hairapist

Hairapist: the person to whom you trust all of your hairly beauty, and in whom you can confide your strange beauty worries.

I went to my hairapist yesterday, a change was in order we both agreed. So out came the scissors and about 5 inches of hair came off. I was all excited and twitterpated about spring- obviously a little early, as it is snowing and we're expecting feet- feet I say. But still- I love a new hair done.

*when my computer is playing nice I may even post a picture of the new do

confessions of the easily amused

You know how when you get a chest cold you have a few days of that deeper, sultry, sexyish voice. then a few days later, it's more of the gravelly chain smoker voice. I'm currently at the chain-smoker voice stage. It's sort of funny to hear, especially when I'm deaf in one ear- so I can hear my own voice echo in that ear. I find myself saying stuff out loud just for funsies. That's a pretty sad form of entertainment, I am aware. again with the tmi.

valentine's day and the pdap

I wish I could love Valentine's day- but there's this part of me that goes into near convulsive nausea whenever one of those stupid commercials comes on, so I can't. You know the ones, they start with a car and a big red bow, and end with kissing and an air of superiority. I just don't believe that every kiss begins with Kay, more likely miller lite or some other chemical aphrodisiac. kidding. sort of.

When did it turn into an over-commercialized over candied joke? I remember making valentines boxes at school and giving out valentines with he-man or smurfs saying some witty valentines poem about being blue if you aren't my valentine. And you brought a bag of conversation hearts for the whole class to share. Now all of the valentines are made to be attached to a candy bar- sold separately- for each kid in class.

Why did this happen? And more importantly, how did this happen?

I want to love Valentine's day- there's a little romance in this overly-practical girl. I like flowers, just not three times the regular price for one stupid day flowers. I'm all about expressions of love- just not forced, nerve racking expressions of love.

I'll confess something. In high school my friend and I made our own little club- silly I know. It was the PDAP. The public display of affection police. We took it upon ourselves to rid the halls of all gross and overt displays of public affection, we made little yellow felt sheriff's badges and carried squirt guns and everything. Our busiest day of the year was always Valentine's day.

I theorize-

For some reason the boys would cave to the pressure to:
a. get a girlfriend
b. buy that girlfriend gifts

I think it had something to do with the fact the the girls would cave to the pressure to:
a. hold hands
b. kiss a lot

Man I loved squirting the makers-out right in the nose, then watching them sputter all over their partner in crime's face. classic.

A rebel with a half-crap cause so to speak

new year's resolutions

I only have 1 this year: Take an afternoon nap whenever the chance presents itself.

That's it. No hugely profound make-overs of my soul (it's a little tired of that sort of thing right now). Just enjoy an afternoon nap, and let the dishes be for another hour, and the laundry stay in its folded- but not put away state a little longer.

The story of why I no longer go to the football games

Don't let the truth get in the way of a good story- Mark Twain

The first summer after Schroeder and I were married he offered to take me to a BYU football game. I acquiesced- and now I don't go anymore.

We had really good seats, thanks to uncle Russ and his 4 sets of season tickets, the problem was not with where we were sitting, it was the people behind us. Picture the meanest old grumpy guy that you know, and grumpify him a million more times.

Some people are not aware that there is a boundary of space, a bubble if you will, that surrounds other people and that it should not be crossed, smashed or otherwise damaged. The man sitting behind me was one of those unaware people.

I endured the knobby knees in the center of my back for more than half of the game, the other half I was being yelled at by him.

Every time the Cougs got within 15 yards of the end-zone everyone would stand up, making it necessary for me to stand up as well, which then earned me a yank on the back of my shirt and an angrily yelled "DOWN IN FRONT".

Right, like me sitting down is somehow magically going to enable you, grumpy Gus, to be able to see the field, through all of the other people's behinds who are standing up too.

I don't think I've ever felt so negatively about an old person, aside from driving behind one, in my whole livin' life. And these were season tickets people. I'm positive I don't possess the will power not to say excessively snarky and sassy things to my elders, for a whole season in front of that guy.

So that game I endured: the sun in my eyes, a hard seat for my bum- since I didn't know about the chair renting thing, the grouchy man's knees in my back- and him yelling at me, and my husband looking at me funny and then pretending not to know me when I accidentally cheered for the wrong team- it was only once though.

After that I told him we'd have a better marriage if he took a friend from then on. And the nice thing is, is that we do. I happily oblige to become a football widow for the season, if I never have to do that again.

pepto tongue

Pepto Tongue. It sounds all pink and cute right? Well it's not, it's much darker and grosser than you can imagine. I had a belly ache, so I took a pepto tablet thing, a very reasonable thing to do, if I do say so myself. Then I woke up with the grossest thing I've ever seen in my mouth, and I've eaten some weird things. Black Hairy Tongue. It just sounds gross, but doesn't it? Well trust me it is, gross that is.

Who knew that bismuth can cause a fungus to grow on your tongue? I didn't, maybe I should have paid better attention in dental hygiene school. Surely they would have covered that. Good thing webMD was there to save me, cause my mama was working that day, and everyone should know the danger of ingesting pepto, and coming out with gross fungus mouth.

run away drama queen

Yesterday- 4:08 pm The Girl Child packed her bag, for no apparent reason, and decided to run away, she got as far as the edge of our yard before she came running home.

"You love Bear more than me" was the official explanation- seriously. Apparently now she is having sibling rivalry issues with the dog. Not really sure what brought it on- but I'll tell you what it is. Drama is what. And she's only 8- I have a feeling 14 is gonna be nuts.

confession of a planning zealot

I know, I know, I'm getting ahead of myself. It's only May for crying out loud, indulge me.

Every year The Mother comes out right around the 4th of July (yes it's hot here, but it's hot AND humid there). We paint our fingers and toes up all patriotic style, we have potato salad and something or other goes on the grill and fireworks are the finale to the day. Perfect in every way.

This year there will be no Mother, sigh, and I'm on the hook for 4th of July breakfast (the YW fundraiser)- I'm just not so sure about all of this.

I'm not the best person to be in charge of things- I'm no good at delegating, so I end up doing everything and being a crazy mess before hand, and vowing never to do anything like that again after. The problem with that is that there is entirely too much to be done for me not to delegate, so I need to figure that out pretty quickly, and there are the traditions that have gone on with the breakfast for the last hundred years, and there are grumbles if anything gets changed or heaven forbid- forgotten.

So I'm already starting to stress about this thing, and it's still almost two months away. I'm slightly over zealous about planning and prep (read OCD). I don't like to be under-prepared- caught with my pants down so to speak.

So the crux of the problem is whether to organize it all now and drive everyone involved crazy but give them the opportunity to share an opinion, and chance an ulcer; or to wait on the meeting/planning frenzy, and still have everything planned without input, and still chance the ulcer. Wish me luck!

all about nothing

Today is one of those days where I have nothing to say, but I'm going to blog anyway. You've been warned.

So I saw this really great set of books at Deseret Book, a compilation of girl-approved books: Austen x 3, Bronte (imagine the two dot thingy over the e), Alcott, Burnett, Orczy, Montgomery.

I covet it. It's a sin I know. But they're bound so beautifully, and I could read for days and not come up for air even. My Emma and I could read them together, ok so maybe it would be a few years before she's ready for some of them, but little women and the secret garden- totally age appropriate.

While I was dreaming of those books I realized I should be doing something, so I started folding the laundry. I found the dryer sheet and went to throw it away and started cleaning the kitchen. When I started putting stuff away that was piled on the counters I cleaned in the room that I put stuff away in- it's official; I have cleaning ADD. I have too many half way cleaned rooms and jobs- but not one is done, or even done enough that I could call it done and walk away.

So I walked away from it all and started writing- do you see the method in my madness? If so could you explain it to me.

OOH- the Schroedad is home, I've got to move some piles to make it appear as if I've gotten something done.

I was contemplating skipping the whole obligatory Mother's day post, not that I don't love my mother, or even Mother's day, it's just one of those occasionally touchy subjects in our house of late. Then I found cute Jen's blog, again with the whole linky thing- techno illiterate remember, anyway she challenged everyone to write about one weakness in motherhood, and one strength.

So now I feel guilty for trying to ignore it- and guilt, oh the Jewish mother in the back of my mind, she never rests, and so here is the guilt driven confession of my mothering successes and failures for your reading pleasure.

My weakness is definitely consistency, consistent FHE and family scripture study and expectations and follow through. Oh I try, and I read books on parenting- my latest was Christlike Parenting and now my Jewish mother in my head is telling me that I coerce too much.

I tell her 'but I thought a reward system was the way to reinforce good behavior' and she says 'well apparently it's just bribery, and that's a form of coercion' so now I feel all guilty and incompetent.

My plan- try to just be consistent with the important things, and let the rest fall into place. Read scriptures at breakfast as opposed to bed time- so no one can be too busy or too tired- a trapped audience if you will. FHE lesson on Sunday night, cause Mondays are out of control in our family, and an activity later in the week. That's all I've got on the solution home-front, maybe as I get all consistent like with these things I can add more, but baby steps Bob, baby steps.

My strength, and occasionally annoying trait-according to Girl Child, I'm a smother. I'm involved in all things Emma. Field trips, check, volunteer at school, check, read together every night, check, even playing-ugh- barbies. But she knows I'm available when she needs me, and she knows that I love her no matter what, even when she's naughty, and if there's only one thing she understands about our relationship that would be what I want her to know.

musings in the mirror

This morning as I was getting ready for church, and all of the meetings before, I was talking to myself in the mirror. I know, it sounds sort of crazy- but I never claimed that I wasn't.

I wondered things- like how was it decided; the challenges we would face, our strengths and weaknesses? Are the things I have a hard time with now the same things I struggled with before I came to Earth or are they new things I'm not so good at?

I've always felt like I'm the epitome of average, mediocre is my middle name. I've felt this way since I was a child. There are lots of things I'm capable of doing, but no one area where I'm really great. now I'm not fishing for compliments or even comparing myself to others (which I do too often anyway)- it's just a fact, and that's ok. Mediocre is half way up the mountain, and that's at least a start- right?

Even stranger- I totally saw the value and worth of others, but never myself.
Oh - it gets better. In every single blessing I can remember, the first thing that was said- Heavenly Father loves me.
and.I.still.don't.get.it.

I know. thick skulled apparently. It's hard being a 'why' child.

There is a point to all of this nonsense. I think it is actually helping me in my calling right now. I can feel sympathy for those morose, complain-y teenagers (and believe me they're complaining). So maybe this is where a weakness becomes a strength, as promised.

confessions of a mother bear

Ok I know my kid isn't, by any means, perfect. If I'm being truthful, she's actually at the most annoying age of childhood, and sometimes I'm too happy about bedtime. I can say these things, because I love her, no matter what- even if she is being a stinker; however, anyone else says something, and the mama bear comes out.

A person who has a child the same age as mine (one of the male variety) made a comment that set my teeth on edge and got my hackles right up. It's just a good thing they were leaving, or my snotty comment would have been blurted- and I would have had some repenting to do.

Her comment: Wow- she's outta control.

I confess, Girl Child was being obnoxious, really obnoxious even, but definitely not out of control.

The irony:Her kids are frequently out of control.

Example: last year said boy child pinned down girl child and spit on her face. But isn't that disgusting? If that isn't naughty and out of control then my name isn't smarty pants. Thankfully I've recently sworn off of cannibalism, and didn't eat her for lunch, and therefore kept my grace and good manners in tact- for now anyway.

mom interrupted

Well maybe it should be titled NAP interrupted. I was only about 20minutes into what I can tell was going to be a fantastic nap- then the dang dog starts going crazy. Jumping up in the window, whining, doing laps- the whole bit. So I ask Girl Child to let him out only to find out that there is no Girl Child- gone, not in the house- hence the dog, aka nanny, is freaking out.

She just decided to go outside to play with her friends, without asking permission or even telling anyone where she was going. Scariest 4 minutes of my life, then maddest 30 minutes after I found her. She was promptly sent to her room- so I wouldn't strangle her, and for her to 'think about what she'd done'.

The sad thing is is that I remember doing the exact same thing when I was her same age, only I snuck to the pool with my friend. and I remember thinking when I as punished 'what's the big deal?' and now I know what the big deal was. Sorry mom- I know it's 20 years late, but I am really sorry.

the office

I was called in to work today (I'm the permanent temp you know) at the orthopedic doctor's office, in the morning I was Smarty Pants: cast miracle worker. In the afternoon it was Smarty Pants: telephone girl. I forgot why I never liked working in an office, I HATE the telephone.

People frequently call with exceptionally stupid questions for which I have little tolerance, I find that I nearly reply with snarky comments that would probably get me fired. My favorite question ever: can you just write me a prescription for insert narcotic drug; or they don't have enough to get through the weekend and couldn't I just call something in - um no I'm not the doctor.

I wonder sometimes why I subject my low tolerance to such high strain, then I remember- oh yeah I get paid, and then I suck it up, and believe me it's a lot of sucking

chores avoided for another day

On Sunday last, our lesson in YW was about our homes, cleaning& organizing so the spirit can dwell here, etc. I made a vow that I would do better, the office would get cleaned out, the windows washed, all dusting would get done in a timely manner...I would do better and be better at making my home a place where we'd be happy and comfortable and organized.

It looks worse than ever. The windows are getting rained on, glad I didn't clean them just yet, a million zillion kids are over this week, no time to dust while the littles are here. Dumped YW stuff in the office, again, it's a mess, still. So much for my spring cleaning vow to get stuff all the way under control. Maybe I'll just shoot for regular cleaning and some magic little elves will come to do the rest, you know like the elves and the shoe maker.

I really do have a cleaning schedule, and the house isn't gross or anything, just toys everywhere, disney moves strewn about, you know the regular mess a house gets when small people inhabit them, or even just visit them. and I realize that it's sad that I feel I must explain myself, and what not. but what's a girl to do? I can't have the world think I'm really a big slob or something

I need spring to come, so the doors and windows can be thrown open and fresh air can invade my house. I need sunshine to motivate the deep cleaning projects {that have gone neglected all winter}. and I need grass and flowers popping up. can't wait for spring. must go mop the kitchen now, see I really do clean-sometimes

Mafioso Mama

Love The Girl Child with all of my guts, but lately I feel like I've been a mafia boss-and she's the reason. the low voice, the yelling, threats under my breath, thoughts like 'I wanna love her and hug her and break her neck'. Some days I vacillate between seriously quit whining and suck it up and ok you can be sick today. I don't feel like me anymore.

Gone are the- good morning, time to get up and dressed, what would you like for breakfast- days. It's a whole new and patience trying phase. Now the mornings are more like an epic battle, day after day. She hates school again, and has for quite a while now, but she has gotten to the refusal to go stage. again.

It's the crappy version of groundhog day. and we still have 3.5 months of school left. even though home school isn't an option for her, she'd hate her teacher, I almost considered it. Is it too much to hope that 3rd grade will be any better? How do you help someone learn to like something they are adamant about hating, and how is it that other kids like school so much and she hates it, aren't they having basically the same experience? When will I feel confident as a mom again?

Nary a stray m&m

Valentines Class Party Report-

It all started with sugar cookies that needed to be frosted, decorated, and enjoyed. Imagine 100 second graders sitting at lunch tables, frosting and a popsicle stick, cookie and a juice box. Not one frosting fight broke out, so far so good. On to recess, so the moms could set up games in the class rooms.

Bingo, bookmark craft, and dice game - no gambling though. 10 minutes at each station. I ran bingo. The other 'cooler' moms brought prizes along with the game. my treat " you don't have a math test right now-there you go kid" didn't go over as well as the cute treats those cool moms brought. {Jan and Keri you really are super cool, don't let my angst make you feel otherwise} AND they got to eat the m&ms that marked the bingo cards, and surprisingly enough, not a single one ended up in an orifice in which it didn't belong -while on my watch anyway.

Final report: cautiously calling it a success, until I hear otherwise from Girl Child -10-4 over and out

And thats all I have to say about that

I have come to realize a grievous error in southern manners and protocol in my recent behavior *gasp* I know.

I am fully aware that speaking of bodily functions any where outside of a doctor's office is an unthinkable offense, and yet here I am, rather frequently I might add, breaking that unspoken rule. I complain at the emptiness of my uterus all the time, really I'm sure everyone is just about sick to death of hearing, reading it's all the same, me whine about it. I'm tired of hearing me whine about it. So I contritely apologize and assure you that there will be a lengthy hiatus from any ovulatory, uterine, and or period talk. and I will inform you if I suddenly gain a renter, but until then no more indelicate talk for me. I'm gonna live up to the last bit of Southern propriety that I have left.

No more anonymous me

The picture on my header is about 5 years old, Emma is no longer a 2 year old getting piggy back rides everywhere, at least not from me anyway {she cons certain uncles and her dad into them though} Any how... I don't know when the last time I was on the other side of the camera, I felt like I was being a little dishonest about who I am by not putting up a more current photo. I went looking to remedy this and there were none. not a single one. Millions of Girl Child, and even some of The Schroedad and Girl Child, but none of the "mother" {my name of late-weird I know} So there is a new/current picture of Smarty Pants on the blog. Enjoy

Just me

I didn't realize until yesterday just how fantastic running water is-I assumed I knew, but I didn't. Hand washing- a million times a day, toilet flushing, showering, drinking, washing clothes and dishes, the list goes on. Until I didn't have it I didn't realize just how much I use it and love it. I took it for granted. I think I take lots of things for granted. not a characteristic I'm particularly proud of, sort of like my occasional sarcastic and {potentially} snarky comments, but that's for another day.

Man- me and all of my assuming lately, it's gotten me into lots of trouble. Trouble i don't need. And apparently, I'm the only one turning out to be the "ass"umed one- if you get my drift.

So really the point of the whole story, I know I get to it in a very round-about way- but indulge me, I was contemplating about going to the doctor with which I have a love/hate relationship {that baby making doctor} weighing the pros and cons of another stab at the whole involved process that is conception, and the decision was made for me. in the form of having to pay for a cat scan for Em and a new water heater in one day... "that's a big negative, over."

So I'm trying to decide if I should keep praying to know when all this baby making should go down, while potentially racking up huge medical/and or home repair bills, or if I should just wait, not ask and not be afraid of how the answer will come.