I have been a bad blogger these last few days. I'm hardly posting here, I'm hardly replying to any comments, or even acknowledging comments to new visitors to my site (who I love!!! Welcome!!!) I've been reading all my favorite blogs on my google reader, but not taking the time to comment. And little updates here and there have been ignored. I mean, Scooby has been two for several weeks now and Lil' Dude is not only 10 months old now, but his nickname has been changed to "Fuzzles." But have I updated that information? No. And when was the last time I updated my bloglights? It's been weeks!
How do you people put up with me?
By way of explanation, I have a confession.
Brillig has a secret.
Acknowledgement of this secret on my part will require a little bit of work on your part. Still wanna know?
Today is my three month bloggiversary, and to celebrate, I'm going to dump it.
I feel quite savvy with Blogger. Everything you see here, I did myself. My banner, my color scheme, my buttons and slide shows and widgets. I can hardly bear to dump all of this and go on to the unknown world of my own site, and yet I feel that it is time, once and for all.
Many of you know that I've been contemplating the dump for some time now. And, in all honesty, I'd bought myself a domain quite a while back that I've just been sitting on. Okay--not just sitting on. I've been tinkering away at it like mad. I wasn't, and am still not, quite geek enough to just buy a domain and have it up and running the next day!
Today, it is finally "up and running" as it were. Don't get me wrong. It isn't aesthetically pleasing nor is it very high tech. Yet. I'm really just getting my feet wet. But if you're willing to put up with my tinkering and template changes and page additions, then I'm ready for you to make the great leap with me.
So, here it is in all its glory:
Now, won't you change your bookmarks and your link lists for me? PLEASE? Even though I've been a very bad blogger for the last little while? (And yes, I will be obsessively checking my technorati to see who's playing. hahahaha.)
And now, by way of disclaimer, I must throw in a word about WordPress. I think WordPress and I are going to get along swimmingly. But as many of you know, if you host your own site and put WordPress on it, your easy options are extremely limited, as opposed to sites that have wordpress.com in the URL. So please be patient with me while I try to get my site looking cool without all the magic that comes included in the wordpress.com sites! Keep in mind that I'm doing this all by myself... and I'm not very smart!
As for the title of this post, these are the very words that I uttered last night while Hubby was giving me some geek-pointers and a lamp suddenly fell over and hit me in the head. I was in a bit of shock, after feeling quite frazzled anyway, and the utterance was intended to be profound. Hubby, being the kind, supportive, understanding man that he is, busted up laughing at me. So I give it to you now, so you know a bit about what this blog-switch is doing to my brain.
Hey. What are you doing here still? Go! Hie thee forth to my new blog!
I can barely recall when I was very little and my parents actually shared a bed. It was a giant king size bed that we all loved to jump on.
But soon they went to separate beds. Twin beds, scooted right next to each other. That way, each could feel free to toss and turn without fearing waking up the other or having their blanket stolen.
My mother had her own room right next to mine--a study, where her computer and books and endless piles of professor-stuff all lived. At some point, a bed was put in there. And then, slowly but surely, her clothing and other personal items began to migrate there. Eventually she just began sleeping there full time.
I never worried that my parents had stopped liking each other or anything like that. Believe me, there was no mistaking their mutual adoration. But my dad liked to stay up late watching TV and sleep in in the morning while my mom liked to go to bed while the sun was still up and wake up long before the sun rose in the morning. Plus, Dad snored, and Mom had to pee twelve or thirteen times a night (okay, that's possibly a slight exaggeration, but still...) so the separate bedrooms thing really worked for them.
I understood why they did that, but I thought, "man, when I'm married, I'll want to snuggle next to my husband all night long. No WAY would I want separate beds, let alone separate bedrooms!"
When Hubby and I were first married, we went to an out-of-town family reunion and stayed in a hotel. Hubby's sister and her husband, who'd been married for nearly ten years, were in the room next to us. Each room had two queen beds. Hubby and I put our luggage on one, and slept together in the other. So we were FLABBERGASTED to see that Hubby's sis and her husband decided to each sleep in their own beds. Hubby made a comment, poking fun at them, and they both exclaimed over how wonderful it was to spread out and have their own beds!
Anyway, the years have gone by and I love Hubby even more than ever, but I also enjoy spreading out in a big bed all by myself. I certainly don't sleep snuggled up next to Hubby when we're in the same bed, the way I'd romanticized things as a teen. No--we each claim a side and once it's time to sleep, no one crosses the imaginary line between us.
But this last week (as I have mentioned ad nauseum) I've been sick. I keep us both awake all night with my constant coughing and puking and tossing and turning. So I've sent him to the guest room so that he can get some semblance of sleep before he has to show up at work in the morning (he gets the guest room because he thinks the mattress in there is more comfortable, not because I've banished him there against his will or anything...)
And guess what? We're enjoying it. LOVING it, in fact. I see, talk, play, and snuggle with him all I want to, but then at bedtime we go our separate ways. Right now, we're just doing it because I'm sick. But once I'm better, will we go back to the old way? I don't know! I really think that separate bedrooms means more freedom with my time (and my overhead light and TV remote) and we both get a better night's sleep, and our relationship doesn't suffer--in fact, it may even benefit from it.
So, Mom. Dad. Sorry I laughed at you. I get it now. I really do!
Well, I went to the doctor on Friday, after having the night from hell. I suspected strep, since it's the only thing I knew of that could go from sore throat to puking and back to sore throat again. ("Sore throat" doesn't even really seem to scratch the surface of what this feels like!) Fortunately, my dear mother-in-law watched the kiddos for me so that I could go a little more easily.
On my way, I decided to stop in at my old house to gather some more stuff up and I was going to clean out the van and get the oil changed (just because a girl is sicker than a dog doesn't mean she doesn't have things that simply must be done!) Upon arriving at the "old house," I had to go to the bathroom--and thank goodness I did! Heretofore unbeknownst to me, I was covered in blood. Sweet little Aunt Flo had picked just this moment to express herself--all over my jeans. I had no back-up for such a thing. It was totally unexpected. I haven't had a real period since my latest miscarriage three months ago. I felt like I was in Jr. High school again. What to do? I couldn't go out like this, but I couldn't just not go to the doc either!
I scoured the basement to see if somehow I'd left anything wearable. Finally I found something. An old box full of clothes that I was way too familiar with.
My maternity clothes.
In desperation, I found something that hopefully didn't make me look too pregnant (though with my current configuration of body fat, I pretty much look pregnant all the time...) and off I went to the doc.
After sitting in the waiting room for a FULL HOUR, I was seen. The friendly nurse stuck her little magic wand into my ear and cheerfully announced that I had no fever.
I considered beating her to a bloody pulp.
Because even the slightest touch to my forehead would confirm that I did indeed have a TERRIBLE fever.
Stupid nurse. But the doctor was actually really great. She commented on my obvious fever, and even said, "oh wow. Oh WOW!!!" while she looked at my throat. Somehow I needed that validation! I needed her to look at me and say, "of COURSE you feel like crap! You're SICK!" In the end, it was determined that both of my ears are infected and I do, indeed, have strep.
I called Hubby with the news, and learned that he too was feeling sick and had a sore throat. He wasn't nearly to the stage that I was, but I still made him go to the instacare on the way home and get tested for strep so that he could start on an antibiotic before he got too much worse. His strep test came up negative, but the doc gave him a prescription of antibiotics anyway because if he had a fever and a sore throat and his wife had strep, what were the chances that he didn't?
Yesterday we went to a big family party at Hubby's parents' house--a Father's Day celebration. I didn't think I could miss it. By the time we came home, after hours of chasing and disciplining children, cooking, setting up chairs, socializing in those high-pitched cheery "oh-you're-so-darling" tones, cleaning up, and single handedly washing all of the dishes, I was dead. Though I do not have first-hand experience, I suspect that I felt the way one might feel after cooking in a microwave for a few hours.
Therefore, wasn't it a lovely treat that Scooby decided that he too was sick last night. Hubby was up with him for the first half of the night and I took my shift for the second half. He screamed and screamed and tugged at his ears. His skin felt like a furnace.
So this morning, when my other dear children "pleasantly" surprised me by waking up at the crack of dawn, I knew that I'd have to make some phone calls and take Scooby in to the doctor--an adventure that seemed absolutely unconquerable, since I didn't feel like I could even put one foot in front of the other, let alone haul four little ones all the way across town.
But it had to be done, so I did it.
And wouldn't you just know it, that by the time we got to the doctor's office, he'd made a miraculous recovery. POOF! In what can hardly be called an "examination," the doctor determined that he had no fever, no sore throat, no sore ears. "Call us if he acts sick," she said, trying not to sound condescending (but failing). With an office full of doctors and nurses staring at me with that look of, "why did she even bring him in here?" I trotted off with my healthy children.
Of course, now that he's home, he has a fever.
Gotta love it.
Oh, and that pile of hair on the floor? Yah, that's mine. I'm ripping it out by the handfuls right about now...
Soap Opera Sunday and Chad part 2 (part one is here)
I know that some of you were casting bets that Chad was gay. I'm so sorry to disappoint, but he wasn't. Believe me, a big chunk of my life would have been a lot easier if he had been!
No, actually he'd fallen for me. I'm not sure how or why, especially since every girl in the apartment complex, not to mention anyone who had a class with him, or, well, anyone who walked past him in the hallway, had a thing for him.
It made me the object of much cattiness and snippiness. Stupid, silly, girl-stuff. I didn't mind, at first. It just meant that they were all jealous. But because BYU operated on an "Honor Code" system, we were all sort of encouraged to spy on each other and report when someone broke the rules. And having a group of girls with a grudge against me would turn out to be an unfortunate thing.
Chad and I began spending a lot of time together. A lot. We never "defined the relationship" or anything silly like that. We were just having fun. On the surface I think that we thought we had a lot in common, but the more we got to know each other, the more we realized how completely different we were.
One night, he and I were at my apartment watching a movie and I fell asleep. I woke up to hear my roommate interrogating him. I could hardly believe that she thought it was any of her business to ask him such things, but since I too wanted to know the answers, I pretended to still be asleep as I listened in.
What I learned from their conversation was that he'd stopped believing in God. He wasn't sure he'd ever believed. What you need to know about BYU is that nearly everyone there is Mormon, and on top of that I knew he'd served a mission for the Church, so I had just made assumptions about his beliefs--that they were identical to mine. But I realized we'd never actually talked about it.
As their conversation continued, he admitted that he was finding himself falling completely in love with me, but he knew that I was extremely religious and that I would want a certain kind of wedding ceremony and a certain kind of lifestyle, but going through with that would feel like total hypocrisy on his part and he couldn't do it.
At some point, my roommate told him, "well, I don't think she's even thinking about marriage right now! I mean, she just turned 18!"
Ummm, ooops? I guess I'd forgotten to mention that part. I hadn't tried to hide it. In fact, I was quite proud to be the only female freshman in the Foreign Language Housing. It was a true honor to be there for anyone, but it was almost unheard of for freshmen to be admitted*. I just assumed he knew that about me. He was 25. Apparently our 7-year age difference was a little too much for him.
*Before you are impressed with my accomplishment of being accepted, please know that it had nothing to do with my own merits, and everything to do with who my Daddy was and who his connections were. My Italian sucked. I had NO business being there and I was painfully aware of it. Still, it made me LOOK smart and talented.
Looking back, I think I would have been ready to break up with him if I hadn't heard this conversation. We really weren't very good together and we really didn't have much in common. Making-out was fun, but not worth staying together over.
But sitting there, listening to him give my roommate his list of objections over me, was the same as him issuing me a challenge. I said to myself, "My religion bothers you? My age bothers you? Hmmmm. We'll just see about that."
Picture me, then, arching my eyebrows, tapping my fingertips together, and chanting, "he will be mine. Oh yes, he will be mine."
Let the unhealthiness begin.
Just wanted to pop in and wish a Happy Father's Day to all the wonderful dads in my life. Each one is so amazing in his own way.
First, my own Dad: The smartest, kindest, gentlest man on earth. He's in Spain right now--I just got an email from him. My heart aches for how much I miss him. I'm definitely Daddy's little girl, even at 28 years old!
Next, my Father-In-Law: I never expected to love "someone else's Dad" so much, but I do. He has been such a great friend to me and so generous and helpful. My children adore him and he adores them back. I love him for being such a devoted Grampa.
And then, of course, my darling Husband: I thought I loved this man with all my heart the day I married him, but I didn't even know what love was until the first time I saw him holding our first baby. I cry every time (including right now!) I think about the way he walked around with her, moments after she was born, singing "Getting to Know You." A new life was born that day, along with a whole new depth of my love for him. And with every baby, that love just deepens. He is Super Dad. He takes his turn getting up in the night with sick babies, he helps put them in bed, he spoon feeds, he takes them on outings. They love him as much as he loves them. How could they not?
Happy Father's Day, Guys!!!
It started as a sore throat a couple of days ago with a bit of a cold, and yesterday the fever hit. Then the diarrhea, of course, because life would be too easy without that. And then, the vomiting began. I was up all night throwing up.
Somewhere during the night, I had the strange and rare pleasure of blowing vomit out my nose.
Gentle Readers, I am sick.
I can barely talk which, frankly, is good news for my children because they're driving me crazy but I can't scream at them!
Also, I don't have my scanner set up here yet, nor do I really have any idea where my pictures are, so rather than Flashback Friday, I'm going to go with a meme that Paige tagged me for. It's kinda flash-backy, and requires much less effort and thought from me in my thoughtlessness today.
What were you doing 10 years ago?
Ten years ago I was not quite 19 years old. Oddly enough, I was living in the city that I've now just moved to. I was finishing up my freshman year of college, going to summer school and taking my first Spanish class. I had just been thrown out of the Foreign Language Housing and very soon I would be thrown out of BYU all together. Ahhhh, the sweet memories. Hahaha. Oh, and I was making out with everyone. Okay, not everyone. I had two criteria--they had to be male and they had to be hot. Still, there were PLENTY to choose from. Hahahaha.What were you doing 1 year ago?
One year ago I was 6 months pregnant with Lil' Dude. I was traipsing all over the place with my little kiddos and my big fat pregnantness.
Five Snacks You Enjoy:
- string cheese
- saltine crackers
- Dr. Pepper
Five Songs That You Know All The Lyrics To:
Um, since I know all the lyrics to pretty much every song I listen to, how 'bout I randomly pick the first five songs from my iTunes--I'll put it on shuffle.
- Phantom Limb, by The Shins
- I Will, by the Beatles (okay, fine. This one didn't come up on my iTunes--it's right where Paige wrote it. Still, it's one of my favs and I didn't think I could just delete it... )
- Lonely in your Nightmare, by Duran Duran
- Change Your Mind, by The Killers
- Chocolate, by Snow Patrol
Okay, interesting sampling there... Not entirely indicative of my musical tastes, but still. I DO know every world to each of these!
Five Things You Would Do If You Were a Millionaire:
- Travel--show my kids the world!
- Donate a big chunk to my Church
- Buy a summer home and a winter home
- Buy cool stuff for my summer home and winter home
- liposuction, baby.
Five bad habits:
- I only talk about my good qualities, which leads my readers to erroneously believe that I'm cool
- My writing is full of typos, but I'm always correcting other people's grammar and punctuation
- I eat too much chocolate
- I drink too much Dr. Pepper
- I scream at my kids
Five Things You Like To Do:
- eat chocolate
- blog/read other people’s blogs
- Snuggle with Hubby
- Take the kids out to play
Five Things You Would Never Wear Again:
- Florescent t-shirts
- floral prints
- skin-tight anything
- a bikini (I'm okay with all my stretch marks, but I don't have to honor the world with them)
- sleeveless, strapless, too short, too low, etc.
Five Favorite Toys:
- On-demand TV
- digital camera
- All of my kids
- My Blog
- Your Blog
Five people to tag: (apologies if you’ve already done it)
My mother, who I love dearly, is crazy.
First, let me review. I have mentioned before that my mother is one of those exceptionally beautiful human beings. Every day, people come up to me and exclaim over her gorgeousness. At 65 years old, she still turns the heads of many--I have watched men flirt with her all my life, including men that you would never expect to see "flirting" due to age and station in life. My dad jokes that he looks more like her father than like her husband. hahaha. He's not too far off, poor guy!
A large part of her beauty can be attributed to good luck and the laws of genetics. The rest should be attributed to daily yoga, meditation, and all the crazy crap she eats.
My mother is mostly vegan and won't eat any salt or fat. And she has a bit of an obsession with the word "organic." Anything processed, refined, altered, or "unnatural" is OUT.
Beauty is just a pleasant result of this craziness. She does it because she's obsessed with health. But, as I have learned, even obsessions with health can be incredibly unhealthy.
Every once in a while, I've tried to eat the way she does. I've come to the conclusion that it's not humanly possible. I mean, I'm all for "healthy" but she has taken this to outlandish extremes.
This week, I am the lucky inheritor of her kitchen. She removed much of her food, but left some stuff around "just in case" I might want it. She then instructed me to throw away anything that I think I won't use.
Brace yourselves, Gentle Readers.
This is a fair sampling of things that I found in her cupboard (minus the long list of crazy herbal tea that had already found a new home in the garbage can before I decided to take this picture). Organic everything, of course. But it's not just "organic"--it's Organic Sauerkraut. Seriously???? Or the Organic Almond Butter, with the $29 price tag still on it. And I have no idea what Organic Sesame Tahini is, but I have a strange feeling that I wouldn't like it very much... And the goat milk. Don't even get me started on the goat milk. I encountered probably twenty cans of the stuff. Because apparently, if you MUST drink or cook with milk, it should ONLY be organic goat milk...
The fridge and freezer were filled with similar treasures, like organic whole grain wheatsprout bread, tofu of all varieties, and let us not forget the wide variety of home-sprouted grains.
You'll be happy to know that I'm keeping some of this stuff! You'll also be happy to know that I'm tossing most of it to make room for macaroni and cheese, rice-a-roni, Lucky Charms, and ice cream!!!!
My mother would have a heart attack if she saw how I've disgraced her kitchen. Sorry, Mama, but this ain't your kitchen anymore...
Really, I love the idea of being beautiful like my mother, but NOT at that price!!!
My intentions were good. I thought I was being so helpful. O, foul wretch that I am, I never meant for this to happen.
Frankly, George stank. A lot. "He needs a bath," I explained to his friend and owner, Scooby. I've given George a "bath" before and it was inconsequential. He came out sparkling clean and smelling less like... well... a two-year-old boy's favorite toy.
George was given his name because, as far as Scooby is concerned, ALL monkeys are named George. He is my son's beloved friend, confidant, and bodyguard. George can do no wrong. And I appreciate George too, because of the level of comfort that he gives to my Scooby, particularly during difficult transitions (moving from one home to another, for instance...). George is a constant companion, and sleep comes to a screeching halt when he's missing.
It took much convincing for Scooby to allow me to bathe George. As you all know, reasoning with a two-year-old is an exercise in futility. Grudgingly, Scooby eventually allowed me to put George into the washer. But he was NOT pleased with me.
And thus, Gentle Readers, you can only imagine my horror when, upon opening the washer half an hour later, I found soggy bits of George, strewn here and there, no longer attached to each other.
George is dead.
I murdered him.
Now he is dead, now he is fled, his soul is in the sky.
I shall take up this stuffed animal and bear him to the tomb.
And then... I'll have to find a way to let Scooby know of his mother's villainy.
There are likely to be many, many sleepless nights around here.
One of these days I will post a real post. One of these days I will tell you about the sliver in my daughters foot that sent us to the Urgent Care after-hours place an hour away, because I couldn't get it out the old fashioned way. One of these days I'll catch up on reading and commenting on all of my favorite blogs, as well as making the correct changes to my blogroll. And one of these days I'll tell you about my father-in-law's retirement party which I'm just now getting back from, that I hauled all of my kids to all by myself with the youngest two snugly nestled into the stroller only to find out that the party was on the top floor and there was NO ELEVATOR. And one of these days I'll catch up on my soap opera Sunday about Chad that I started last week but didn't do anything on this week! And maybe, just MAYBE, one of these days I'll tell you how the move went--but first, I'll have to move. (Tomorrow is the BIG DAY!!) And maybe at some point I will do something about all my children--who I can hear screaming their heads off. And maybe one day I'll even post some pictures.
But not today.
But I did want to pop in and post a great big THANK YOU to everyone for all of your emails and your notes and your well-wishes. I have the absolute greatest blog-buddies ever. Thanks for being so wonderful! How did I survive for so many years without you?