Sugar, Pleeeease.

There's one rule for road trips: take as much sugary food as possible so that your kids can crash and burn in a very small space. It's like a science experient. But not the "how many licks does it take the get to the tootsie center" but "how many grams does it take for the kids to implode." If you haven't seen children implode, it's something like this (too bad I don't have a picture of Madison for you to understand the ultimate meaning): Red, puffy eyes, murderous screaming, incoherent babbling, blobs of mucus, deranged expression, unkept hair, general displeasure when touched or talked to. I think the goal of these implosions is to have the entire universe stop, look, and give the child what he or she wants. One time I was at a zoo with a psychotic screaming meemee who hadn't finished her lunch and wanted dessert. I was not going to give in, no I wasn't because once you pick your battles, you have to fight them (and I try not to pick too many, but the people walking around me probably thought I did). So she's crying like she just gave birth to Jackson (oh wait, that was me) and a lady walks up, and she said (yes, she actually SAID IT) ,"I have some candy you can give her. Does she want some?" And I'm like: are strangers really supposed to undermine parents? I thought that was the job of media and tv? I didn't have the gall to say, "You would just give her some, wouldn't you?" but I think I lacked the physical capacity to retort with such acidity. My entire body was focused on containing the unorganized matter. And finally, somehow, only with the help of diety and my good, wonderful, handsome, son-of-a-gun husband, we put a lid on it. Jared has a way of coaxing the children to do what he says. Heeeeyyyy, wait. He has a way of doing that to me, too. I just realized it. Like when he always makes me laugh when I'm in a horrible mood. He just keeps cracking funny jokes and nudging me along until finally I'm like Madison and trying to hide the smile. What a wonderful husband. By the way, I'm not always in a bad mood.
I've always wondered about those women who could handle their dough like they could handle their children. Soft, but firm. There's a certain Suzie Homemaker type that can make bread. And I've never been like that. It always turned out like a thick rock. I'd kill my yeast every time even when I had friends over to help me. The bread would work when they did it for me... but recently all that has changed. I prayed a lot (Enos style) and the Good Lord imparted his bread-making ability on me. NO really. I did pray a lot. And I really can make bread now. If you don't believe me, ask Jared. He actually ENCOURAGES me to make bread now. It's so cool. It's like I have a whole new superhero power (added to a list of, like, a million) and I can't be stopped! Now we have bread comin' out or wazooo and we're a happy lot.

Cookie Monster

I love sweets. Wahoo. What's new on the warfront? But I asked Jared to help me make sugar cookies (at 9:30 at night) and he agreed! Whoa. That's journal-appropriate material right there. Eventually, though, I decided I was too tired and that I'd do it in the morning. So I asked Jared, "What am I supposed to eat that's sugary then?" And he replied, "Nothing. You shouldn't be eating sugar this late anyway."
I was looking up other people's blogs and I realized that I only look at the pictures. There's no way in the Diaper Genie (why say world, it's so cliche) that I could read all those entries. So now I can rest assured that my writing will be completely overlooked if I but just put some cool pictures up. But anyway, I heard Jared go back to the room and got up from my Blog Experience, and, lo and behold, he's eating a bowl of chocolate cereal!!! I ask about the sugar and he replies, "I'm the exception to every rule."
But for to real (in California they say "for to..." like "I want to go to the store for to get some vanilla" (I heard the vanilla from Mexico is the best)). My sister said you can go to cutestblogontheblock.blogspot.com and get a cooler background. Wait....you don't like puke pink? I know. It's like pink puked up in here. But I like pink and I like to over-do things, so it's totally my style.

Cantankerous Little Stinker

I have been positively petulant today. I just asked Jared what "petulant" meant before I typed it. And while I was asking him, I wrote it in Microsoft Word and right clicked, then clicked on Synonyms. There were the following: huffy, snappish, irritable, grouchy, bad-tempered, ill-tempered. I read them aloud to Jared before he could respond (and I don't think he knew what it meant) and after I finished, he said, "You're talking about yourself, right?" So apparently I picked the absolutely perfect word to convey my ornery disposition today.
I don't know what it is. Don't ask me. I'm a woman. Don't we have a "Pass Go" card for being mean without reason? Isn't that, like, the stereotype of all stereotypes?
I just had to go give the girls kisses goodnight and Jared covertly read what I've written so far. As he was getting out of the chair to let me sit down, he said, "That's GREat." That's good. Maybe he'll get some kind of validation for remaining Prince Charming in the face of the red-armed Dragon. Early on in the marriage (all right, maybe it took me a couple years) I learned that you get in infinitely less trouble if you're mean AND you admit it. Keep in mind, I did not write and/or. Or either/neither. Or or/nor. Or northing of the matter. They have to come hand in hand. And who's not mean occasionally? Ok, so I'm trying to make it sound like it's okay and it's not. I'm sorry. Is there really anyone beside Jesus who's never mean? Maybe my Grandma Mayfield but I do remember one time she told me not to brush my hair at the table because she said it was disgusting and she didn't want hair in her food. I see the wisdom in it now and occasionally I'll put a hair on the table in the hopes that she'll get a kick out of me while she's on the Other Side.
I love my Grandma. One time me and Sarah were eating licorice (did you know there's a licorice that's spelled liquorice? I feel so sinful eating it, but it really doesn't have liquor and it's DANG good) and Sarah and I were just chewing it like normal. All the sudden we look over at Grandma and she's got these wide eyes and a huge piece of licorice (it was the gross red vine kind, so it doesn't deserve a cool spelling) that was sticking straight out of her cheek like it was trying to make it's own little flesh teepee. She was having the toughest time getting it unlodged, but when she finally did, she explained the problem, "I saw you two just eating your licorice so cool inside your cheek and I wanted to try it. But it got stuck!" She's so funny. And I would do these otherwise offensive stretches on these big balls with her in the morning when she worked out. And we'd laugh at each other. At first, the sting of death hurt. Mostly the lonliness and regret that I didn't go to see her one more time before the unexpected happened, and that she hasn't gotten to see the kids growing. But it's not so bad anymore and I know we'll be together again. It isn't so bad. So savor the time with your loved ones and thank the good Lord that he didn't intend for us to be lonely.

An Unpaid Debt

I have a running tab over at my friend's house. Whenever a disaster strikes, I just say, "Put it on my tab." And whenever I have a birthday or celebration, it's another, "Put it on my tab." And this thing, it's just growing and growing. Jared's on there too. And there's no way to get off. You know why? Because Jared and I are still counting. Our friends aren't, but how can you forget the generousity of others? Especially when that generousity is spewed forth in overwhelming support and kindness? I've never had a friend like this one. In conjunction with that, I've never had so many disasters as I have since living in Oregon (is it the state? who knows). And every time something happens, she (along with my husband of course) picks me up, joins me in the struggle, and pushes me along. It's an amazing feeling to have a friend like that. When we give ten percent, they'll return 100. Do you see the problem here? We'll never catch up! We've been trying to for a year and half. But now we're in even deeper. Jared and I are always trying to calculate what more we can do. In essence, we go home and crunch the numbers to see where we can pay more. And over time, I've come to realize that I'll never pay it all. I can't. And she doesn't intend me to. She's not even counting.
Maybe, just maybe, I was supposed to have her as a friend to understand the role of the Savior. I can't think of a more appropriate comparison. She's done what He would do for me, if He were here in person. And I am forever grateful. Thank you.