Traditionally, Sunday is the day of rest. I rarely consider working on my blog work, and I enjoy writing so much that it is more like fun than it is a job.
However, in respect for the Sabbath day, I am making Sundays a day of rest on my blog as well. Fortunately for my readers, I think the God and our Savior are perfect in every way, including in their senses of humor.
On Sundays, i will provide a joke. Not ALWAYS religious- especially as this joke is about Catholic nuns, and I am not Catholic, and not ALWAYS uproriously funny. Maybe some days, i'll post a puzzle or a riddle or something simply thought provoking or uplifting. However, they will always be inspiring.
I heard this one last night, and I thought it was great! (Thank you Kristin for telling me!) Enjoy!!
There were two nuns... One of them was known as Sister Mathematical (SM), and the other one was known as Sister Logical (SL). It is getting dark and they are still far away from the convent.
SM: Have you noticed that a man has been following us for the past thirty-eight and a half minutes? I wonder what he wants.
SL: It's logical. He wants to rape us.
SM: Oh, no! At this rate he will reach us in 15 minutes at the most? What can we do?
SL: The only logical thing to do of course is to walk faster.
SM: It's not working.
SL: Of course it's not working. The man did the only logical thing. He started to walk faster, too.
SM: So, what shall we do? At this rate he will reach us in one minute.
SL: The only logical thing we can do is split. You go that way and I'll go this way. He cannot follow us both.
So the man decided to follow Sister Logical.
Sister Mathematical arrives at the convent and is worried about what has happened to Sister Logical.
Then Sister Logical arrives.
SM: Sister Logical! Thank God you are here! Tell me what happened!
SL: The only logical thing happened. The man couldn't follow us both, so he followed me
SM: Yes, yes! But what happened then?
SL: The only logical thing happened. I started to run as fast as I could and he started to run as fast as he could.
SM: And?
SL: The only logical thing happened. He reached me.
SM: Oh, dear! What did you do?
SL: The only logical thing to do. I lifted my dress up.
SM: Oh, Sister! What did the man do?
SL: The only logical thing to do. He pulled down his pants.
SM: Oh, no! What happened then?
SL: Isn't it logical, Sister?
A nun with her dress up can run faster than man with his pants down.
***First- I must apologize for not posting yesterday. My husband was busy setting up our wireless internet, and needed our desktop computer to do it. We have broadband, so it wasn't as obvious as setting up a regular modem, and it took a lot of time on the phone to figure it out. I had my trusty, adorable little net book- but none of my neighbors Wi-fi's were keen on letting me steal from them.***
(yes, he does have blue hair here.)
If any of my children belong to their daddy, this one does. I mean, they all belong to their dad, but my Mahone is a serious daddy's boy. He puts up with me well enough, and i dare say he loves me a lot. He's very affectionate toward anyone who will love him (and it's an honest fact that 5 minutes with this child and he will have you wrapped around his little finger.) He has been potty trained over a year, but I still have to coax or threaten him into going to the bathroom several times a day. There's just too much going on, and he'd rather dance in discomfort than drop everything to go. I always know that if he runs up and hugs my leg with a seemingly adorable "I love you my-mom' (which is what he calls me), it's because he has to pee so bad he can't sit down, and he has run out of places to dance without looking suspicious.
Mahone also happens to be the KING of one-liners. Several times a day, my facebook page is plastered with the last funny thing Mahone said. He's witty, he's clever, and he's a spacial genious. My son is only 3, but he can take any Transformer (his favorite is Bumble Bee) and within 30 seconds, it will be a car or a robot. He is currently working on his Rubiks Cube, which he doesn't really understand yet, but he's fascinated by it.
Mahone is a devout fan of anthing boy. He learned his alphabet (yes, he reads) with the knowledge that J stands for Jedi, L stands for Luke, V stands for 'Dark Vadar' (which was his Halloween Costume this year) and Y, of course, was for Yoda. Daily, he dons super hero t-shirts, and rarely removes his superman cape. The Indiana Jones movies are his favorites, as of late.
Still, my son is the sensetive type, and loves to play with his sisters- that means dolls, and dress up. Luckily, he has his own dress up clothes, which include an Astronaut costume, Bob the Builder, Bumble Bee, and Chef's clothes, complete with a kitchen. Hey- his dad cooks sometimes, and his dad usually has a baby on his hip. However, when he adorned himself in Lilly's Tinkerbell wings, i worried. Only for a moment though, because with an extra large grin on his little face, Mahone announced "My-Mom! I'm a bug!" Later, wearing the same wings, he told his dad that he was an airplane.
ALL BOY.
**Some of the funniest things Mahone has said:
When his dad asked him "Are you a little boy or a monkey!?" Mahone answered: "Your CLONE!!!"
Once, my mom lost her voice and he said "You need new batteries, Ammah. I don't have batteries in my mouth."
Once, when he was being particularly naughty, I asked what was up and he said "Mom, I'm just acting like Dark Vadar!"
Brandon had been tickling the kids, and he scooped Mahone up and tickled him with his "force lightning" and Mahone said "I'm a Jedi like my father before me!!!"
The first prayer he said by himself went like this: "Dear Heavenly Father, I'm thankful for this day, I'm thankful for my family and my closet and astronauts and worms. Please help me to be nice to my mom, but not to bad guys. I 'save' these things in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen."
Once, while in the car, Lilly was pestering him, and he said "MOM! Lilly's being an antagonist again!!"
THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU to my PERFECT husband for buying me the adorable little PURPLE net book that I am posting from today! (Yes, it's technically a school expense, and he will use it on occasion...but it's SO ME!- and he let me get PURPLE instead of blue, without even whining about the color's emasculating effects on young men in college! What a man!)
***Side Note Over.***
I think because it's a new year (and an additional reason is possibly that 2009 was the worst year of all our lives.) people are reevaluating themselves, their lives, and their passions left and right. Blogs on every level have been posting about new years resolutions, weight, goals, and what they think of themselves as they are NOW. Many even talk about where they are going, where they came from, and weather or not they're lost. Happiness, of course, is always the desired product.
One of these blogs (and you can access it by clicking on "Angie" in my list of blogs i love) talked about living furiously, and how we all have at one point. What happens to us, as we grow, and change, and become 'successful' that keeps us from living furiously ?
For some it's the weight of responsibility, the things that keep us tied to the place we're standing (job, family, etc.) For others, it's money (making too much money to just walk away, or not making enough money to even drive out of state) or the lack of gumption.
I don't have a soap box here. I don't have advice, and I don't know how to fix it. All i know is that everyone wants it, and that I have had a great deal of life lived furiously.
A tribute to my friends, and a (late) tribute to New Years.
The night had started out simple and mundane enough- but a lot of our nights had started out that way and ended up as life long memories. It was New Years Eve, about to become 2002. We had little plans except to be together.
The movie 9 to 5 has always been our movie. I was Jane Fonda's character- the jaded, insecure, learning to be independent while trying to discard who I thought I was once upon a time girl who couldn't run a copy machine. Rachael was Lily Tomlin, because if she ever did kill her boss, it would include a broadway musical style of singing and dancing- and probably animated animals too. Nyssa, though, was Dolly Parton simply because she wasn't blonde, and her boobs weren't
huge. And we all knew someone who was a "sexist, egotistical, lying, hypocritical biggot." Not to mention, if one of us ever had to hide a body, we knew who to call.
In those days, I was still a teenager. I was in college. Crazy Town's "Butterfly" was my song and I once dirty danced to it at midnight in the middle of a busy street. With my girls. There was a red convertible with the top down, and we were drunk- but only on our youth.
In the freezing cold, we drove down to the Holiday Oil, because Nyssa wanted to take a picture of the gas prices, which had reached an all time low of 99 cents a gallon. (Yes, down a great deal from 2 years ago when it was 5.00 a gallon in the middle of Texas.) Of course, being only 10:00 on New Years Eve, Wise Men and plastic portraits of baby Jesus clung to front lawns like a child to it's mother's leg- 'Don't let go! Don't forget about the year that will never happen again!'
Well, we shouted back, with cherry lips and frothy faces in the cold wind- 'Good riddance! And a Happy New Year!"
Somewhere along the road (it's not there anymore, and my memory is a bit rusty) was a house with a sign that said 'Tilley Time Daycare."
It's Utah. There are a lot of kids here, and so there are a lot of daycares. What made this one 'special' (as in "Ed.") was that the sign was a 5 foot long yellow umbrella that looked like a giant Twinkie with red writing on it. No, really- it was the ugliest thing ever. And it was nothing to us but a hideous landmark until something smashed through one of it's corners and left a huge gaping hole in it.
Now, if you remember anything from the 90's, you'll remember these:
Now, really - how could 3 all-grown-up-but-not-really girls resist? We spent the next two hour making signs on poster board that said "Hey! Where's the cream filling!" and eating hostess cupcakes and Twinkies. Rachael was terrified that they'd find her fingerprints, so she wouldn't touch the signs, but in the end, she signed her whole name. I mean, first, middle, and last. So much for anonymity. But that was Rachael.
At midnight, we hammered our posts into the ground, and ran away laughing. None of us thought to take pictures. Nyssa wasn't a photographer yet, and I didn't even own a camera. A few days later, the signs were gone, and we never heard from the police. After all, what we did was only a very mild form of vandalism, and if it had been my sign, I would have had the decency to laugh. Hopefully, the owners had a good sense of humor. We didn't mean it to hurt anyone.
There will forever be a special place in my heart for this girl. She is the one who made me mommy.
Ask a mother about her birth experience, and she will rattle on for hours about it. Don't we love to dish? I think that the biggest reason for this is that there is no better way to learn to love someone than to truly suffer for them. And I think that God was smart when he made birth painful. I don't look at it as a punishment. (You know, Eve, being the first to take the fruit and all.) It is likely that many of us have never had a more painful experience than child birth. And for certain, none more rewarding. We love our children no matter what, and the suffering, I believe, plays a large part in that initial love. We all know they will grow up, and probably need therapy because of the ways we inevitably will screw them up, and heaven knows it's really hard to love a sass-mouthed teenager who thinks you are wrong all the time- no, I don't have a teenager, but it scares me that Lilly will be one some day, because she already IS a sass-mouth who thinks I'm wrong all the time.
Spiritual moment of the day: Sometimes, I think it's a very simple thing to look at our Savior, Jesus Christ, and to see the reason he loves us so. You can not help but adore a person you ached for.
The problem with swapping birth stories is that it is usually a one-upmanship. You know, who had a longer labor, or who had an emergency c-section, and epesiotomy, or who was the tough cookie and muscled her way through the entire labor without drugs. The more dramatic, the better. I have honestly, and I mean TRULY heard a conversation that went like this (and it was the last straw of many straws that made me decide never to go back to another playgroup.):
Mom1. My labor was 12 hours long. And I had an episotomy.
Mom2: My labor was about 12 hours too, but I tore.
Mom1: Well, I actually went into labor at 2:43 in the morning, and Duke, here, wasn't born until 3:17 pm. So, it was actually over 12 hours. Man, he had a huge head. I had to have 30 stitches in my epesiotomy (And might I add here, that that is a ridiculous amount of stitches? Do you think I believe her? Um, NO.)
Mom2: Isn't that just a killer? I had just as many with my tear. And Jayden was over 9 pounds...
Okay. Eye. Roll. They then went on to talk about how smart their babies were. I mean, isn't it an EXPECTED milestone for your 15 month old to be able to stack blocks? Yes. I do think so.
No, my labor was 5 hours flat. I felt only 1 hour of actual pain before getting my blessed epidural, and I actually had a short nap before pushing for 15 minutes. So no extra points here. I aparently don't feel enough pain to be any entertainment. Whenever it comes to me, other women just stare at me for a moment, and then go on talking about their own labors.
Lilly, though, was wide eyed, calm, and alert since she was only crowning. She recognized my mom's voice and turned to stare at her as soon as she heard it. She was 7 pounds, 7 ounces, and 21 inches long. She was my fattest baby.
Lilly always had ancient, old eyes. They are big and round and dark brown. She has always been impatient, like me, and a natural performer. Lilly didn't walk until she was 15 months, and then, it was only because while i was in class at church, all the other ladies would egg her on....Show off.
Our best friends have a little boy who was named after my husband. We are his God-parents, and from the day Lilly met him, she has been in love with him. He lives in Texas now, but on our move from Alabama to Utah, we stopped by their house for a few days. It was like a dream come true for her. Yes- she looks like she's strangling him in this picture, but he really loves her just as much.
It will never be easy to just sum Lilly up. She's a caring little soul. She loves her family, and she's crazy about babies. She can smell a lie, and when she asks a question, she expects a real answer.
It's so crazy, because sometimes, I look at her and she is just so grown up. She's the one that I have to tell to stay little for a long time. She's the one who will be responsible, I think. She will grow up, and marry and be the one to have a lot of kids. She's so much like me.
I have never been known to be patient. I know it's one of my greatest faults, especially in motherhood. How many times have I shouted at my babies because they weren't fast enough, or been annoyed because I had to pick up something they've dropped? How often have I wished that they were old enough so that they could do things on their own and give me a break? A lot more than I care to admit. Particularly yelling at them. I really do cherish my kid's childhoods. I am constantly telling them to stay little as long as possible. PLUS, the longer they stay little, the more time I have to improve myself. Likely, they won't remember my shortcomings in their little years. But they'll hold me in contempt for the rest of their lives if I screw up too badly when they're teenagers.
So, given the fact that my impatience is insatiable (because I'm pretty sure I haven't outgrown it. For example, almost 2 years ago we bought a house because we needed one in a hurry. Now I want to move because the commute I make at least twice a week is driving me CRAZY, not to mention my husband who does it 5 or 6 times a week- but that's for another post.) it should be no surprise that I rushed our engagement. (Thank Heaven he really is the 'right' guy, huh?!)
First off, I wanted to be married in the Autumn. It's my favorite season. I had planned this my entire life. We were cutting it close (for planning time) unless we wanted to wait a year. (And, just an FYI, I know a year long engagement is 'normal' in most cases- Mormon kids don't wait that long. We're virgins when we marry. And a year is too long to know what's coming without screwing up..or just screwing...but I'm trying to keep it family friendly here.) I wanted it the way I wanted it. No such luck in almost every sense of the theory- but we're moving on. It was July when a group of my friends picked me up from work and took me to a bridal store that was going out of business.
Okay. First wedding mistake, and probably my BIGGEST regret. I did not buy the dress I wanted. The dress pictured here isn't EXACTLY what I wanted, but it's differences are minor. The dress I wanted was cream colored, and had a MUCH wider crimson (Not to be confused with bright red) sash instead of green, though I have since then seen it with an orange sash- and that's the one I would have gone for had I known about it.
BUT
I was dirt poor. My parents were willing to help me out, but they had 3 kids living at home (not including me) and the dress I wanted was $7000.00. (I think that was more than the TOTAL cost of our wedding.) Not to mention, I was getting married in the Temple, and I needed a WHITE dress if I were to wear it in there, not an OFF-WHITE dress.
I tried on a few of the dresses at the store but the pickings were slim. While I was trying on the last dress (originally $700.00, but marked down to $200.00- SCORE!) I sort of fell in love. I mean, it wasn't MY dress. You know, the one I wanted and the one that seemed made for me when I had tried it on a year earlier on a whim while shopping with a friend. However, this new dress was flattering to my curvy-ish figure, it was white, and it was simple enough that I could add my own touch of personality to it. (Like deep cherry red ska-kid Mary Janes for my wedding shoes!) My mom had told me on the phone not to buy a dress that night...but there was a girl who was waiting to try it on when I was through.
So I bought it.
In the mean time, all the boys were waiting for all of us girls at their apartment. Impatiently, I might add. So Brandon deserved what came next. I walked in, and said "I bought my dress tonight." I handed him a couple of tuxedo magazines and added "when are we getting married?"
Brandon went immediately pale. When he'd regained his poise, he said "I guess I'd better go talk to your dad, huh?"
I had actually thought about introducing my children first, as this blog is mainly about them. But then I would have started with Lilly because she's my oldest, and we have already talked about her in length. So it occurred to me that none of my children would be here without my husband.
I met Brandon when I was 13. (That means that I have known my husband for half my life, plus one year. PUT THE CALCULATOR AWAY. That makes me 27. ) We both went to Elk Ridge Middle School in West Jordan Utah. I was an akward, skin-and-bones girl with a ponytail and braces. Brandon was loud, mysterious, impossible to read, and he was, seemingly, oblivious to me. I remember, he was hanging out with a couple of friends of mine, and they all walked into my class room. I was sitting cross legged on my desk in Mr. Cottrell's creative writing class. On Brandon's arm, was another girl- marble skin and water colored eyes with hair like stick straight cream. It would take me years to figure out that she was his little sister. The pang of jealousy I first felt was pointless. (Hey, in my own defense, they look nothing alike. In fact, when we all go somewhere new together, and Brandon is introduced to someone, they automatically shake my Sister in Law's hand next and say something along the likes of "This must be the wife!"- because honestly, I DO look more like him than she does.)
I only saw Brandon a few times that year. He was a grade older than I was, and in Junior High, the grades mixed a lot less than they do in High School. Still, I asked him to dance once at a chruch youth dance. I don't think he looked at me in the eyes even once. Most of my old memories are of him wearing jeans, an untucked dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. And flat caps. He always wears flat caps.
We met again when I was in 10th grade. It was also a creative writing class. Brandon was on the crew for our school's Literary Magazine. He used to sit like some sort of warm gargoyle on top of the tallest cabinet in the room, and whenever the office aide would walk in, he would drop himself in front of her without any warning. It was a good thing that our professor was patient. He lost a lot of office aides to Brandon's immaturity.
On one of the first several days into the class, I wrote a quiet insult to one of the Lit Mag crew members on the white board. To my undying surprise, they all found it intelligent enough to call me their friend. From that point on, Brandon and I were best friends, and though I swore to my mother on many occasions (with her rolling her eyes at me each time) that I would marry that boy someday, (Yes. I'm a stalker. But he played me. On purpose.) we didn't actually date at all until after his LDS mission to Kingston, Jamaica.
My parents said they knew I was gone by the time we went on our first date.
I was married when I was 21 in the Salt Lake Temple- a feisty, snotty, punky, blue haired little thing with an adoring, 'good mormon boy' husband. I daresay we keep each other sane. I corrupted him a lot. He keeps me in line. I don't think there's anyone in the world who could put up with me like he can. LOL. I seem to be a pretty big handful.
Brandon spent nearly 4 years active duty in the United States Air Force. We have lived in New Jersey (A spectacular place) and Alabama (Essentially Hell.) Now he spends one weekend a month and two weeks a year writing stories as a Public Affairs Specialist here in Utah where our families are. And one day, a very very long time from now, he'll be a pediatrician. Of course, by the time that is over, we won't have any pediatrics in our house.
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