The power of music

I love music. I always have. I don't function without background music. It has a certain power over me. Music moves me to do things.

I hear the Carpenters or Natalie Cole and immediately start cleaning bathrooms.
I hear Jingle Bells and vomit.
I hear Baby Its Cold Outside and need to sing in the shower (thanks Elf).
I hear Rascal Flatts and fall in love with my husband again and again.
I hear JoDee Messina and want to go for a run in the rain.
I hear One Boy, One Girl and put one hand at a time on Josh's tummy. He likes to pretend his belly is big enough to be "carrying twins" and ALWAYS sticks it out when that song comes on.
Wicked makes me want to type (thus the blogging and facebooking) because I was introduced to it at work.
Obviously you can't Sun without "BEAM" -ing while jumping out of your chair. Even when you're the grown up reverent pianist you can't do it. Believe me, I tried.

Not only do songs motivate me to do thing, but they remind me of things. Every song reminds me of something and I love that.

Like the first time I heard "When It's Over" was while driving to Yogurt Parlor in AF from my then brand new job at USDC. I went with Lori who I was replacing, and now that song makes me think of her. I haven't seen her since she quit. I don't even know her last name.

Or Back At One which will forever make me think of Stake Dances and my friends from Orem ("Oremers").

Most Collin Raye songs belong to my high school boyfriend due to a VERY sappy mixed CD he made for me at Valentine's. However, now that Josh and I have been together almost as long as Braden and I were, Josh is kinda taking over some of those....

The Friends Theme song will immediately take me back to my beloved apartment in the dorms. I get teary just thinking about it.

Anne Murray has everything to do with dancing in the kitchen with my daddy.

Just like that music can make me do, think, or feel any way I want. I just realized it's kinda like a super-power. Do you think Josh knows he could so easily control my moods? Probably not or I'd be grouchy a whole lot less than I am. Maybe I should tell him.....or MAYBE I should use my power for evil....

One thing I love about MLK

Is that I'm at home in my pajamas with my bed made, the dishes washed, the Wicked soundtrack going in the background, my e-mails answered, facebook updated, and big plans of watching The Office for the rest of the morning.

I took a picture of the beauty of my morning, but it turns out I'm not that beautiful before I shower (how on earth do I convince Josh to stay with me?) and I can't find my camera cord. So, just let your imagination run wild. I know you can hardly stand the beauty of the picture in your head right now.

Incidentally, if you know the monster who has been living in my home this week, stealing critical things, like my Dan In Real Life soundtrack, remote control, 1 black sock, 1 white sock, and camera cord, please have him meet me at the flagpole at noon. I have some words for him.

I'm a tolerator, I tolerate.

I am a tolerator (I’m assuming google just hasn’t had time to update their records to show that this is a word….bear with them, they have a lot to do). And in the words of my beloved Bill Murray “I’m a sailor! I sail!” Sailing is not the point. Tolerating is.

I attended a meeting not too long ago in which we discussed the proper and improper phone rolling sequence that was occurring in the office. If Person A (who by the way, is a very important person, or VIP for the sake of this post) doesn’t answer their phone, it rolls to Person B. Person B’s phone also rings at Person D’s station. If B doesn’t answer, it’s up to C to pick it up. Although by this time the phone has been ringing for 12 minutes, they still have 2 rings to pick it up. If they can’t catch it that quick (or are “around the corner” which is slang for “using the restroom” which is apparently too rude to say aloud these days….) then the real fun begins. Once A, B, C, and D don’t pick it up, it just starts ringing everywhere. Every phone in the entire building starts ringing until some Unsuspecting Secretary (US) answers the phone “This is Amy, how can I help you” and then the person who called make the request, which of course  US can’t help with at all given that she’s never even heard of (much less met) VIP A.  

The point of all this ringing and rolling is quite simply this: When a human being calls, VIP A wants a human being to answer. For some reason it doesn't matter how many human beings they have to talk to in order to get who they really want. A human being must answer. Every. Single. Time. In theory it’s less frustrating to talk to a real live person who knows nothing about why you are calling or who you really need, than get the “3 rings. Voice mail.” procedure that is used by every other company on the planet.

The best part of this meeting was the following exchange offered by VIP A and Person B.

A: “VIP 007 called me the other day and said he got my voice mail. How does that happen?”

B: “I don’t know. It should never do that.” Then B proceeds to explain the entire rolling sequence. (see above)

A: “Huh. So voice mail never comes in, right?”

B: “Right.”

A: “Must have been a fluke in the system.” (ready to move on.)

B: Furiously writing in her notebook “Well, we’ll figure out what happened. We can’t tolerate flukes.”

Seriously. B can’t tolerate flukes. She was absolutely serious. While I might have painted this picture to make A and B look like insane human beings, they are actually very nice, down to earth individuals and I think the world of them both.

But seriously? What kind of person can’t tolerate flukes? I sure can.

In fact I LIVE for flukes.

Josh: “How come we didn’t have dinner tonight?”

Me: “Dunno. Usually we do. Must’ve been a fluke.”

Boss: “Why did this report show 20 instead of 10?”

Me: “Hmmmm. Certainly not because of any error on my part. Gotta be a fluke.”

I probably give the almighty Fluke a lot more credit than is deserved. One thing I know for sure is that I am definitely a fluke-tolerator....I don’t think it’s really a bad thing.

It's genetic. I can't help it.

There are a lot of flaws in my personality. I won't take the time to list them all here just yet (maybe for a future post...)

One of them (as evidenced by my blog) is that I think people want to hear me talk. I probably do far too much of it. Fortunately a blog is a better way to get it out than actually talking at people. It's less demanding because nobody HAS to read it if they don't want to.

Poor Josh has to deal with it on a regular basis. After spending 25 minutes in the car with me, listening to every detail of my day. I usually get around to asking him about his. He says "good". Probably hoping that his one word answer will shut me up. What he doesn't know is that silence just encourages me to fill the space with something. So, since he isn't talking, I do.

Today I found an excuse for this impolite tendency and by golly, I'm gonna use it!

I've been "typing my Grandpa's mission journal" for approximately 5 years. I was typing it for like 3 months, then I stopped for 4.75 years, and now I've started again. Wanna hear a piece? Oh good, I thought you'd never ask!

The lot fell to me to occupy a good share of the time - & I preached repentance for converted members.

It's more funny if you know my Grandpa. He really likes to speak. He was a teacher for 100 years, and then he lead tours to Israel, and he speaks at every family gathering (just for a few minutes.....like 20), and he loves it.  However, there are a few topics that he REALLY loves to talk about (the Gospel, history, the women in his life, politics, alternative health practices and why you should use them).

It never really occurred to me that loving to talk about the Gospel might be something he learned on his mission (along with picking berries, peaches, and cherries). But now I'm fairly certain it was. His journal is littered with references to his "discourses, sermons, talks, and speeches" and anytime there was a meeting, I can just tell, he felt the need to fill the time with an "impromptu, or extemporaneous" talk.

So, the fact that I can't let time go by without something being said, well, it's genetic and I can't help it! At least I don't make you listen to a full sermon every week in church. Forgive me.

One thing I love about being married...

One thing I love about being married is that when Josh is out of town his cologne is still in the bathroom. Do I sound like a 12 year old girl when I say my pillow smells like him and I'm happy about it? Eh well, there's still a little 12 year old girl in me and that's OK.

Are we changing?

Tonight my mom and I had a chat about how much different Relief Society is now from when she was at BYU (almost 40 years ago!). My dad is in a bishopric of a BYU ward and they are seeing college kids as they really are for the first time since they were that age themselves.

She talked about visiting teaching and how nobody does it. I told her that was normal and not to freak out so much about it. I think that made her freak out even more.

We chatted about how hardened "girls these days" are.  I told her it's because we're allowed to wear pants and get degrees.

She voiced her concern that nobody cares that nobody (not even the leadership) attends church on a regular basis. I backed her up in that one because I think it's a valid concern.

The truth is it does concern me, but because it's "my generation" it doesn't freak me out like it does her. I'm disappointed and concerned about the future of the world, but not surprised that girls in college don't want to go visiting teaching. I didn't either. It's hard to want to do something you don't have a testimony of yet. 

Apparently when my mom was in school, she did want to go. In her words "Relief Society was on fire!" but that was back before "Home, Family, and Personal Enrichment" when they had craft night once a week and learned how to sew together. It was also when all roommates shared groceries and took turns cooking meals. Their Relief Society bonded together because nobody had a car or a cell phone so they didn't go home or call their moms for recipes and help. They called each other. Being a woman 40 years ago meant something different than it does now.

Are we missing out on something important using the excuse that "it's different now"? Is reading blogs as good at keeping us together? 

Has Visiting Teaching been replaced with something equally valuable? If so, what is it? 

Is it a "sign of the times" that even the Sisters in the church can't keep active? Have we become so evil and so far gone that we don't even bat an eye when our attendance is at 35%? 

Are we allowing ourselves to be women in spite of the fact that the world demands more of us than ever before? Or are we better off for becoming more? 

Am I taking the time to build relationships with people of all ages like my mom did? Or am I sticking myself with only those people who are my age assuming that older/younger people don't want to be friends with me? 

Bottom line: It's interesting to hear the things my mom is most concerned about now that she's seeing college kids in real life. What I hope is that even though it's different now, we aren't losing who we are in the list of things we are expected to be. 

Life around here

Maybe some of you think all I do all day every day is sit around thinking of what I'm going to do once I'm a mother. Just in case you were starting to be concerned, I thought I'd tell you some things I've done that didn't revolve around the current state of my womb.

• Today I taught Relief Society. With not one reference to fertility. Impressed? You should be.
  
• Friday night I went with my sister and her husband to see an art exhibit (it was fantastic, I highly recommend it). Josh stayed home with the love of his life.
• Saturday night I got my hair cut. I always hate my hair right after a haircut. 
• Monday night I walked in the snow. I love the snow.
• Wednesday evening I taught piano.

See? I have a life. And there is the proof.

Normal (?) life

Last week was an emotional roller coaster. I cried, I laughed, I cried some more. Josh and I smiled and got all sorts of excited to share our good news with everybody we knew.  We talked a lot and prayed a lot. We have felt overwhelmingly hopeful and thankful. I want to celebrate every day, but I'm not really sure that being able to take a pill every day is worth celebrating. To me it sure feels like it.

When I talked to my sisters and my mom, they all asked the same question: "how sick will the medication make you?" My response? "hopefully very sick. For about 9 months. And then sleep deprived for 20-something years....that's the goal anyway." 

I've now filled the perscription and started taking it and it makes me a little sick. My Dr. told me to ease into it and "work up to 3 times per day" because "it'll make you feel like crap". So, maybe it's all psychological. Maybe the women in my family freaked me out unnecessarily. Maybe I'm a hypochondriac. No matter the reason, yes, I feel sick. Mostly just nauseated, and I puke for no apparent reason in the middle of a meal on a fairly regular basis. 

I'd be lying if I said my first thought wasn't "pregnant ladies always puke in the middle of their meals". I'd also be lying if I said I didn't think that every time I felt the least bit ill over the past 2 1/2 years. Any time I've any symptom of pregnancy (which I know all about because I saw How to Deal and the girls are reading the pregnancy symptoms out loud to each other "heightened sense of smell, nausea, breast tenderness, strange cravings") I've secretly thought "maybe that means I'm pregnant" which is never the case for me. But, this time it's different.

You see, since "coming out of the closet", I've heard more "we struggled to get pregnant too" stories than "nourishandstrengthenus,dousthegoodweneed"'s from Josh since we started praying together(that's a lot in case you were wondering....).

It seems that a lot of them end like this "just when we'd given up trying, we were on our way to the adoption agency to fill out papers so I decided to take one last pregnancy test...." or "we'd been told time after time that we couldn't have kids, and we had finally let it go and decided to enjoy out time together instead when I decided to just use that last pregnancy test in my closet instead of throwing it away...." or "it's funny, but I found out I was pregnant because I'd decided to go back on the pill since we weren't really ready for kids just yet and used my only remaining test...." Of course the "..." is invariably "and it came up positive!"

I keep telling Josh that if we could just decide we don't want kids, or start the adoption process tomorrow, or plan an international trip for 9 months in the future that maybe that would trigger in me whatever it seems to trigger in every other woman on the planet. 

So tonight, secretly (ok, I put it on my blog, the only people it's really a secret from here are my mom and Josh...) I hope I'm baby-sick and not pill-sick. Secretly I hope that by going to the Dr. and starting some meds it had that mystery "let it go and it will come" effect on me. Secretly I want to not have to go through this treatment and worry that it won't work on me. Secretly I hope that by pretending to move on with our lives, we tricked whatever it is that's stopping our family from growing.

On the other hand, I (not so) secretly hope that when we went to the Dr. last week, there was some spirit child jumping for joy and singing our praises that we finally did what it takes to get a body ready for them to join us.

Sometimes it comes out my eyes

There are moments in my life that I feel so loved, or so much love for someone else that my heart can't contain it and it all comes out my eyes. I know it's corny, but hey, that's just the kinda girl I am.

Thank you all for your kind thoughts and comments (posted or not) and offerings of support and love. I am truly overwhelmed. In case you wondered if anybody loves me, just check here and you'll know as well as I do that I am loved.

Sometimes I know I'm not a grown up because I write letters to inanimate objects and people I've never really met.

Other times I know I am old because people younger than me are doing grown up things or I do/say things that make me feel old.

Rarely do I feel grown up. Very rarely.

Today there are 2 reasons I feel a little grown up:

1. I have a syndrome.
2. I went to a male OBGYN without freaking out or crying. See how mature I am?

Last week I made an appointment for an annual exam with every intention of chatting with the Dr. about our "fertility issues". (Ouch, it hurts to write that, but in the name of honesty.....let's call it what it is.)

I've felt nervous and anxious about it all day, but figured that if I really want to have a baby, I'll have to get over it anyway. Plus, of all the people who are un-paranoid about men in positions like that, I ought to be OK with it since Josh is a massage therapist. Right? Right.

Sitting in the waiting room watching all of the moms and their beautiful babies made me feel better about being there. That is something I desperately want, and I probably won't get it if I don't figure out what's going on. Staring straight into the eyes of Nemo made me relax a little. (Seriously, my OB owns the actual Nemo, and not a knock-off Nemo from Walmart either. This was the real thing. I know because a little boy kept talking to him, and he called him Nemo, and the fish responded. That's what we call indisputable evidence.)

And wham bam, 3 hours later we were outta there! In all I spent about 15 minutes with the Dr. He looked at my chart, listened to my sob story and said "Well, clearly your problem is _______. Let's get you started on these drugs. When you're about 7  weeks along please come back so we can hear the heartbeat and put your mind at ease that everything is OK with the baby. See you soon!" and sent me on my way with my prescriptions in one hand and my instructions on how to take them in the other.

I'm surprised by this, but I've had some mixed feelings about the news today. 

On one hand (probably the big hand) I'm relieved. And thrilled. And hopeful for a VERY happy future. I suddenly feel empowered and in control. I feel like I finally have an answer and a solution to the problem. I'm glad there is a "take a pill for that" answer instead of a "work out, eat right, say your prayers, have faith, and maybe it'll happen for you someday" I'm tired of that answer. I'm tired of not knowing or understanding. I'm tired of having faith. I'm tired of being patient. And I'm tired of having no idea when this will happen for me. There are a lot of days between now and the end of eternity, and it's not always encouraging for the answer to be "in this life or the next". So, this was fantastic news for that side of me. Incredible news really. I have a syndrome. They don't know what causes it, but they do know how to treat the infertility symptoms. It's common, and usually a simple pill "fixes" in this situation. I might have cried a tiny bit when I realized that everything I've ever wanted to be when I grow up (a mother) is actually possible for me.

On the other hand (smaller, but still there) I'm terrified. Being in control makes me nervous. Feeling like I'm all of the sudden the boss of this situation makes me wonder if it's really right for us right now. Before we could just say "we're not preventing it, and if it happens we'll be thrilled because we'll know it's right for us. If not, it must not be right" but now it feels like we're forcing it to happen and if I'm going to go around forcing things to happen, I absolutely want to be sure that it's the right thing. That's just the getting pregnant part. What about having a baby?!?! That's a BIG deal. A really big deal. Our lives will never be the same. We won't sleep for 20-something years. Once we start, I want more than one. But what if I can't work? What if I can't not work? What will we do for money? What about the bills? Who will help me with the baby while Josh is at work? Will the pregnancy go OK? Are we really ready to start our family? What if the baby doesn't like me? What if I'm too chicken to give birth? What will the baby look like? If I'm this paranoid now, what on earth will I be like when I'm actually pregnant?

As I think of all those questions, I come back to those same answers "have faith", "be patient", and "it will all work out". When I talk to Josh about all of these feelings and more, he just smiles at me and tells me how excited he is to finally have a "solution". 

He gets it. I know that he is running through all of those questions in his head, but he just isn't saying it out loud. I'm sure he's as nervous as I am, and I'm sure he is as thrilled as I am. 

Tonight when we say our prayers, we finally get to say "here's our plan, OK?" instead of "please help us find a plan, and the strength to deal with not having a plan". If nothing else, that is reason enough to feel happy, and very, very hopeful.

Dear Toaster Oven, it's over.

Dear Toaster Oven,

I’d been buying my morning bagel for months, when I first saw you across the cafeteria.  It was love at first sight. There you were, your silver casing gleaming in the florescent lights. The warm glow of your toaster-y coils coming from inside. The black plastic knobs already turned to the “bagel” setting just for me.  That morning, I enjoyed my bagel perfectly browned, warm and toasty, the cream cheese melted into the cracks just perfectly. Truly, I knew I’d never love another toaster oven in my life. You were everything I never knew I wanted.

That is why it’s so hard for me to tell you that it’s over. It breaks my heart, but things just haven’t been the same lately. You’ve changed, you’re full of other people’s crumbs, there’s grime coming out of your knobs. Those things I’ve looked past for a few days, but this morning you crossed the line.

Lighting my bagel on fire is inappropriate and inexcusable. I won’t stand for it because I deserve better than that. I’ll never see you the same way again, because you burned me. The blisters on my fingertips may heal, but the scars on my heart never will. I used to think you’d never hurt me, but now I know the truth.

It pains me to do this, but I’ll just have to eat cold un-toasty bagels each morning from now on. I just can’t risk burning down the entire building just because of my feelings for you. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but I’m leaving you. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find some other unwitting human whose bagels you can burn. But it won’t be me anymore.

With the tiniest pieces of my broken heart,
Amy

Josh is 25

WARNING: This post contains high-fructose sappiness and may induce vomiting or extreme jealousy.

Today marks the 25^th anniversary of Josh’s birth. Sounds like a great excuse to make a list of things I love about that man don’t you think? Here are 25 things I love about Josh:

1. He drives me to work because the weather man says it might snow a little bit. He also drives me when there’s a blizzard, and when it’s 102 degrees outside. But anytime there is any chance of snow in the forecast, he makes sure to drive me. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to pay for an accident, but I choose to think it’s because he loves me.
2. He calls me his “wonderful wife”.
3. He likes to be healthy. Not something I always love, but since I started the 6 month sugar fast, it’s been so nice that nobody whines or complains when I don’t feel like making birthday cake, cookies, or any other dessert.  Plus he’s supportive of anything I decide to do health-wise. Nothing is off limits to him.
4. He tells me the truth. Every single time (except when he thinks he’s funny “Bishop asked us to speak in Sacrament meeting tomorrow….” That’s not honest. But I love him anyway). In all the things that matter, he always tells me the truth. He even confesses his sins to me (like when he ate ALL of the cookie dough that I planned to use for visiting teaching) even if he knows he’ll be in trouble.
5. He hates debt. I hate debt too, but for some reason I’m not as good at staying out of it as he is. He doesn’t buy things he doesn’t already have money for, even big things. We paid off my 5 year car loan in a year because it made him so anxious to have a monthly payment.
6. He is the world’s best listener. I think a lot of wives have to teach their husbands how to listen to them, I don’t know what that’s like because Josh just came with expert listening skills.
7. He doesn’t believe in “man” or “woman” jobs. He does laundry, cooks, and cleans as much as I do.
8. He can make any kid laugh within 5 seconds if he wants to. “Who wants to be tickled” he shouts while he “raises their hands” and gets them in the armpits.
9. He’s a dreamer. If he wants to do something he just does it. “I wanna be a massage therapist” he says. And now he is. “I wanna go to nursing school” he says. And he is. “Let’s go to Alaska” “Let’s save $10,000 in a year” “We should buy a house” “I’m gonna build some food storage shelves” “I will be a master yoga instructor on our Wii by the end of the week” OK he’s not really close on that one….
10. He knows how to apologize. Even if it isn’t his fault he’ll tell me he’s sorry because he loves me and doesn’t ever want me to be unhappy. I think that’s sweet, and it always makes me sorry for being the one who did something wrong in the first place.
11. He’s lovable. He knows how to get along with everybody, all kinds of people, they immediately love him and he loves them all right back.
12. He can keep his wrists on top of his head, while talking like a ventriloquist for like 30 minutes at a time.
13. He looks really great in a tux.
14. He cuts his own hair. One of those things he couldn’t bear to pay for on his mission, so he just started doing it himself and hasn’t stopped.
15. He loves to camp, and even dares to get in the water at Alexander Lake. Even though it’s cold and he doesn’t like swimming.
16. He lets me tell him he shouldn’t say cuss words. And he lets me correct his grammar. “’Where are we’, not ‘where are we at’”.
17. He cooks! His mom told me that she always used him to put the right spices in her soups, so I can too. He can taste something and tell right away what it needs. That’s not a gift I have.
18. He has the perfect crying shoulder. Maybe I’ve just molded it to my face after more breakdowns than I care to admit to having, but he knows just how to hold me to make it all better.
19. He can fix almost anything. He did a lot of work on his truck by himself, he fixed our frozen pipes, he builds things, he puts stuff together, he took care of my “potato peels in the sink” incident. I couldn’t figure out what he meant when he said he couldn’t fix our ice dispenser. He’s never said that to me before because he really can fix almost anything.
20. He’s romantic. He proposed to me at Sunset on top of the world on my birthday after taking me to all of our “first date” places.  It just doesn’t get any better than that.
21. He’s fun to be around. It doesn’t matter if we snow-shoeing, swimming (which he hates), playing games, hiking, talking, watching a movie, or anything else. He is always good company, which is a good thing for a best friend to be.
22. He sometimes lets me win. Like water fights with the squirter thing in the kitchen. He doesn’t always take it away from me and drown me with it, sometimes he just lets me get him last then uses me as a mop to clean up the mess. Or snow-ball fights! One time he let me tackle him in the knee-deep snow and didn’t evn white wash me! See? That’s love.
23. He doesn’t make fun of my old-man wheeze laugh. You shouldn’t either, it’s not nice.
24. He dances with me in the kitchen. Let me explain a couple of things (a) we can’t dance. We’d like to learn how, but we haven’t learned, and we do it anyway. (b) my daddy always danced with my mom (and me) in the kitchen growing up, and I happen to think it’s the most romantic thing that any two people could ever do.
25. He tells me he loves me every single day. And I believe him.
    

2008 in review.

Well, I don't do a Christmas card, I don't make new years resolutions, and I rarely sit and meditate life. So, I think I'm required to do 'a year in review'.

2008 has been a big year for us. Some major milestones include:

• Homeownership .
  
• Josh graduated  (2 graduations down, who knows how many to go) from UCMT.
  
• Coming out of the "we're not pregnant and wish we were" closet. Turns out it's an enormous closet and most everybody I know has been in that closet at one point or another.
  

Fine, it wasn't really that big of a year. But it was a year full of spiritual growth and learning:

• I started volunteering in the temple.
• I got called as RS teacher.
• We spoke in church as grown-ups.

Fine, it wasn't really that spiritual of a year either. But we did make a lot of friends.

• I blog stalk 45 people. Probably only half of them know I do.

Blog-stalking doesn't count as making friends? Oh. Well, we had an OK financial year. 

• We saved a bunch of money. Then blew it on a Wii.
• I got a fantastic  new job this year and have probably never been happier at work. Huge relief.

Major milestones? check.

Spirituality? check.

Social growth? check.

Financial survival? check.

I guess overall it's been a pretty great year.

Here's to enjoying last year, and looking forward to an even better one to come.

No whining bonus

Josh called me today to tell me that Redbox is giving him (and the other employees in this market) a bonus for not whining about some new processes they've had to do.

For real. A bonus just because they haven't whined about the extra work.

We love Redbox.

It's like she knows me!

The Wii fit lady and  I have been friends for 5 days now, already she knows me better than my closest friends.

She says things like "looks like you were too busy to work out yesterday." to which I responded "well duh! It was Sunday! Do you want to know why Mormons don't exercise on Sunday?" She had no response. Maybe I'll sick the missionaries on her.

Then she shoots back "balance isn't your strength. Do you find yourself tripping over your feet often?" Because she knows me so well, I didn't even have to answer that one.

Next "Looks like Ace's (that's Josh's Wii name) birthday is coming up. Have you gone shopping for his present yet?" Let me tell you, I had a word to say about that. "What?! I've been TRYING! He's just so hard to buy for! Plus he drives me everywhere, and I'll never get to go shopping without him so it won't even be a surprise. What am I supposed to do? Do you have any better ideas?" Then Josh walked in to hear me yelling at the tv and we both wound up on the floor because we were laughing so hard.

I probably burn more calories laughing at the lady than I do playing the games, but hey, it's a good time.

People say such nice things at Christmas time.

Either that or I am much more willing to give people credit for being nice at Christmas time. I’m not exactly sure which it is. Either way, I just keep hanging up the phone, or walking away from a conversation thinking “what a nice thing for one person to say to another.”

In our Christmas card from our Egbert parents, Meleta wrote “we pray for you always”. I read it and just cried. It’s just a genuinely nice thing to say. What more needs to be said? It already includes, ‘you are important to us’, ‘we want the best for you’, ‘we’re thinking of you’, ‘we love you’, and bore their sweet testimony. This Christmas season, those 5 words meant the world to me.

One year ago today, Josh and I were moving into our house. 

Sometimes it feels like we've lived here as long as we've been married (which is like FOR.EV.ER.), and other times it feels like we just moved here. Some of my very favorite things about living here are: (in no particular order)

• Our open living area. The kitchen opens into the dining room/living room and I love that. Every single day of my life I love that and I'd never have it any other way. I'd show you a picture, but it looks like an enormous mess, and I'd have to kick Josh's half-naked self off the couch, plus pick my lazy self up off my butt to find my camera, and let's face it....that's too much work.
• Our ward. It is hands down the best ward I've ever been a part of in every possible way. We have fantastic neighbors (seriously, the shovel our driveway, take out the trash, tell us when we left our garage door open, and pay Josh for massages. Does it get any better?), friends, and leaders. What an enormous blessing!
• 2 sinks in our bathroom. Really. Best invention ever. I'm sure some guy was like "let's just put another sink right next to this one, whattya think guys?" and everybody said "What a stupid idea, what kind of person uses 2 sinks at the same time? You don't see people walking around with 2 phones up to their ear, or 2 computer screens. That's insane!" Well, I say God bless the insane man who thought of it. My life will never be the same.

• Food storage that belongs to us. OK this didn't come with the house, but because my fantastic husband loves me so much he made me shelves for more storage.  I kinda feel like we're doing a decent job on food storage. (Don't judge it based on the picture, there's more. Plus a lot of it comes in those ugly cans from the church, so I know it's the right thing to have in my food storage.) Sure we have a long way to go, but it eases the guilt to know I have a whole shelf in my laundry closet and a five gallon bucket of flour. That has seriously been my greatest wish since getting married. Don't ask why, just know that my husband loves me enough to be buy me stuff like 5 gallons of flour. The bet part is it's ours instead of the Griggs'.

• Walls that I can decorate! Not a big deal you say? Yes it is.
  
  
  What exactly do you prefer? This?

or this?

This?

or this?

Yeah, that's what I thought. Thank you for agreeing.

• A massage room. I kinda wished it could stay an office at first, but now that Josh is done with school, I fully understand how beautiful it is to have a massage room. *sigh*
• Vaulted ceilings.  Works wonders for a small room.

• My game closet. There are no words.

Lest you think our home is perfect, here is the list of things I hope we can change in the next year:

• Fix the ice dispenser in the fridge. For some reason that's one of those things that makes me feel rich. Our worked for the first few months we lived here, now it doesn't work and I feel poor. And thirsty.
• Paint our base boards. We intended to do that this year, but somehow the year got away from us. I just think the whole thing would be much more beautiful with white baseboards to show some contrast. In my dream world we'd paint all of the walls, but that's a big commitment for me and I'm not so sure I can decide something like that. Our walls are big and I'm a chicken.
• Find something to put on the wall in our bedroom. What I really want is some beautiful sconces and a big piece of art to go above the bed.....but again, I'm chicken and I can't find anything perfect.

That's it. The truth is I love living here and there are very few things I'd change. For Josh and I, right now in our lives, it really is perfect.

Body Worlds

OK if this is the first time hearing about the BodyWorlds exhibit I would like to know exactly which rock you've been hiding under. Please.

Josh and I were all excited about going when it first got here, but then we heard that there were more things that weren't here yet so we decided to wait a little while so we could see the full exhibit.

Then it was Thanksgiving.
Then it was Christmas.
Then it was yesterday

*Our Sunday School teacher, Brother Johnson, taught us the phrase "it's Friday, then it's Monday. Friday. Monday." today. It means time is going by quickly because you're so old. We're old, so "it's Thanksgiving, then it's Christmas. Thanksgiving. Christmas."

So we went last night.

When you buy tickets, you buy them for a certain time, we picked 7:00 PM, and then showed up half an hour early because we would rather get in earlier if we could. Ha! Little did we know!

The Leonardo (the museum that's hosting BodyWorlds) is very tricky. You come in the main entrance and a nice young woman asks you what time your tickets are for. When you answer, she sends you down the stairs to stand in a line. They pretend it matters what time your ticket is for when they send you down. But after standing in the line for a while, you realize you could've said "3AM" and they'd still send you to the same line. Also before you go down the stairs, you catch a glimpse of a much longer line upstairs and think "Geez! We picked the right time to get tickets for, that line is a lot longer than ours is gonna be." and if you're less righteous than I am, you think "ha ha! suckers! We got a shorter line than you!" but since I'm such a good person, I did not think any such thing.

Then you get downstairs. It's a long line and you start to think "hmmm.....this is a very long line. I'm sure glad we got here half an hour early so we wouldn't have to wait so long to get in."


You stand in the downstairs line for about 45 minutes. Then they let you upstairs (about 10 people at a time). You get to the top of the stairs, and guess what you see? Did you catch the foreshadowing? Yes. That's right. The incredibly long line from the front entrance before you went downstairs. You are now the "suckers" that the people going downstairs are laughing at. Fortunately you can laugh at them louder because you know you're in the last line of the night and they're just starting.

After another half hour in that line you're starting to think "I guess it's a good thing they broke this line into 2 parts, or we might not have stayed." Then at the end of that line, you get to advance...to the next line.

You think I'm joking right now, but I'm not. I'm dead serious. At least in line #3 there is a giant skeleton on the wall that you can text stuff to and it has a little word bubble will say whatever you text to it. That was entertaining. Until the 15th time Robby was hot. Then it was boring.

After that line, you advance to what you know will be the last line. Because as you go by they give you a booklet of paper and a tiny pencil to "take notes" or "write down your deep thoughts" on while you go through. That's how you know you're close. Plus at the end of that line, you can see a doorway. So you know you're there. You start to think "thank goodness, we've been in this line for 2 1/2 hours, and already paid $60. If I hadn't invested so much already, I would've left a long time ago and been mad that I didn't see this whole exhibit." At the end of this line, another young lady says "you're about to go in. Here are the rules: 1. don't eat or drink. 2. spit our your gum. 3. don't play with the dead people." I start to relax because now I know we're close.

Through the magical doorway.
Up the stairs.
And we're in!

Another line that is. Seriously.

After a grand total of 3 hours in line. We finally entered the actual exhibit which was incredible.

Worth 3 hours  in line and $60? Questionable. For Josh it was without a doubt. His face lit up like mine did the first time I went to the circus. He's the reason the lady had to tell us not to play with the dead people because it was all he could do to not reach out and pull apart their muscles and put them back together.

In case you haven't seen anything about this exhibit and didn't already google it to see some images, this is the kind of thing we saw.

These are actual people who have donated their bodies and turned plastic.

Of course not everything was a full body plastination, we saw lots of just body parts too.

Like this heart:

And this guy's blood in his face:

We had a really fantastic time, and I was truly amazed at all the stuff in the body.  Since it's a limited time thing, and probably a once-in-a-lifetime (in Utah) display, I highly recommend it. But don't wear heels. And don't plan on spending any less than 5 hours there. If you really look at everything it'll take you 2-3 hours just for the exhibit and it will blow your mind.

Goodbye Christmas

Christmas is gone now. Officially. We're done.



Josh was kind enough today to spend a few hours helping me take down Christmas. The lights are down, the tree is out in the snow by our front door, Fontanini is gone, and my living room is a big open space again.

We're hoping to have a birthday party (or 2) for Josh and we need all the space we can get. Plus it's nice to have all that work done before we both go back to "real work".

While we took it all down, I made Josh watch While You Were Sleeping with me. I didn't know it, but he's never seen it before, which in my mind is a tragedy.

I can't believe I brought classic movies into this marriage without knowing he'd never seen them! We have a lot of catching up to do chick flick wise.

Nate's wedding pics

Here are some of the snapshots I (Randy) got at my baby brother's wedding. It really was beautiful.

The happy couple.


Wendy hugging someone. Isn't she beautiful?



They're married!


I love this picture of them. So cute!

I loved the table decorations. Isn't that beautiful?

One thing I love about Redbox....

is they always give Josh a fantastic Christmas present.



One thing I love about this camcorder is that it's the size of an ipod and that little USB sticking out of the bottom? Yeah, that's all it needs. It's attached, built in, and won't get lost with all my other cords. Cute huh?

We like.

Christmas for Two

We spent Christmas morning all by ourselves this year. I don't mean to offend, but it was so nice to not worry about being anywhere, or doing anything!

Josh woke up at 5 something o' clock, awakened me with a sweet and gentle kiss (because he promised to stop jumping up and down on the bed before the sun comes up about a week into our marriage) and wanted to go open presents. We did. Because we can. Something cool about being a grown up is that you get to open your presents anytime you want. We could've opened them all at 2am if we wanted. (so there Santa!)

We opened our surprise presents to/from each other which was a big relief. Josh was surprised, and did like his gifts. I was surprised and did like my gifts. Whew! Stress over.

Then we went back to bed. That's called compromise. Josh is a morning person, I am not. So, we woke up at o'dark thirty for him. Then went back to bed for me. We're good at compromise. If you want us to teach you how to be happily married, we'd love to give you some pointers.

One good thing about not having kids is that we can open all the presents, leave the wrapping paper out and go back to bed not wondering if our children are going to kill themselves or each other with the wrapping paper and ribbon.

When we finally rolled our lazy butts out of bed (read: I finally stopped trying to make Josh sleep in with me) we got ready and started the family part of the day. There was more eating, more presents, more gaming, some music, and even a little bit of rock band (me and Lit, we're like this).

The drive back home from Daybreak to North Salt Lake took something like 2 hours (with a couple of stops on the way) because of all the snow. When we finally made it home, we couldn't resist going out to play.  I think this is going to be my favorite Christmas tradition. Now, if only we can figure out how to make the weather always cooperate....

Josh and I bundled up at about 10:00, and went out to play in the snow. We made snow angels. We went down the slide at our playground. We wandered around the neighborhood looking at lights. We flopped in the snow and listened to it falling our hoods. It was a beautiful night, and the snow was butt cold magical and romantic.

In short, it's kinda nice to have Christmas for two. Less stressful, less tiring, less planned, more romantic, more laid back, and this year, it was perfect for us.

Christmas Eve

On Christmas Eve we went to the Fugal house for party of the century. Every time the Fugal's are down from Washington we have a party of the decade, and when you combine it with Christmas you get party of the Century.


We ate, we sang, we opened gifts, we wrote poems, we watched the babies do a nativity (which was terribly cute) and read, and sang, and ate. You think I'm repeating myself, but that really is the order of how things happen. Have you seen My Big Fat Greek Wedding? I saw that and was immediately convinced that I'm part Greek.Or at least my family is.  'cause Greeks marry Greeks to breed more Greeks, to be loud breeding Greek eaters. Just substitute "mormons" or "Fugals" and you pretty much get the picture.


Anyway the night was fantastic. We were spoiled rotten and got more presents than we could ever need. And we're keeping all of them. 


It's funny because they were given to us and right now you're thinking "why wouldn't you keep all of them? It would be rude not to!" and I'm thinking "We got so much stuff, and so many people didn't get stuff, and it's kindof rude that I'm not sharing!" That just goes to show that I'm a better person than you are. It's OK we can still be friends. Plus you're right. Who really wants my 9x13 pan with "Egbert" engraved on it anyway? Me. That's who.


The best part of course that everybody was there. The Fugals from Washington were here for the wedding, and the new Fugals came home from honeymooning just in time for dinner. (Side note: the new phrase of the year comes from my mom. When giving Wendy (Nate's new wife) her first Fontanini, she said "Wendy Sue Hecker-Fugal may now open her present" or something like that. I told Wendy that I think she should change her name instead of hyphenating it because it sounds like a cuss-word. My baby brother's family is now officially the "Hecker-Fugal" family because we can't turn down a good excuse to say a cuss-word.)


When we left Lindon it was snowing, and all reports I've seen say it never stopped. By the time we hit Murray it was dry as a bone. No rain. No snow. No nothin'. Josh and I came home, finished wrapping presents and went to bed. No traditions. Nothing festive. Just boring us. I'm a little bummed about that.


I'd love to have some traditions of our own, but it seems like all the good ones involve EVERYBODY and the whole family (because it's really all about family) and require kids. Anybody have any Christmas traditions for two? You know when you go to Deseret Book and they have the "cooking for two" cookbook right next to the "cooking for small and large groups (each recipe serves 42 - 68 people)" and you always feel bad for the person who has to buy it because that must be a lonely life? We're that people. And if anybody wants to write a "How to celebrate Christmas for two" book, I'd buy that too.

I dreamt of a white christmas, and I got one!

OK the day after I wrote about being such a grinch  this year I changed my mind. Not that I hadn't already changed my mind of course because somebody did tell me all about having a good attitude. And I did read several blogs explaining the real meaning of Christmas. So, mostly my mind was already changed by the time I wrote that post, but there was just a little tiny part in the corner of my skull thinking "Christmas sucks, and even though I know why I should be happy and thankful, I'm still not loving this, and it makes me grouchy that I don't wanna tell anybody the truth."

Cue the snow.
Sweet, I just said that and got up to see if it's snowing outside and it is. I don't think I cued it, but it is snowing right now, and I said cue the snow, so maybe I'll take credit for this incredible storm.

Once it started to snow, I really did get happier. You know how some people have weather-related depression? I'm pretty sure I have snow-related happiness. I mean it, there's just something about snow, big, thick, heavy snow that makes me feel happy and safe (ironic isn't it?) and cozy and magical and happy (did I mention that already?) and Christmas-y.

I stopped feeling so bah-humbug about everything and actually enjoyed this week! Merry Christmas to me.

Nate's hitched.

The wedding oh the wedding!

My baby brother got married this weekend. Yep, that’s right, he got engaged like a month ago and everybody somehow pulled off a beautiful wedding.

The ceremony was fantastic, the bride was blushing (I’ve always wanted to say that….it’s a good thing right? Not like embarrassed or anything? I hope it means like beautiful, and glowing, and stunning, and all that good stuff…if not, that’s not what she was), the groom was handsomer than he’s ever been in his life (and he’s been pretty darn handsome before…), the food was exquisite, and the decorations were stunning.

Now it’s over. I can feel the big sigh of relief that my mom breathed.

It’s weird to me that he’s married. I freaked when he turned 18 because he was an adult then. But he was still in high school which kindof balanced out the “adultness” of being 18. Then I freaked when he moved out to go to college because that’s about as adult as it gets. Then I got married and figured that college kids were still immature (unlike my newly married and VERY mature self). Now he and I are on the same playing field. It’s a little weird to me.

Since we’re 3 years apart, I’ve always been a whole school ahead of him. He was in Elementary when I moved on to Jr. High, and Jr. High when I moved on to high school. We always got along, but he’s always been my kid brother.

He’s also the baby of the family and the last to get married which means no more weddings on my side of the family until Garret. I’ve got a good 10-12 years for that, which pretty much means this is my last “young person” wedding because let’s face it, in 10-12 years, I’m gonna be undeniably old. Probably wrinkly and pushing the whole gray hair thing. Frightening isn’t it?

I'll post the photos later.

New Building

There’s just something that makes me feel important about being in a new building. Maybe it’s the smell of fresh paint and carpet instead of dirty diapers and wet shoes. Maybe it’s the fact that there are still covers on the pedals for the piano. Maybe it’s because you can see the fuzz left over from the cut of the carpet against the walls or the un-stained upholstery in the chapel pews. Probably it’s all of those things combined that makes me excited to get to meet in a brand new building.

A Change of Heart

What I was going to post today (seriously, I already had it written, just not posted yet) was this:

Where is my Christmas Spirit?

Remember when you were a little kid and Christmas was all about fun, presents, a break from school (and life), playing in the enormous white mounds of snow, enjoying family parties, sugars, sweets, and hot chocolate and enjoying the best in everybody?

What happened to that?

Instead of playing in the snow, I’m bundling up and whining because it’s too scary to drive. I put on as many layers as possible (for the journey from my door to my driveway), and I haven’t even tried to catch a snow flake on my tongue this year. The only white mounds I've noticed are the growing piles of laundry to be washed.

Instead of taking a break from school and life I am working as much as possible to pay for stuff. I’m trying to catch up and prove to people that I’m reliable even in the middle of holidays. I’m over-booked and under-staffed and can't seem to stop myself from committing to things that I really can't make happen.

Instead of enjoying family parties, I’m grudgingly going. But only because I love my mother-in-law and Josh, and Christmas parties are what make them happy. I think there are entirely too many of them, and mostly I hang out with the same people at every one of them (Josh’s siblings) anyway.

Instead of being excited about surprising somebody with the perfect get, I’m running to the store on my way home from work and grabbing a gift card (because that’s more fun to use anyway) and calling it good. If you’re lucky you’ll get a homemade card out of me.

Instead of loving the bell ringer outside Walmart for the service he’s offering and singing jingle bells the whole way home, I want to knock that guy out and carry him around with the SLOSM but first I’ll take away his bell because he’s buggin’ me.

Instead of enjoying the sugars, sweets, and hot chocolate I’m doing a sugar fast and drinking raspberry tea to make my stupid broken female reproductive system work.

The truth is my baby brother is getting married tomorrow and it’s kinda freaking me out. My holiday season is (once again) childless and it breaks my heart. My driveway is covered in ice and my car shakes when I start it. My Christmas tree is beautifully decorated but not once have Josh and I sat in the love sac together staring at it and enjoying the glow from the lights. The presents are (mostly) purchased and wrapped, but none of them are surprises. We’ve bailed on more parties than I care to admit to, and haven’t done any neighbor gifts. The treats and snacks I've made may have been poisoned for all I know, and I haven’t watched any classic Christmas movies yet. The Christmas music we’ve been listening to since August has slowly made its way out of my CD player and I haven’t been ice skating in 2 years. We went to see the lights at Temple Square but took exactly 0 pictures and stayed for approximately 26.3 minutes. I know I'm not the busiest person alive, and I have no idea how those of you with kids do it. I really don't.

So what do I really want this Christmas? Peace. I want a whole day at home with my husband who I love. I want us to enjoy the things we love about this season together. I want to borrow somebody’s child (anybody? Anybody? Buhler?) and watch them open Christmas presents giggling over each new toy. I want to watch a Christmas movie while drinking hot chocolate and not feel guilty about the sugar or the waste of time. I want to wander temple square 2 nights in a row revisiting my favorite places the 2nd time. I want to lick the mixers while I’m making Christmas cookies. I want to take beautiful pictures of the snow covered trees. I want to snow-shoe up a huge mountain and enjoy the moonlight shining on the fresh blanket of snow. I want to shop with no financial or time restraints. I want to roll a snowball taller than my head. And I want to enjoy Christmas the right way! Why is that so hard?

After composing this terribly (honest) depressing blog. I read this post. Then this one. Then this and this. I decided that I am truly thankful for all that I have. The tears came (thank goodness I forgot to put on mascara this morning) and I made a conscious decision to stop feeling sorry for myself because I am truly blessed. "I have so much more than I don't have." 

The words I had planned to say in my lesson on Sunday (I'm never really sure of which words actually make it out of my mouth during those 30 minutes) keep coming back to me. When I don't understand or feel like I am forgotten, I can fall back on the things I really know. 

I know that this life is not the end and that the things that don't work out here absolutely will work out later. I know that even when it's hard, it's certainly not impossible. I know that with the love and support of those around me who are most important, I can do hard things and I know that I am loved beyond anything I can imagine.

Yes I still want peace for Christmas, no I'm not satisfied with the way I've spent this Christmas season. Yes I think that if our circumstances were slightly different (we had a baby) everything would be better (those of you who would give anything to a day off from kids for just one day, can laugh at me now). But more importantly, I know that it will be OK.

It’s funny that Josh smashed his head open because….

My sister Katy (who by the way is one of my very favorite people in the world) thinks it’s a good idea to explain why her jokes are funny. You catch her saying things like this all the time.

Katy: What goes tick-tock, woof-woof?
Innocent Victim: “I dunno, what?”
K:  “a watchdog ha ha ha ha ha!” (this is a very sincere hysterical laugh because she really thinks it’s funny.
IV: “ha….ha…..ha….” this is a courtesy laugh. Because nobody likes to hurt Katy’s feelings. She’s just too nice.
K: “See? It’s funny because ‘tick tock’ is the sound a watch makes, and ‘woof woof’ is the sound a dog makes. But the funniest part is that a watchdog is a real thing. Get it?”

Now you need to know that the explanation of the joke is usually funnier than the joke itself. Also you should know that Katy doesn’t really think the joke is funny, and she knows it’s funny to explain why it is funny. Now the whole thing is such a regular joke in our family that we just say “it’s funny because…” all the time. It’s guaranteed to get a laugh.

Yesterday Josh slipped on the ice from our faulty gutter line and smacked his head on the rockwork on the side of the house (think we should sue the homebuilder?). It gouged out a big chunk of the skin on his noggin and bled for a long time. He (being a manly man, and certainly not a sissy) picked himself up he came upstairs to show me his wound.

That’s funny because I JUST  finished explaining why I’m a sissy . And how I can’t handle blood. And that head wounds make me pass out. Get it? (“Spot the Irony” is another game we like to play at the Fugal household.)

When Josh walked in with his hand on his head, I looked at him and told him I was real sorry, but this is kindof his area of expertise and I didn’t really know what to do for him.  Eventually I called Meleta (it’s nice to have an ER nurse in the family. She’s so great!) who told us what to watch for and calmed me down (a little).

I spent the whole day asking Josh to see his pupils, and “checking” the back of his head since he couldn’t see it. By “checking” I mean: glancing at ‘The Wound’ for .002 miliseconds and spending the next 2 hours whining about how woozy I felt because of the sight of blood (which I clearly can’t handle).

You should know he’s fine. You can only sortof see the big crater in his head if you look (he was due for a haircut, so his shagginess is just perfect). He didn’t pass out, or get a concussion. He didn’t panic. He didn’t wanna go to the Dr. He didn’t whine. He just told me when he wanted more Tylenol (which for him is pretty drastic). My man is so tough!

I just like to know things:

I remembered this weekend that I am a better, more patient person when I know what’s going on around me. I need to be acknowledged and I need to know that whoever could potentially be inconveniencing me knows the severity of the situation.

For example: I need to know that Josh knows that he has to turn Left at the next light. Otherwise I tell him. He appreciates it, I know he does. Because every time I do it, he tells me so. “Thanks babe.” He says out loud. “I drive you to work every day of my life and I already knew that. But because I know you’re neurotic and I love you anyway, I won’t remind you of that.” He says in his head.

The ladies in the salad line in front of me had me ready to tear my hair out before I even got through the lettuce. There were like ump-teen Sweet Little Old Sister Missionaries in front of me. I was leaving late for lunch and totally forgot to tell Scott, who was covering for me, about the meetings that were going to happen in the next 15 minutes and the people invited to them; so, I was kindof in a hurry to grab my food and run back downstairs and hopefully beat the first set of meeting-goers.

The problem with being in a hurry when you’re standing behind an old person is that you start to hate the old person’s guts. It’s not their fault they’re slow, it’s just one of those things that happens when you get old. Like sagging, and rambling. Even though you know it’s not their fault, you still want to pick up all 92 pounds of them and carry them through the line because you know you could carry them, their salad plate, and your salad plate while loading both plates with the perfect proportion of salad bar ingredients faster than they can walk.

As I stood behind SLOSM (Sweet Little Old Sister Missionary) #4 watching her pick out the only 4 remaining pieces of romaine lettuce one at a time, (it’s OK that there were only 4 because she’s old. Eating like a bird is one of those things that happens to you when you get old. Like velcro Reeboks and purple hair) I started to fidget. I snapped my debit card between my fingers at the pace of about 1,976 snaps per piece of romaine lettuce.

After she moved on to the spinach section of the salad bar, she turned and reached for the other salad tongs like she was going in for another piece. Then she changed her mind and returned to her spinach. (Is this play by play of a SLOSM’s salad boring you? Imagine being in a hurry and watching it all happen in slow motion!) That’s when she looked up at me and said “Sorry dear. I’m so indecisive, I promise to hurry through the rest of the line so you don’t have to wait.”

Just like that my anxious debit card flipping ceased. I laughed with her and told her not to worry about it at all and assured her I had 45 minutes of lunch break, and could spend 44 of them in the line at the salad bar without being inconvenienced at all. It wasn’t entirely true, but it was how I truly felt about it because she already apologized. Something about knowing that she knows she's making me wait just makes me feel a lot better about the situation.

And that is why when my Relief Society lesson was only half over and we had just 2 minutes left until time to pray and get out (because we started late, not because I talk so much. Well, maybe because I talk so much, but we also started late…), I publicly asked the presidency how much time I had left. I already knew, but I wanted the class to know I knew so they wouldn’t start fidgeting for the last 2 minutes. It’s my subtle way of saying “I know we all wanna get out of here in the next 7 minutes, and I promise to do my part to make that happen, OK? Just don’t fidget during my testimony because it’s rude. And if we’re late, blame all 9 verses of A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief not me!"

On why I'm a sissy.

Some things gross me out. I’m weak. I’m queasy. All right, I’ll say it: I’m a sissy (and probably a codfish too, although I’ve never really understood what that means….) (I use a lot of parentheses....I blame ADD.... Does it bug you?)

I blog-stalk this hilarious person who I’ve never met before, (I found her on facebook and thought she was someone else, but she turned out to be totally hysterical and fun to blog-stalk anyway, so I’ve been proudly (secretly parentheses in the parentheses? Is that even legal outside of algebra?) blog-stalking her for more than a year now…that is another topic for another day) and she happens to live in Egypt (not the kind of blog you read to feel better about your normal life). She has this incredibly cool and very fascinating life and is always doing something exciting.  Today I happened to read this post and my stomach turned over after the first picture. I was very afraid of losing my lunch (which was really good today by the way. I love taco bar! OK now this is just ridiculous....), but I kept reading anyway.

Against my better judgment I read the whole post. Now I feel sick. I just can’t handle blood. Or needles.

Know what else grosses me out?

Fingernails. Josh loves me so he cuts his fingernails when I’m not home. I love him so I paint my toenails when he’s not home (He can’t handle the smell. But not because he’s a sissy (which he’s not, even if he did love Teddy Ruxpin. Aundrea told me Teddy Ruxpin is actually not that sissy-ish), but because he can’t breathe). I hate fingernails so much that I NEVER cut my nails. Luckily I have what I think are actually fairly attractive long nails, but I never cut them off, because the leftovers gross me out. When people cut their nails in public, I want to throw up on their faces.

Yicky-creepy-old-men. Seriously, if you’re cute like a grandpa and say “sweetie” or “honey” or “punkin” to me, that’s fine. But if you just think you’re cute like a grandpa but in fact you are a yicky-creepy-old-man, please just call me by my name. You gross me out. And don’t ever, EVER touch me. Ever.

Pens which have been chewed. ‘Nuff said.

Snot. Sometimes I feel like I’ll be an OK mom when the time comes. But one thing that assures me that I’ll be the mediocre-est mom ever to roam the face of the earth is my aversion to snot. I really can’t handle it. It makes me gag. Every time. I don’t care how cute the child underneath it is. Or how much I love them, I really puke a little in my mouth when I see it. Forget about touching it.

In spite of all the things that make me go “buuuuuhhh” (Ron White shudders), I’m a little brave about some things. Like paint fumes, toilets, and stuffed animal heads. So, I figure it all evens itself out. Right?!?!?!