Archives for February 2006

Sorry. That may have been misleading. Not YOU, the internet world. Let me esplain. Nope. There is too much. Let me sum up.

My fabulous Uncle “Jay” used to always say:

You can pick your nose
And you can pick your friends
But you can’t pick your relatives

I blindly believed this little “nugget” of knowledge for many years but today I will lay waste to Uncle Jay’s conclusions.

1. You can not pick your nose, not all the time, not in public, not without a tissue, and MOST especially not in front of your mom, who (if she’s me) will tell you how yucky and germy it is. She will then make you wash your hands and sing the entire alphabet song while rubbing the soap in.

2. You can sort of pick your friends. Sometimes you pick friends who don’t care to be friends with you. They publicly mock you in Junior High because you still listen to New Kids on the Block so you go home and burn all of your Jordan Knight posters and destroy your Hangin’ Tough cassette, only to continue to be publicly shunned and have your name immortalized on the bathroom wall in permanent marker along with a word your mother told you NEVER to say. (Incidentally, I did find Hangin’ Tough in mint condition at a Value Village in Quebec one summer during college so I’m doing better now.)

Sometimes they pick you when you don’t want to be picked.

3. Once and only once in your life do you get to pick your relatives.

Yesterday was a day of slovenliness. If Sunday was a day of rest, then Saturday was a day of dead-cheese-laying-on-the-couch-in-a-bathrobe. Seriously. I didn’t eat lunch until 3:45 and didn’t shower until the evening. I cleaned nothing. We played and chilled all day.

At about 9pm, I got the bug of productivity and started cleaning like mad. We stayed up until 3 in the morning, me cleaning and watching the West Wing Season 1 and Dan stirring up newt’s eyes and toad’s fingers on his computer to create a new program to help with the administration of the Cirque des Mamans.

At some point around 1 am, I was taking out the recycling when I realized I was looking like a piece of hud and was mumbling some sort of incoherent half-song, half-baby-babble-chant about “Ooo-blah-bagga-bladda-ya-dadda-wa-joojie” aloud to myself, while shuffling tin cans in a house that had been a disaster all day.

DYD sat in his pajamas unfazed. He looked up at me and smiled and continued to work.

I was babbling like an idiot in a strange made-up language, watching left-wing propaganda in his living room and keeping us up until 3 am because I wasted the whole day and he was smiling at me with love, while working on a program I asked him to write for me.

I would never EVER have felt comfortable in this state with ANY boyfriend I ever had. It hit me like a ton of bricks. Do you know who this guy is? He’s my family. This should have hit me on our wedding day when we were sealed for time and eternity and everyone told us we were officially a family now, no matter how small. This should have hit me when we had our children. It did, in a way, each of those times.

But for some reason last night, it hit me the hardest. Life is strange. Dan is my family. We are a family. He is my closest relative and I got to pick him. Uncle Jay, you don’t know what you’re talking about.

It’s probably because I live too close to those Pike Market guys.

Or maybe it has something to do with the massive amount of tuna I prepared for dinner group and some wandering missionaries last night.

The dinner smelled like fish, not the missionaries…well maybe they smell like fish now. Oh, and they were Mormon missionaries, if you must know. They weren’t wearing their “identification” at the time so it took me a while to ferret it out. (Please see picture to the right. This graphic was sent to me by someones hilarious who classified it as an “S&E Fish and Chips Award FOR MORMONS ONLY, GOSH!” in the category of Good Sportsmanship While Being Absolutely Hilarious. It made me laugh…for a really long time.

Thursday I made a conscious decision to tackle the most “taxing” item on my to-do list and work on that one thing at the expense of everything else I had to do.

So, um, yeah.

I spent ALL DAY working on our taxes.

I’ve done them in the past, no real problems, but we have way too many complications this year. A second child tax credit, a refi, thoughts of starting a home-based business to support my blogging habit. (Can I itemize a deduction for just thinking about a home-based business? It did take a lot of time and effort on my part and I think I should be compensated.)

So far the only things I have right are our social security numbers and W2s. Everything else will require a redo this weekend. When Dan came home, he had to pry the 50 million documents from my fingers so we could spend some time enjoying the finer things in life, things such as reading through your billions of supportive and often hilarious comments.

I’m sorry I can’t respond to each one. I really enjoyed ever single comment and hope to slowly make the trek out to each of your blogs, if I haven’t already.

I have this funny thing with reading new blogs. I always hope they’ll be lame so I won’t have one more cool blog to check in on. You people are very disappointing in that regard so far.

I have been campaigning for months to have an 80’s dance at church and the time finally came last night. The attendance was sparse at best but the music was great and the dancing even greater.

Have you ever seen a 3 year old do the Robot? Yeah, me neither. Laylee was way uncooperative last night, spending most of the evening hovering around the snack table, nursing a cup of what appeared to some sort of sherbet punch, spiked with Gak. Punch and cookies vs. learning cool new dance moves? We’ve got to get that girl’s priorities straightened out.

She did get her groove on a couple of times and was heard chanting “Too Legit! Too Legit to quit!” so I think she’ll be okay.

By now you should know that I really like posts about hair. REALLY REALLY like them. I also really enjoy show and tell. This week we’re supposed to be showing something close up.

Beauty, thy name is Aquanet! Who knew the mullet was so versatile?

When I finished this exquisite creation, Laylee asked, “What kind is that hair called?”

Me: Do you like it?
Laylee: It looks like the hair a monkey would wear.

There you have it.

***update – the writer M**** is no longer blogging publicly and has asked that I help protect her privacy so I’ve removed her name from this post and comments and removed any links I had up to her previous site, which no longer exists but which had a URL bearing her first and last name.***

Or can I just tattoo the Angel Moroni on my forehead instead? It would be a lot less itchy and would cover up more than a few…shall we call them “imperfections” on my face.

When I woke up this morning, my first thought was “What a great day to be a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints!” I rolled to my knees and said a very humble, sincere, spiritual and heartfelt Mormony prayer.

I then got breakfast for my two little kids – yep! – they’re big fat Mormons too, both of them. So’s my husband, my mom, my dad, my 3 sisters and my brother. What a big family! Woo-hoo! We Mormons just LOVE families. (If you want to know more about what Mormons think about families, click here)

I just thought I’d make it a little easier for the bounty-hunters of discernment to find me and put me in a column somewhere.

This is an example of how certain Christians would prefer that my blog be written. Having a link on my sidebar to Mormon.org is not enough. Periodically mentioning things about my religious life is not enough. Giving back a Christian award for Humor when I found out that I was considered an evil interloper in the world of internet Christianity was not enough.

Now the person who exposed my blog as the “pea” underneath the legitimate Christian winners is at it again. She has called on her friends to go to Heather’s awards site, check out each of the nominees and put them into columns of Christian, Mormon or “Other.”

I am not making this next part up.

She is offering a reward for these bounty-hunters of faith. She says she thinks it’s fine for people to read each other, we should just all know what everybody is…

Hello. I am a human being.

What does knowing I’m Mormon have to do with caring that my son’s hand just got scorched or laughing at the way I chastise Ducky? Um…um…still thinking…

Casting Mormons and several other groups who believe in Christ out of their little club is not enough for her. She now has to seek out a group of awards that are dedicated to NOT labeling and classifying people and ruin their fun too.

Heather started the awards to recognize and reward us for the things that bring us together despite our vast differences. She wants the awards to be about “sharing the love.”

The writer who is concerned about the awards just makes me feel sad and tired all the way down to my bones! She writes that Mormons and others who are “not Christian” are sneaking their way into Christian circles by doing things like quoting C. S. Lewis on our blogs. Heck, I think Muslims should use C. S. Lewis quotes on their blog. He is just a fantastic and faith-filled man. Period. His words should be in as many places as possible. I also love the writing of Ellie Weisel and Gandhi. Am I trying to trick you into thinking I’m Jewish or Hindi? Um….no!

She says that we’re trying to convert you by weedling our way into your friendship groups. She wants bloggers to be much more clear about their “worldview” so that when people are reading you, they can take your writing with the right grain of salt.

So here are a few things you should know about my world view before you decide whether or not to read this blog any more:

-I am LDS, a card-carrying Mormon (had you gotten that yet or was I still being too sneaky?).
-I am not affiliated with any political party.
-I love being a mom.
-I don’t mind the Seattle rain that much.
-I give birth in hospitals.
-I like strawberry ice cream.
-I eat meat and vegetables, classifying me as an omnivore.
-I was raised white but Laylee has informed me that mommies can be blue or brown too.
-I cheer for the Calgary Flames hockey team. Any questions?

Run away. Run away now Edmonton Oilers fans!

Maybe I’ll carry this philosophy of making sure people are aware of everyone’s worldview into the way I speak with my friends in real life.

“Hey, my friend Shanna wrote me the sweetest note. I should warn you she’s a Republican.”

“Don’t you think Karen’s doing a great job on the PTA, besides the fact that she was a Girl Scout in junior high?”

“Come on Scott, we should be a little wary of your stance on the environment. You eat Chunky Beef Burger Soup with a FORK!”

Come on! Yes. I am LDS. I believe in LDS doctrine. If I did not, I wouldn’t put so much effort into my religion. It is sacred to me. A lot of people don’t believe in modern day prophets, Christ as their divine Savior, or read the Book of Mormon. Guess what!? They can belong to other religions or none at all.

THIS IS NOT A RELIGIOUS BLOG. It is a blog about my life, my kids and whatever the heck I want to write about. Sometimes I want to write about my mullet. Sometimes I want to write about my daughter’s prayers. Some people want to write a lot about their religious beliefs on their blogs and that’s fine. I read several “religious” blogs from various faiths and I enjoy them.

This blog is written by a person who likes you for your wonderful qualities and for the stories of your kids’ vomit and vandalism, that make me feel better about my own exciting mommy life.

It is written by a person who does not want to stamp labels on people.

It is written by a person who is sick and tired of this whole subject.

It is also written by a person who is purposely not linking to my past posts on the subject or to the blog of the woman who questions your discernment for even reading this far.

One last thing – I know that LDS people differ in belief from other Christian faiths just like other Christian faiths disagree with each other (This links to a great post by DYD about defining Christianity. Man, I like him!). I know some people don’t categorize us as Christians. I also know what I believe and anyone who comments on this blog to tell me “what I really believe but just don’t know it, even though I’ve been a member for 27 years” will be deleted.

I’m sick of the drama.

So, as I was taking the picture of my lovely flowers, I heard this hideous wailing like Magoo’s arms were being cut off. My first feeling was annoyance, “Give him back the toy already and we can all carry on to lead productive lives!”

I openned the door to find Magoo standing, supporting himself with his hands against the electric wall heater. As I ran over, he dropped to the ground and wouldn’t stop wailing. Laylee has never been burned by one of these heaters. But then, she’s a girl.

I ran his hands under cold water, put a wet washcloth on his palms and called the Urgent Care Facility 10 minutes from our house. Nope. They don’t mess around with hand burns on little kids. I’d have to take him to the hospital ER 30 minutes away.

I’m usually pretty good in emergencies and tend to break down AFTER but this was not one of those times. I kind of started freaking out. I called Dan at MegaCorp and he said he’d meet me at the hospital. But what about the car trip over there? Who would hold the cold cloth on his hands?

I had this picture in my mind of his hands curling up into permenant fists as the skin contracted and healed taut on the drive over. As I was voicing this concern to DYD, the doorbell rang. It was my mother’s helper. This week we’d changed the day and she was here to help with whatever I needed.

“Get in the car. We’re going to the ER and I need you to hold a wet washcloth on Magoo’s burns.”

“Um……I brought you these sugar cookies.”

Helper sang songs to Magoo as he screamed bloody murder the entire way. The singing was good as it camouflaged the nasty things I was saying to the incredibly lame and insensitive drivers I was passing in the retchin’ fretchin’ rush hour traffic.

I would like to take this moment to yell at the lady who drove in the fast lane, boxing me in at 62 mph on the freeway while the lane in front of her remained clear as far as the eye could see.

WHAT IN THE NAME OF CHEESE IS WRONG WITH YOU!!????? I FLASHED MY BRIGHTS. I WAVED YOU TO MOVE OVER. I VERBALLY AND GESTURALLY BEGGED YOU TO MOVE OVER…IN MY MINI-VAN! YOU WERE DRIVING THE SAME SPEED AS THE PEOPLE IN THE SLOW LANE! YOU JUST SAT THERE, SHAKING YOU SHAGGY HEAD OF 80’S HAIR LIKE YOU WERE GONNA TEACH ME A LESSON!

I LEARNED A LESSON. I LEARNED THAT YOU SHOULD HAVE YOUR LICENSE REVOKED ON ACCOUNT OF HAVING NO MERCY IN YOUR SOUL.

Aaahhh. I’m glad I got that off my chest. There should be some universal symbol for “I’m not just a wacko who’s driving like a crazed maniac because I’m late for a tennis lesson. I’m taking my kid to the EMERGENCY ROOM. Kindly move out of my ever-living way.” She had me blocked in for fully 5 minutes people, all the time shaking her head and maintaining a constant 62 on her speedometer, all the while I’m sure my son will never have the use of his poor disfigured hands again.

So eventually we got there. Helper ran in the front doors with Magoo while I went to find a parking spot. She then sat in the lobby with Laylee while DYD and I went back to triage.

Magoo got to splash in some water.

This was the first time in his life he didn’t want to splash in some water.

But, being the over-prepared-for-usually-all-the-wrong-things mom that I am, I had a measuring cup and water toys in my diaper bag, along with a change of clothes for after the splattering.

They wrapped his hand in a bandage with ointment and told me to try to keep it on. Ha HA! It didn’t last 2 minutes in the car.

I had him back in to the pediatrician’s office this morning to check in. We go back on Friday and on Monday to check for infection. In the meantime, I’m supposed to keep him bandaged, while he pulls at the gauze with his fingers, teeth, toes, charred gimpy stump, etc.

Really, it’s not that bad. He has 4 long skinny blisters on his palm. What the doctors are really worried about is the chance of complications caused by infection because he crawls on all fours like a dog, licks the bottom of shoes, and splashes in the toilet if I ever leave the bathroom door open a crack. I think they’re also worried about that poor lady and what happened to her to make her such an unfeeling wench.

We drugged the Magoo with Ibuprofen, put the kids to bed and finished a lovely Valentine’s Day with a game of cards and some shnuggling.

Meet me at the top of the Space Needle on Valentine’s Day?

Okay. I just did. Where were you?

So Valentine’s dinner in the rotating restaurant atop the Space Needle will run you a flat $95 per person before tax and gratuity (A tip is what you pay at Denny’s.)

We thought this would be quite romantic but decided to go for lunch instead. Lunch is reasonable. At lunch, a burger only costs $24 dollars and it comes with free french fries and a bed of lettuce. I think they even throw in a tomato. Very doable. I’m surprised we don’t go there all the time.

Dan and I drove downtown, listening to Kelly Clarkson sing songs of teenage pop star angst and betrayal. Mucho romantico. We used the sweet Valet parking at the foot of the Needle and headed in to the front desk where we were given our “boarding passes” to the Sky City Restaurant (I know, very “George Jetson-esque” was this date.)

We then rode up 520 feet in the glass elevator with a be-purple-vested man who described himself as our 41-second tour guide.

Once we were seated, I started taking pictures like mad. The main problem I had was trying to get a good shot of the skyline. For the life of me, I could not find the Space Needle. It seriously took me a couple of seconds to realize I was in it.

Our waitress said she recognized me from somewhere and my immediate thought was….”She must read my BLOG!” Um….I’m glad now that I didn’t suggest that. I can just imagine it. “What’s a bl-og?” “Um…never mind.” I don’t know. Hundreds of people world-wide read this blog. There’s a chance that my waitress was randomly a reader…right? Okay, I’m a loser. Moving on.

What’s the deal with Ciabatta bread? It’s everywhere and I have no idea why. A year ago, I had never heard of the stuff and now it’s taking over the world. I don’t even think it’s all that great. Let’s put it this way – If Ciabatta bread were running for President, I’d probably vote for Ralph Nader.

Dan asked if the burger was anything special and the waitress said, “It’s made with premium GROUND beef.” Ooooo, the big sell. This burger is made with GROUND BEEF! Get OUT!

She then sealed the deal by saying, “Everyone’s gotta try a $24 hamburger once in their life, right?”

Yes, yes they do.

I chose the Rare Ahi with Wasabi Mashed Potatoes and Baby Bok Choy. Delicioso. Delicioso and Daring. This menu option had an asterisk that warned that eating it would increase my risk of foodborne illness.

It also had a Wasabi garnish around the outside which I took to be some sort of avocado paste but was actually a burning goo of torture and death. DO NOT EAT A LARGE FORKFULL OF WASABI – EVER.

The waitress brought us a small bowl of salt with a tiny spoon (I guess shakers are things you use at Denny’s).

During the course of the meal we rotated twice around the space needle. The lady at the table next to us was wearing the same red turtle neck I was planning on wearing but decided against last minute. Phew! That was close. Instead I went with a black ensemble with subtle pink highlights.

Later last night Karli came over to deliver a Valentine’s treat and medical supplies (see LoveFest Part 2), wearing THE SAME THING. No, this was not planned. Weird, huh?

During the meal, Dan noticed what looked like some WI-FI antennas so I tried to hack into the Space Needle secret death ray detonation system with my PDA. It was a no-go. Seattle is still intact.

I resisted the urge to make “that noise” on the rim of my crystal glass.

Dan and I discussed whether it was better to tip your valet before or after he takes your car. If you tip him before, he may take better care of it. When my parents lived in South America as spies for the Canadian government (Oops! Was I not supposed to mention that?) people used to always offer to “watch their car.” This meant, “if you don’t give me money, you will no longer have a car when you get back.”

If you tip him after, then I don’t know what, but I think you’re supposed to tip him after. Who knows? Is it you?

Dan gave me some chocolates and a card that made me cry in a good way.

We ordered the Exploding Fog Lunar Module Sundae desert which is ice cream with a whole lot of theatrics and a peppermint sprig.

I dropped him back at MegaCorp and headed home where I found lovely flowers waiting for me on the doorstep with a note that read, “I love my sweetheart!” Delivered flowers are just so uber-cool.

What a fun and romantic day!

Whilst taking pictures of said gorgeous delivered flowers on the doorstep…….(please see next post)

Jane Eyre (A&E version) – Samantha Morton who plays Jane comes to save Mr. Rochester from being burned alive in his bed. He asks her to stay a moment and hold his hand…

An Affair to Remember – See Rita Wilson’s stirring rendition of this one in Sleepless in Seattle.

Riverdance – There’s a scene where a couple sings a love song and at the end she turns away and then he grabs her by the hand and they look in each other’s eyes and my roommates LOSE THEIR MINDS. Yes, Riverdance, with the dancing. That is correct.

Remains of the Day – Emma Thompson and Anthony Hopkins, the love, the inability to express emotion, the physical and emotional closeness that can never be.

What are your favorites? Share – for the love of the season.

Please do not nominate me for anything in that category of blog awards. Leave that to the experts. I think I should be allowed to post about my artistic and martial arts skills from time to time though, without really crossing any major lines.

It starts with a little mishap the other day where I accidentally knocked over a folding chair in front of my family. I’m not sure if it was the Buster Keaton, the Jackie Chan, or the Hulk Holgan in me that made me try to pull this off as a sort of slapstick fall, leading into a martial arts turned WWF chair-throwing move.

Once I had picked the chair up and slammed it to the ground, I proceeded to give it a flying hammer.

“Look Laylee,” I said, slapping my hand to my elbow and jumping as high into the air as my post-Magoo body would allow. “This is called a flying hammer.”

Dan, who believes that knowledge is power, that with great power comes great responsibility, and that the responsibility of knowing how to administer the flying hammer is too much for a three-year-old in possession of a younger brother to handle, advised me against carrying on with the lesson.

What does he know? Who wears the yellow belt in this family?

That’s right.

It’s me.
(Yes I realize that is the ugliest picture I’ve ever posted of myself.)

Alas, once more his wise logic won out over my crazed need to teach our children WWF maneuvers.

But his victory does not mean that Laylee doesn’t know which parent bears the swirling fists of fury at el rancho de los Darings.

Laylee and I were having a friendly coloring smackdown the other day. We drew pictures of each other (Although Laylee wanted to fill in her own face. I cannot take credit for her amazing face drawing skills. I think she spent an hour just shading her upper lip.)

What do you notice about these pictures, besides that her drawing of me is better than mine of her, that my hair is actually orange and green (I usually fix it in Photoshop before posting), that her skin is the color of cherry-flavored mud and that my ears are as big as my feet?

That’s right. She was somehow able to capture in the wax medium the incredible speed and reflexes of my swirling fists of steel and fury.

I don’t mean to brag, but my friends do tell me that I am quite skilled at mixing it up in the ring. I won’t even go into my performance in cage matches.

After many requests from readers, my parents have officially started blogs.

Okay they didn’t start them.

I did.

BUT they’ve both posted at least once. They may not post again.

But then they might.

And if they do, it will be well worth the read.

Introducing Grammy and Papa Daring.

You empty everything… faster than I can refill it.

Today you snapped the wooden handle off a basket that Laylee has played with peacefully for 3 years.

You put everything in your mouth at all times.

You flail and splash like a water-churning-psycho-bot in the bath tub, never caring that your face is so covered in liquid that you can barely breathe.

You want the blinds to go DOWN in a blaze of glory.

You see it as your mission in life to have your hands sucked up in the whirly part of the vacuum cleaner and live to tell the tale…hopefully live. From what I have observed, you do not fear death.

You knock over chairs, big ones.

You eat twice as much food as Laylee, who is 2 years older than you.

You get injured frequently and while I’m distracted attending to your wounds, you move quickly on to the next venture of destruction.

You dismantled the door stopper the first time you came in contact with it…in 10 seconds flat and started sucking on the little white choking hazard tip at the end.

Breastfeeding involves sucking for 10 seconds, unlatching, laughing hysterically and attacking me for 60 seconds. You want to WRASTLE!

You also want to ingest my laptop and seem willing to use any means necessary to achieve that end.

But you know what? You’ve started crawling around the house at lightning speed, looking for me, and chanting “Ma ma ma ma ma ma ma MUMMMMM!”

I like you. You are a boy. I’m a bit scared. But I still like you.

Well, I’m surprised how few people guessed the truth, especially since my parents both came on gave the correct answer.

1. As for The Apprentice, I never auditioned but I did think about it. I’m sure I wouldn’t have made it to the third round of auditions though. But it’s fun to think about. What I really wanted to be on was Survivor…until I had kids…and a life. I’ve even downloaded the application and started filling it out.

3. I can play the piano well, the guitar and the flute semi-pathetically, but can make no music with my navel. If you count making percussion sounds on various hard surfaces in my home, it may come close to eight, but not ten. Yes Maki, I was a band girl and am currently teaching piano.

4. When I lose weight, it definitely comes off the “top” first. My feet are only affected by pregnancy. I made up the little “ham feet” thing as a tribute to Magoo, whose feet look like little puff pastries with grapes for toes.

5. Also, I have used an umbrella…a couple of times…when we first moved here…and were basically tourists. Real Seattleites don’t mind a little “moisture.”

So it looks like Lauren and may parents (duh! They were living with me at the time) are the only three who succeeded at our little guessing game.

When I was 17 years old, I went to the DPS in Houston to renew my driver’s license. I entered the office wearing my National Honor Society t-shirt, carrying my Franklin planner and I believe my hair was in pigtails.

They took my license behind the counter and ran it through a scanner, at which point the dot-matrix printer went nuts, spitting out a page that labeled my license as “red-hot.” “Hmmm,” I asked, “what does that mean?”

“It means there is a warrant out for your arrest. Please stay where you are.”

“What is it for?” I asked, amused. I had never so much as been pulled over for spitting out my car window.

The computer wouldn’t say why I was supposedly “red-hot” but I had a warrant out for my arrest for unknown reasons. They explained that I was not being arrested, but instead “forcibly detained.”

They sat me in a back room with a police officer at a desk and a young teenager who was handcuffed to his chair. I found the whole thing incredibly exciting. I chatted to the “prisoner” who was unwilling to engage in banter. I spoke with the police officer.

“Does this happen a lot? Do lots of people have warrants out for their arrest by mistake? Are you going to handcuff me? Could you take my picture? No one will BELIEVE this happened to me. No, seriously, do you have a camera? How long have you worked here? This is so weird. I’ve never even had a ticket…..”

Eventually I think I annoyed them into letting me go. The officer looked at me with his most stern expression and said, “It looks like this may have been a computer malfunction. We’ll look into it but if the warrant is legit, we WILL find you.”

“Okay.”

So there you have it. A warrant out for my arrest in the state of Texas. And they never were able to find me. My youth group toured a police station later and I asked our tour guide to look up my criminal record in the database. He said that my record showed that something was there but had been erased. Hm.