Charming has seemed a bit tense lately. It feels as if he is ready to spring at any moment, worried about some danger, or maybe attempting to protect himself. I noted this the the other night when I was in bed reading, he asleep right beside me--I merely turned the page of my book and he sat straight up, wide-eyed, sputtering "What, huh? Huh?". I told him to go back to sleep in a soothing voice (attempting to cover my chuckle).
This is not the only incident that has left me worried. There have recently been two or three episodes where we've been asleep, Charming with his arm around me, and he has suddenly tensed up and began choking me. I am not even kidding. I had to throw him off me (no small feat). The second time it occured he got a talking to. Can you blame me? Who wants to wake up to find your husband strangling you?
Now the real question is: Was Charming really sleeping or was he really trying to kill me? All this jumpiness has me a tad concerned. Is this all part of his master plan?
So, in case I die unexpectedly (or somewhat suspiciously) within the next few weeks, you'll know what happened.
So one of my callings at church is to be the ward chorister--that's the one where you stand up in front of the congregation three to four times every Sunday and wave your arms around like you know something about music. I don't mind this calling much. Usually the hymns are easy and the congregation sings along with the songs they've known all their lives. From my position up in front, I've noticed that most people never even bother to look at me. (Do they care that I'm cutting them off, or trying to speed up the song? Of course not.) So in other words this calling is relatively low-key and pretty breezy every Sunday.
Unfortunately this Sunday was not so breezy. (Those of you in my ward will nod and smirk enthusiastically. Yes, I know you're out there and you read this blog:)) Recently our chapel has undergone rennovations and our ward has started meeting in an office building on the other side of town. We've lost a lot of perks in the process, and that includes the grand organ one usually finds in a nice LDS chapel. Instead we have an electronic keyboard--you know, the kind that will do a drum beat while you play a sonata, etc. So today after meandering up to the front of the room and preparing for the hymn, you may imagine my surprise when instead of an organ, or even nice electronic piano sounds, the musical instrument sounded like chimes. And that wasn't even the worst of it--somehow the keyboard was managing to transpose the entire hymn into an entirely different key about five notes higher than the orginal score.
It was far too late to remedy the problem, but being the professional that I am (smirk), I worked at keeping my face solemn and intent on the hymn. (I do admit the pianist and I exchanged a few wise glances.) The notes climbed higher and higher and as I listened, I realized that I was probably the only person in the entire building who was singing the high notes--probably topping off at a high G (not even kidding). Half the congregation wasn't even singing--refusing to, I should say, and the rest of them were either singing very quiet or singing an octave lower. The story never gets better. We continued to sing hymns throughout the meeting (we even had to sing a blasted "rest hymn"), and even though a sister tried to discreetly fix the keyboard in between songs, the problem remained. The disastrous meeting culminated in the longest, slowest song (Dear to the Heart of the Shepherd, if you're curious), sung, of course, about five or six notes too high. I swear only the dogs could hear me when I was done. And I will admit to lip-synching some of the higher notes.
Of course right after the meeting, a Mia Maid skipped right up, flicked a button, and completely fixed the whole problem. Couldn't you have thought of that a little earlier sweetie? I would categorize this as one of my most embarrassing moments, but I refuse to give in to that. It wasn't my fault that the keyboard was screwy--right? Nobody would mock me for trying to sing the notes I was supposed to.....right? But still, I just got the feeling that most everyone was looking at me and thinking, "What an idiot." Maybe I'll just show them and transpose the notes down next week and turn on the police siren sounds.......
I have been receiving feedback that the title of my last post was misleading to my readers (I say that like I am writing for the New York Times). Apparently the term "Booby-Dazzler" wet the appetites for a complete discussion on what booby-dazzlers are, the actuality of their existence, and why my husband only wants one of them. I apologize if I was inadvertently deceptive--I tend to title my posts after I have typed it all out, and often I do not go for the obvious. When my readers were hoping for a breakdown on this seemingly lively topic, instead you were blasted with my woes of sick children and laundry. Again, I apologize.
The term booby-dazzler is not one you will find in the dictionary, and I would highly advise against googling it--I don't want to be responsible for whatever happens there. The word has made its way into my vocabulary trickling down through the generations from my Grandmother, who to this day, frequently uses the word. Instead of defining it myself, I went straight to a more knowledgeable source: my mother. Here is her definition:
Booby-Dazzler: "So amazing, so extraordinarily conspicuous; the ultimate in whatever commodity. Usually a sandwich."
So, although the term begins as an adjective, it has become so descriptive that it can be used as a noun. So instead of saying "What a booby-dazzler sandwich!", you might instead reflect "This sandwich is a real booby-dazzler!"
I would like to take this opportunity to add that my Grandmother's homemade "Spudnuts" (aka. mouthwatering doughnuts), are also commonly referred to as booby-dazzlers. That is all.
It's been a long and crazy week. I seriously think that I have had something going on every night for the last seven or eight days. And just when you are excited for things to slow down a bit (so that you can blog, cross-stitch, sleep, read, whatever....)? Your children become ill. Yes, that is the sound of a million mothers nodding knowingly, or at least three. I think my children have been noticeably sick--and I mean beyond the basic comes-with-the-kid runny nose--at least once a month this entire year. Good heavens, I took Lou Lou in for a CAT scan last month; just the fact that I even took my children to the doctor today is a shocking blow. But when your child has a temperature of 103.8 degrees, it's time to take her to the doctor. Oh, and on top of all this madness, I'm having my period--yich. Can a woman catch a break? All I ask of the universe is that I be allowed to fulfill my domestic duties without interruption, and then be permitted a few minutes of peace.
The main evidences of the reigning chaos are found in my lack of domestic upkeep. Not physical upkeep mind you--I am a firm believer in doing hair and makeup every morning. And then getting dressed. I have found that if I do not do these things, I feel like a schmuck, my self-esteem goes down, I get depressed, yada-yada and nothing gets done. When I get my "work suit" on, all is bright and cheery. You know something is seriously wrong with Megs if she hasn't even showered. I do believe the only time this phenomenon has ever occured was during each of my pregancies--hellish times I wish to put behind me forever. (And yet I still see them looming in my future.)
Anywho, back to the topic: Domestic upkeep has been lagging around the house. This domestic upkeep is much less important to me than my personal upkeep, but it still has bearing on my overall happiness. To be sure, I am not one who goes around with bleach and a toothbrush cleaning my house every week (my mother might be a little chagrined at how often I dust), but I do take pride in keeping my home tidy and all spaces clutter-free. This last week of chaos has not afforded me my usually nice home; instead there have been clean clothes left all over my bed (from trying on in the morning), clean clothes all over the floor (from the laundry I never folded), clean dishrags and towels and such (from more laundry) on the living room couch, and then just a huge pile of dirty laundry in the girl's room and next to the dryer. Hmmm, I guess it would be safe to say that when I let something go, it would be the laundry. Also, I have forgone grocery shopping and bread-baking. It is possible to survive for some time at my house without ever going to the store, though I wouldn't recommend it for those who enjoy dairy, fruit & veggies, and any kind of meat.
Usually I make bread once a week. My mother got me started on making this delicious whole-wheat bread made straight from the wheat in my food storage. At first I did it for fun, and then out of necessity--I couldn't possibly go back to that yucky store-bought bread for anything. Needless to say, my husband has become addicted as well, as he often makes himself very large booby-dazzlers (calm down, its a sandwich, nothing too scandelous), practically everyday for lunch out of my delicious bread. Unfortunately, the nutty atmosphere of the last week put a stop to the bread production, and we were clean out for three days before I broke down and made a few loaves today. The children were very sad. So was booby-dazzler-free-Charming.
Tonight after the girlies were put to bed, I gave in and went to the store. Not having any dishwasher detergent will do that to you.......... Anywho, when I arrived home with my goods, I was proud of my accomplishments. I was a woman who not only showered and readied herself for the day, but also had bathed and dressed the children, washed the dishes (by hand--no detergent!), baked bread, made three meals and cleaned them up (along with the meal-eaters), took two sick and doctor-phobia-afflicted children to the doctor, tidied the house, and went grocery-shopping. The fridge was full--I asked Charming if he was happy. His reply? "I'm just glad you made more bread." Huh. I'm glad I could do a little something for him every once in awhile (besides birth his children and run his home).
Now if I can just keep Lou Lou's temperature down below 100 degrees, I'll be free sailing for another week--when we run out of bread. Oh, and let's hope the Buttercup remains fever-free. She's much more entertaining when she's healthy.
Buttercup is a creative soul. I have no idea which direction her creativity will venture, but her creations have made me wonder. I've already introduced her dress-up skills to the world, and of course the kid has some interesting ideas for play-doe (other than the usual "snake" or "worm"), and she also spends much of her time building "towers" out of blocks, books, and the like. These are not the things that make me pause and wonder where her future is headed.
Today as I got out of the shower, Buttercup practically pounced on me to come see her newest creation. She was so insistent that I had to go dripping wet in my towel to the living room to see the masterpiece. Apparently she had gotten into the utensil do-dad drawer in the kitchen and built some sort of modern art structure. These designs have become common occurences, along with Ella's little stashes of "treasures" that she gathers from around the house, and stores in special places. Today I took a picture to record the ever-too-fleeting moment (Lou Lou was on her way, carving a path of destruction).
This first picture is Buttercup's "tower" of the day. It consists of some kind of butter container balanced on the squeezer-thingy from a medicine dropper, with a measuring spoon balanced a top of that. Standing as pillars to her genius are the remains of two other medicine droppers. Hope nobody gets sick anytime soon.......
The second picture is just silly. Buttercup had these two baskets (along with their plunder), hidden under a dish towel, which she lifted reverently for me to see. Her treasures range from things that are harmless toys (such as the shoes and refrigerator magnets pictured here), to my very own jewelry she has snuck from my room.
I wonder what these tinkerings mean. Charming tinkers a lot too--but he gets that out of his system with cars. Does this mean Buttercup is going to be a mechanic? Please say you think she's going to be a world renouned architect.... What do you think?
Disclaimer: Buttercup dresses herself when we are not leaving the house. Do not judge me for her fashion choices.
This last year has been a changing one in several ways. I've adjusted to having two children rather than just the one. I've worried and celebrated and then worried again when we prayed Charming would get into a Physical Therapy School, and then when he was accepted, and then when we realized we were moving to North Dakota. I've dealt with some heavy emotional and minor medical issues. Right here I was about to trump this entire list by stating: "But the biggest thing of all...", but I don't think that either having a child or moving can be trumped that easily. Nevertheless, today I am feeling vain and would like to state that my favorite life-changing thing about this last year is my body.
Yes, that's right. My body. I don't say that to sound sensual--my body is anything but that. I say it because my body has become functional, and there's nothing more fabulous than a body that works for you.
I was never the athletic type and would rather have washed my mother's baseboards than play baseball--let alone run the "fun run" (a sick term the PE department from my school came up to enthuse the students into running their weekly mile in class). I wasn't chubby, nor was I slim--just your average girl who wanted to be skinnier. Still, I felt I had a handle on things and didn't think I was out of shape.
And then my shape changed. Two babies later and I had gained enough weight to equal the equivalent of both of their current bodyweights plus a sack of flour or two. Obviously I didn't like the way I looked, and even more hated the way I felt: in my clothes, sitting, standing, breathing etc. I was plain uncomfortable and I knew that had to change. My mother tells me this is where my strengths lie--in seeing a problem and using all I have to fix it. I knew it wouldn't be easy, and that I would want to quit several times over, but I was angry with myself for letting myself go that far.
I turned my frustration into determination. I signed up for Weight Watchers Online and made an exercise goal for each week. I got rid of my excuses and decided I wanted to be in shape more than anything else. I worked SO hard. I watched as the pounds slowly melted off as the weeks went by. I was shocked as the months passed and found myself buying workout equipment--an aerobic step, a stability ball, and small weights. I found my endurance level rising, my heavy breathing becoming calmer during my workouts, stairs were no longer a problem--and best of all, I could run around the yard with my children without exerting myself or pausing for breath. Yes, I lost a lot of weight. That's been wonderful and worth it for my self-esteem and my wardrobe. But even better is that I feel good. I have never been healthier in my life--never, not even in my teenage years.
So this morning I decided to do something I have never done before--something I never dreamed I would voluntarily do. I went jogging. Yup. Admittedly, I was a bit nervous. I knew I was in better shape than I've ever been, but that doesn't mean I'm in "great shape" by anybody's standards but my own. Even so, I began with a warmup and then headed out. It was exhilarating, moving under the speed of my own feet. It was overcast and there was a slight breeze, just right for a jog. I probably went for a 1/3 of a mile and then had to slow down to a walk. After a bit I bumped it back up again and went around the block a couple times. It was short, and kicked my trash, but it was a jog and I did it! Something I never thought I would or could do. For me this is the biggest milestone yet.
I intend to keep my new regimen up--short workouts five days a week and making small changes in my diet. That part is simple enough for me now, and worth the pain (yes, I still hate working out most days). Now, if I could only find a way to avoid future pregnancy weight gain. Surrogate, anyone?
Often when reading other friend's blogs, I check their links to see if there are any other interesting blogs for my perusal. Sometimes I read blogs of people I knew from way-back-when, who have no idea that I am peering into their lives. Does this make me a creepy-stocker-person, or just a really bored housewife? Don't answer that.
Anywho, today when I was going over said blogs, I came across a blog of a girl I pretty much only knew through other friends in highschool. She was more of a friend-of-a-friend type of friend. Get it? Moving on. Surprisingly enough, this "friend" was thinking of writing a story based soley on her own highschool--mine as well--and then went on to critique all the cliques and social niches of the students.
Now I went to this highschool, and I understand the rolling-of-eyes when you think of some individuals or groups, but I was really shocked at the bitterness behind the groupings. There was not one "group" or "clique" or whatever that she had anything nice to say about, and instead turned all of the students into shallow-minded, self-centered, materialistic beings. Or, if they weren't on the high end of the social ladder, they were sent to the bottom because they were "smart".
This got my end up, mainly because I have been sick and tired of defending my school from those that would lump the school together in one big group of materialistic jerks. Forgive me for being forthright, but I do not remember it that way at all. (And no, I was never one of the "popular" crowd, so that doesn't make me biased). Instead, I remember the majority of the students in my school being friendly, hardworking, and smart.
Yes, there were always a few individuals who didn't fit the norm. There were some jerks who thought they were better because they drove a sports car to school, and there were a few snotty girls who wore too much makeup--but overall this was not the case. I saw people of all groups (drama, band, sports, dancing, debate, physics club, etc.), move pretty freely through crowds and intermingling with everyone around them. But alas, no matter how often I have expressed this view to the common skeptic, the rude-self-absorbed-rich-highschooler stereotype over shadows the relieving truth: Most of the kids at Lone Peak High School (class of 2001) were friendly. If you think otherwise, I wonder if you were not so friendly, or perhaps just insecure? I know that in highschool I oozed insecurity, but I didn't classify the masses as cliquey kids who were trying too hard.
Now, I am not so big-headed as to think that my blog will be graced by said friend-of-a-friend's presence. She will most likely never read this post, or see how I have defended my school's honor. Call me a coward if you will, but I thought it would be rude and in-your-face to post a comment on her blog. I don't want any enemies--I want us all to be friends.
I want us all to be a little more forgiving of the people who bugged us in highschool. I can't speak for everyone, but I know that teenagers in general suffer occasionally from insecurity and trying to find who they are. Probably a lot of the behavior we saw was an outward shell of the person underneath. I hope I will be granted the benefit of the doubt in my case. In all seriousness, I literally blush when I think of how awkward my teenage years were for me. The immediate outward appearance did not scratch the surface of who I was then, and is worlds away from who I am now.
So, although the term begins as an adjective, it has become so descriptive that it can be used as a noun. So instead of saying "What a booby-dazzler sandwich!", you might instead reflect "This sandwich is a real booby-dazzler!"
