Women and Education Conference at BYU

I'm thrilled to be speaking at the Women and Education Conference at BYU this Friday, March 8th along with some great friends: Courtney Kendrick, Amy Hackworth, and Sarah Z. Wiley. 

I have a lot of energy around making sure women pursue and accomplish their educational goals. I didn't title my session, but there's certainly plenty to share around what professional and personal dreams have to do with education. 

If you know a woman attending BYU, please let them know! If you're a woman considering how a degree could fit into her life plans and will be going to college soon, there will be a lot to learn as well. It's free and no registration is required.

If you're interested in balancing family, work, and church, you should come, too (chances are you already know about the rewards and challenges and you've heard it all before, so maybe just come and take a siesta? You've earned it.)

2013 Women and Education Conference

10am Keynote Address - Courtney Jane Kendrick 3222 WSC

11am: Megan Faulkner Brown 3222 WSC, Jennifer Brinkerhoff Platt 3224 WSC, Caitlin Connolly 3220 WSC

12pm: C. Jane Kendrick 3222 WSC, Amy Hackworth 3224 WSC , Carina H. Wytiaz 3220 WSC

1pm: Katie Liljenquist 3222 WSC, Grad Student Panel 3223 WSC, Sarah Wiley 3220 WSC

Traveling with Eric Dowdle

I got a phone call a little while ago from the producer of Traveling with Eric Dowdle: Would I like to come down to the studio and be on the program? Oh, and by the way, I'd be appearing on a travel trivia segment.

I think the right answer is YES! I didn't know that the topic would be on....Florida.

Oh, Florida! The state I married into!

When I told Joe that they were inviting me to talk about Key West, he gave me a funny look. "You're the expert on Key West in this house?" He asked, one eye squinting in unbelief.
"I'm the expert on everything," I answered, daring him to prove how his actual trips to the Keys were more relevant than my cursory study of the area and a mostly vague knowledge of some sort of Hemingway tie-in.

Besides, I had Eric's handy folk art painting of Key West to help me out, right? 

I had so much fun taping the show. Eric is a total character, he and his producers put on a great show about traveling to great locales. Dowdle travels all the world and creates a painting of his destination with landmarks and points of interest. I've seen his art all over, and it was great fun putting a face to a name. I hope they are kind enough to have me back someday. 

 E.G. came with me and was quiet as a mouse sitting in the studio while the rest of the guests and I competed on the trivia challenge. He had a capital time and keeps asking when we're going to do a radio show again!

You can listen to the Key West show here, or tune into Eric's show as it airs on Sirius XM radio 143 BYU Radio.

Hour, Minute, Second

I'm ruled by the clock. My watch, my cell phone, my computer, my clocks, the time is in perpetual view. I'm constantly looking to see what the time it is and adjusting. I have 15 minutes to do the dishes. I have 20 minutes to get completely ready. It will take 17 minutes to work if I make this light. 45 minutes to write this collateral. 14 minutes to the meeting. 60 minutes to finish this project before I have to leave. 90 minutes to sew a costume, add 10 minutes of putting away, if we're all lucky. The entire day was scheduled to the minute, and I felt it. Moments of panic threatened to overwhelm as the clock counted down to the next project, the next chore, the next interview.

At the end of the day there was never enough time to do everything I needed, let alone wanted to do. I'd decide to ignore the clock at some point during the evening. And as the night turned into morning, my useless fight with time would stalemate with me exhausted and further behind than ever.

And then one day, I didn't have a schedule.

I had commitments, but not a schedule. We had breakfast. We went to the dentist. We stopped by the grocers. I didn't have to speed to make a light and fear losing 5 minutes. I could take as much time as I wanted to clean the kitchen. Dinner prep could start and stop since I didn't have to have it all on the table in less than 30 minutes. Entire stretches of the day passed when I didn't know what time it was or what would be happening next. I felt the oppression of time float off to bother another soul.

The breathes came slower and longer.

I listened.

And I like it.







Are you still watching American Idol? Huge swathes of my friends have sworn off the show, for probably good reasons. Every week I hate half the performances because the children picked a song that was all wrong. (Here's a hint: if Aretha sings it, YOU CAN'T.) Would you indulge me? Last night was R&B theme. If you would've been performing, what song would you have chosen? My choice? Tyrone by Erykah Badu.

Obligatory Halloween Pictures

Last week's madness has vanished, replaced by a beautiful indian summer, all the leaves we could ever hope to rake, and a pile of empty Whopper wrappers. 

I stayed up late to make sugar cookies for El Guille's school class.  I was to bring them to school for the kids to decorate as part of the Halloween party. I was also a little nervous since I've never been a room mother before. From what I remember of room mothers, they were the ones responsible for dying the milk green at my second grade St. Patrick's Day party that turned into my lifelong fear of artificially-colored foods. Hey, that's me! I am shaping the future neuroses of our children!


Proximo pitched a fit because he wanted to help a student decorate his cookie for him. The other kid, surprisingly, didn't want help from a 2-year-old. Proximo, who will not take no, logic, or attention diversion for an answer, was beside himself with anguish. "But I want to HEeeelp him! I hep! I hep" he sobbed. I resorted to stuffing M&Ms into his mouth to stop the crying. It worked. Must start carrying M&Ms with me at all times. 

E.G. was in the third group of kids to decorate. He walked into the art room and was so excited to see me, "Hey everyone! This is my MOM!" Everyone nodded a little, because moms are nothing new, and got down to decorating their cookies with black sparkle gel and orange frosting. "My mom makes the best cookies EVER!" E.G. declared. I nearly died on the spot from happy-shock with complications of bursting heart.
"Who here thinks my mom makes the best cookies, raise your hands!" Three or four kids, who have not even tried the cookies, raised their hands. Thanks for the votes, kids.

I made the kids eat oatmeal for breakfast and then raw vegetables for dinner two days straight. True story.  That way I felt less guilty about the volume of junk they were about to consume.

I made Proximo's costume. He went as a crayon. 

Here's a before shot of his teeth so when they rot out by next Thursday, we have a memory of pearly whites past:

El Guille went as an army guy. He begged for two months. I think it was mostly a ruse to get a gun.

(He didn't get a gun.)

He did, however, get an ACU (Active Combat Uniform) from Captain Galan and La Yen, stationed at Fort Bliss.  They are the exact same uniforms as the real soldiers wear, down to the fabric and number of pockets. "If these are camouflage, mom, then how do they find their friends?"
Good question, we might have to ask the captain.

E.G. was so excited that he wore the costume for three days. I even put him on latrine duty so he could have the full experience. He woke me up by standing next to my bed in his gear. "I bet you can't even see me right now, can you?" he giggled.
"Nope," I answered, "Who is even talking right now? I can't see anyone!"

What I didn't know, until I got to school on Friday, was that his best friend also dressed as an army guy so they could be soldiers together.

And YES, real soldiers wear cute black snow boots with fur sticking out the top (right?)

Boy, we had a lot of fun.

Especially Proximo, who spontaneously kissed several old women simply because they gave him candy.



Love these pictures? My sister took them.

From THE FUTURE

Yesterday, I was extremely annoyed because my phone kept losing network connectivity. I had to turn it off and on several times while driving in the car to try to get the phone to work. I finally ripped off the cover, took out the battery for a hard reboot, and then started laughing: I had a flashback to the early 80s when the idea of a car phone, a phone actually plugged into your car, was a thing of unimaginable wealth. I could never have imagined a future like the one I'm living.

1. Network connectivity on a phone.
I mean, WHAT? Can you recreate a scene where you tell yourself at the age of 13 what network connectivity is? Or that you will know how to solve it? Or that you will have to be solving it because you have a tiny cellular phone that you not only use in your car but could use anywhere you like should it actually connect to a network?

2. You'll know stuff about computers.
No really, self, you'll know things about computers that are completely unrelated to playing Frogger. Hardware, software, ports, RAM, you'll know the difference. In fact, you'll have three or four computers in your house at all times, some you can even walk around with and use at the same time. Your house will have zero disks, floppy or otherwise. You'll LIKE the computer.

3. Forget the mini TV dream.
I used to dream about a mini TV, especially those tiny, 2" screen TV watches. I remember looking at one in the Best Catalog and plotting how I could save up the impossible sum of $200 for my very own TV watch. Just think of the three channels I could watch at any time! The idea that I would be able to watch a TV show on my phone? Couldn't have conceived of it. Speaking of TV...

4. Pause live TV. Rewind live TV. Record a show while you're watching. You'll never miss a show and voluntarily toss your VCR.

5. Mix Tapes no longer exist in their pure form
You could make a mix tape for a friend without hours and hours of work and getting mad at the DJ who talks over the first part of the song setting you up for a dilemma worthy of Socrates' school: do you keep the imperfect track of Iko Iko, or hope that if you sit next to the radio long enough the DJ will play it again but this time without talking over the last 15 seconds? That entire set of problems is entirely erased.

6. You'll never want to go to a show of ______ on Ice, not ever.

7. Repetitive negotiations on bathroom behavior.
There will be a logical conversations with another human being about why he has to rip the toilet paper OFF of the roll before he uses it on his bum. Your entreaties will be summarily ignored.

8. That day planner you swear by? Useless.


9. You'll honestly not care what the head cheerleader thinks of you.
Really, about the popular girls, you won't care one bit. You'll hope they've had a nice life. If you ever see them again, you'll see that they're just people, and people whose opinions you'll value the same as everyone else's (maybe just a little less.)

10. Your mom? You kind of like her.
You have actual adult conversations. You voluntarily live only two blocks away and the world has not ended.


But hey, somethings don't change, like X96 is still playing the same songs on rotation as they were in 1992. I only heard Nirvana 17 times today on the station, maybe we could mix it up by throwing in some Chili Peppers? Soundgarden? Oh, good.

The Play Set Problem

We bought a play set for the new backyard. Well, my mother-in-law bought it for us (there might be a competition between my mom and his mom on who can buy us more things, this can only end well.)

The play set is the fully assembled display model at our neighborhood Lowe's. We had to call the manufacturer to actually purchase the set and on the receipt they pdf'd us (yes, a verb) it clearly stated "delivery is not included."

OK, no big deal.

I called Lowe's and explained that we'd purchased the set and could they arrange delivery. No problem, I was assured. I clarified that it was the display model. Again, no problem, just come into the store and pay the delivery fee.

I went to Lowe's to arrange for delivery a couple days later. At the store the manager informed me that they couldn't actually deliver the set since it was already fully assembled. And since the manufacturer had assembled the set, the manager didn't want his associates to disassemble the play set.

"But we aren't handy people," I explained.
"When people purchase fully assembled sheds it's the same thing," the manager explained, "One guy hired a crane and truck to lift the shed and transport it."

Uh, what? Even if that was in the realm of the every day possible, I'm not exactly sure how a crane could lift the play set over our narrow side yard and back fence and into place. The manager had no more answers for me. I couldn't spend any more time at the store, so I left in an extremely flummoxed state.

I'm not sure what to do.

We have a play set, it's just in the parking lot at Lowe's instead of at our house.

What would you do?






p.s. I'm too nervous to tell Other Half this story because he's had THREE run-ins with Lowe's this month over crappy service/product issues and this might send him over the edge.

I Surrender

I hit my zenith on Friday morning when I made the from-scratch candy cane cupcakes for El Guille's birthday at preschool. At 8:49, as the last candy cane slid into the cake, I gave up. No more.

It only took me two dozen months, but I'm joining Oh, Judy on her quest to lower the bar and be awesome.

This morning for breakfast the kids ate candy canes, some flat Sprite they found in the fridge, caramels, and dry Honey Nut Cheerios.

Instead of nutritious peeled apples, cheese crackers, or dried cranberries to buy their silence in church services, I doled out chocolate. You know what? They were just as bad as they always are, only WAY more quiet when I threatened to take the chocolates out of their mouths if they budged off the pew.

Yes, I even gave the toddler chocolate. I felt a little pang of guilt as I crammed a raspberry chocolate ball into his mouth, but sucking on that thing was the only thing that would shut him up. Don't get me started on the look the guy in front of me shoot us after Proximo made a resounding bang on the pew in front of us--with his head.

In full knowledge that my mother-in-law was coming to my house, I only cleaned the front half. I did not touch my bedroom. Well, that's not true, I made it worse by shoving all the things I couldn't figure out where to put from the kitchen/living into the bedroom. I even let the mother-in-law take us to Olive Garden and I didn't make a peep (about the wretched breadsticks, boring salad, or mushy pasta.) No, I gave up. Go ahead, let's order the "lasagna."

I bought a whole bunch of presents for friends that are not going to get mailed out before Christmas. Hey, they're purchased, they're just sitting on a shelf waiting until I get past this week of madness.

The tree. I quit.

I pasted a piece of paper to a card instead of hand-lettering it. I bet no one will notice. OK, let me change that, I bet everyone will notice, but they won't care.

So instead of getting working up and in a total panic because I have in-laws in town, sister's birthday, El Guille's birthday, work, wedding, sewing my dress, a hand-painted fondant wedding cake complete with spun sugar nest, flowers, presents to wrap, Christmas to pull off, and a household to keep running, I am raising the white flag.

And taking a deep breath...

All MacGyver'd

Tonight I ran into a very 21st century problem: my DVR was overbooked. I wanted to record both my regular Thursday shows and the football game. What was I to do? And then I remembered something..

"Hey self?"
"Hmm what? I'm busy."
"No, self, listen, remember that silver box in your room?"
"What, huh?"
"You know, the TV you bought your boyfriend in 1995 because you were sure you were getting married to him and didn't want to be one of those newlyweds without a TV?"
"Vaguely. Is that the one with the awesome wood paneling?"
"Yes, now focus, there's a silver box next to it, do you remember what it does?"
"Weren't we supposed to go to something today? Or was it cleaning the car? What's our position on sheet changing again?"
"THE VCR!"
"The what? Oh, right, VCRs...huh...we still have one of those?"
"Yes, silver box, and we need to use it."
"Uh, I don't think I remember how. And didn't our husband throw out all the video tapes? They're video tapes, right? That's what they were called?"
"Oh crap, you're right."
" 'When are we ever going to use these?' he said, 'Can you possibly think of a situation where we are going to sit down and watch Ishtar?' he said. Look who's wrong now."
"It doesn't matter, you are a terrible, forgetful housekeeper and there HAS to be a video tape someplace in this house that you can use to record ABC's prime time lineup."

I/we rummaged through the house and HA! I found a tape of The Pianist; it's the only remaining VHS in this humble abode.

I remember making an argument that I couldn't throw away The Pianist because I'd never even opened the package since it came home with me for free as part of a DVD rental special. (I don't know why, but Ishtar came home with me the same way and I didn't fight for it. Nothing personal, Ishtar, but one of you movies has to be the Sophie's Choice in this tale.)

From the deep reached of my subconscious I remembered: Being a legitimate movie, this VHS would have copy-protection, and I know how to get around it.

Oh yeah, remember the tape trick?

I am so cool.
(And so are you if you remembered how.)





Turns out I probably shouldn't have recorded the football game; it gave me heartburn and a serious case of the snotty "I-Told-You-So's" from Other Half.


Oh, and here's my broken pinky toe for those of you who love to engage in a little schadenfreude (don't deny it, it makes you seem cheap.)


I'll throw in the baby just for kicks.

Just Driving? Really? That's it?

When my office moved a couple months ago my commute doubled from 10 minutes to 20. This is a big deal for me. I once lived in North Orem; it took me 12 minutes to drive to work and it nearly killed me. I’ve gone, over the past few years, from a 3 minute, to a 6 minute, 8 minute, 10 and now to the 20 minute.

I know 20 minutes isn’t that long, but it’s really pushing it for me. I’ve heard about extreme commuters that go more than 90 minutes each way to get to work. I’d rather lie down in the middle of the freeway than commute 2 hours each way. I can’t possibly think of a job that would be worth that kind of time. What are you doing? Knitting moonbeams with the Dalai Lama?

I’ve been trying to adjust to the doubling of commute time. It stinks because on some days I have to drive back and forth twice--entirely taxing and obnoxious. Yesterday I decided it doesn’t completely stink, just mostly. For example, just to pick something out of the air, if you need to have a good cry, driving in the car is a great place to take care of that. As long as you’re not a messy crier it’s still socially acceptable to drive and cry (thanks text message police!) The best is that you’ve cried it out before you get home so you can concentrate on fixing dinner, cleaning the pee off the bathroom wall, and wondering which imaginary elf will fold and put away the laundry.

Today I answered the phone and took a survey on green energy/renewable resources. It turns out I’m pretty happy about my electric utility. Who knew?

I’d bet that you could also have conversations with people you will never meet and be utterly charming and witty, or give them a serious tongue lashing (All of my state’s congressmen and Robert Mugabe.)

You can swear, if you’re uncouth enough to do that, when people ignore the meter lights or try to pass you on the on-ramp by going on the shoulder.

I keep trying to think of other ways I could maximize my commute. How about if I save my makeup application for the car? I bet I could master merging and mascara. I should play 52 Card Pickup; it’s the perfect solo card game for traveling, talk about no set up time!

Are there other things I could be doing?

I’d love to hear about them, gentle reader.

You Can Doooo It

I dashed to an intimate dinner at our regular table with my girlfriends on Friday night. We drove up the canyon and watched the lights of little cabins appear and disappear. I had braved the city traffic earlier to reward T with imported French cheese I found at a neighborhood grocery. I traded the Camembert for a painting (I think I got the better end of the deal.) That’s the great thing about having a birthday so close to your friend’s: we trade goods with a giggle.

The three of us sat at the table and discussed items which I cannot divulge here (you’ll have to ask in person and I may ask for a retina scan.) I did get one emergency phone call to inform me that Baby Proximo had been crying for 3 hours so far and would I be so good as to return home? That is how I ended up jumping from T’s car in an intersection as the light turned green to get to my car A.S.A.P. Sorry, when my baby cries I say, “How high!”

Saturday night I braved Carrabba’s, which is always On Notice as far as I’m concerned. However, I’d even eat at California Pizza Kitchen if it was to be with my friends (dear friends, that’s hyperbole, I don’t ever want to eat at CPK.) I especially don’t want to eat at CPK if I happen to have forgotten to replace my breast pad and it fell on the floor and then stuck to my shoe so that I walked around CPK with a pink paper disc on my foot. Not that that actually happened or anything.

Tonight I did not win at Scrabble, but I did nearly finish a baby gift I am hand-quilting. This is usually the point in a project when I put it down, thinking it’s nearly finished, and never pick it up again. I’ve been using the quilt as stress relief. Is it strange that I’m making a baby quilt to give away when this quilt has become my security blanket? I don't care, I'm using it, the baby can just learn to share.

Is it right to be incredibly stressed on a Sunday night, well, Monday morning? By all rights, Sunday is the best day of the week, and Sunday night ought to be the cherry on top (except I don’t like cherries, so someone pick another analogy.) The little ones are in bed, the dinner is put away, the floors are clean, and I’m staring down the impending week like the freight train passing Folsom Prison.

My for-pay job is hitting crunch time and my for-love job has a mountain of laundry (who knew love meant clean socks?) I need to read Song of Solomon by next Tuesday, and I’ve been asked to speak in church in t-minus seven days.

Altogether now: I can do this!

Consecutive Hours

Oh friends! Oh countrymen! I am so loopy right now!

I have been awake now for 38 hours. Well, not entirely true, I did sleep for 1.5 hours (but not consecutively.) My best friend had her baby! Although I missed the big arrival because baby decided to come 30 minutes after I left! Yes, when I am this sleep deprived there are ! a lot! of exclamation points!! It’s like the happy police came to town. Yeah, I know that makes no sense, just go with it. (!)

Is there anything quite so cool as to be invited to someone’s birth day? OK, I know Other Half is making a face right now as birth days of any sort freak him out, no matter the participants. The granola in me reveled in the company of women, like we were hearkening back to yesteryear in the tent with the midwife. This is where my best friend would roll her eyes and say, “Dude, seriously? I had an epidural, quit with the granola crap.” She’d probably be right.

On my white-knuckle drive home (hour 22) I had a chance to watch the sun rise over the mountains. It looked cool. What, you want adjectives? Sorry, the adjectives were the first to be lost in the language-tangle of sleeplessness.

Other Half and I exchanged a quick peck as he went out the door as I came in. “What are you going to do? I’m worried,” he asked.
“I don’t know, it’s not like the rest of the day can stop, I still have a lot to do.”

I crashed. 30 minutes later my phone rang. My best friend called me to tell me that baby had his birth day. I, in my sleeping stupor said something like, “Yeah, that’s great, uhm, can I talk to you later, bye.” Seriously, self? Your friend calls to celebrate the new life that you, too, have been waiting on pins and needles to arrive and all you can say is “Uhm, can I talk to you later?” Smooth move.

I managed not to kill myself or the kids on the way to school and work. Yay me. I almost called in for the day off, but I had a Very Important Meeting in the afternoon.

I must explain that my job is not a mentally coasting job. I really have to think, and think hard. There are technical elements that are sometimes new to me and extensive requirements for documentation. Neither of those components is compatible with 30 hours of wakefulness. However, we have so much work to do, I could not afford to take the time out. I was taking notes in my meeting by hand after my laptop’s battery died. I was so tired I was writing down words that had nothing to do with the product we were discussing. I wrote the word “Bush” and have no idea why. The word in front of it was unintelligible, so nothing to be gained by context. I didn’t even know why I was writing "Bush" while I was forming the letters with my pen. “Why did I write that?” I said to myself, “That’s so weird. Did I mean the president?” Lesson to self: you simply cannot maintain mental acuity at 32 hours post sleep.

At hour 35 I found yet another uhm, I’ve lost the word I wanted. Let me try this again.

At hour 35, I got my seventh wind! I presented a skin care mini workshop to a youth church group. Oh, I was so funny! You should have heard my jokes, my anecdotes, my ‘relating’ to them through embarrassing things my mom did to me (oh so many!) When one girl asked, "What's a capillary?" I got up into her face, opened my eyes wide, and looked to the side to expose my bloodshot peepers. "See? Those are capillaries!" I said triumphantly.

They loved it! I loved them! And they loved me!

It’s possible after casting aside the prism of mania that I was not nearly as entertaining as I thought I was. Yet another argument for why I shall never take the stage.

And now, now I can go to bed. Hour 38 is almost over.

Well, let’s not be hasty, do I hear hour 40? Hour 48?

Air Popped Popcorn Sucks

I said it.

The best popcorn is made on the stove, tossed with salt, and has real melted butter drizzled over the top. So it was that last night, just as I was about to wrench El Guille from the arms of his grandparents, that grandpa pulled out the heavy-bottomed pot, set it on the stove and announced, "Let's make popcorn!"

You could have told El Guille that Thomas The Tank Engine and Bob the Builder were at his house with an unlimited supply of pizza and soda forever but that still wouldn't have been enough to tear him away from his grandpa's side. As it was late, I persuaded El Guille to allow grandpa to fill a plastic baggie with fresh popcorn to tote to our house. El Guille asked us to fill a bag for his daddy as well.

Other Half, I should explain, doesn't like popcorn, no matter how you make it. He'll even make a pained face and hold his nose if I indulge at the movies. Oh, he's very discrete about it, casually draping his hand over his nose and avoiding eye contact until I devour the bag (small please, no 'butter.') Sometimes the hand will drift to his forehead because the popcorn might even offend his delicate senses so much that he gets an instant headache. I know, we're all surprised he hasn't died of consumption yet.

And that is why, after getting the kids into bed, I helped myself to Other Half's bag of popcorn.

About an hour later Other Half wandered into the living room and asked me, "Hey, where is the floss?"

(We've resorted to hiding many, many things in our home. After we found a whole box of the stuff wrapping our furniture and going in a continuous sinuous thread around the living room-kitchen circle, the floss is now in an undisclosed location.)

Floss?

Why could he need floss?

"Wait," I said, "Did you eat the bag of popcorn?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Because if you ate a bag, and I ate a bag, that means we ate El Guille's bag."

A look of fear and absolute horror passed in between us.

Seriously, you might as well have told us that Other Half was headed to Turkish prison and I owed 100 large to a guy named Fat Tony. We nervously contemplated our fate.

"Maybe he won't notice," Other Half said, breathing in sharply.
"Uhm, that may have worked before," I said in a panic, "But he notices things now!"
"He's going to freak."
"I know. Maybe he really won't notice, we have to make sure we don't bring it up. What am I talking about, he's going to flip out!"

Don't ask me why two grown adults were completely terrified, but I think we wisely went into denial for the rest of the night.

This morning, at 7:30am on the nose, a wail arose and whirled towards my bed.

"MY POPCORN WHERE IS MY POPCORN?"
"Honey, uh, your popcorn is gone."
"BUT WHERE WHERE IS MY POPCORN?"
"Honey, your popcorn had an accident."
"AN ACCIDENT WHY IT HAVE AN ACCIDENT WHERE IS MY POPCORN?"
"I'm sorry, your popcorn had an accident and now it's gone."
"BUT MY POPCORN NO I WANT MY POPCORN WHERE WHY MY POPCORN HAVE AN ACCIDENT?"
"I'm so sorry. Your popcorn had an accident and now it's gone. But, but, but, we can go to grandpa's house and get more."

So, as soon as everyone was awake and fed, we made the trek to grandpa's house for a sandwich bag filled with popcorn.

As we pulled up, El Guille noticed that the snow cave that grandpa built him had collapsed.
"BUT WHY IT COYAPSE? I don't want it to coyapse. My snow fort!"
"That's the great thing about snow! We can always make another one." This seemed to mollify him until we could at least get inside the house to where the popcorn was stashed.

A little later as the snow fell (sorry, still not tired of snow) El Guille contemplated the view out the window and announced, "Hey, the snow's coming down and it's going to make everything coyapse!"

Hmm, that must be what happened to me, the snow is going to make me coyapse at any moment.


Don't worry, El Guille got his final revenge in the popcorn debacle of aught eight when he tried to fix himself a cup of hot cocoa by himself.


Props though, dude, on the inclusion of Pero in your cocoa, that's pretty sophisticated for a four year old. I don't know if I'd go with a tumbler of half dry Pero, half dry Nesquik, though, that might seem like a little overkill.

A Nie-Day

Congrats to my friend Nie on the occasion of her blog's second birthday. May I present my day in a Nie-flavored post?

First things first...

I avert disaster single-handedly.

This was his second attempt of the day.
The first was Ketchup.

I'm onto you, Filthy Padawan!
I see a fridge lock in your future.

Proximo wakes up to brighten my day with his sweetness.
Munch, munch that baby is so cute.

They're playing together!
It's a good thing, because mama has to do some
working from home.

Sue gave the baby those pants, so cute and soft.
What's for breakfast?

Homemade blueberry scones. YUMMY!
Light, tender, and flaky, they are a definite hit.

Can't have scones without clotted cream.
I open the jar the lovely La Yen sent me for my birthday.
She's not my godmother, because we're the same age (and also friends,) but she does send the nicest packages.

The girl has a flair for gifting!
Time to get ready for work.

I get in trouble because my hair dryer is too loud.

Lunch!
El Guille asks for a cheese sandwich.
Then he asks for "Sa-ya-mee" for his cheese sandwich.
A cheese sandwich with sayamee.

Time to drive to work!

Listening to General Petraeus testifying on the radio (math is hard.)

It's very important to know what's going on
in your world,
don't you think, fellow citizens?

I pull out my lunch (apple) from my purse and find
a pair of Bob the Builder underpants (clean) and
my latest awesome mix from awesome Kristen.

She not only makes great mixes,
but her CD packages and sleeves always have a theme and are hand-created.

Having a friend like that is the best.

Time for working-working.That software isn't going to design itself!

Have to stop by to see Shoes of the Day himself, DM!

Hey! You caught me workin'!

He's got a new little one at home.

DB stops by the desk, he's very tall.
He has the most adorable wife, Julie,
who keeps that mister on his toes!

J-Rock takes time out from being the sausage king to talk shop.
He and his beautiful wife had an argument when they first got married about a Kitchenaid stand mixer. He didn't see the point in paying that much moola for a kitchen appliance.

I think he sees the point now.

They own a condo in downtown Seattle and are raising a couple of city boys.
Wouldn't you like to be a city boy?

Happy Birthday from all of us, SC!

Enough about work.

Time to drive home.
I can't drive home fast enough to get to my babies.
I take the side streets to avoid the horrendous construction.

What's that?

A car with Wisconsin plates?

April? Kristen? Are you in town and didn't tell me?
Are you in town, uhm, driving a minivan?

Dinner is fast tonight:
Gyro Salad!
Lamb I ground myself (because the markets only had steaks) for Gyros last night
Crisp, fresh greens
The last of the juicy tomatoes
A little pita bread
Homemade Tzatziki sauce: cucumbers, yogurt, garlic, dill, lemon, salt
Delicious!

Other Half and I spend some time after El Guille has gone to bed talking about his day. He loves his new job. It's important to make time to talk when you're both so busy.

OH NO!



What's that?

Baby on the attack!

Watch OUT!
He's got me!

Can't...hold...on...much...longer...send...help...

Pros and Cons

I was at Harmon's last night picking up a couple things for a quick dinner (tortilla pizzas: 8-12" gorditas, brush both sides with EVOO, sprinkle with TBL parmesan, salt & pepper, thinly slice freshest tomatoes possible, cover with about 4 oz of mozzarella or fontina, pizza stone for 6-10 minutes at 500 degrees, mince fresh basil and sprinkle on top. Serve with green salads.) I stood in the aisle and thought about rootbeer floats.
All I'd need was some vanilla ice cream and rootbeer. It would be delicious, it would be divine. "No," I told myself, "I don't need it." I suppressed the urge and made a mad dash past the imported chocolates too.

After our tasty dinner, Other Half and I were helping El Guille with his train tracks (very important for structural integrity.) OH said to me, "I have this intense craving."
"Oh yeah?" I said, "What?"
"It's weird."
"What is it?"
"I really want a rootbeer float."
"ME TOO."

Some people long for childhood, or their teenage years. Bah, is what I say to that. Being an adult is awesome because if you want to go get rootbeer floats you totally can (don't tell my mom, though.)
So we did, and we didn't even tell El Guille.

This morning we pulled into the parking lot at the Doctor's office. El Guille exclaimed, "It's the doctors!" and then he got really quiet. "Mama?" He asked, "Is the doctor for you, for me, or for Baby Proximo." I said, "Baby Proximo."
"Oh good! Let's go see the doctor then!"
As we waited for the doctor to come into our room El Guille starting singing the classic Spiderman song. "Spiderman, Spiderman, does whatever a spider can." Guille doesn't watch cartoons and he hasn't seen the spiderman movie. I have no idea where he learned the song. Perhaps from his underoos? Are they singing to him when I'm not around? I don't know if I'm comfortable with that. Being an adult is pretty OK since you get to decide who, when, and if you go to the doctor. Then again, I disapprove of Saturday morning cartoons now, which makes me a lot of an adult.

Late this evening I was spent, and not in the Austin Powers sense. I felt like an overstimulated baby. Instead, Baby Proximo continued to play the role of Household Baby. His fever from his immunizations earlier turned my happy, placid baby into a bit of a basket case. I just wanted to go into my bedroom, yell at my mom because she's ruining MY LIFE, and slam my door. That's when I don't want to be an adult (also, I can't follow through because my mom doesn't live here and she's not currently ruining my life.)
Other Half said, "Go ahead, go relax." I beat a hasty retreat to my bedroom and did the decidedly teenage lounge on bed with computer, book, and a TV. I'm glad that when I don't want to be an adult, OH will be one for me.

Pros:
Rootbeer floats
No school nights
Watch TV whenever
Lunch with old and new friends
Not scared of new food

Cons:
Doctors
Responsibility
What are we, cooling the whole neighborhood
Guess who always does the dishes? Not your mom.

Everyone Loves a Parade

I’m still treating the P-Town 4^th of July Parade like it’s no big deal—and it is, it is! First of all, there are cannons and Cannons. The cannons are loud and hurt my ears when they go off. The Cannons are loud and hurt my ears when they go off too—but people keep electing them. Second, it’s a guaranteed down-home patriotic foot stomping. That’s fun stuff. Not all the time, naturally, I couldn’t take it 24/7 that’s for sure. Once a year? I can deal with that.

There are horses, highway patrolmen, bagpipe bands, brass bands (yay!), cheerleaders (boo!), beauty queens (the jury is still out), local and state elected officials, clowns, personalities, fly-over planes, and floats that have been under construction for months. Sure, I like some of it ironically, but I also just like it.

The only thing that I’m not crazy about is how it gets a little militaristic at times. I support the troops just as much as the next girl, but I’m also a touch wary of martial law. Maybe it’s because a military coup happened to systematically kill my family and then suppress them for the next forty years…maybe. It does kind of strike a primal note of fear when the caissons go rolling along. One could say I have a healthy respect for our armed forces, after all, they've got all the tanks. Go Hero Squad!

The one thing I haven’t quite grasped is that the P-Town parade has turned into a massive event and I never think about where I’m going to sit before 8:45am on the 4^th of July. The parade starts at 9:00am. This is a problem. The crowds are 10 deep! I'm short! El Guille is shorter!

I don’t see that I have much of a choice, though really. I can’t camp out the night before. I can’t head down at 6:00am, I’ll be toting along two kids! So every year I say screw it and try to wiggle my way through the crowds, hoping to find a little empty spot. Last year my brother, who used to work dispatch, got us to the front to sit with the cops in the intersections. For a couple years before that, my sister knew a guy whose house was on the parade route, so we’d go there. I don't know anyone this year.

At least at this year's parade I’m not going to be pregnant with a two year old. Oh, that’s right, I have a baby and a three year old. I think it's another year of wiggling to the front, trying to find a small patch of ground on which to sit.

Do you think that’s going to stop me? Heck no! There are cannons!

In other news, El Guille has a new job with Guns 'n Roses. We are so proud. El Guille says you can expect Chinese Democracy by Christmas!