The phone

If there was an invention I could surely do without, it would be the phone. I hate it. Always. Hate. It.

That's why I never answer. It's not you. It's me.--- No that's not true either. It's not me. It's the phone.

I hate not knowing what's coming, is it a 2 hour conversation or a 2 minute message?
Is it someone I love or someone I do business with?
Is it good news or bad? It seems that the bad news has only ever come from Josh... (i.e. "my boss just told me that me working there isn't going to work out" or "Meleta just called and said Ron died." or "Tommy just puked his guts out on the only nice blanket we own.....is it waterproof?") maybe I should change my policy from "always answer when Josh calls" to "never answer when Josh calls".
Can they tell I just made that face when I said that thing? Would it be good if they could tell?
Why don't they respond when I nod at all the appropriate times or shrug?
Should I be sitting down or start the dishes now? And just how loud is too loud for a phone call? Clearly vacuuming is out of the question, but what about something slightly more reverent like....watching Friends re-runs?
You'd think someone who talks so much and has had 6 different "answer the phone" jobs wouldn't be such a phone-phobic but I am.

Unfortunately sometimes for work I have to call people.

And sometimes for church I have to call people (usually a lot of people in a very short time).

And so my day so far has looked like this:

So when I had the opportunity to take something to a neighbor, I jumped all over it, dropped by her house unannounced and wasted at least 20 minutes of her life talking at her in her doorway because it just felt so nice to respond to her face and for her to respond to mine. Plus it's always nice to talk to Linda (hi Linda!) because she's flat out nice.

So, if your doorbell rings, answer it anyway. It's probably just me avoiding the phone. Unless of course you hate the door. In that case, I understand.

First day back at work

Today I went back to work.

I was nervous about a lot of things.

They've had hardware and software upgrades since I left.

How was I supposed to train my replacement on something I've never seen before anyway?

I had to wear nylons. It's been 3 months. What if I forgot how? What if they got a big fat run in them? What if I remembered how bad I hate them? What if I just refused, would they fire me?

I had to talk to/entertain new person all day long. What if it turns out I didn't do anything and I couldn't keep her busy for a full day? And now we just sit here talking to people because it's so much fun.

Josh was home with my baby. I was not worried Josh wouldn't care for him well. He would. Thus the fear.

What if I came home and Josh had done laundry, dishes, taken care of the child who napped and ate exactly as he should? What if they were both dressed in real clothes and had their hair done. What if neither of them smelled like spit up and the smell of delicious dinner was wafting through the house when I walked through the door? What if Josh is a better mom than me?

I don't wanna be shown up by my husband who already wonders what I do all day......and unfortunately that's a very real possibility.

Dear red-haired security man

Dear red-haired security man,

Today you scared me. I just wanted you to know.

You normally sit at your security desk looking nice and formal and intimidating. Like a security guard should look.  Your arms are folded and your eyes are on the computer screen, glancing up every once in a while to see the people walking past you. I like you there. You make me feel safe.

Today you were out of place (in my office instead of behind your desk) shouting about cookies and laughing with other people who clearly know you - but I don’t. When you asked why we were holding out on the Security team, I didn’t realize you were talking about the cookies. That’s why I stammered and blushed. I was embarrassed I didn’t realize you were joking.

When you shouted to my boss that I was in trouble for not sharing the wealth, I felt a little more stupid and I hate feeling stupid. Especially since I didn’t know it was part of my job to inform the security guys when we have cookies. In fact I didn’t even know there were security guys anywhere but behind their desks.

It’s not just because you have red hair that I think you’re going to fly off the handle. The earpiece and black suit make me think that you’ve been trained to kill a man with your bear hands (sorry, Bond is on the mind) and are ready to attack should anything look wrong to you.

So, for future reference, I always have candy in my top drawer, so consider yourself informed. Please don’t tell on me for holding out on you anymore. Please don’t talk so loud. Please don’t joke with people who don’t know you’re joking (especially innocent helpless receptionists who haven’t ever spoken to you before). Please remember that when you look like, act like and are a security guard, people think certain things about you. It’s not judging, it’s just observing. Please just take a handful of cookies and eat them quietly at your desk with your eyes on the computer screen. If you’d like, I’ll even deliver them to you.

Just please don’t hurt me.

From,

Amy

We're Cheerios kind of people

Growing up the sweetest cereal we ever ate was the infamous Honey Nut/Regular Cheerios mix. My mom just wasn't big on feeding us sugar for breakfast. Or for any other meal for that matter.  In fact I'm relatively certain that she still eats oatmeal (with raisins if she's feeling wild) every single morning of her life. 

I'm not sure when the last time you bought Cheerios at Costco was, but if it's been a while, I'll warn you now, that they don't come with a toy. Not even a game or puzzle on the back of the box. Just plain "nourish and strengthening" Cheerios.

If ever there was a cereal with a toy in the box (Tony the Tiger from Frosted Flakes is the only thing I remember.....something about a diver-guy in a 2 liter bottle? some help here? Anybody else remember that?) some other kid in my family got to it long before I even knew it was there. Don't feel too bad for me though, nobody else ever bothered to do the crossword puzzle or the maze on the side of the box. I wasn't totally deprived. 

Normally Josh and I don't buy treat cereal either, but Cinnamon Toast Crunch must have been on sale because Josh bought some.

Given my lack of history cereal toys, imagine my surprise when I poured myself a bowl cereal and found this little creature sitting in the middle of my cereal.

Yes, they put a rat in my cereal. Yes I screamed a little.

*Side note: I didn't actually eat the cereal because after I finished freaking out about rat I realized that "cinnamon and sugar sprinkled on every bite" probably doesn't fall within my "Don't eat sugar until March"  deal with Katy. All this trauma for nothing.

So, what I wanna know is what marketing genius thought "hey, I bet more moms will buy this cereal for their kids if we wrap a rat in plastic and throw it in the middle of our sugar coated cereal." And more importantly what marketing manager said "Yes, yes YES! That is sheer brilliance! You, Ratboy, are getting a promotion."

Gotta say, at this point I'm not a big fan of Ratboy.

Some feelings I've had

I've been avoiding terribly serious subjects in my blog mostly because they make me cry and I'm not pretty when I cry. I have enough not-pretty moments without bringing them on myself, so I generally avoid crying when I can. But, today it all kindof came to a head. So, if you're about to brave reading the next couple of posts, I'd just like to say "welcome to the emotional roller coaster that is my life."

When I was a little girl, my sisters taught me this song that went "When I grow up, I want to be a mother / have a family / one little, two little, three little babies of my own." Then since you can't really remember the other lyrics, you just sing it a million times and just keep counting. Eventually you start over though because "20 little, 21 little, 22 little" doesn't quite fit the rhythm it should.

On Sundays we'd go for bike rides/walks to the elementary school playground that was just down the street, and I would sit on the lowest swing so my feet would still touch the ground. While my siblings would go off playing four-square, tetherball, and swinging like normal people, I'd slowly rock back and forth on the swing, my feet never leaving the ground singing/humming this song to myself and pretending I was knitting something in my lap. I knew I was way more mature than my siblings who were galavanting around and I thought to myself those kids are just so funny sometimes and I'd shake my head like if they only knew what I know....someday they'll grow up.

I guess that was kindof the beginning of it for me. I've always wanted to be a mom. A lot.

When I was 12 I was babysitting full time (seriously, like 8 hours a day) for a family up the street from me, and I knew I would be the world's greatest mom because I practically lived with these kids and I took care of everything they needed. I helped with school and homework, piano lessons, I cooked and cleaned, they called me to come babysit when they went to the hospital to have their last child, I knew very well that this was just practice and that I'd be a fantastic mom as soon as I got married.

Well, Josh and I have been married for 2 years now, and I'm sure you've noticed that Junior is the closest we've come to having a child. My heart hurts that we haven't had any kids yet. It hurts to see other people with their perfect families and it really hurts to see people who don't even want kids having them.

It seems completely unfair that some 17 year old girl who (pardon me for being bold) shouldn't even be having sex, much less having BABIES is pregnant, while I (a person who likes to pretend the swingset is a rocking chair and wants to sing lullabyes and wake up at 2 in the morning to feed a baby and change diapers and look at his/her beautiful perfect little face all day long) have been trying forever to have a baby and for some reason just can't.

My heart just wants to cry when I see how big "baby Logan" is and remember that if my body worked the way it should, he could be mine.

I am worried that the reason we haven't had any luck yet is that Heavenly Father doesn't want us to. We aren't ready, or good enough, or prepared enough, or smart enough, or righteous enough. There's something wrong with us and that's why Heavenly Father is holding our little ones back, and that scares me. Wheat if I'm never good enough? How am I less qualified than that 17 year old girl? Why not me? I see other people who are parents and think "I could at least be as good of a mom as _____ is, right?" What is so wrong with me that this isn't happening for us?

On the plus side, I have a fantastic husband who is loving and supportive. He lets me cry to him everytime I start my period and can't handle it because it means I'm still not good enough. He hold my hand and hurts with me, and I'm really glad I'm not alone on this one.

I also have sisters who have quite possibly the world's cutest kids. And they are so generous and let us play with their kids pretty much anytime we want. They let me tag along on their mommy outings and even like that my husband loves their kids as much as he will love ours.

So, someday I hope that Josh and I will have "one little, two little, three little babies of our own." but in the meantime, I am eternally grateful that I have a family who knows how to share.

Spiders and Schizophrenia

I’m a scared ‘a spiders. But only sometimes. Case and point (is that a real saying? Who says that? I’m gonna try to pull it off, but you should know that I know that it’s borderline for me….):


This morning just as I was getting out of the shower, Josh came in the bathroom to brush his teeth. He pointed at the wall and mumbled something about a spider, I screamed like a pretty princess and hid behind the closet door until he had killed it dead. Then I seriously considered cleaning the tub with bleach and showering again, but took one look at the clock and decided that 20 minute really wasn’t long enough for that.

5 minutes ago, I was sitting at my desk and saw a small spider scamper across the counter. I quietly grabbed a Kleenex, killed the thing and threw it in the garbage can. This leads me to believe I am:

a) I’m a schizophrenic and one of my personalities is scared of spiders and one is not. The one that is lives at my house, and the one that is not goes to work.
b) I’m a big fat liar. I’m not really scared, but I fake it so I can pretend my husband rescues me on a regular basis which is much more romantic than rescuing myself.
c) Seriously that moody. Which is probably the most likely because there are times I’m too scared to call and order pizza and other times that I am brave enough to not only call, but have it out with the cell phone company for charging me a fee to NOT use their service.

Am I the only one who does this kind of crap? Some days I really just don’t feel like I’m the same person I was this morning…..