Resume Boosting

I was talking to my little sister this morning. She is what my children describe as "cool". She is beautiful and funny and she has loads of that elusive quality best described as "hip". My brother? More of the same. He's super cool and very funny. He reminds me a lot of Jack Black who happens to make me laugh almost every time I see him. (Except for that very lamentable King Kong thing.) Moreover, he has a really cool job and sometimes he gets to meet famous people. They're the kind of aunt and uncle that my kids are secretly thrilled to be able to introduce.

Thankfully for my sister's kids, they get to introduce my brother as their uncle as well. If they had to rely only on me the conversation would likely go something like this:

Nephew: Yeah, I have an aunt. She lives in Utah.

Friend: Does she ski?

Nephew: Ummm no...she...she goes to church a lot...but you know, other stuff too.

Friend: Like what?

Nephew: Well, I've seen her dance.

Friend: Tap? Ballet? Exotic?

Nephew: Ummm...kitchen. She dances in her kitchen...She writes.

Friend: What? Like screenplays? or novels?

Nephew: More like...lists. You know, grocery, WalMart, "To Do"...but she's really funny...

Friend: Stand-up?

Nephew: Ummm...

Yeah, so anyway. To my nephews, I apologize. But really...just stick with "She lives in Utah" and let it go.

Fan Base

I have recently discovered that I am not universally beloved.

This is not a huge surprise to me as I never really thought that I was so, oh well. I was however, surprised at who some of my fans were not. (Don't worry, I don't plan on actually revealing any of them here lest you know some of them, like them better than you do me, and plan to align yourself with them.)

I suspected that the guy who threw me out of his office a few years ago for losing my temper was not overly fond of me. Even though I cried for two days afterwards and sent a note of apology. And they really didn't do their job. I really was a witch. Also, the entire staff of the people who hold the warranty on my washing machine as well as the entire staff of the people whom they sent to fix it...not fans of mine. And I think I can live with that. (EIGHT WEEKS, PEOPLE. EIGHT WEEKS!)

This knowledge that the rest of civilization doesn't universally adore me (or at least think I'm moderately nice) though left me in a bit of a funk for a few days. Then I started thinking of people that I really liked who get mixed reviews as well and I started to cheer up. There are LOADS of them! Think about it right now. Think of someone you really admire and then imagine who might not like them. See what I mean?

I'm still a little bummed about it all but I think I can move forward.

For G'ma & G'pa

I just read Mom's comment and since she is really the only one who reads this I thought I should add something new for her to read.

So...Thanks, Mom, for teaching me to be nice to everyone-even the people who are mean to me (especially the ones who are mean.)

And...Thanks to you too, Dad, for trying to teach me to not be such a pushover.

I'm still working on it.

But...

the point is...

I'm
still
working.

Extraordinary...

From my new favorite book, Cry, The Beloved Country:

"The tragedy is not that things are broken. The tragedy is that things are not mended again."

Alan Paton

Places I Love

These are my top 5 picks for places I love to be: (In no particular order...plus also there may be more than 5...)

1. Home.
2. With my kids-anytime, anywhere.
3. The temple.
4. Fallingwater.
5. My husband's arms.
6. Disneyland.
7. The ocean.
8. The library.
9. A really good bookstore.

I LOVE This!

"When you get-give. When you learn-teach."
Maya Angelou's Grandma (whose name I will find)




"You will hear me protest but you will not hear me complain."
Maya Angelou (herself)


(Okay. I just want to say regarding the Maya Angelou quote up there...I like the thought. I don't really expect ever to be able to apply it in my own life. I'm sorry.)

Picnics

Ya know? Parenthood is no picnic.

You can quote me on that.

Children Should Be Seen And Not Heard...

I have always hated this phrase, I mean just HATED it. As a kid I hated it because the only time any adult pulled it out and dusted it off was when they wanted me to be quiet and I am not, and never really was, into being quiet. As an adult I hated it because I really love hearing kids talk, my own and usually other people's too. A few times I've run into REALLY quiet kids and well, it's always a little unsettling for me.

BUT... that being said...consider the following...

So, when Dobbie was pretty small, say threeish, I had to pay the taxes on the car. Everything goes fairly smoothly until we are pulling out of the parking lot. The people planning the parking lot of the tax building used all the foresight of umm...let's say the people planning the war in Iraq...(But I'm sure they gave it everything they had, right? On both counts. I mean what would be the motivation for poor planning?) Anyway, it's pouring down rain, the parking lot is packed and I'm pregnant and freezing. I'm well into backing up (read...more than halfway out with the wheel poised to begin straightening action) when I hear the sickening thud that means I have made contact with something I did not want to.

I check on Dobbie, who is just fine as we were only traveling at 1.5 mph, and turn to get out of the car only to find an angry BYU student in my face.

"Well, what are we going to do? We have to call the police. What were you doing backing up into me like that? I saw YOU! Why didn't you stop? It's fine for you, there's no damage to your car but mine's a mess!"

I climb out of the car and stand in the rain, staring at bumpers with Joe Bozo, who just never quits I tell ya.

"I saw you in my mirror while I was backing up and I tried to honk the horn and step on the brakes and pull forward..."

I was kind. I didn't even ONCE mention to him that he had failed miserably at all three things that he had tried to do...not even once... any of the SEVEN times he told myself or the cop this.

Let's jump ahead fifteen minutes. The cop has arrived. She is a lady cop. A pleasant, tall lady cop with short, curly hair who has sized up Joe Bozo and mentally given him the same name I have. She invites Dobbie and I to sit in the back seat of the police car and fill out our papers out of the rain. She has sent Joe Bozo somewhere else (out of her sight and hearing) to fill out his papers. She is on my side.

"Mommy," says a little voice, "Mommy." I look over. "Mommy, all policemans are mans, huh? All policemans are mans."

"Umm...no, Dobbie, there are all kinds of police. Men and women can both be police...people."

"No, Mommy, policemans are just mans." His voice is rising with the power of his conviction, a trait I believe he inherited from...me. He reiterates, just in case I didn't hear him correctly, "Policemans are just mans."

I frantically gesture at him to be quiet, hoping against hope that the all-seeing mirrors that I believe are standard issue in all cop cars are not catching my motion. "No, no, no, honey, that is not true. I don't know WHERE you got that idea (and I don't) but you are WRONG!" I say through gritted teeth.

Ahh, but this is not adequate assurance for my son. He stands up, sticks his head through the little window and turns his head to face the now-slightly-less-sympathetic lady cop. He is six inches from her face as he says, loudly and distinctly, "All policemans are mans, huh? Aren't they? Aren't they?"

"No, they are not," she replies as I pull him backwards by the seat of his pants. There is tension in the air now and I sense that there is a definite shift away from the theory that I am completely innocent and maybe, just maybe, a whiff of sympathy toward Joe Bozo? We finish the papers and climb out of the car, walk through the rain back to our car and head home.

I still do not like the saying about children being seen but not heard.

But I concede it might come in handy.

In car accidents.

Before We Go Any Further...

Just in case anyone aside from my sweet mother ever reads this blog you should probably know a few things. Or at least a few people. First, my hubby, known hereafter as El Guapo. We've been married for a little over twenty one years. He's from Peru which is why we occasionally eat tamales and salsa. We have four kids. Dobbie, 20, currently serving a mission for our church in New Zealand. (Sept. '09 can't come fast enough!) Buo, 16, (it means owl in Spanish) has some crazy cowlicks in the back of his hair. Petunia, 14, and too lovely for her own good. (or mine!) And of course, Maizie, 9, who makes our lives interesting EVERY SINGLE DAY! No, we don't have really strange taste in names, it's to protect their ANONYMITY! (or at least to guard what little pride we have left...)

Aunt Lelia's Legacy

Well...Where to begin? Usually the beginning works best. My mother was raised by an amazing Victorian woman, my Aunt Lelia. She was 67 when my mom,4, and uncle,3, came to live with her and 70 when she took over their care completely without help. Probably my earliest memories involve some form of the phrase "Aunt Lelia used to say..." (My personal favorite? "What would you like me to do? Stand on my head and spit nickels?" More on that later...) Anyway, I trace my own love of quotes to that sweet (and tough) woman. I collect them. I borrow them.I make them up.Thus...Aunt Lelia's Legacy. We'll give it a whirl anyway...