The Pitfalls of Women

So I'm a woman. But I've been living with a man for quite some time. And this man is no-nonsense logical. And I really mean it. He likes things logical. And being with him for this long, well, it's made me like logic also. I can't claim that logic is the basis of all my thoughts, words, and actions, but I like the general theme throughout my communication experiences.
For instance, if someone says, "I want the green shoe lace" and they really want the blue, it drives me nuts. And if someone comes into the room, looks at you funny and storms out because you didn't bring them a drink of water because you didn't read their mind, that drives me nuts also. By the way, that incident has actually never happened so please don't assume it actually did. And I don't enjoy having to make sentences like the one I just wrote because I don't like it when people assume!! You know what you do when you assume, right? You make an out of u and me. And those three things are the pitfalls of most women. They say things they don't mean and mean things they don't say and expect things without verbalizing them and then back-talk when expectations are unmet. And then all the while, they are reading gestures and gleaning little bits of overheard conversations and assuming what they will with the fragments. Then they base all of their thoughts and emotions on the assumptions that are incorrect in the first place. And all they had to do was suck up the courage to speak their thoughts, admit their assumptions, and declare their expectations. So does it boil down to lack of courage? Who knows? I'm definitely not immune to these horrible vices, but I'm working toward it.
I don't like the games of manipulation. It was never healthy for Anyone to manipulate anyone else. And if you've never experienced it, (which if you haven't you are a very very lucky person) it comes with a feeling of being pressured on all sides to do something you're not comfortable doing. Once, in one of my wards in Utah there was a woman that would call me and talk to me for hours and hours. I literally COULD NOT get off the phone with this woman. Jared had almost no sympathy for me when he came home and I tried to complain. His reply, "Well, tell her you don't want to talk anymore if you don't want to talk anymore. You're letting her control you." So, slowly, I got the gall up to tell her the truth: I need to get off the phone. That's it. No excuses (I'm in the bathtub--which I would really climb into the bath to say that). Once I even lied--the baby is crying. That one's hard to admit. I also don't like liers. Personal integrity is a gem. Anyway, I wouldn't even give her a reason. I didn't even NEED a reason. I make my decisions based on what is best for me and I don't need any excuses. If you do, you're playing into the guilt they're trying to make you feel. If someone is feeling depressed and acidic and they try to infect you with the same, it's manipulation. And if someone tries to make you go somewhere or get something or be someone you're not, that's manipulation. Petty looks, off-hand comments, cold shoulders. They're all the tools of a manipulator. A manipulator who gets some kind of sadistic pleasure from making people do things they don't want to do. And someone who doesn't have the courage to be truthful and who doesn't bestow respect on those they push around. I guess this is a pretty sticky rant, but I needed to say it. I don't like these things and I never will.

And the Sun Shines Through

It's interesting to note that through the difficult times in life, it may be a dark and ominous path for a distance, but I've come to find that the sun always comes out eventually (I guess not in Seattle though). And when you've gone through those dark, cold periods, you get some pretty nice vegetation along the way. Beautiful flowers and trees, multiple colors and swelling rivers. The grass is soft and full and you can walk with your shoes off for a time. And I've gotten in the habit of, when a life disaster strikes, saying, "All right, when will this be over? Because I know there's an end. My existence wasn't made for suffering." Someone in church yesterday made a comment that we are in a test. And we only have one judge for the test and that judge actually wants us to pass with flying colors. I don't know about you, but I've had LOTS of teachers who didn't really want every single person to pass. In fact, there were many that said your grade would be completely dependent on how others did. For instance, you could get almost everything correct, but made a B- because everyone else got all of the above correct. Isnt' that just silly? Anyway, so I've got the most Important Someone rallying for my success and teaching me the right material. I've also had teachers who veared (sp?) off the subjects and misled us on studying material so that I would study tons of stuff that wasn't on the tests.

An Unexpected Expectation

So. You know when it's your kids' naptime and you immediately fall into the soft covers and then hear the little monsters climbing out to get you? Today isn't even one of those days and I'm STILL not asleep! Why, you ask? Oh, just because....the itching has begun. Not a physical itching. Well, I should say not an epidermal itching. It's the under your skin kind of thing. And I think it started with me looking at our computer desk. Dust mites, trash, cd's, oh my, dust mites, trash, cd's, oh my, dust mites, trash, cd's OH MY!!! It cannot be contained. I know that because it's spewed over into the kitchen with the dishes, plastic bags, lost toys, bits of food, and ingredients hoping to make it into a recipe before they rot in...the bag. And the same virus has spread into my room with baby stuff and dirty diapers and clothes and such.
And when a woman says, "I need to go buy clothes." You say, "Yes, m'am. You better hurry to the store before it closes." And if that woman has only bought two new shirts from the clearance rack in a whole year, you might want to add, "And I'll take the kids." But that's just hypothetical.
Most people may not believe this, but you can't jump up and start working out immediately after you've had a baby. In fact, you can't really even work out when you start feeling great and have some extra time. No, you've got to wait about two months for a secret reason. If you don't know, I'm sure you'll find out and if you do, yes, curse all the post-partum women. Because why on Earth would something be easy or comfortable for a woman who's had a baby? When the good Lord sent Adam and Eve out of the Garden of Eden, and told Eve that childbearing wouldn't be a sack of fun, he should've added, "And good luck losing the extra pounds" on their way out. And what about learning to do everything one-handed. I'm really good at eating cereal with my left hand without dripping on my baby now. Anyway, there's always the "awkward clothes" stage where you're in your pregnancy clothes and every morning you longingly look up at your not-pregnancy clothes and think, "Glory be, I'll be pregnant with another one by the time I fit in those again." And the real truth is, you won't ever, ever fit in them. So if you know any fat people who'd like to loan me their clothes for a couple of months, PLEASE let me know soon. Or I'm going shopping and there's no stopping me.
And what about the horse pills? Yes, you heard it. The fat-o multivitamins. You just have to keep on poppin' em. And all the while you can't eat spicy foods or excessive amounts of chocolate or you'll be up all night with the baby. And if you're me, it'll be your husband up with the baby so please don't make me mad or I'll eat some Flamin' Hot Cheetos. And if you've ever had those, you'll understand that they're both red and fiery going in AND coming out. But so addictive.
And did you know it takes stretch marks a long time to turn white? That's all I'll say about that.
I didn't even mention the worst part, which most of you can assume is the actual getting the baby out. But I can look at my baby every day and smell his cute little nursing-breath and smell my stinky little spit-up shirt and touch the soft little peed-on blanket and think, "It was all worth it."

Unnecessity

If a person makes a meal that only requires a fork, why, oh why, on Earth would you put out two forks, a knive, and a spoon? I'm all for aesthetics, but how much worth is a person's time? You waste time gathering the utensils, laying them down in an appropriate fashion, watching them during mealtime and then picking them back up, separating them, and putting them back in the drawer (or washing them). Who knows who breathed on them or accidentally touched them during the meal. But isn't it such a waste to wash them? They weren't even eaten off of! And for the sake of our time, let's assume that you just threw a pile of forks in the middle of the table and said, "Have at it, animals" is that just going too far the other way? Because that sure saves a lot of time too. But dinner is important. But, like, banquet important? And if I judge a person wasting time in that arena, will I be challenged by way of my long and wonderful and relaxing baths in which I read my novels? Even my husband can't deny the relaxing power of the bath when I pour him one and dote on him when he's ill. And he doesn't even fit in it! There really is one advantage to being short. That and you can hide more easily from weirdos in a crowd. Ask me later about my date with a five foot male. Yikes. For some reason someone thought that we would be great for each other because 1. We're both short. 2. He was balding and 3. He was going to be a doctor. The person that set us up obviously doesn't know that I want a husband with a moderate salary. Not an exhorbitant one. For instance, look at this ring on my ring finger. It's large with a huge stone in the middle and two baggettes (sp?) on the sides. And boy is it beautiful. It also happens to be cheap. I'll admit it. Even to strangers on the street. That's why this blog is called garage sale junkie. I even got it free at JC Penny with a coupon. The point is that most of the people who see it think it's real and the other people who don't won't say anything. And all the while I'm laughing because I'm a cheapo and my finger's too fat right now for my expensive one. Anyway.
Where were we? Yes, setting the table. I'm all for the nice table cloths. I have a nice autumn one that I use all year long. Somehow it went from overly-covering the table to showing the table's nickers in one day. I'm not sure, but it could be the fact that I dried it on high heat. But I'm not pointing any fingers. So the table cloth is nice and so are the placemats. But you never need two glasses. Just poor the water in my milk cup. I like it murky.
For those of you who agree, let me know. If not, tell someone else to read this blog.

Calming the Waters

I just read in my "Week 6 of Your Baby's Development" email (compliments of Parenting Weekly) that I should write down in my journal, for future generations, the things that help my baby calm down. So I'll do it here for those that might want ideas or just see how Jackson is.
Let's see, I've always (and I mean always) changed my baby's diaper on my lap. Even when Madison was nearing two. It's a little easier to change her on the floor now though so that's what we do. But I've learned that it's much warmer and more secure on a lap and there seems to be more space there than sometimes in a bathroom at a restaurant or something. Now your lap may not have such cozy extra room, but mine does. I would put my hand on his chest to help him feel secure when he's grasping for the air with his little fists. And just before I change the diaper, I take the whole wipe and hold it in my hand for a few seconds. It makes it so it's not cold and you don't have to waste time and energy with a wipes warmer.
When Jackson is sad, we stick the binky in, turn him toward our body and hold him close. He generally likes to be wrapped up like a burrito first. We use a large delivery blanket first and then a normal blanket. Jared wraps him great with his little hands folded into the blanket. That's how the hospital does it. One particular thing he loves is when I pat his bottom vigorously. When he's having poopy pains, I give him a bath. He loves to float in the warm water and one of his guilty pleasures is to poop and pee in there too. Gross, but whatever flips your skirt. Jared freaked out the other day because he got a little pee on him. I laughed and thought it was funny.
With Rylee we would run around our apartment in circles. It wasn't just running though. It had to be smooth so you kind of bend your knees so that your upper body stays still and then walk really really fast. And BOY do you look stupid doing it, but it worked! And it's a good workout. Anyway, those are my ideas if you wanted to know.

Sad Day

I had a roommate in college who always used to say, "Sad day!" with a California surfer-accent. It just so happens she WAS from California and looked like a surfer. Anyway, she said this whenever something didn't go as planned and weirdly she always said it with a smile on her face. Now after all this time I don't really get why she was smiling. But she liked Blink 182 and had a huge wall devoted to pictures and paraphegnelia (sp?) and maybe she was thinking of them every time she said Sad Day and that's why she smiled. I guess I'll never know.
So today is kind of a Sad Day. People have been doggin' on me and I feel down. So, for this special event, I'll write a poem.
Today stinks lots, it stinks so much
I'm waiting for the healer's touch
To heal me from the unfair and such.
I'm proud right now
My head must bow.
I'm waiting until I'm in despair
To hear the words that deeply care
For my well-being and happy face
And peace and rest from this long race.
This poem is weird and sounds kind of off.
But know that my heart is now very soft.

That's the end. Didn't go like I had planned. I had planned a special poem to cry the injustices against me, but once even one thought of the Father comes to mind, it can't be written. So here I am, hoping to forgive in my heart what I have forgiven in word. Isn't that funny how you can seal the deal with your mouth but it can still take time to soften the heart? It must count for something that a person is willing to say it though and work on really doing it.

Lulu's Booboo

I have a friend. She's adoringly known as Lulu. You may think she's imaginary, but she's a very real and tangible part of my life. In fact, we hang out with her about 4 times a week!
This friend likes to be called Lulu only when she's doing weird things. For instance, we made salsa for canning one day. And this wasn't a small amount of salsa. It was six batches of some mother-size salsa that netted myself some 100 and something pints of salsa. We'll be eating salsa for the rest of our lives. That's good, though, because I got a big thing for salsa when I was pregnant with my son. And it's lasting. Every time my husband opens a can I inhale it while he watches without moving, because for goodness sake he might get eaten too if he's seen as a moving target of meat. Yes, I like large hunkin chunks of meat. Yes I do. Take me to a steakhouse and stuff me with some meat. A big hunk of meat. Mmmmm.
Anyway, when we made salsa, Lulu thought that we'd make all the salsa, and can it in pints and split it afterward. SAY WHAAAA? Yes, I thought the same thing. How on earth would we keep track of the six batches (which by the way had to be made in six batches, not one because the pots are only so big) and our cans (what if one of us ran out) and everything else if we split it later? So I labeled 3 batches Lulu's and 3 batches Shenequa's. Shenequa is a mastermind. She planned out the recipe and ingredients to the onion and did the first batch at home to make sure it didn't taste like dirt. Anyway, we ended up doing it Shenequa's way, but Lulu will forever be known as the weirdo in my book. After the incident, we told as many people as we could about it to try to build up an army of our believers and every now and then I'll come across someone who she's already converted and I just have to knock my head against the wall because once someone's converted it like's talking to a stinkin' dog. Which by the way, I hate dogs
They are so ugly and gross. They smell and drool and do all other kind of abhorrent things. Talk about nasty. I wish they would leave me alone. But dogs like to jump all over me and HEY my pizza is almost done. Ken's going to pick it up. I love pizza. We're watching Oprah and the whole episode is about eating pizza. That's why we had to order it. And now I'll have to explain the splurge to my husband when he gets home from Portland. Tamie and I will enjoy it though. Oh yes, we will.

The "Pooper"

My baby reached a momentous milestone the other day. He learned how to poop up his back! Yesss. And Madison learned to lay her whole body on top of Jackson and Rylee learned to scream at an even higher pitch. Now, if you didn't think any of these things was possible, you're mistaken.
And did you know that they found even more health benefits for chocolate? Yes, I read it in the Reader's Digest. Everything I read in the Reader's Digest is fact. Now, I'm a chocolate lover. You could even call me die-hard, but even I am willing to admit that all these "findings" are just a reason for fat people to eat even more of it. But it was kind of nice how they put a tiny little disclaimer sentence at the very bottom of the article stating that it isn't really healthy if you're just sitting on a couch watching TV, but it is when paired with eating healthy and exercising. Are they Crazy? Who in their right mind would eat chocolate AND exercise? They're writing that article to two different groups of people. And only the fat ones are reading it. (yes, yes, yes, that includes me)
My Madison has a bad case of the "Holeme's." (by the way I hope you notice my theme for the day is unnecessary quotation marks. I love to use poor grammar to get the English majors itching) Translated, that means, "Hold me." Now, if you're male and you just read this paragraph, I'll be surprised if you were able to follow my side note and jump back to the original point of my message without a moment of misunderstanding. Anyway, she keeps wanting me to hold her and I just don't have the arms. One of my kids (I won't say who because it might hurt someone's feelings) is pooping his head off. Two others are trying to suffocate the first. The blond one is now taking two little fingers and walking them all over the first's face. And now the second little offender is copying the first and AHHHHH it's driving me NUTs.
Let me tell you a story. I'm getting good at this because each of my girls requests a story at each naptime and bedtime. That's 28 stories a week. I wish I was getting paid for it. There was once a girl. You'll find this interesting, I know I do. This girl was in High School. High School is lame. And at high school, she would use her hard-earned money to buy a candy bar each day. The candy bar of choice was Twix (to this day they don't taste good anymore). This went on for Months until she got fat. Then she wouldn't like the mirror and she'd stop eating them for a long time. It took intense focus. And then she'd get skinny. Fast forward to college. Skip to getting married. Of course, the marriage and the baby came about the same time. Suddenly she can't remember how to stop eating the candy. And it continues until there are three children and she STILL can't remember how to stop eating candy. Wasn't that a cool story? That's like the history of my life. Eat lots of candy, stop, do it again, stop, do it again, stop, then eat lots of candy and forgot how to stop. So if any of you remember, please let me know!

And So I Begin

I haven't decided what to focus this blog on. Maybe the crazed rantings of a tired mommy? But Amy Juett informs me that there are millions of hilarious blogs. So I've been putting off starting because of performance anxiety. So now I'm starting when I've got burritos to make in fifteen minutes, a poopy baby, and a serious lack of personal hygiene.
I wore a messy baggy shirt at Tamie's the other night. It was like coming home! Why on earth would anyone want to wear cute shirts when comfort is available in style of Crud? Sure, I looked like a frumpy mummy, but why did fashion have to require the sacrifice of comfort? Like always pulling your shirts down and pants up and making sure your dumb undershirt is staying up high enough. It's a constant push and pull like poor little Guss Guss on Cinderella. It's like fitting a donut into a latex surgical glove. For the record, I love to create similes. So I decided never to wear a comfortable shirt like that again or I might never return. Did anyone ever see that movie with the guy from the Wonder Years? He sees these monsters in his room and finds out that there is a whole other world down under where monsters live. He soon goes down and loves to stay there and find adventure. But he soon learns that it comes with a price. He's becoming too much a part of the world. He has to wear sunglasses in his world. And eventually he can never go back. (If you know the name of the movie, I'd love to find out) Anyway, that's like wearing comfortable clothes. I've got to go make my burritos for the kiddos, but I consider this small paragraph a complete success just because it is done and now I can write anything worse than this! Yeah!

And so.....

And so, at the request of Michelle, this blog begins, on a rainy day, on an even more rainy hilltop on the northwest edge of Roseburg, OR, in the middle of winter:)