immersed in their lives and knowing things about them and their extended family members - it was the ultimate fly-on-the-wall experience.

I was a lurker - didn't even have my own account and I couldn't leave comments, but I was addicted to reading everything they wrote. I started clicking around, found Cheeky Lotus (who has retired), Pioneer Woman, and many other blogs that I checked on daily. Finally I started Dishes and Laundry last July and that was it for me.

"Hi I'm Wendy...and I'm a blogaholic."

"Hi Wendy."

More family and friends have started blogs and it honestly has become one of the things I enjoy most, every single day. The writing is a creative and therapeutic outlet for me, my family likes reading about themselves (I think), and I get a lot of satisfaction from hitting publish. I love your comments and the friendships I've made through all of this.

So check out those links - do Loudboy first. He tagged the other two, and then Wahwee tagged me. Then come back here and read all six new and exciting interesting provacative astonishing time killing facts about me.

Here goes:

#1. I was named after Wendy in Peter Pan. My biological Dad was an actor and when I was born he was starring as Captain Hook in a local production. I've always liked my name - and it was far better than Tiger Lily or Tinkerbell, the only other girl names in the play. I like that the play has a song for me, titled, Wendy. I like that the Beach Boys have a song titled, Wendy, and I like that The Association has a song titled Windy. They spelled my name wrong but I don't care. What kid doesn't enjoy hearing their name on the radio?

Who's peekin' out from under a stairway

Calling a name that's lighter than air

Who's bending down to give me a rainbow

Everyone knows it's Windy

Who's tripping down the streets of the city

Smilin' at everybody she sees

Who's reachin' out to capture a moment

Everyone knows it's Windy

And Windy has stormy eyes

That flash at the sound of lies

And Windy has wings to fly

Above the clouds (above the clouds)

Above the clouds (above the clouds)

------ flute ------

Who's tripping down the streets of the city

Smilin' at everybody she sees

Who's reachin' out to capture a moment

Everyone knows it's Windy

[repeat and fade]

#2. When I was very young, my babysitter was Joyce DeWitt. You know her as Janet from Three's Company. Of course that was back when she was a teenager (actor Dad was also her high school drama teacher) and wasn't using such a heavy hand with the eyeliner. 'Cause, whoa.

She's the only "famous" person I've ever known, and she probably changed my diaper.

#3. When I was a young teenager, my favorite tv show was M*A*S*H*. I LOVED this show. For Christmas one year, I got a book all about the show. It had the history of the show, cast biographies, episode summaries, pictures and more pictures. I read this book cover to cover, quoting it, putting little checks by the episodes as I watched them in reruns. I could name the titles of each episode and recite trivia about all the stars. I still have this book - it's held together with packaging tape. When the show ended in 1983, I taped the final episode, Goodbye, Farewell and Amen, and watched a little bit of it every morning as I got ready for school. This went on for months. I cried and cried every time that helicopter lifted off the ground with Hawkeye inside and he could see GOODBYE spelled out in rocks.

I bet I haven't watched an episode in 20 years.

#4. I love having my feet rubbed. Any time, any place, any where. I would let a stranger rub my feet. Troy rubs my feet during Sacrament Meeting, reaching down and kneading, tickling, massaging. Cameron does it best though. He watches tv with me and sits with my feet in his lap and goes to work. His technique is superb and I hope he never gets tired of rubbing his Mama's feet.

#5. I am not a very good driver and I'm directionally challenged. I can get lost driving to places that I'm familiar with. Every time I drive to my Grandma's house (same house she's lived in forever) I have to ask Troy "Now how do I get there?". I am always missing exits and turnoffs, driving miles out of my way. I hate making left hand turns, changing lanes, and we won't even talk about driving at night. I don't drive downtown. Downtown to me is anything north of 21st South.

One time I went to a viewing in Lehi. I arrived (with the help of mapquest) in the daylight, but by the time I left it was dark. I couldn't see the mountains and didn't know which way to go to get back on the freeway (which I also hate driving on). I was completely and utterly lost. I drove around aimlessly until I found someone who drove like they knew where they were going and followed them. Somehow I made it home.

Knocking on wood here, but surprisingly, I've never been in an accident (other than when I was a passenger).

Troy tells me about some of the places he drives and the conditions he drives in and I get all panicky just hearing about it.

I love it when Troy is home and he offers to drive me around on my errands. He drops me off, waits in the car and then takes me to the next place. He rarely complains. This is why I love him. That and the foot rubbing thing.

#6. I can't sleep if I'm touching someone. Troy and I have these pillow barricades on our bed and it's a king size bed. There never has been, nor will there ever be, falling asleep in each other's arms. Cuddling is great, but when it's time to sleep, the pillows come out. We're so far apart, I don't think we could touch each other without stretching for it.

And that's it. Six little facts about me.

Don't I sound fun? Don't get in a car with me and someday I might ask you to rub my feet.

I tag my sister-in-law Elise and happyleila.

P.S. You have got to go read Elise's story about her shark.

So What Should My New Year's Resolution Be?

A short quiz about me in 2007:

1. How many times did I go to the gym?

A. 150

B. 200

C. 319

2. How many hours did I spend online, namely blogging and reading other blogs?

A. I limited myself to one hour per day. I used a timer to keep it in check.

B. Maybe two hours per day - but only after the laundry was put away.

C. You do NOT want to know. I don't want to know.

3. What television shows did I watch a full season of?

A. Dancing with the Stars

B. The Biggest Loser

C. American Idol

D. The Office

E. Moonlight

F. ER

G. Grey's Anatomy

H. The Closer

I. Oprah

J. Ellen Degeneres

K. Lost

L. How I Met Your Mother

M. The View

N. Rescue Me

O. Private Practice

P. Desperate Housewives

Q. The Riches

R. House

S. The Singing Bee

T. ALL OF THE ABOVE

4. How many times did I watch High School Musical and High School Musical 2?

A. Never heard of it.

B. Just once...it was okay.

C. Again, you do NOT want to know.

5. How often did I read my scriptures?

A. Every morning before I even get out of bed.

B. I tried to read with the boys at bedtime, but sometimes we were just too tired.

C. Twice a month.

#1. The answer is C. Yes, I went to the gym 319 times. What I wouldn't give for that number to be 320 - the oddness of the 19 is driving me crazy. Can I just say 320? Thank you. In my defense and to squash the feeling that I need to get a life, that number includes every time I went there to play tennis or go swimming. Even I'm rolling my eyes.

#2. C. I got my laptop last Christmas, and that was around the time that I discovered all these blog thingys on the internet. They were begging to be read. Then I started Dishes and Laundry in July and 129 (curse those odd numbers) posts later...the hours spent online...I'm ashamed.

#3. T. I attribute this to the fact that my television watching was severely limited as a child. Just making up for lost time. T is also the first letter in Tivo - the very thing that makes all this television watching possible. Here's to Tivo.

#4. C! Okay, so I have this little thing for Zac Efron. And cheesy yet catchy music. Plus my kids like it and I'm trying to be a hip, cool Mom. Plus, there's my Zac.

#5. C. Yeah, twice a month. And that was when I was teaching in Young Women's. I taught twice a month, and therefore read my scriptures twice a month - the ones listed in the manual. You know, so I was prepared and all.

I'm sure you can guess where this is heading, resolution-wise at least.

To be continued...

Until then,

What did you spend entirely too much time doing in 2007???

Audiophile #1 - The Eighties

Down in my basement there's a big box marked "Wendy's Stuff". It holds my yearbooks and high school literary magazines (I was the editor. For as important as that felt back then, it means absolutely nothing now.), stacks (and stacks) of papers from creative writing classes and a thick, final-letter-that-was-never-mailed-to-the-boy-who-broke-my-heart. It's very dramatic and there are quite possibly, actual tear stains on this six-page dissection of a relationship gone wrong. Unfortunately, the offending boyfriend never got to read it. The tediousness of the "why?" and the "how could you?", and the total lie of the "I don't hate you" just might have killed him. Too bad...that was some creative writing that might have done some good...


My "stuff" also includes my Candy Striper smock, reports cards and various awards from school, handouts from church, journals, and every letter I received while I was at college. The box is my history - up until I got married, but I should probably get rid of half of it - it's just taking up space. Keep the yearbooks and the journals, toss the rest.

I was poking through the box 'o Wendy the other day, after Aaron and I had been talking about music. He's become quite enthusiastic about it in the last year (more on this later), and I knew that down in my box was evidence of my own love of music. From the eighties.

Tucked inside my sophomore yearbook was a thick stack of folded notebook paper. At the top was written, 1984 KIS'N FM - 97.1 Countdown. Oh, baby.


That's right, I've got the top 100 songs and artists of the year, carefully documented (in pencil), and saved with all the other Most Important Things in my life.


I also have a 1983 Top 40 Countdown List with a bonus Top 10 Videos of the Year. What a Feeling by Irene Cara was the #1 song and Michael Jackson's Beat It was the #1 video. Of course.

New Year's Eve Parties? Babysitting jobs? Stake dances?

Nah. I'll just sit cross-legged on the floor of my basement bedroom and listen to the radio for 8 hours, writing it all down, 'cause I, like, love music. And I'll want to know all this stuff later in life, like now, when the internet has made it just a couple clicks aways. Wasted youth.

Seriously. imagine the time it must have taken to listen to the DJs play every song and commercial. That's madness dedication. I looooooooved music!

Reading through the list is hilarious - I can sing a few bars (or more) from almost every song, and quite a few of them are on my ipod right now.

Here's just a partial list from 1984:

40. Running With the Night...Lionel Ritchie
39. If This Is It...Huey Lewis and the News
38. Like a Virgin...Madonna
37...Owner of a Lonely Heart...Yes
36. Somebody's Watching Me...Rockwell
35. Purple Rain...Prince
34. Almost Paradise...Mike Reno and Ann Wilson
33. I Feel For You...Chaka Kahn
32. Hold Me Now...Thompson Twins
31. Self Control...Laura Brannigan
30. Reflex...Duran Duran
29. Out of Touch...Hall and Oates
28. She-Bop...Cyndi Lauper
27. Jump (For My Love)...Pointer Sisters
26. That's All...Genesis
25. Say Say Say...Paul McCartney & Michael Jackson
24. Lucky Star...Madonna
23. Drive...Cars
22. Heart of Rock 'n Roll...Huey Lewis and the News
21. Let's Go Crazy...Prince
20. Thriller...Michael Jackson
19. Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go...Wham!
18. Sad Songs Say So Much...Elton John
17. Oh Sherry...Steve Perry
16. Dancing in the Dark...Bruce Springsteen
15. Caribbean Queen...Billy Ocean
14. Karma Chameleon...Culture Club
13. What's Love Got to Do With It?...Tina Turner
12. Let's Hear It For the Boy...Denise Williams
11. Stuck On You...Lionel Ritchie
10. Time After Time...Cyndi Lauper
9. Missing You...John Waite
8. Footloose...Kenny Loggins
7. I Just Called To Say I Love You...Stevie Wonder
6. Ghostbusters...Ray Parker Jr.
5. Hello...Lionel Ritchie
4. When Doves Cry...Prince
3. Against All Odds...Phil Collins
2. Jump...Van Halen
1. Hard Habit to Break...Chicago

Now that's some good music.

#22 is me at a Youth Conference Dance at BYU, wearing Jelly Shoes and a dress with ruffles.

#38 is knowing that my parents disapproved, but LOVING this song and pretty much everything about her.

#14 is my sometimes friend Shauna, who used to dress like (swear it!) Boy George!

#s 34, 12 and 8 is wanting to put on a dance in a small repressed town, and show those adults what it feels like to be young.

#24 is watching my friend Amy sing this into a microphone at the mall!

And #25 and 20 is watching Friday Night Videos to see the genius of him.

Where does this music take you?

(it's okay if you say that it takes you back to your mother's womb.)

I Don't Speak Scout

It was a big night at Pack Meeting.

Cameron was receiving his Arrow of Light Award.

It's the highest honor a Cub Scout can receive.

I know this, because other people told me.

I'm not really a scouty kind of Mom.

We have a guy in our ward who does an amazing Arrow of Light Ceremony.

Phil gathers all the scouts around the "fire" and shows them this really cool arrow with all these colored beads and feathers. Each color represents a value and character trait and he talks to the boys about how they can incorporate them into their lives. He wears a very cool head dress kind of thing. He's the ultimate Mountain Man.

Phil is a scouty kind of Dad.

All the boys receive their very own Arrow. Of Light.

They can't take their eyes off their arrows.

Thanks Phil!

Cameron with Cori - his awesome Webelos leader.

He's getting this because of her.

Thanks Cori!

These boys sure can earn a lot of badges and strings with beads on them and such.

And pins! Check out all the pins!

Cameron has all those fancy things too.

We just keep them on a shelf in his bedroom so they stay...uh...not on his shirt.

Did I mention that I'm not really a scouty kind of Mom?

Sorry Cam. I'm proud of you.

Love, Mom

Shopping with Edward

During the summer, I'm a flip flop girl. I like the on and off ease, the fun colors, the pricetag, everything. I paint my toenails, shave nearly every day, rub on the self-tanner, and generally try to pretend that I have cute feet and legs that should be seen. I ignore the reasons why I should lay off the flip flops and just try to look summery and breezy and carefree in my footwear. Flip flops do that. Avia Crosstrainers, size 7, wide width - so the orthotics fit and my toes won't feel pinched - do not.

But now that Fall/Winter is here, I'm going back to wearing the Avias every day, all day. It's better for my feet - all the right kind of support and orthotic-y goodness - but I just can't get over the color. They're white and blue, perfect for the gym, but they just don't look right with my clothes. Most of what I wear from September through April begins with a pair of dark blue jeans. Pair that with a dark top, even something casual, and those bright white tennis shoes really mess up the whole "look" of the outfit.

I had a couple pairs of super cheap shoes in the back of my closet - black and brown. I tried wearing those, and while they looked much better than the big whites, I could tell from the minute I put them on that I was hurting my feet.

And yes, I have made the connection between my closet filled with super cheap shoes from Payless and Walmart and my flip flops from Old Navy and the misery that is my feet. I'm trying to do better. My philosophy used to be: as many cute shoes for as little money possible. Now I just need something that won't hurt me. Sidenote: I probably need to get another shot between my toes soon. I will document and report back.

I watch Dancing With The Stars, and my second thought is "how can they wear those shoes? Aren't they in agony?". My first thought is "how are those clothes staying on?". Seriously, it's mezmerizing. Especially her.

Okay, back to my feet.

So I'm complaining to Troy about how I just can't look cute when I have to wear athletic shoes when I'm not being athletic. So guess what he did? He took me shopping!

It was my own little Pretty Woman experience. I was Vivian (only not) and he was Edward (only not), taking me to the fancy store to shop and spend an obscene amount of money (really not). But still. A girl can dream.

He took me to Famous Footwear (right next to Payless, the culprit behind my foot problems), sat me down on a bench and brought me shoes to try on! Lots and lots of shoes - all in blacks and browns - nice colors to go with nice Fall/Winter clothes. He admired and complimented as I paraded up and down the aisle, walking it out, getting a feel for them, trying to find the perfect shoes for my needy feet. He didn't complain about me wanting to try on at least twenty pairs, and he wrapped and put back the ones that just wouldn't do. And when it came down to choosing between a black pair and a brown pair - he simply looked into my eyes and said what every girl dreams of hearing:

"We'll just get both."

My Payless mind was horrified, but my feet rejoiced. At least it was buy one, get one 1/2 off.

Wanna see?

Now I'm not saying these are super high fashion, fancy, ultra-hip and cool shoes. Just saying it was my Vivian moment. And Vivian has never had herself a pair of New Balance shoes for casual wear, and she's sure never had a pair of Skechers before.

Her kids have, but she hasn't.

These are just some basic black everyday kind of shoes. That don't hurt me.

And then the Skechers. I love these.

They have the tiniest bit of heel to make me a little taller, a good sturdy sole, and they are a wonderful shade of brown to go with 50% of my wardrobe. The black ones will take care of the other 50%. They look so cute peeking out from the bottom of my bootcut jeans.

The next day, I was walking around the house in my perfect, new, comfortable, brown Skechers (who's got the Skechers now, boys? Your Momma, that's who!), and this is what Troy says to me.

"I was surprised that you got those since they look so chunky on your feet."

Huh? Edward never would have said that to Vivian. It's like saying

"I can't believe you chose those jeans since they make your butt look humongous."

or

"I wouldn't have imagined you choosing that haircut since it makes your face look like a pumpkin."

I told him I was going for the chunky look. Chunky is hot.

And comfortable.

What are your feelings about footwear?

What Time Is It, Really?

I don't remember how old I was when I got my own clock radio. Probably 10 or 11. But I do know that even from the beginning, I liked to be on time. In an effort to insure that I was never ever late, I would set the clock in my bedroom ahead by at least 10 minutes. Like I was fooling myself. Like my 6am self wouldn't remember that my 10pm self had messed with the time.

Whatever.

I still play this little "trick" in the bedroom. Both my clock and Troy's clock are set exactly 20 minutes fast. Keep reading, and hopefully I can explain this mess.

My alarm clock has a snooze setting of nine minutes. That means that I can snooze two times, and still be two minutes ahead of reality. I love to hit the snooze button. My arm shoots out and slams the button so fast - not even enough time to identify the song. I "sleep" for 9 more minutes, hit the snooze again, "sleep" for 9, and then I get up.

Here's the insane part: The whole time that I'm in the snooze/sleep pattern, my brain isn't really going back to sleep. It's doing the math. Math! I mentally acknowledge the 20 minute difference, and so on, as if it's a comfort to know that it's really only 5am instead of 5:20. I'm cheating myself out of 20 minutes of good sleep. Why do I do this to myself?

A few months ago, I noticed that Cameron had set his clock ahead by 11 minutes. Why, I asked.

"I don't know. I just do."

Yeah, me too. I guess this kind of crazy is easily passed on.

Aaron's clock is fast too, though I think his is more from random button pushing. When I noticed that he was getting up a few minutes earlier than before, I did the most scheming thing a Mom can do. I changed all the clocks in the kitchen. Bwwwwwahahahaha. Five minutes fast.

These are the clocks that Aaron looks at while he's gearing up to go to school. He knows the last possible minute that we can leave to get him to school on time, and he waits for it every day. Again, bwwwwwahahahaha. He's early, and he doesn't even know it. Troy and Cam know, though I've sworn them to secrecy. I wish Troy didn't know.

But it doesn't end there. The clocks in my car and Troy's truck are both three minutes fast. The clock in the front room matches the ones in the kitchen, in case Aaron happens to see the discrepancy. The clock on my laptop is 4 minutes slow. I need to change that, 'cause slow just isn't acceptable. Gotta make it fast. Troy's cell phone is 2 minutes ahead.

All these clocks, so different, and we're fooling no one. Little bit of math and we've got the real time. Okay, Aaron is fooled, but, shhhhhhhh.

Why do we do this?

It's my hope that all this mental time warping and refiguring will be the key to keeping our brains alert and active. Kind of an anti-Alzheimer's thing. What do you think?

Clever trick or crazy?
(And please tell me that you do this too.)

I Hate to be Late...part two (also known as a rant)

Yesterday I started out writing a little back story for the real story that I'm writing today. I just got long winded and kind of off topic, and in the end, I wanted to eat ribs and laugh at Steve Carell with my family. The story could wait until today.

Two mornings a week, I take a spinning class - indoor cycling. I've grown to love this class, even more since The Biggest Loser says that a one hour spinning class will burn 700-1000 calories. It's super early, (5:45 am) and the class is fairly small, the instructors are good and so is the music. My kind of class.


The bikes are the upright kind, not the recumbent, and they have a little knob that you can turn and make the resistance harder or easier. The instructor leads the class on different "courses", up hills (crank the resistance up), races or sprinting to "get ahead" of an imaginary biker, jumps (resistance high, alternately standing and sitting), etc. The sweetest words are "take it to flat road", and you turn the knob to zero resistance. It's all timed to the music and it is seriously fun. Did my fingers really just type that? Shoot me now.


The lights are out during the class - the only light coming in is from the hallway. I like to close my eyes when it gets really hard, pedaling and trying to get to the end. My balance seems to be okay, and I've never felt like I was going to fall off (though wouldn't that make a good post?).

The first time you go to the spin class, you're supposed to go at least 5 minutes early to get set up on your bike. It's not hard, just a lot to adjust, so the bike will fit your body. You can move the seat up and down and closer and farther (to the handlebars). The handlebars also move those same ways. It needs to be "just so", so that you don't hurt your knees and so you can be as comfortable as possible. The instructor shows you how to set it up, explains the resistance knob and some of the terminology. It takes a few minutes - that's why the class schedule says to come early!

A few weeks ago, I convinced my friend Susan to come spin with me. She's a night owl and getting up early is her definition of hell, so I knew how hard this was for her. She did it though, and has come faithfully every Thursday morning for the past month. I told her she's hardcore. We rode together, and we got there plenty early to get her set up on her bike.

Unfortunately, not everyone who is new to the class comes early. Remember I said that other people being late doesn't phase me at all. Well, all that has changed, at least as far as the spinning class goes.

For the past three weeks, people are walking in right at 5:45 or later, without a clue as what to do. The instructor has to take time with each late person to get their bike set up and several times, the actual class hasn't started until almost 6:00. The rest of us just keep pedaling, warming up. (Okay, it just occurred to me that I could hop off my bike and help one of them get set up, but I would sure hate to do it wrong. Nah, they are still wrong to be late and make the whole class wait).

Now I wouldn't mind the starting late too much, except that the class has to end at 6:45. When it starts late, we get less time in workout mode, or we have to skip the abdominal work at the end of class altogether. Yes, I could do the abs at home, but I know me, and I don't. I just don't.

And the kicker...by the time the class starts, the rest of the class has been warming up, as in our bodies are getting hot and sweaty, while the late-y lates have been trying out different handlebar positions. They are still cold from walking in. The instructor asks, "Are you ready for the fans?", and the not-warmed- up people shout out "NO!".

Excuse me?

Don't mess with my fans!!!!! I will take you down, I swear...

Yes, this is petty. I know that if this is the worst thing going on in my life, I have nothing to complain about. But I just had to get it off my chest. Thank you.

Anything bugging you lately?
Go ahead, I'm listening.

I Hate to be Late (in two parts)

Ever since I was a little girl, being on time was very important to me. I have a very distinct memory from when I was in the third or fourth grade, of a time when I was late to school. We lived in California at the time, and for some reason, there was a day in the middle of the week where school started earlier than the other days. I can imagine how irritating that was to parents. I mean, ending early one day a week (like my kids' school does) is one thing, but starting early? Come on.

We lived in an apartment complex that had a passageway onto the school grounds. I walked to school every morning, home for lunch, back to school and then home again. My grandparents had come to visit us all the way from Indiana. They weren't just any grandparents...they were THE Grandparents. While my mother worked as a nurse (after her divorce), my Grandma and Grandpa had been the ones taking care of me and my older sister. We were extremely close. I loved them so much and missed them terribly since we moved away. Their twice a year visits out to California were something I looked forward to and I would cry for days after they left to go back home. Seriously, days.

Well, it was the day for them to leave, and it happened to be on the day that school started earlier - a fact that neither my Mother or I remembered. I'm not surprised - it was just an emotional, stressful day to begin with. My grandparents were going to walk me to the gate that led to the school, tell me goodbye and then head back to Indiana. I was trying to be brave, swallowing and swallowing, trying to get rid of the ginormous lump in my throat.

And here's a question, 31 years later. Why did I have to go to school that day? Why did I even have to go to school that entire week? My GRANDPARENTS were visiting! From halfway across the country! Hmmmm? I shall be bringing this up with my mother at Sunday dinner.

Anyway, we made it to the gate, said goodbye, and I started to walk towards the school. Grandma and Grandpa started walking back through the apartment complex maze. Suddenly, I realized that the school grounds were empty! It was the early day...and I was LATE!

Fear and absolute horror washed over me. I lost it, bursting into tears, and running, screaming all the way to the gate. I think I was hyperventilating. My Grandma retold the story of how she could hear me shrieking "Grandma! Grandma!", and they ran back to meet me. I went back home, got a little more composed, and then my Grandma went to the office with me and checked me into school, walking with me, so I wouldn't be alone. Again, why did this poor, hysterical child have to go to school on this day? It was traumatic - I'm breaking out in a sweat just writing about it! The funny thing is, the fact that I was late was as traumatic as having my grandparents leave. At least that's how I remember it.

Being on time is still a huge deal for me. I like to be early even. All through school, any jobs that I've ever had, church, parties, etc., I'm itching to be on time. My family doesn't necessarily feel the same urgency, and that has led to many mornings of me screaming tapping my foot impatiently, while they poke along. If I am ever late - it has absolutely nothing to do with me - it's their doing, all of it.

I'm trying to get them to see that I don't ask for much - I just need to be on time. It's an actual need. Can they just please do this one little thing for me? Church, for example. If we are late, I would rather skip Sacrament Meeting than walk in and have people see me. But I need to be a good example to my kids and make sure they are there each week, so I go in. My stomach is in knots, I'm blushing fiercely, sweating, but I manage it. If you ever see me, walking in late to a church meeting, please know that I am dying inside, and that walking through those doors is possibly the bravest thing I've done all week. And it wasn't my fault!

If it takes 30 minutes to drive somewhere, how much time do you give yourself to get there? At least 40 minutes, right? You never know what traffic problems you'll run into. Troy thinks that every place in the valley can be reached within 20 minutes - and he hates to be early. He imagines that the roads will be clear and that there's always time to stop for a drink. Honestly, it's a wonder we've stayed married, our views on this are so different. The stereotype of the man waiting by the door, while his wife finishes getting ready...reverse that. At least he's willing to take the blame when he makes us late.

Needing to be on time - it's kind of my thing. Surprisingly, I'm not upset by other people who are late (unless they are making me late). Doesn't bother me in the least to have a friend late for a lunch date or to see others come into a church meeting late. Other people can be late all they want - maybe they have a traumatic childhood experience that involved being on time for something. To each, his own. Except for you, Troy, Cameron and Aaron. I need to be on time and that means you do too.

At least I thought it didn't bother me when other people are late. This post was actually going to be a rant of sorts, about...well, you'll just have to come back tomorrow. My storytelling got away from me. The BBQ ribs in the crock pot are falling apart, they want to be eaten so badly, and my family is waiting for me so we can watch Evan Almighty together. I wouldn't want to be late for that.

Late, on time, or early?
Does it matter to you?

Romance, Schmomance...or Why I'm Not a Character in a Harlequin Novel

I got an email this morning from a young woman in my ward, asking me to answer a question for an essay that she was writing for school. The class was Marriage and Family, and the question was about romance. I needed to tell about the most romantic event in my life and explain why it was so romantic. Huh? Romance? Oh, dear, now where did I put that romance...?

Seriously, I think I'm romantically challenged. Don't get me wrong - Troy is not the problem - if anything, he is the more romantic of the two of us. I wrote about all the cards and the love letter or two that I found when I was cleaning out my underwear drawer. Troy loves to give cards that ooze with passion and romance, penned by the very best card makers at Hallmark. He always adds his own sentiment.

Cards like this:

With things like this, written on the inside:

Aaaaawwww.... I am loved. I really, really am, and I know that Troy spends a lot of time looking for these perfect cards. Imagine me holding my thumb and forefinger up, about 3 1/2 inches apart, when I say that I have a stack of cards like this, this high.

Last Valentine's Day, I very kindly told Troy that while I loved his cards and the beautiful words, how about if he looked for a funny card instead. Ungrateful, undeserving, picky woman? Probably...but this woman also knows the romantic value of a good laugh.

Laugh with me, show me that twinkle in your eyes, kiss me until the boys squeal and pull you away from me, give me a wink. Now I'm feeling romantic.

What else holds romantic value for me? This sign in my kitchen says it all:

Now ain't that the truth? Seriously, I feel loved when Troy pitches in around the house. Which he does do, fairly often.

I feel loved when Troy watches Dancing with the Stars with me and rubs my feet. He never complains - about the show or about my feet.

I feel loved when Troy stops whatever he might be doing to go get me something...Cafe Rio, for instance. That whole "my wish is his command" kind of thing.

I feel a rush of love for Troy when we go out with friends and we have a really good time. I like seeing him enjoy himself.

I love Troy when he spends time with the boys. He's a really good Dad.

I love Troy when he rushes to my side after a really scary car accident. Or a colonoscopy.

I know that Troy loves me because he puts up with me, and I put up with him.

Is this romance? Or are we pathetic? Is loving and being loved the same thing as romance? When you think of "romance", shouldn't it be about flowers and love notes, and petals on the bed, sipping Martinelli's and feeding each other chocolates, whispering sweet words and hearts skipping a beat as the passion envelopes the room?

I think the years and the ins and outs of regular old life have taken their toll.

When Troy brings me flowers, I cringe at the cost, the love notes sit in my underwear drawer, we have laundry, waiting to be folded, on the bed, our fancy glasses are broken, I don't share my chocolate, and sometimes, foul smells envelope the room.

But we have love. And we laugh. Does this count as romance?

What do I tell this young woman, wanting to know of my most romantic event?

"Well, this one time, I came home from doing the grocery shopping, and Troy had done the dishes and switched over the laundry! That's when I knew it was true love."

I think I'd better make up something about our first kiss. I know it was romantic - it had to be...I just don't remember very much about it.

What about you?

Do you have romance in your life?

What makes your heart skip a beat?

A Fine Day

Clear back in August, when I was getting ready to go to Bear Lake for a relaxing vacation, I grabbed a bunch of books and magazines at the library. Beach reading at its best. I had a few of the Sweet Potato Queen books and lots of back issues of People magazine. There's nothing like curling my toes in the sand and reading about and seeing pictures of the messed up lives of celebrities, to make me feel all summery and relaxed and blissful about my own perfectly normal life. I like to eat Whoppers and steal drinks from Troy's Diet Coke while I thumb through the pages.

One day last week, I got a call from the computerized lady at the library, telling me that I had three items overdue. Two of them were books that my boys were reading - I knew about those, but the third was one of the Sweet Potato Queen books. Left over from August. Great.

The biggest problem was that I had long ago returned everything from that trip. I'd been so careful, keeping all the books in the truck for travel reading - which I can do just fine until we hit a canyon - and the magazines in my beach bag. I am always so paranoid about losing something from the library - it's never inexpensive, and I just knew that I had returned it. Felt it in my bones.

The book was not anywhere in my home. It was 6 weeks overdue, and I'd done plenty of cleaning, and organizing, and putting away since then. If it was in my home, I'd have come across it by now. I checked the cars, thinking maybe it had fallen in between seats or something. No book, but I did find quite a few french fries, some Pull 'n Peel Twizzlers that had been pulled, peeled, and dropped under the back seat, lots of trash and water bottles and a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup that had melted and re-hardened. Because I was so stressed about finding this dang book, I ate the cup. Yes, I have no shame when it comes to peanut butter and chocolate, and yes, it was still delicious.

Troy went up to the lake and brought the trailer home. Hoping against hope, I checked all through the cabinets and under cushions and inside cubby holes (trailers have loads of cubby holes) - still nothing. Ugh, I hate losing things - especially things that don't belong to me. Librarians can be a tad cranky when you lose their books.

Time to face the music of my lost book. Go to the library and fess up. I hoped it wasn't a rare copy of an out-of-print, first edition, signed by the author, kind of book. I had to return the other two late books (barely late - the boys need three weeks and three days to finish a book), plus I needed to get some mystery books for Aaron. I was gonna have to pay for everything before they'd let me check out any more.

Oh, and I also had a little fine from some overdue videos from long ago. 'Bout 8 bucks worth. This fine had been hanging over my head for some time, but with the new "check yourself out" feature at my library, I've just been ignoring it, scanning my books and getting outta there. I keep trying to be more responsible about the library due dates, but like I've said before, stuff come up!

I walked into the library yesterday, holding my head high and carrying my debit card and two books. I decided to put on a happy face. I wouldn't be bitter, I wouldn't be ashamed, I was just going to be super friendly and nice and apologetic and hope that the librarian wouldn't treat me badly.

I waited at the counter for someone to come hear my tale - you know I wasn't just going to say that I had lost a book and wanted to pay for it, along with all my other fines. It's the details that would explain how badly I felt about all of this, details about vacations and reading by the beach, and searching the house and car and trailer, and feeling it in my bones that I had returned this book a long time ago. The details would let them see me as more than just an irresponsible woman who can't get her life together enough to return things on time and keep track of books. I practiced what I was going to say.


The librarian that came over to help me was new. I had never seen HIM. That's right. It was a man. New gameplan. Now, I was not only going to be super-friendly and nice and apologetic...I was going to be charming. I can do charming.

"I owe you a whole bunch of money. Can you help me figure it out?" I started off with a smile.

"On these two?" He took the books from me.

"Yes, a little bit, but the computer also says that I still have a book from August. I can't find it anywhere." I told him all the details, all the charming details, emphasizing just how hard I'd been looking. I handed him my card and he looked up my account.

"Uh huh. Not much on these...it looks like there's an old fine on some videos...and yeah, this one is really overdue."

"How much does the book cost?"

"It's $12.99 but there's a $5 fee whenever a book gets lost. I'm sorry."

"My punishment...I understand." My lower lip may have jutted out, just a teensy bit.

"Tell you what...you don't have to pay that right now. I'll put a hold on the fines that are accruing and you can keep looking for it. You'll find it in the next month or so, right?"

"Well, I really don't think I will. I've looked and looked.... Is there a chance, I mean, does it ever happen, that a book gets returned and lost in all this?" I gestured at the stacks and stacks of books on the counters. "I really thought I had returned it."

"Stay right here - I'll go look for it." And he went off to do just that.

A few minutes later, he headed back towards me, waving the book in the air. He was smiling. I clapped my hands and smiled right back. My bones had not lied - I had returned the book.

Now he was the one apologizing. Silly library, losing books like that.

He added up the rest of my fines, and I couldn't resist asking,

"Since you had the book all along, do I get that $5 fee as a credit for all my worry and searching?" An eyelash may have batted.

"Tell you what," he said again, "I'll just waive the entire amount. Don't worry about it. I'm really sorry about all this."

I thanked him and told him that he was so so nice and that he made my day. I let him waive the entire fine.

Shameless? You bet.

Shameless enough to eat old chocolate, melted and re-hardened into a lump, shameless enough to charm my way out of a hefty library fine. That's me.


Have you ever talked/charmed your way out of something?

If I Were Julie Andrews, I Would Sing About Them

There are a few things in my life that I absolutely love. Yes, my family, yes, the Gospel. But for this post, I'm writing about the material things that I love so so much. Just a few items that whenever I use them, I am so grateful for them and know that I'd miss them very much if I ever had to do without them. 'Cause we are living in a material world, and I am a material girl. I LOVE these things!

These aren't in any particular order - just writing as I think of them.

1. My ipod shuffle. Troy bought it for me last Christmas. Sort of. The gift started out as a big 'ol video ipod and I quickly downsized it to the next smaller one, and then again to the shuffle. I wanted as small as I could get for the gym. Plus, I didn't want to mess with having a screen and too many options - the simpler the better. My ultra-cool and very ipod-savvy sister Rachel helped me get set up ripping songs and downloading from itunes. I've filled it with lots of fast, hard rhythm songs - lots of 80's and and a surprising amount of Aerosmith - stuff to keep me moving on the elliptical.

2. My Physician's Formula Mineral Wear makeup. Love this stuff. I have rosacea - red skin on my cheeks that will flare up and glow if I get hot, eat spicy or hot foods, take a hot shower or bath, get nervous, angry, or have to speak in front of people. Sometimes it flares up for absolutely no reason at all. Yeah, no creamy, smooth complexion for me. But this mineral makeup does an amazing job of evening out my skin tone. And, it's super easy to apply. When I first started using it, I was so giddy about it, I'd put it on one half of my face and show Troy the side-by-side difference. "Can you tell, can you TEEEELLLL?" And he'd sort of nod and say "uh huh".

3. Tivo. I still love it, even though it betrayed me last week. Twice. I missed the first episode of Dancing with the Stars because it thought that one of Troy's programs had a higher recording priority than mine. As if. We've had a little talk and hopefully that won't happen again. The second time that things went awry, it was sort of my fault. With all the season premieres and new time slots, I was just asking too much. Tivo missed the premiere of House, but taped the second episode of DwtS and The Biggest Loser for me. Like all relationships, sometimes you have to readjust your expectations, so that's what I'm doing. I love my Tivo, but there will be some trust issues for a while.

4. Vidalia Onion Chopper. Used it today, in fact. You can read about my love of this As Seen On TV kitchen tool here.

5. My laptop. I got it last Christmas too. All through our marriage, Troy has liked to give me "grand gesture" kind of gifts - and I routinely return them. Too expensive, a smaller one will do (see #1), don't need it, etc. But this. Oh, I so wanted this! I love it every time I sit in front of it. The mouse is never sticky. It is mine.

6. My Copper Pot. A couple of years ago, I found it at the DI. I think it cost $3. It is so heavy and so old, and I imagine that someone else used to love it too. I use it just one month out of the year for cooking. I make toffee at Christmas time in it, and it turns out perfectly, every single time. So this one I don't use very often, but when I do, I'm so glad that I have it, and I remember that I love it all over again. The rest of the year, it sits on top of my cupboards, looking all rustic and decorative. Okay, I love it then too.

7. My new Camera. I got it for my birthday. It's super small, with a big screen, and rechargeable batteries! I'm still learning all the functions and the whole when to flash and when not to flash rules. It lets me take pictures up close like this:

Careful. If you blink, you'll get pollen on your eyelashes.

There's also a feature that will make the water up at Bear Lake super blue, and one that will make pictures taken in the snow super white. Can't wait to try those out.

I really really love my new camera 'cause it lets me capture the people I love. See, I'm not completely materialistic.

Okay, so my list might not include the raindrops on roses and the whiskers on kittens - but I do happen to love my own bright copper kettle. Warm mittens aren't bad either. Just try to get that song out of your head now.

Keep humming, and tell me,

What are a few of your favorite things?

Why Troy Won't Go To the Gym with Me

Last week at the gym, I got into a predicament that was so alarming and goofy, I felt like Lucille Ball. I regret that a picture couldn't have been taken - I would have happily put it up here, just to save me the trouble of having to describe what happened and what I looked like. It's gonna take some 'Splaining. A picture would have helped.

For the past month or so, my trainer Laura, has been having me do some squats with weights on my shoulders. 'Cause it hurts more that way. I place a 15 pound weight on each shoulder and hold onto the ends, balancing them there, while I squat and pretend to sit on a bench. I'm supposed to do 3 sets of 15, and I can rest in between each set - but just getting the weights on my shoulders and settled and nestled is a pain, so I try to just plow through and do the 45. By the end, I'm red-faced, huffing and puffing a little and trying not to make an ugly face. Then I take those weights off and put them away as fast as I can. I'm worried that this particular exercise is making me shorter. (Sigh)

Whenever I go to the gym, I always pull my hair back in a ponytail. Can't stand to have my hair hanging down, getting my my eyes, making me sweat. But on this particular day, I decided not to pull my hair back. I wasn't doing any cardio, so I wouldn't sweat much. I'd straightened my hair and didn't want to make a ponytail dent because I had to go somewhere later. I was just lifting a few weights - no need to take three seconds and do what I'd always done. For whatever reason I didn't put my hair up that day, it was a very bad choice. I'm talkin' consequences, people.

So my hair is hanging down, couple inches past my shoulder.

I hoisted up the weight on my right side first. I set it down on my shoulder - and down on my hair. I could feel the weight tugging at my hair, so I lifted the weight up, bent my head over to the left (a move I cannot do right now, because of the car accident) to clear the hair out of the way, set the weight back down and straightened my head. My hair was now cascading over the top of the weight. Doesn't cascading sound better than bunched up and lying there? I did the same thing to the left side. I brought my hands to the front and cupped the ends of the weights.

I squatted. 45 times.

All I'm thinking about is getting the weights off and being done with this exercise. I brought my hands up to my shoulders and hooked my thumbs under the bar part, lifting the weights, while at the same time, curling my fingers down over and around the bar to get a good grip. I didn't think about what else was hanging down and around the bar - my cascading hair.

The weights were lifted a few inches off my shoulders, supported by my thumbs. I had plunged my fingers into my hair and was gripping it along with the 15 pound weights.

• My hair was pulled down tight from the top, I couldn't lower the weights.
• I couldn't loosen my grip on the weights and shake my hair free - it was all entwined in my fingers and gloves.
• I didn't want to drop the weights on my shoulders, 'cause...ouch. Might pull my hair too.
• I couldn't let go with my fingers - my thumbs couldn't support the weights by themselves.

I was stuck. Absolutely, stuck.

I looked like a crazy lady with some crazy barbell pigtails that I was holding in my hands.

Now most days, if there isn't anyone else in the weight room, I'm pleased. The room is small, dark, and hurts my personal space feelings. For a very brief moment, I was glad that no one was in there to see my predicament. Then, as the realization of just how stuck I was sank in, I began to wish for someone, anyone, to help me out. Those weights were getting heavy and they were blocking my peripheral vision.

In a panic, I started to giggle.

I made my way over to the weight racks and bent my entire upper body down to the top shelf. Standing sideways and with my head touching the wall, I gingerly laid the weight in my right hand on the rack. I pulled my hair out and stood up. I used my right hand to grab the end of the weight on my left side, and then I was free. A clean escape!

I brushed my hair back and sat down on a bench. Waited for the panicky adrenaline rush to subside. Whew. I giggled again, imagining just how absurd I looked. I don't think anyone saw me. I was able to save myself - maybe it was a good thing that no one was in the weight room with me. Could someone in the cardio room have seen...nah, who would be watching me?

Or...possibly...someone made their own blog entry that night:

You'll never guess what I saw at the gym today - some dorky girl didn't pull her hair up and was lifting weights...