My Open Letter To NBC

Ahem.


Dear NBC,

I never watched Jay at 10:35.

I never watched him at 9:00.

And I will not watch him at 10:35 when he returns there -whenever that happens.



He is not funny.



Not at 10:35. Or 9:00.

In fact, this whole Time-Slot-Gymnastics routine only makes me resent him and makes the both of you seem as though you're chewing on sour grapes. (I should know, I'm chewing on a few myself.)

Just thought you'd like to know.

Sincerely, Me

Tender Mercies

I write this sincerely hoping that it doesn't come off arrogantly or "holier than thou" because...well, because I don't feel that way and because I look on this more in the vein of being a tender mercy of the Lord to me to boost my own deep-seated insecurities.

El Guapo and I are both converts to our chosen faith and as such, I frequently felt (feel?) like I was (am?) flying blind as a mother. As wonderful as my own parents are I didn't grow up in a home where things like FHE or family prayer and scripture study were put into regular practice. I really had no idea how to implement them. And consistency? Ummm...yeah...not really my strong suit...

And so sometimes I wonder. Did I do it right? Will they be okay? And the suspense is killing me. Because we're not there yet and I'm really bad with suspense.

Every once in a while though the Good Lord takes pity on me and gives me enough of a glimpse to keep on going. To at least keep making the attempt. And to know that even if I'm not firmly on the path it's still in sight.

Like when I go to tuck Maizie in at night and have to come back five minutes later because she is praying. And then I have to come back again.

Or when I walk by Petunia's door and find her with her head bowed over her scriptures, searching and learning nightly, more faithful than any of us.

Or when I go to the door to wave goodbye to my sons and find them in the car, heads bowed in quiet prayer as they leave for a road trip.

I don't write this because I want to be reassured that my children are wonderful. I already realize I have been blessed far more than I deserve. I write it because I imagine that sometimes you wonder too (and someday they will) and because I know with all my heart that Heavenly Father will show you/them the same tender mercies that he has shown me. And I don't want you/them to miss them or give up too soon.

UmmmHmmm...

Okay.

So.

Recently I've been having some...well, what was best described by my noble foremothers as..."female" problems. It's been a bit of a zoo here I'll tell ya. Pressure has been mounting. And I'm gonna get some of it off my chest right now. So if words like uterus, fallopian tubes or even stirrups distress you...move on now. You've been warned.

Let me begin by saying that I'm not crazy about my doctor. He's a nice enough man I guess, but I find our whole relationship awkward at best. This might be true of my relationship with any doctor of this type but I don't think so. This awkwardness can best be illustrated by the following story.

I once missed my yearly appointment with the good doctor by a few months. I eventually went in and after the ritual weigh in, blood pressure check, etc. was given my obligatory uniform and told to wait on the table. Moments later, in walks the doctor who sits down, asks the usual questions and then walks over to the table, looks down on me, and asks, "So, are you still married to that same guy?"

Now, FYI, future doctors...

Don't say things like this to a woman lying with her feet in stirrups clothed only in a glorified bib and a large paper towel. It's weird. (Trust me, I checked around just to make sure it wasn't me.)

I switched doctors the next time I had to go for the yearly thing. I called around and found a guy I'd been hearing about for years. I went in and during the course of my twentysomeodd minute appointment he made eye contact with me...zero...yes, ZERO...times.

Now, just another little piece of advice...if you are gonna get as up close and personal as an OB/GYN does with his patients...you had BETTER make eye contact at some point. Just sayin'.

Another year rolled around and I began the search again. Guess what I learned? All those doctors who went to med school for all those years, who I'd assumed really chose their profession out of a sincere desire to help and care for their patients, who I believed

had SOME interest in womens' health, who, after all, did take the Hippocratic oath...yeah, them.

Turns out? Only interested in making money.

Call me naive but I had thought they were interested in all their patients not just the ones with uteruses (uteri?) still planning on having babies. Could I find a doctor interested in me as a new patient? Nope.

Which is how I ended up back in the office Dr. StrangeBedsideManner. Just to be sure he didn't have to wonder about my marital status I took Guapo along this time. He really loves these kinds of field trips.

And there I have remained for the last several years, with a doctor I'm unsure of, participating in yearly, humiliating exams.

Until a few weeks ago when all manner of things began to go awry. I won't bore you with details but suffice it to say it ended in some outpatient, minor surgery and a great deal of angst.

And after all that? Well , they know some things it's not...

Today I went in and found out some of my options. There are several, among them a treatment whereby they run "scalding liquid" through my uterus and another where they just remove my uterus entirely. He gave me these options before (yes, before) he actually told me what was wrong. Which he doesn't actually know.

I love being a girl.

Just So You Know...

...According to Facebook, I'm still amazing.

And sometimes I'm also unbelievable.

Just so you know.

How Texting (And Other Technology) Has Changed My Life

When Dobbie came home from his mission a couple (?!?) months ago it quickly became apparent that he was going to need a phone. Buo had his old one and even Petunia had managed to talk her dad into one and really, even I, technological cavewoman that I am, recognized the need.

So off went the troops led by Guapo and sans me. (Otherwise known as the beginning of the end.)

Petunia was entirely too happy when they returned and here's why...

TEXTING.

I had stood firm against the institution. I had made my wishes clear. It was a RULE.

And Guapo caved.

I hate texting.

It is destroying our ability to interact with one another as human beings in a face to face way.

I have conversations with the tops of the heads of half of the people who walk the halls of the high school where I work. Even when they don't have a phone in their hands they don't look up anymore. I mean really, if you're going to pick up the phone anyway, just call. Talk to someone for real.

And it is not just teenagers. I have had conversations with adults (adults, I say) who sit with their purses open or their phones sitting on the table of the restaurant where we are eating and who actually stop our conversation to respond to the person who just texted them. I mean, I'm not a bad conversationalist overall. Occasionally, I've even been told I'm witty and moderately intelligent. Talk to me, please.

Also, yesterday, my daughter experienced uncontrollable tremors in her thumb for a brief period of time. Note I said uncontrollable, not unexplained. I know what happened.

But really, how does this affect me? I mean, I don't have to text, right? The old "if you don't like it, don't look" certainly applies here. And I agree. But it still hurts.

Let me explain.

Last night Petunia and I went to a band competition. It was raining and I nearly slipped several times. But I successfully managed to navigate both the wet stadium steps as well as the drenched aisles with only a few near misses.

I nearly made it. I rounded the final corner of the Jeep and reached for the handle when it happened. Complete wipe out. Both legs in different directions. Purse, keys, umbrella strewn all over. And I was too stunned to move.

I assessed. Nothing broken. But my knee hurt a lot. And my wrist. And my back. So I just lay there, on my back, soaking up water and thinking, "I don't want to fall again. Petunia will come pick me up. She'll help me."

Then, "She'll be here any second. Maybe she didn't hear me."

And again, "She'll wonder why I haven't gotten in soon..."

Finally, I hauled my own sorry butt up and, clutching the side of the car for support, I looked across at the top of my daughter's head. Bent over, fiddling with a machine.

She swears it was her IPod.

The Lap of Luxury

So, Petunia and I went to the Women's Expo last week and entered to win about a bajillion things. Everything from food storage to shoes to scrapbooking supplies.

And I won.

A four hour spa visit. Manicure, pedicure, facial and massage. An hour each. Whenever I want.

Lovely, you say. And I answer yes.

I decided to break it into small installments. Spread out the decadence over time.

On Saturday, I went for the facial. It was amazing, sheer indulgence.

Within two hours, I began to itch. By evening I had hives all over my neck. By morning they had spread further. Nothing stopped them, not Benadryl, not ice packs, nada.

This morning, seventy two hours in, I called the doctor.

Apparently, I'm allergic to luxury.

Oma's Book List or Homework #4- A Week Late

Books You Read Long Ago and It Is Now Time To Reread (In No Particular Order)

(I just picked these off my own bookshelves- I'm sure there are a hundred I will think of later...)

1. The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett
"One of the strange things about the world is that it is only now and then one is quite sure one is going to live forever and forever and forever..."

2. Peter Pan by James Barrie
"You see, Wendy, when the first baby laughed for the first time, its laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies."

3. To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee (I just read this five months ago but I'm sure it's time.)
"Atticus is a gentleman, just like me!"

4. Charlotte's Web by E.B. White
" 'You have been my friend,' replied Charlotte. 'That in itself is a tremendous thing. I wove my webs for you because I liked you. After all, what's a life anyway? We're born, we live a little while, we die. A spider's life can't help being something of a mess, with all this trapping and eating flies. By helping you, perhaps I was trying to lift up my life a trifle. Heaven knows anyone's life can stand a little of that.' "

5. Little Women by Louisa May Alcott
(No quote but I took turns imagining myself as every one of them at some time or another.)