November 21, 2007

Any fun Thanksgiving traditions out there? I know one family that would eat dinner then go to bed and set their alarms to wake up at 2 am so they could go get in line at the mall. Black Friday.

Mmkay. Don’t EVER wake me up in the middle of the night and then tell me we must go SHOPPING. At the MALL. I SHUDDER at the thought. I would claw your eyes out if you ever did that.

Ms. Battle Station and shopping, we do not necessarily enjoy each other. And at any rate, waking me from my slumber for any reason is altogether dangerous. This Holiday shopping stuff, it’s madness! Do ya’ll do that? Are you one of the crazy Black Friday shoppers?

My shopping experience usually consists of me perusing the store displays (I don’t dig and move things, the clothes must be neatly and tidily laid out before me, preferably upon a mannequin. No moving of hangers or shuffling of non-identical items is allowable. Ross sends me into convulsions.) I grab whatever I think looks cute in whatever size I think works, I buy that crap and then I EXIT the premises before I start to hyperventilate. I move QUICK and if I don’t find anything within the first store, I take that as a sign and forfeit the shopping day. I will NOT stay the course, I will give up. Life is too short to cry in a dressing room.

Buying for OTHER people, I love. But what happens is I spend mass amounts of money and Mike has to then start donating plasma again in order to provide my assistant with a little something I picked up called an Espresso Machine. Case and point: I was invited to a baby shower at my work the other night, we all were, it was a work baby shower. And the preggo Momma was really sweet and thought it was so lovely that we had thrown together a little shower for her even though we don’t know each other all THAT well. We’re nice. The baby shower’s nice. Blah blah blah. Preggo Momma starts opening her presents and everyone ooohs and aahhhhs at EVERY. SINGLE. ONESIE. like we all do at baby showers, right? And then she gets to my bag. And what everyone else’s presents were to a truffle, mine was to 5 tiered wedding cake. She just kept pulling and pulling and pulling those outfits out and with each outfit, it got weirder and weirder and weirder. I almost wanted to jump up and go “OH! My goodness! I’m so sorry! Half of those outfits were for aNOTHER baby shower!!! Hahaha!” and I’m almost certain she and everyone else in the room would have let out a big WHOOSH of breath and chortle “I WAS GONNA SAY!….. YOU’RE ALL GIVY-GIVINSTEIN! hahaha YOU WIN! YOU’RE PRESENT WAS THE BEST! hahaha big dork!” And it would have been much more comfortable. More comfortable than me sitting there with my face all red and muttering “ya, I had a hard time choosing….” You’re welcome. No, it was nothing. you’re so welcome. No problem. You’re welcome.

I guess I’m one of those that shows affection by buying stuff. What’s that type called? The Nonverbal, Unemotional, Unaffectionate Robots Who Throw Money and Things At You To Express Feelings? Yeah, I think that’s what were called.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Be thankful!

November 19, 2007

After staying up 2 hours later than my husband, I quietly sneak into our dark and quiet bedroom. As I slip into my side of the bed, Mike stirs in his sleep and I seize the moment.

“pst. Babe. Do you want to have sex?”

Without one SECOND’S hesitation, he rolls over, still miles away in slumber and fiercely states “Doesn’t count” before slipping into sub-conscience again.

CRAP! This is BAD! The subject seems to have caught on. The species is evolving.

This after several instances in where myself, the exquisitely brilliant woman that I am, had successfully maneuvered this transaction with ease and superb performance. The midnight romp offering was there, offering denied, power in my corner. LARGE AMOUNTS of power. Learn from me, friends, take my knowledge and bask in it.

The next night or next day or next minute, whatever the case may be, Man will desire rompage. Something like this may happen-

“WOMAN. BED. NOW.”

“No, not tonight. I’m ________ (enter any adjective here: tired, hungry, sick, blogging, whatever - you know the drill)”

“HUH? MAN DESIRE WOMAN! MAN NEVER GETS WOMAN!”

“Well, sweetness, I offered last night and you said no.”

“WHAT!”

“Last night. I offered. And you said no. So…..”

“You mean in the middle of the night when I was asleep!”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t count”

“Counts”

“No way”

“Yes way”

But now, I fear, my tricks and skills have been compromised, you see. He has learned. He has evolved and I can only assume that others like him will too. So, use the skill ladies, use it and be exquisitely brilliant. But, use with caution. Use with discretion. Use knowing that they will catch on.

I’ll let you know when I have discovered a plan B.

November 17, 2007

The ever awesome and totally radical Jess of Du Wax Loolu asked me to write a guest post for her while she parades around Germany with her stud-muffin Torsten.

So my post for today is over there.

By the way, she asked me to write about adoption since she and Torsten want to adopt someday. And since I can say whatever I want on somebody else’s blog, I laid it ALLLLLL out there. As mentioned in the post, please direct all crazy comments and spiteful hate mail towards me. LEAVE JESS ALONE you hate mail sending Vulchers.

November 16, 2007

I remember it well. Sitting there in a classroom at Rick’s College surrounded by 30 or so giddy college students discussing our upcoming sacred marriage vows in a CREDITED college course entitled “Dating and Marriage Prep”.

The instructor laid out the main reasons married couples fight and at the very top were “Finances” and “Family Holidays”. VERY CLEARLY I remember this. “Family Holidays” she said and she warned. And I remember hearing her say that and then thinking to myself “Mike is so hot. He is so everything. So hot and so spiritual too. Mike can be hot and spiritual at the same time. I think I’ll tell him tonight when we have our scripture study session together how spiritually hot he is.”

And after class when we were walking across campus holding hands but leaving enough room between us for the Holy Ghost to be there we discussed the notion of Families and Holidays being an issue.

So, your parents, what are their names? Are they crazy about holidays?

That’s EXACTLY what I was thinking!

And so was our preparatory period for marriage. We really weren’t all that concerned. We knew what we were doing, thankyouverymuch.

And to our credit, and our families credit, we have not had ANY issues with holidays whatsoever over the last 6 years. It just always seemed to work out just fine. We’d head down to Utah for one holiday, stay in Boise for another, go to my Mom’s for the morning and then my Dad’s for the evening etc….

But then it happened.

The motherload.

The Big Family Holiday Fight.

I’m not even sure how it happened. Truly, as most big fights are like that, you’re in the throes of it, freaking out and then you go “What are we even fighting about? How did this start? What’s happening? I don’t know but it’s obviously really important to me that I win so I will continue to be mad.”

And we were mad.

Mike was under the impression that Thanksgiving was HIS family Holiday this year. I had already told my family that we would at least be stopping by THEIR Thanksgiving dinner this year. And so then it was the battle of the families. And we NEARLY had to go to emergency marriage counseling THAT VERY NIGHT. Because I am not usually a cryer. I don’t cry. I am a robot. I have no feelings or emotion, just sarcasm. But I cried. And don’t feel bad for me just yet because I then proceeded to scream a big giant “F YOU” at Mike and slam the door.

These things happen.

And we actually laughed about it a few hours later when we reminisced on how the last time I did that was when we were first married and Mike wouldn’t stop playing his video game and come sit with me by the bath. I wanted him to SIT next to the Bath and TALK with me WHILE I was in the Bath and he WOULDN’T so I screamed F YOU at him and then stormed out of the house. You can see the ramifications of marrying a teenage bride, yes?

But we hashed out the fight. Thanks to Mike again. He always fixes it usually by injecting me with a tranquilizer but nonetheless, it’s fixed. And even at the end when little bits of craziness were still erupting out of my mouth like little aftershocks, things like “NO! I WANT to go to your family’s house now. I WANT TO GO! I DEMAND that we go! I change my mind!” He knew what to do. He shushed me like Cesar Milan does with those little yippy dogs.

“But I…” Sh!

“I’m seriou…..” Sh!

Sh!

That’s enough!

November 14, 2007

This is so fun! I love giving stuff away! We should do this more often.

The winner is Misty! Congratulations!

Misty had this to say from the Love Thy Neighbor Giveaway Post:

Hmmm…
I have a few, but here is my WORST… (It could be a sitcom)

We lived in an apartment building. there were 12 units in our building. We lived on the third floor. There were relatively normal people in two of those apartments, but in the one directly across from us, the woman (in her early 50’s) would wait until my husband was using our shared laundry room (shared for the entire building) and run around the building in her bra…
On the next floor we had a man named Chris, who seemed nice enough. Across from him a very kind lesbian couple. Their side of the building seemed fine, but the two apartments on the other side were another story. In one apartment we had the 400 pound African American man who bred pitbulls (in his little 600 sq ft. apartment) and dealt meth for additional income. He was nice enough to us, despite his shady visitors. The real problem was his girlfriend, white and of equal weight. She was mean, and would scream and yell all of the time. She would randomly key cars of the people who walked passed their doorway “unkindly.” (we never knew what that was.) They both kicked and beat the PB puppies and, to top it off, she was pregnant.
Across the hall from them was this woman who, you can google yourself, is the coffin lady. (Her name is MORDAUNT, I THINK.) She drove a hearse, furnished her home in coffins and made a living selling coffin shaped gems. She was utterly creepy and, although nice enough to my husband, VERY hateful towards me all of the time.
Along with her coffin shaped gems, she also dealt in these dolls called Living Dead Dolls, where a demon was apparently attached to each hideously ugly doll… She had just as much visiting traffic as the meth dealer, only her “guests” were WAY Scarier…
On the bottom we had various retired couples and then this girl named Michelle. Michelle was GREAT. Loved her. Got to know her and her kids. Found out she was dating Chris (from the second floor.) The more we got to know them, the more we loved them…
Until she got pregnant, and he beat her, and she started running to us at all hours of the night, and involving the police. And taking him back. EVERY NIGHT this occurred. He busted down her door one night. She crawled through a window when he thought she was locked in her room, and ran up to us. (her kids in their beds…) When he figured it out, He busted down OUR door and proceeded to rip our phone out of the wall when we went to call 911, threaten all three of our lives (daughter included) and dragged her out by her hair and pushed her down the stairs. She survived but was badly wounded and lost the baby.
No one could force her to to press charges, but we obviously did file them… and they were so mad at us, (how dare we!!!) that they moved out and bought a house together. Somehow we became their bad neighbor story.

So, we consider the entire building (where we lived for two years) to be a our bad neighbor…

All of your stories were incredible and your “street survivor” scenarios hilarious. I am still laughing from all the awesome comments. I just have immense Battle Station love for you all right now, thanks for playing.

November 12, 2007

This 3 year old:

This one right here! Officially and completely diaper free at night now.

Awesome. Who knew life could be so amazing? Diaper free life is amazing.

She was so excited telling me that she wears no diapers JUST LIKE YOU MOM! And then I freaked her out by mentioning in her presence the few days that Mommy had to wear grown up diapers after giving birth. Mike started laughing remembering his run to the store to buy Depends. Delaney started crying.

Oh and LAST DAY to comment on the Love Thy Neighbor Giveaway! I’ll turn comments off tonight!

November 10, 2007

Watching Alice in Wonderland with Delaney, Mike pauses the Movie and turns to me.

Do you know why a Mad Hatter was called a Mad Hatter?

No.

Because they used Mercury sticks to make the hats stand up. The Hat Makers were touching Mercury so often that it was making them go insane. People would call them Mad Hatters since all Hat Makers eventually went crazy. They couldn’t figure it out forever.

That’s really sad. Poor hat makers. I didn’t know that.

Ya. There’s so much I could teach you if you would only let me. It’s really just mind boggling all that you need to learn in life.

Don’t start, you’ll lose remember?

Like a child, so young and impressionable. You’re so lucky to have me.

MmmHmm, Hey, what’s that state on the east coast? Where Boston is?

Massatuchitts. crap. Massatuchitts. crap. MASS-A-TU- crap. MASS-A-Chu-Tu crap. Fine. You win.

November 9, 2007

I really tried today to put together a really interesting and witty post for you all but after sitting here for 30 minutes trying to come up with something to brighten your day and make you laugh, I have nothing. Which nothing is common material used on this blog, but today, really, nothing is nothing.

All I came up with was to tell you that the child we almost adopted earlier this year has been on my mind lately. Actually, really, his MOTHER has been on my mind lately.

I’m not sure why. I occasionally think about Mom and Baby, usually right around mid-month when he was scheduled to be born. This month marks 6 months. He is 6 months old this month. I try to picture a sweet little pudgy 6 month old, right at that age when they start jabbering and moving around so much and I take that little image and try to send that baby some love from us, his almost family.

But I always envision B, his Momma and wonder how she is feeling about motherhood. I hope she is eternally grateful that she didn’t place her son and I hope she’s happy. I hope she’s being the great Mom that I knew she could be. I wouldn’t know though because of the two adoption agencies that stand in the middle of our knowing if B is okay and B knowing that we love and support her. So…… it’s only a hope that she’s doing well.

We were told by the agencies that it was none of our business anymore and to back off, so that’s what we’ve done. And I may have been overstepping my bounds but I tried to find her on my own. I searched the local newspaper in the hopes that his birth announcement was published by the hospital, I googled what information I had but never found a thing. And I know the system is set up this way on purpose, so that a Mother doesn’t ever have to be found if she doesn’t want to be, this protects her, but, protects her from what? In our case, it’s from knowing that the family she thinks she “led on” and “lied to” about raising her son is actually extremely proud of her and happy with her decision.

Oh well.

I’m happy with my daydreams. I just wish we could be there for her if she needed it, but I suppose it could just confuse her even more. Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe I’ll never know.

But B, if you’re out there, I know it’s hard being a young Mom, a single young Mom. And I know that you probably have moments, most likely in the middle of the night when your baby won’t stop crying, that you wonder what it would have been like to go through with the placement you almost went through with. But if I was on the phone with you during those moments, I would tell you are a good Mom, that your son wants YOU and that EVERY Mom has a cry-spell crisis to work through. Sometimes just crying right along with them is your only option. Six months and counting, you didn’t think you could do this and you’re doing it. Keep going, you’ll be just fine. And call me anytime. Screw the agencies.

Your friend and cheerleader,

Jamie