We just got back from a CRAZY vacation and I had a great time!
Picking blackberries
Did you ever do something and come home, take a shower, and think, "How in the heck did I get hurt in a place like that?" Sometimes this happens when I lift weights at the gym, but today I'm referring to picking blackberries. There were four of us (not including kids, who came back unscathed if not for cranky) and I believe I was the most scraped. Who told me blackberry picking is so not worth it? No one! You climb on this very steep hill, which under normal circumstances would be almost impossible to navigate back down even if there wasn't thorns and vines all over the place. Then you work your way into the prickly mess, because of course, why would the large juicy ones grow on the outer edges? And then you stick your hand in there and expect them to just fall off like Blueberries and you realize even the leaves have pokeys!!! I feel so defeated by those bushes that I've been planning my counter-attack ever since I got home and saw the blood. So next time (yes, misery loves company, so why not invite myself along for another suicide mission?) I'm bringing a big piece of particle board and I'm going to lay it down like a little platform where I stand (although I haven't figure out the logistics of doing this on a steep hill, but I'm working on it) and get thick gloves and maybe I'll cover my clothes in duct tape so they won't get stuck on the thorns. I may look like a lunatic, but I'd go down in history as The Person Who Truly Picked Blackberries.
I recently went to Utah on a trip to see my sister get married (yay temple marriage!!) and on the way home (an 8 1/2 hour ordeal with an 8 month old baby) I get on this flight, sitting by the window, and on my other side is a VERY large man with a big beard speaking another language. And I'm thinking, "wow, can't get more awkward than this." And just when I'm thinking that, Jackson becomes completely engrossed in getting this guy's attention. And for the entire 1 1/2 hour flight, that is all Jackson wants. I mean, he was even pulling the guy's arm hairs! There was a lot of hair there... And it turns out, the guy was really nice and talked to Jackson and made him happy the whole trip. You can never judge a person by their cover. Heck, if people judged me by my cover, they'd think I had psoriasis or some other contagious disease on my arm. Anyway, on the next flight a Granola Lady sits next to me. She's got hiking shoes, hiking bag, hiking hair, heck even hiking glasses. I'm trying to think of a better way to describe it, but that's all that comes to mind. You know, the nature people. Everything natural. And hiking people are usually nice looking. Well, she sits down and all she says is, "Is he going to cry?" You really can't judge people by their cover. She also happened to be obsessive compulsive, moving every which way and adjusting everything five times and fidgeting all over the place. I admit, I tried my hand at getting her to move to another empty seat. When she asked if he'd cry I said, "Hopefully not too much. I wouldn't be offended if you moved to another spot." She got the hint but stayed planted. And I'm thinking, "You like hiking, why not hike to another row?" But I bit my tongue and luckily Jackson wasn't impressed by her either because it's horrible trying to keep an interested baby away from an uninterested/uninteresting person.
Finally I made it home, the house was immaculate, my husband attentive and doting, my kids excited, and me relieved. It doesn't get better than that. Unless you count the millions of fruit flies in the kitchen that couldn't help but give me a standing ovation when I walked through the front room.......

My Computer Can't Count

You know when you're waiting for a download and it seems to be taking forever and you're pretty sure you know how to count and it finally says "15 seconds" and you get all excited to say "14" and then it jumps to "47?" How lame is that? Maybe the person who inputted all the 1's and 0's into my computer thought it would be Hilarious to make my computer count wrong. Well, it's not really funny when you've been waiting 15 minutes and everything is going slow and then suddenly the whole thing stops working because you've clicked everything three times, respectively, and it just can't think anymore. It's almost like when you're asking you husbands a question and they take more than 5 seconds to answer and you go on to the next one and eventually you're on the 12th question before they even know how to respond to the first? And by that time they're really annoyed and you can't do Anything with them because they were following you in the first place. And then you have to wait 47 more seconds when you were only going to have to wait 15 to get the first answer. So you dug your own hole in the first place, sister.
My mother and father in law came to visit today and we went to the museum, had a dunch together and played and got in the hot tub. It was very fun! I think I'm going to start a poll. I'm going to ask how many people, after they got married, started calling their mother and father in law "mom" and "dad." It was a tricky thing to figure out when I first got married but eventually we found a happy medium by just using their names, like any other adult friends I have around town. And now that it's a habit, why stop? I actually don't know what to say anymore because I just don't. Wow. I think that's the first time I didn't have anything to say. Amazing. I'm glad it's recorded in History!

Taggy Tag Tag Day

So what is being tagged anyway? But I got tagged and here goes. I'm supposed to list 7 quirky things about myself (do I really have that many??) and then I'll see if anyone else is reading my blog when I tag someone else. Here goes:
1. Every child stares at my red arm. Just when I feel like I'm fitting in and I don't have to worry about sticking out like a sore thumb, some kid walks up and asks, "What's that big red thing on your arm?" to which I reply either, "I got struck by lightening" "I played with matches" "a hickey" or "someone sat down and tooted on me." I've actually never used the last one but man it's good. And then when I supply the truth, "It's an excess of blood vessels on the surface of my skin called a portwine stain and it turns purple when I'm cold" they never believe me. Go figure. What's the point of lying if they don't even believe when you're telling the truth? Oh wait....
2. My fingers may be short and stubby, but they can move fast on a piano. It's the biggest paradox about me. I just Loooove piano music. My great love affair.
3. I am a smell person. My absolute favorite smell in this entire world is the smell of Jared's dirty jeans. It's like coming home. I also like his smell after he works out. But not in the garden. That's a stinky smell. I can also tell if anyone has remotely touched my children. I tell Jared if he ever lets some lady touch our kids I'll know. Every lady has a smell...
4. I always have to get the best deal. I feel ripped off even if I've gotten a great deal but not the best. Frugality is a curse. Pattuie.
5. I don't like talking on my phone, yet it's the hardest thing I do trying to keep in my minutes limit. What can I say? People just like to talk to me. Or I just like to take care of business. Or both.
6. Baths are my fettish. I catch my breath when I walk into a bathroom with a luxuriously large bath and I judge a bathroom by how hot the water can get. That's where I read my books and relax. You don't have to change diapers or feed kids when you're in your bath.
7. I haven't drawn a large drawing in two years and I suspect I haven't lost my touch. We'll have to see. It seems unfair that I am not putting this talent to use and yet I still have it. Wasn't there a parable about that somewhere? I'm in trouble. My coins are going to get taken away. But every day I look at what I've done and scold myself for not having the time to do more. But my best priority is my children and this one will have to wait until all is well.

Avoid the Unavoidable, Just Try, I Double Dog Dare You

There's a page in the Book of Women where it says, and I quote, "Don't ever try to explain why you do what you do because they don't even want to know." I have to admit I'm not all up in the social cues of women and that's why I'm not friends with every girl I know. The friends that I choose to spend most of my time with are different. They're bluntly honest, very loving, and let things go easily. I thought, hey, I must be pretty cool that I'm friends with these types of people. They'll accept your blunders and still realize there's something of worth in there behind all of that social awkwardness. I didn't really realize that I'm friends with those types BECAUSE I'm such a goofus. But hey, I am what I am and I can't take it back. Who wants to live their lives stuffed into the perfect picture of someone who isnt' you? It's like being stuck in a portrait of the Brady Family. Always trying to say the right things, never speaking of things that really matter to you, being fake and proper, but only scratching the surface of conversation that actually means something. There's plenty of women who don't get past, "Hi! How are you today? Oh I'm wonderful. I just made five thousand cupcakes and volunteered at the Pretty Dog Competition. Yes, I'm so happy all the time. Look at my perfect house. Oh no. My children never get dirty." I feel like I'm sitting on a church pew every time I'm in those conversations. And those pews are only supposed to be sat in for 3 hours one day a week in an uncomfortable dress. Real life requires some fun and some stress. Anyway, (did you know gramatically, it's Anyway not Anyways) I like to laugh a lot and not have to deal with the social nuances of guessing what each move by the female species is supposed to mean. I thought other people wanted that also. Who wants to guess what it means when you open the door slowly or with gusto? Who wants to guess why you did your hair like Silvester Stylone (sp?) instead of Misses Merryweather. Those are bad examples, but my point is, I don't like guessing. So I'm honest myself. I'll tell you the real reason why I'm not talking to you for some time instead of you guessing if I'm mad in the first place and what exactly it was for. I'll admit where I messed up. Sometimes. I won't just wonder if you're stuck between a rock and a hard place. I'll ask so I can help. Why is honesty so bad? Did anyone see P.S. I Love You? You know that guy who doesn't have a filter and just says what he means and means what he says? The girl in that movie accepted him anyway and was still his friend. But people in real life don't do that. They don't really want to know why you do what you do, even if your motives are clean and the reasons are clear. They just want to assume that you're being a jerk because it's easier. Assume what you will, but for me, I will continue to be honest and I won't leave you wondering why I do the things I do.

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.