musings and misadventures

In case you missed it ...

2008-09-03T09:50:00.000-05:00

This is my old blog.

My new blog is here.

It's, like, way newer.

Farewell blog friend!

2008-09-02T05:52:00.002-05:00

It is with a sad heart that we announce the demise of Musings and Misadventures. M&M passed away peacefully this morning while trying to publish a post. It died doing what it loved best, which is a great comfort to close family, friends and a few guys at Google.

Musings and Misadventures was born on December 6, 2005 and made a huge impact on up to 10 people during its short 2.75 years on Blogger. It chronicled the average life and random misadventures of one Mrs. Dub, who is just like you, only shorter.

M&M was proud to have made many friends in Blogville, including "Save Now," "Edit Layout," and the N key. (Sadly, the N key was killed by Miss Dub in a tragic accident several weeks ago. Our condolences to his family, M, O & P.)

Farewell, dear friend. We've had a great run. But it's time for bigger and better things, like a domain that is much easier to say and spell. Like www.mrsdub.com. We will carry on the great sarcastic spirit of M&M there, but in different colors and better posts. (And quite possibly more parentheses.)

In lieu of flowers, please send blank checks to Mrs. Dub. She'll be happy to fill in the amount for you.

A viewing will be held here until the Web expires in some sort of freak hacker accident.

Nie Nie Day

2008-08-28T05:53:00.002-05:00

I miss this goose.

I've been really unsure about how I could participate in Nie Nie Day. After all, I don't even know her besides a degree or two of separation.

I do know there are some lovely silent auctions being held here and here and (look here for more). But I've been a bit preoccupied with my own family's health issues to gather auction items or to make any myself. And, let's be honest, what would I make? A sandwich?

So I thought about intangible items I could auction at my site, but I just didn't think anyone would want to bid on my keen wit. (I still have it, don't I?) And offering to guest blog for a price sounded conceited, but writing is my one TALENT in the conventional sense. (Apparently, dainty toes do not count.)

Anyway, I decided that the best I can offer is my compassion. And it's free to all of you, but most especially to Nie. Something about the level of pain and the extent of physical scarring she'll endure seems so disturbing when juxtaposed with her jovial personality and dedication to beauty, which we saw daily on her blog. Not to mention the pain we feel for her husband who is experiencing a similar trial, and for their four children who are temporarily orphaned - though in great, familiar hands.

Like most of you, my mind has been haunted by thoughts of what she felt during the crash, the pain she suffered in the flames and the excruciating physical and mental journey she has ahead, assuming all goes well. The trials she and her family are experiencing have given me a retroactive love for her blog, which I merely enjoyed before. It's helped me learn a few things:

1. Life is beautiful even when it's boring or monotonous. We need to appreciate the present because it's the only thing we can count on, so make every day special.

2. Take pictures! Even of yourself on a fat day/bad-hair day/frumpy day. You might surprise yourself at how beautiful and confident you'll look a year from now. Plus, your posterity will have lots to remember you by.

3. Treasure your children. Have lots of children. Be the mom you are naturally, not the mom you think you should be.

4. Have an affair with your spouse.

5. Wear more red lipstick. Or, in my case, buy some red lipstick. Life is too short for taupe.

What have you learned from Nie?

RIP esophagus

2008-08-26T20:11:00.002-05:00

I'm ecstatic to report that Pdaddy's surgery was a success. If by success you mean he's now missing a vital organ.

Some of you have wondered how someone lives with an esophagus. (It's a question I asked myself when I first found out my dad had esophageal cancer, shortly after, "No, dad!" and, "I will beat you with a wrench, cancer!") Just call it God's Gastric Bypass, because it's a modified version of the surgery made popular by B-list celebs like Carnie Wilson and Al Roker. Basically, they pull up your stomach and attach it to what's left of the esophagus. That makes your stomach smaller and your faux esophagus not as good at things like eating spicy foods and vomiting, but it's a small price to pay in exchange for your life ... though I do know my dad loves him some hot sauce.

And I so know that if Pdaddy was awake and alert right now, he would school us all on the risky procedure using intricate vocabulary and a few tart jokes. But he's still coming out of anesthesia so you'll have to settle for me. And recent polls suggest I'm slightly more accurate than Wikipedia, except when discussing Arctic animals. (Never been my strong suit.)

Anyway, I really appreciate the prayers and fasting and general love that I've felt from my fellow bloggees this entire year. I found out my dad had a horrible form of cancer a mere six weeks after Baby Zee died. It was like getting punched in the stomach - one still healing from a C-section. So things have been rough, to say the least.

But I have never lost my hope or faith, though I'll be darned if the devil didn't try to beat both of them out of me. So thanks to all of you for keeping me strong. It truly takes a village to get out of bed sometimes.

Now, where's that wrench?

p.s. You can keep praying for Pdaddy. The hard part has just begun.

Prayers not optional

2008-08-25T05:20:00.002-05:00

This is going to be a weird week.

Mr. Dub is taking a vacation without me since I took a few this year without him. (We do love each other; were just not crazy about airfare prices.) In his place, my bro and SIL* will be coming to hang out with me and Miss Dub and our baby, Chicago.

Oh, and my dad is having his esophagus removed tomorrow. (That's not a joke; they actually do this.)

You can imagine I'm a bit nervous. I'm not even sure if Pdaddy will sleep tonight. I've already lost my appetite in support of the poor guy, who will be getting his meals through a tube while he recovers for the next few months.

So we'd really appreciate your prayers, even though I know they're pretty full these days.

I also won't be "normal blogging" this week out of respect to my dad and to my guests, though I will post an update when I get a chance.

But if all goes well (and it WILL), I will share a big surprise with you all next Tuesday. And, no, the stork did not deliver it.

* I should note that SIL is one of the few Web acronyms that I approve of. DS and DH drive me crazy, as do IMHO and YKTR. And if you know what EWCM is - gross, huh?

How I didn't blow your minds

2008-08-22T07:53:00.002-05:00

This is the blog post that wasn't.

It started yesterday when I realized that I'm over all our summer activities (pool, park, beach, bungee jumping). Yet, staying home all day is not an option with my TV-loving, mommy-come-watch-this, easily frustrated toddler.

So I decided on a whim to head down to Steve & Barry's, the world's weirdest store where I've had mediocre luck in the past. (And only thanks to SPJ and her Bitten line.) I knew that S&B had fallen on hard times, so when I saw a sign announcing the store was closing in a week, I assumed it was related to their bankruptcy.

Everything in the store was marked $8.98, because $8.99 is, like, sooo expensive. But ever greedy, I decided I was going to barter for a better deal like the inspiring blogger I inspire to be. I started to craft this post in my head, envisioning the great comments I'd get, like, "You always do things I never have the guts to try."

So I started to throw things in my cart. Cute things. Average things. Things you would give to a person you really don't like on her birthday. I gathered pants, capris, shorts, shoes, tops and one item that might have been a shirt, a dress or some sort of nursing wrap.

I cruised up to the register with my sky-high pile of threads, pulled out some cash and said:

"Look, I'm going to offer you $40 for this pile of clothes right now."

Startled cashier: "What?"

Me: "I know you're going out of business next week, and I've seen the massive amount of clothes you still have, so there's no way you are going to sell this all before then. This is a deal for you guys."

Startled cashier: "Um, we're closing because they are redeveloping this shopping center. We're just going to send our leftover stuff to the other Steve & Barry's."

Me: "Oh. So this isn't related to the bankruptcy?"

Annoyed cashier: "No."

Me: "Oh. So you're not going to adjust the prices?"

Incredulous cashier: "No."

Me: "I better sort through that pile then."

Me: (Handing her my three pieces.) "Sorry about that confusion. It's shopping tradition to barter when a store is going out of business."

Interested cashier: "Really?"

Me: (Continuing to lie to assuage my discomfort.) "Oh yeah, I do it all the time. I usually get things for 90-95 percent off."

Impressed cashier: "Wow. I'll have to remember it."

Me: "Glad to help."

The worst part is I got home and decided I don't even like the three things I bought. So now I have to go back and return them. I'm just hoping they've managed to put away my pile of clothes by then.

p.s. It's a no-TV, no-computer day at our house, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell Miss Dub about this post.

Without further a ... 'do

2008-08-21T07:03:00.001-05:00

First, I'm aware that a self portrait is always awkward.

Second, I'm still not sure about this darker 'do, but it is growing on me.

Third, I'm not keen on the (LAYERED!) haircut. I feel like I should join Ace of Base and sport a pager.

Fourth, I've realized the best haircut is losing 20 pounds.

Fifth, your honest comments are welcome. (Hint. Hint.)

HTT - Waxing Edition

2008-08-19T06:09:00.001-05:00

I read this article last week.

I then threw up in my mouth.

If you are too lazy to read it, and 9 out of 10 people are, then I'll sum it up: Moms are taking their young (i.e. 10 and under) kids to be waxed - eyebrows, legs, back, bikini line - all in the name of beauty. Because, you know, young kids with hair (gasp!) are so disgusting.

I'm disturbed by this, just like I am by all beauty trends that that dictate maintenance standards until we are waxed, plucked and primped into copies of each other. And I'm even more disturbed that mothers are behind this latest craze.

Let me make this clear - your child is beautiful just as he/she is. Right now. With a unibrow. With an unnatural amount of back hair. With average peach fuzz on her legs.

Now, I should clarify that there are two types of moms they discussed in the articles - those who bring their children in to avoid/curb teasing and those who do it to improve their child's appearance. I can sympathize with the former, but the latter may be the scum of the earth. (Oops! Just checked and that title still belongs to people who take advantage of the mentally disabled ... but it's a close second.)

In my house, we didn't get to shave until 12. I cheated at 10, but I fell into that early puberty category that necessitated it. But I was probably the only girl in fifth grade with smooth skin. We all wore our unruly hair in ponytails and loose T-shirts and distinct child body odor scent with pride. Whereas today's fifth graders are sporting highlights, fitted designer gear and hairless gams. It's sad.

Kids deserve to be kids, and teenagers deserve to be young, as well. The pressure to be perfectly primped is too much to ask emotionally, physically and financially of people who can't even drive themselves to an appointment.

But what do you think?

Is this just a harmless trend?

Or is it hurting our kids?

Discuss.

Life is still beautiful

2008-08-18T07:30:00.006-05:00

Since I started blogging, I've received news of several tragedies - some of true friends who spread the news on their blogs, some from people I only know through their blogs, and some of people I've met after their traumatic experiences.

The latter happened to me last night, like it probably did to all of you, when I found out that Stephanie and Christian of "Nienie" fame were in a private plane crash and fighting for their lives.

I don't know Stephanie personally, and I've only met Christian a few times, but I do know that they are parents to four small children - and that they have a unique passion for life and finding its dramatic charm. (Even if it made some of our homes look awfully average.)

So I'm praying for them and hoping for the best. I'm sure you are, too.

Do I feel completely unjustified in posting about them when they aren't my family or even my friends? Yes. Is it still weighing heavily on my mind? Yes.

It's hard to not feel like tragedy is raining down on our world between the recent experiences in my family, world affairs and roundabout news like this. Maybe it's being an adult. Maybe it's modern communications. Maybe it's the end of the world.

But this I know - there always still hope. While one person lies in a hospital, another lies there bringing new life into this world. It's tempting to stop living for fear of all the things that can happen to us, but as NieNie showed us, you have to keep believing in beautiful things.

... unfortunately, I'm not so sure that my hair is one of them. So that pic will have to wait for another day and lighter post fare.

Stay blond!

2008-08-15T07:50:00.005-05:00

I had a mediocre day yesterday.

There was nothing tragic about it, but my mind was a constant recording of things I needed to do, including future ones, like, "Make sure to get a tuneup in 3,000 miles." And yet, I didn't really do anything. So then I started to beat myself up about my utter failure, adding even more things to my list, like, "Research alternative fuels" ... and by the end of the day I had a migraine and several stains on my shirt of unknown origin.

(I might be crazy, but sometimes crazy people make lots of money so I'm just rolling with it for now.)

So when the night came, I did what anyone would do - I blew off a friend's baby shower and got my hair done.

I'm now a brunette with blond highlights - something I've dreamed about doing for years in protest of the over-peroxided world we live in. But I took one look in the mirror and thought, "Caramel blond would be perfect." Plus, I'm not crazy about the cut. I wanted to ditch my A-line, but ended up with a few too many layers, a la 1994.

I guess I should have gone to the baby shower.

Mr. Dub says he likes it (good boy!). Miss Dub, however, took one look at me and said:

"Mommy hair dark. Noooo! Like it yellow!"

I'm afraid today may be mediocre as well.

* As for the lack of picture - please, I'm not going to post one until my confidence deepens to match my new hue.

Target is the new Playland

2008-08-14T07:49:00.008-05:00

I consider myself a pretty busy person, but every now and then I accomplish so much on Monday and Tuesday that Wednesday comes and it's, like, "Will I just be counting the minutes until I eventually die?" (Technically, this is impossible, because you can't count while you're sleeping; and if you're not sleeping, you might be an alien and therefore immune to human boredom. Glad to clear that up.)

Miss Dub, despite her tender age, is actually quite content to keep herself busy playing with her three baby dolls - Mimi, Kiki and Carma. She could spend several hours just rearranging their sitting positions: "Mimi, Carma, Kiki - no, Carma, Mimi, Kiki!" She also likes to mimic me, which is very telling. She's either having a party with them or ordering them to the "mad chair." So apparently I'm a disciplinarian socialite. There are worse things.

But I can only handle so much baby doll time myself. So I decided we would take a trip to Target and let Miss Dub walk around sans cart. (Insert gasps.) Upon getting there, we immediately headed to the ... baby doll section! Yes, I let my child play in the baby doll aisle of Target for 90 minutes. (You did not read wrong. I am a bad person.)

When I realized the aisle had serious appeal, I went and got some magazines. (No worries, I just hid Miss Dub among the baby dolls while I browsed the tabloid section.) I then removed a few stuffed puppies and made myself comfortable on a bottom shelf. Miss Dub happily took down a nice selection of baby dolls - some that pee themselves, some that talk, some that perform delicate surgeries - and rearranged them.

It was sheer genius. Not to be confused with Shear Genius, which is really letting me down this season. No wonder I'm in desperate need of a haircut. I'm just so uninspired in this world of Holmes 'dos. (And, yet, it's still so cute. Curses!)

But the best moment came when I finally insisted we go to the "Mommy section." Miss Dub ran off for a second and then came back carrying a bra.

"Wook, Mommy!" she exclaimed, quite proud of herself, and in full view of Target's teenage male population. (Why were they in the intimates section, anyway?)

"Our house," she added, meaning I have some at our house.

Not one to embarrass my daughter, I gave the bra an enthusiastic examination.

32DD.

Very flattering. Maybe I am doing something right.

Lesbians, dessert, babies and mastheads

2008-08-13T06:29:00.000-05:00

Four wonderful things happened to me yesterday:

1. I got mistaken for a lesbian at the park. I took it as a compliment that I was raising my daughter in such a modern way that I could only be a same-sex partner parent. Obviously, the person didn't see the fruit snacks I was giving her. Lesbians hate fruit snacks.

2. Mr. Dub made me an amazing dessert, like right now - as I'm blogging it. (Welcome to the future, folks.) If I was a cool blogger, I would tell you how it was home-churned vanilla bean ice milk with tender cubes of fresh bananas and ripe strawberries served in a red vintage bowl. But I'm not. So I won't. (And it wasn't.)

3. I found a baby on the side of the road and brought it home to live with me. Or maybe that was just a dream. I'm really baby hungry. Did I mention there were baby bits on that ice milk? Mmm ... delicious.

4. Lyndsay (a friend of a friend) sent me this fabulous masthead. Don't you love it? I love it. Or, as Miss Dub has been saying lately, "I wuv it, wuv it." I do believe you can get one, too, right here. Or here. Or here. (Yes, it's all the same link, but have you linked yet?)

HTT - Olympics Edition

2008-08-12T07:21:00.007-05:00

So, did you hear? NBC used computer-generated graphics to look like a live fireworks display during the opening ceremony of the Olympics. Apparently, Beijing is so smoggy that there's no way the fireworks could have been captured by aerial cameras. But, oh yeah, they didn't tell us it was fake. (Or to avoid Beijing if you have asthma.)

And while this trickery is pure Milli Vanilli to me, I think NBC thinks it's totally OK. After all, the opening ceremony cost $300 million dollars. (That's 2,061,119,985.5700 yuan for you finance geeks out there. Hi Dad.) So they had to show an aerial view, even if it was from a computer in New Jersey.

That's OK, because it just represents what I hate about the Olympics - that it's an inaccurate gauge of athleticism, because it's ultimately about ratings and not raw talent. (Though I do love the water sports. I was once a synchronized swimming coach. Seriously.)

I mean, Beijing is a smoggy city. And some of the athletes are doping and/or 10 years old. And some of the judges are not being fair. Also, sometimes you feel embarrassed by some of the outfits, but you pretend like it's normal for men to wear short-shorts because you're at a friend's house, and she makes a mean chili-cheese dip.

But instead of exposes on Olympic failings, you get some 30-minute, overly dramatized bit about how the athlete overcame an ingrown toenail to participate. And while some of the athletes have great stories, it's overkill to me. Let's face it, while they have faced some human adversities, the only thing that makes them remarkable is that they have no life besides their sport.

I feel bad for some of the athletes. While winning gold medals is infinitely cooler than what I plan to do today - park? pool? - it's an overwhelming obsession for them that keeps them from accomplishing some of life's less notable, but more fulfilling goals. And what about the guy who places seventh? He's still seventh in the world, yet he goes home feeling like a loser.

But I'm still rooting for Michael Phelps, even though I generally hate dominant athletes. It's, like, give another dude a chance!

Anyway ... are you watching the Olympics?

What do you like/dislike?

Have you considered a career in table tennis?

Go.

Check your children's backpacks!

2008-08-11T06:12:00.001-05:00

I hate to steal other people's material, but when the other person in question doesn't read my blog, and most likely doesn't have a blog, I feel OK about it. Also, it involves Antarctic wildlife, and that makes the following somewhat of a public service announcement.

I was at a party the other night when a woman I know shared this ditty about a friend who brought her 5-year-old grandson from Indiana to the Shedd Aquarium in Chicago.

At some point during their visit, she looked down and realized her grandson was missing. She searched around on her own, but couldn't find him, so she contacted security, and they began to search every nook and cranny of the aquarium.

I should interrupt this story and tell you two things:
1. This is not a story about a missing child.
2. I do not mean to promote missing children. I'm strictly against kidnapping, wandering off and any other childhood absenteeism.

After two hours of fruitless searching, they were frantic, so the aquarium locked down the building to do a total sweep of the entire facility and all of the patrons. As this was going on, the woman heard, "Hi, grandma!" She looked down and saw her grandson was standing next to her, clutching his backpack to his chest. (Note the foreshadowing.)

In her anger and embarrassment, the woman shouted, "I found him!" and got out of there as fast as she could, without determining where he'd been hiding for several hours.

In the car, the boy wouldn't reveal his whereabouts, keeping his backpack close to him. When they got back home, she angrily threw the backpack on the floor - and it moved! There was something alive in there. She opened it up and found a BABY PENGUIN.

Turns out this kid had managed to access a restricted area behind locked doors where there was an incubator warming newly born penguins. He apparently took a liking to one and stuck it in his backpack.

By the way, I'm not into penguin or backpack abuse. Don't sic PETA on me. (If you do, please warn me so I can take off my penguin-skin backpack first.)

Anyway, I thought that was a crazy story. And, no worries, the penguin was returned.

Then, the same woman who told me this story told me another story about a 13-year-old who jumped into a tank at the aquarium, wrestled a grown penguin and put it in his backpack - all without anyone doing anything.

So I'm, like, "Are you, like, the penguin-backpack-story-lady?"

But I swear she's a real credible lady. She shops at Talbots.

Surgery, schmurgery

2008-08-08T06:38:00.001-05:00

Anesthesia is so weird. One second you're all, "Hey doc, love the new clogs," and then next, you're like, "Where am I?" "Why am I not wearing a bra?"

And it's so nauseating to try and get conscious. Usually I'm happy to tune out of life or discussions about other people's vacations, but when you want to tune in, it can hurt. Focus. Focus. Oops, sleeping again. Talk to the nurse so she thinks you're a brave little girl. Crap, you just closed your eyes halfway through something about her son and a missing pancake.

In fact, I'm getting nauseous just remembering the experience, which I've had way too many times in my (not as) young (as it used to be) life.

But the good news is I'm OK. The even better news is I didn't really need the surgery as the problem apparently resolved itself in the two months between discovery and waking up at 5 a.m. to go to the hospital. (Am I being too vague? I had a mass in my uterus that was causing me excruciating pain, probably related to my molar pregnancy. Still confused? A uterus is where a baby grows. Ask your mom how it got in there.)

This is not the first time I've had an unnecessary procedure. There was the time on my LDS mission when I had my appendix taken out for fun. Just imagine coming out of anesthesia to have a doctor tell you in Spanish that the appendix was extraordinarily long but fine, and that he "poked" around in other areas that looked "strange," but resisted the urge to operate on them.

For the record, I never went back to that doctor and removed the stitches myself. See, I am a brave little girl.

Anyway, I still have a bad case of the cramps, but it's nothing a few hundred Advil can't cure. (That was for my mom. She thinks everyone is addicted to drugs, including vitamins. But seriously, 8-9 Advil do the trick.)

How many Advil do you take?

Prayers optional

2008-08-06T05:50:00.003-05:00

If you have to be stuck with a picture for a few days, this one's not bad.
Miss Dub gets very excited when she sees a lawn mower.

I'm going to have a little light surgery for breakfast today.

If I never post again, you can assume it went badly.

If I don't post for a few days, you can assume I'm using it as an excuse to do nothing but lay around the house and bark orders to Mr. Dub.

"Pillow fluffing, STAT!"

"Where is my butter substitute?"

"French braid, please!"

p.s. If you couldn't access my blog recently that's because my domain was suspended as they somehow thought I was writing from Iran - and that's an apparent no-no. I guess there must be a lot of chubby, whiny, blond housewives in Tehran.

HTT - News Edition

2008-08-05T06:50:00.001-05:00

I'm riding on the coattails of last week's Hot Topic, when you all went criz-azy on the media, claiming it to be biased/slanted/(insert derogatory comment here). And while I'm fully aware that there are bad journalists and publications out there, I hate to see you all so jaded about newspeeps as a whole.

Mind you, I used to be a reporter, and I'm still a freelance journalist, so I suppose that makes me biased - hate that word; after all, some bias is inevitable by virtue of being human and having different life experiences.

Here's the deal: The coverage of any news organization is slanted towards the audience it is trying to attract. For example, if they know their biggest viewer demographic is women, ages 60-93, they are going to cover more stories on health care and retirement than the station whose viewers are typically 20-year-old males, and thus need constant coverage of exploding cars, hot girls with cool diseases and cheesesteak sandwich store openings. Or, likewise, if their audience is more conservative, the stories will be more conservative and vice versa. (Or vice-a-versa, which I've also heard.) It's a matter of ratings, profit and survival.

Also, a story is inevitably going to be slanted if your source pool comes from one side of the story. For example, if Brangelina's publicist won't talk to me about rumors that they used in vitro to conceive their holy twinnies, but their "friend" who saw the vitro go in will talk - my story is going to sound a bit slanted. I'll do my darnedest to clarify that it's all hearsay, but without an actual quote, it won't mean much. Don't blame me, blame the Jolie-Pitts. (And those crazy lips. They will eat you!)

However, beyond those reasons, content is going to be unbiased. Any legitimate news organization (New York Post and Star magazine and anything featuring Bat Boy not included) prides itself on ethics and objectivity. They will do their best to write the story from middle ground, although that's hard to pin down sometimes. What you may consider to be neutral territory could be far different than the general public's viewpoint - but you use your best judgment.

What I've found is that people take fault when a news story doesn't exactly agree with their opinion, which they pride themselves on being factually true. For example, if you think ice cream has healing properties, but read an article that is critical of fatty frozen desserts, you might think it's biased or slanted. You might be mad that a differing viewpoint is even mentioned, even though it's essential to present both sides of the story. You might get fixated on what you don't agree with, rather than recognizing a balanced representation of the issue.

Also, people expect journalists to be experts on any given topic. And while it is their job to quickly indoctrinate themselves, in an age of immediate news coverage, they aren't going to learn it all in a few hours. They are human, and yet journalists are expected to be perfect.

I'd also like to say that if you see a grammatical error, it's probably the copy editor's fault. So, no, do not send emails with links to grammar lessons and/or question my university degree. I will respond, and I will misuse "affect" intentionally.

Anyway, my whole point is that there is not a media conspiracy out there. When it comes to editorial coverage, there are obviously liberal and conservative news organizations out there, but when it comes to general news content, 99 percent of the time no one is lying or intentionally skewing something on purpose. (And they're not being told to do it, either.) If anything, I think journalists can be some of the most open-minded people out there because they have been exposed to a wide spectrum of people and ideas.

But what do you think?

Is the media biased?

Is it intentional?

If so, how do you know?

Write.

* Thanks flickr for that rad piece of radness seen above.

Right now (not a Van Halen tribute)

2008-08-04T07:08:00.005-05:00

Right now, I am looking out my window at a cloud that looks like it will deliver a weather whoopin'. To say I'm frustrated with Midwestern weather would be an understatement. We get a few perfect days each year, but the rest are either frigid and flurry-filled or sticky and stormy. (I know that alliteration is really overused these days, but my true calling in life is to be a card writer. I am NOT kidding. If anyone has connections with a telecommuting card writing job, please email me. I have a hilarious idea for a Rosh Hashannah card. Again, I'm NOT kidding here. It involves a talking calendar.)

Right now, I am not wondering why they call it hand-foot-mouth disease, because one look at Miss Dub confirms the name's inspiration. She has sores on her hands, feet and mouth. So I guess if I had any suggestion for the disease namers, it would be to call it hands-feet-mouth disease, because the sores have been no way limited themselves to one side of her body, and the name is sort of misleading in that regard.

Right now, I'm hoping that none of your children has hand-foot-mouth disease, because Miss Dub probably gave it to them. Probably through the Internet. It is very contagious for, like, three weeks, which means we are going to be watching an inordinate amount of children's TV, because I just cannot think of 10 hours of indoor activities each day.

Right now, I'm trying to figure out a way to enforce our no "Caillou" rule. That whiny brat is way more annoying than educational. Also, his mom wears clothes that are not flattering to her figure.

Right now, I am watching a young Justin Timberlake sing to Elmo on an old episode of "Sesame Street." I'm wondering how someone with such a high vocal range has been able to score such beautiful girlfriends. Then again, besides Britney, his lady friends are on the sinewy, masculine side. And we all know Britney isn't even human, but part of some fedora-wearing alien species who probably live on the same planet as suspender-wearing animals. (Why must chimps always wear suspenders?)

Right now, I'm wondering who would win in a street fight - a taco or a grilled cheese sandwich.

What are you thinking about right now?

Mormon musings

2008-08-03T06:00:00.001-05:00

As most of you know, I'm a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Some people call us Mormons, which is great since it's a shorter moniker and not offensive.

If you've ever admired my sense of optimism, cheerful attitude and kindness, you should know it has everything to do with my faith. If you've ever criticized my negativity, crudeness or ignorance, you should know it has nothing to do with my faith.

But most importantly, you should know how important my faith is to me. It gives me clarity and understanding in a contentious world. It gives me peace amid chaos. It gives me direction and purpose instead of confusion. And, most gloriously, it gives me hope.

Hope has come in handy lately. Life hasn't been easy this past year, and without a moral compass to guide me, I might have gotten lost in my grief. Instead, I found sweetness in the most bitter of trials. How thankful I am for that.

Still, I have a lot more that I can do. I realized recently that being a mom has actually drawn me away from my spiritual pursuits. While I am closer to God in many ways due to the sacred charge of raising my daughter(s), I am also busier, more stressed and more tired - not to mention more focused on others than myself. While that's all admirable, I've used it as an excuse to go through my spiritual motions without really experiencing them.

But lately I've felt like getting raw - really stripping down to my spiritual bones and thinking about life; about my purpose; about what the Lord wants me to do in this life. I'm not going to lie, it almost made me wet my pants. Opening your heart to what you are supposed to do - not what you want to do, not what's convenient, and most certainly not what's socially acceptable - is scary. Sometimes we have to be very vulnerable to become powerful.

I don't know what the next few months will hold for me or my loved ones. There are some tough times ahead for lots of us, and I plan to face them head-on and head held high. No matter what I am asked to do or experience, I know I will be doing what is right for me. I will be trusting in Christ and counting on his sacrifice to help assuage my fears.

It might sound like mumbo-jumbo to you non-religious folk out there, but I know it's true. I'd honestly be less surprised if the sun didn't rise tomorrow than if my faith were founded on false doctrine or prophets. I believe it. I know it.

Anyway, that's what I wanted to say today.

Also, I love carbohydrates.

Amen.

My favorite book ... if I liked it

2008-08-01T06:51:00.000-05:00

Have you ever read a book that you knew you should adore, but didn't? I had that experience the other day. Everyone and their grandma's cousin's manicurist had been yapping for years about Ian McEwan's Saturday. Genius. Life-changing. Freaktalicious. The back of the book even said things like, "Mr. McEwan is the best writer on the earth. And, no, your favorite author is not even close."

So I picked it up. Within minutes, I understood the hype. The man is a genius. His work is subtle, yet life-changing. His poignant use of the English language was nothing short of freaktalicious. And, yet, I was bored.

The premise is great - the extraordinary events of a somewhat ordinary Saturday. So, like 24, but without Kiefer Sutherland and the overused "government mole" plot. But most of the book is reflections on his family, his past and the beginning of the Iraq war. A post-9/11 commentary, if you will. But I really didn't want to philosophize; I wanted a plot. I loved any chance to read dialog, but it happened so rarely that I found myself skimming pages at a time before dropping back in for a read.

Yet, I know it's a brilliant masterpiece.

Is that weird?

Please enlighten me. Although, I should warn you that I'm apparently too frivolous for enlightenment - so try to spice it up a bit.

p.s. Book recommendations are also a good idea if you're feeling comment shy.

Coupons are for wimps

2008-07-31T06:00:00.001-05:00

A lot of you have been emailing me, wondering how my coupon quest is going. Actually, no one has emailed me. What, am I not cool any more? You're all into podcasts, or something?

Anyway, my coupon quest is going great. Like, I totally canceled my Grocery Game membership on Monday. It's not that I wasn't saving money. On one occasion, I went to CVS and got $60 worth of free stuff. Free. Totally free. Most of it feminine hygiene products. And I was generally saving $40-50 on each grocery trip to Jewel-Osco, so that's all good and nice.

But there were hidden costs: my sanity! Clipping coupons and preparing a compatible menu took me a few hours each week. And since our fridge likes to declare its complete emptiness on Monday mornings, it was a few hours each Monday morning. In my pajamas.

Shopping with coupons was no cake walk, either. Actually, a cake walk wouldn't be that easy for me because I don't have much of a sweet tooth. But let's assume that the term is "nacho walk," in which case, shopping with coupons was no nacho walk, either. I was going through a couple suckers to keep Miss Dub entertained and still leaving with a migraine. Also, a cart with a sampling of products and brands I would never buy without coupons. (I almost bought LA Looks hair gel. On the bible.)

So on Monday I told myself, "Forget it. This is not worth the stress. Spending too much might have been bad on your budget, but it was good for your mental health." Also, we don't have a budget, but we are thinking about starting one with your donations from my upcoming podcasts.

I cannot describe the weight I felt lifted off my shoulders. I imagine it's like unto someone who has committed a heinous crime and spent years on the lam before finally confessing. Except they would end up in a small prison cell, whereas I had the freedom to head to my nearest Dominick's and put Miss Dub in one of those cute shopping carts that looks like a car. (FYI, after 10 minutes she announced, "I done driving," which brought down the cuteness factor quite a bit.)

When I got to the checkout, my bill was the same as when I was using coupons. It was a scam! I felt elated! I felt vindicated! I felt - cheated, when I looked in my cart and realized that I had half the amount of groceries I would have had using coupons.

So now I don't know. I think I'm going to try my own coupon strategies at Super Target, where the prices are consistently lower. Or I may just hold out for those donations. By the way, what is a podcast?

HTT - Talk Radio Edition

2008-07-29T07:15:00.002-05:00

A few years back while working as a reporter in Utah, I developed a "friendship" with Sean Hannity. Like, we chatted on the phone and exchanged emails for several weeks before meeting - for professional reasons, of course. He was a nice guy. He was reasonable. He was even moderate in his views and ideas. On the radio, however, he's a different story.

Talk radio. I love to hate it. And thankfully there are idiots out there like Michael Savage who say inane comments about autism just to get a rise out the public. (See above, and then take a bath to wash his filth off you.)

To me, there is no difference between Marilyn Manson and talk radio hosts. They all know it's an act but are happy to play up their extremism to attract an audience. They enjoy the attention, and they enjoy a following. They're exaggerating their viewpoints, yet people believe it's who they really are - and they become faithful followers.

Even worse than listening to a talk radio host is to listen to a caller. "Oh, Dr. Laura, I've been listening to you for years, and I have modge-podged your face on all my Precious Moments figurines." The effusive gushing and blind agreement drives me mad! I understand sharing political or moral viewpoints with a particular host, but to agree with everything they say because you "know" them is crazy, in my opinion. And to make them your authority figure is just foolish.

At least Jon Stewart is funny, but even he has gotten too critical for my tastes. Because I want my entertainment to be enjoyable, and my political information to be polite - and preferably in print.

Yet, lots of people I know and love are huge talk radio fans. (Sports talk radio is not included in this attack, I should note, before my dad pens a diatribe.) But when I listen, I just find myself filled with rage at the blatant ignorance, bigotry and general hate that is spewed by most hosts. They aren't looking to make the world a better place; they are looking for ratings.

Of course, I still listen, even if it's just to make my drive go faster as my temper rises.

Do you listen to talk radio?

If so, who do you like?

And do you think talk radio is a good thing or just bad news?

Diamond is a girl's best friend

2008-07-28T07:08:00.006-05:00

Most of the time I wonder why anyone would want to be my friend, much less read my random blog. But then I do something so blow-your-delicate-mind awesome, that I can't imagine why everyone isn't flocking to be my Be-Fri.

Like when I went and saw Neil Diamond in concert on Saturday night, fulfilling a lifelong dream and most 55-year-old white women's fantasy. (Sorry mom, accidentally your demographic.)

As the concert began, my heart was so full of love for Brother Love himself that I could hardly breathe. He pelted out some great favorites, like "Sweet Caroline," "Forever in Blue Jeans," "I am ... I said," and "Love on the Rocks."

Unfortunately, he played some new material (yawn). And he played so many songs with a strong Southern Baptist flavor that Dave's coworker and I had to agree that he must be a "Jew for Jesus." Also, despite my familiarity with Mr. Diamond's repertoire, I wasn't aware that ALL his songs can be summed up in the following words: "I'm a lonely 67-year-old man who misses New York and craves the attention of drunk women."

And I must admit that the cheese factor was more than I had anticipated and craved. There was a vignette performed for "You don't bring me flowers," which was a bit much even for my campy tastes. And by the third singalong of the last refrain of "Sweet Caroline," I was wishing I had to use the restroom.

But the best part of the whole night was watching a young, black usher watching the whole spectacle with such a puzzled grimace on his face. I'm sure he was wondering why a bunch of old, white women were shaking their things to a bunch of songs he'd never heard. I half felt embarrassed to be part of such a shameless display of cheesiness, and half wanted to indoctrinate him into the Gospel of Neil.

I went up to him afterward and asked him if it was the worst night of his life.

"No," he said, "Those last two songs weren't so bad." (Referring to two songs from his new album that had a strong gospel feel.)

"And that one song is on that Disney show - 'That's so Raven.' That's cool!"

Aw, Neil. You can sway even the toughest critic.

A is for awkward

2008-07-25T07:29:00.004-05:00

I wish someone would do a study to determine just what portion of the male mustache-wearing population is pedophiles. Because we have a foreign neighbor who sports a 'stache who has taken a liking to Miss Dub. It's nothing too strange; he comments on how cute she is, and waves "bye-bye." He doesn't seem overtly creepy, but we're not setting an extra plate out our table, ifyaknowwhatimsayin.

He does like to call Miss Dub "baby girl," which is more embarassing (for him) than alarming (for us). So we may have rushed into the house a few times to avoid the 'stacher, as well as the enormous suckers he likes to give Miss Dub. (So far, none have tested positive for razors or Roofies.)

Things got a little weirder the other day, however, when he ran up to apartment and brought back a - wait for it - Hannah Montana doll for Miss Dub. I didn't even know what to say. "Why are you buying gifts for my child?" seemed too cold. And, "My child is more fond of Elmo than wig-wearing tweeners," seemed too rude.

So now we have a really obnoxious Hannah Montana doll lost somewhere in our toy stash. And we have me wondering if I should change the locks or pen a thank-you note:

Dear 'Stacher,

Thanks for buying a doll that's not age-appropriate for my daughter. If you were really creepy, you would probably know to buy something else, so that's a good thing, I guess.

In the future, however, if you wish to make sweet comments and/or distribute gifts, you will have to have to shave your mustache.

Thanks again!
The Dubs

Maybe I should be Catholic

2008-07-24T08:28:00.007-05:00

Like any red-blooded American, I suffer from a healthy sense of guilt. Here are a few things currently racking my conscience:

* The effusive post I was going to write thanking PROVO CRAFT for donating a brand new Cricut machine for Zuzu's Petals. It arrived in the mail last month with no note or no explanation, but with a warm glow surrounding the box. (Maybe it was the tears in my eyes that caused that.)

* The fact that I have yet to open the Cricut box, because I've been busy vacationing and dreaming about more vacationing. But when I do - whoa-boy! - there will be paper flowers all over my 900 square feet.

* The thank-you notes that will never be written for my birthday gifts, cards and other treats. What? You didn't know it was my birthday? Yeah, it was in June. I hate birthdays. However, I do enjoy gifts, I just feel so undeserving of them. Next year, send a check to my mother's womb.

* The formal thank-you that was never written to Mr. Fabulous, who purchased a crib for my parents' house because Miss Dub is not a port-a-crib fan. The guilt over this one singes a little.

* Not making millions doing something that could include a best-selling novel or a new hair removal system. (Remember Epilady?)

What's making you feel guilty*?

* Posting and/or commenting about items that make you feel guilty immediately absolves guilt and/or responsibility.

Insurance woes, or why I want to be a man

2008-07-23T06:00:00.000-05:00

Have you ever wondered if I am really a man?

I haven't. I mean, I've never been a high-maintenance gal, but I've always been grounded in my femininity. I love salad, for heaven's sake. So it came as some surprise when my insurance began refusing to pay for my obstetrician bills on the grounds that I wasn't a woman.

Yeah, they thought I was a man. Thankfully, one phone call was all it took to persuade them otherwise. (I would have been a little ashamed if they would have insisted on a birth certificate or makeup bag examination. I do have a husky voice, after all.) So the good news is that I can continue to use the lady's room instead of going to the plain ol' bathroom, since men refuse to call it the "gentleman's quarters" ... or maybe just my husband won't.

The bad news is that I am now being charged an extra 400 snaps a month for maternity coverage, which I don't technically need right now, but which I hope to need sometime next year. (Presuming my lady parts get their act together.) I guess they weren't charging me for maternity coverage when they thought I was a dude, assuming it was some sort of clerical error. And, thankfully, they aren't making me pay back payments, but an extra $400 a month isn't cheap - bringing the grand total to $850 a month for me and Miss Dub.

Yeah, my husband's work doesn't provide group insurance for spouses - boo! You can get a pre-tax plan, but it's got all the bells and whistles (aromatherapy, venom-based prescriptions, etc.) so it's much pricier than most independent plans. Too bad, because independent plans won't cover my endocrinology care, which constitutes a large chunk of my medical needs. And I really wonder if a new provider would cover my gyno needs considering my recent experiences.

But let's assume they did - any suggestions on health care providers or plans? I currently use a PPO because I'm really partial to my endo and gyno. (As my friends know, I really wish my gyno was my best friend, but she's just not responding to my personal questions at the end of my medical emails. I guess inviting her to a BBQ might be a conflict of interest?)

Please, hook me up with some affordable insurance. Or get my husband a new job (in San Diego). Or let me know of someone who does cheap gender reassignment surgeries. Because being a man wasn't very fun, but it was economical.

HTT - Mocking Edition

2008-07-22T06:00:00.000-05:00

This one's easy, and may or may not be my attempt to put off blogging for another day.

Go here first.

Then, come back here.

Now, tell me if that was super funny or super offensive, though I must warn you that if it's the latter we're probably not friends.

'Cause I'm, like, heck yeahs that's hilarious (and true).

No vacation is long enough

2008-07-21T06:00:00.000-05:00

Dear Readers,

Have you ever spent two weeks not blogging, but thinking about your big back-to-blog post? And then the two weeks were up, and suddenly you couldn't think of anything to write about, except maybe a long diatribe about your daughter's unique poop scent? (Think fermented peaches.) But then you remembered that moms are more than their children's excrement, so you couldn't think of anything substantial to write?

Well, if you did, then you are Mrs. Dub. (Except your name isn't really Mrs. Dub; it's a name that starts with Q. Except that it doesn't, but it is in the same alphabet.)

Anyway, such is my life. My vacay was really cool and probably needs some adjective like "fantabalicious" or "hardcore, extreme violence," minus the violence part, with lots of relaxation and fun for good measure.

I love the beach. I want to marry the beach. I just became a minister online so that we can live together until death do us part - at which point I hope heaven is filled with beaches.

I also love my sister, family and bestie who hosted me on my long-winded journey from the OC to camping in Carlsbad to some Arizona-loving.

Am I still typing? I think I am, but there's no way to confirm it.

Anyway, I hope to be back in best blogging form tomorrow. Until then, check out my cute daughter, whose poop smells like fermented peaches.

Love to all!
Mrs. Dub

Funny face

2008-07-03T07:00:00.000-05:00

See you in a few weeks!

And so it begins ...

2008-07-02T07:33:00.006-05:00

Sticky hands + cotton balls = this

When people spoke of the "Terrible Twos," I always thought of it as a phase. Like, a gradual descent into temper tantrumdom, with a gradual ascent into not-as-adorable, but still cute kidhood.

I was wrong.

The "Terrible Twos" came to our house yesterday like a package arriving in the mail. Just when I was feeling Brangelina in my baby-making desires - "But seven just seems too small!" - I was faced with the most evil, the most defiant Miss Dub I'd ever met - and she's not even two until October.

It began with a battle over wearing a diaper. Not knowing I was about to sink into the depths of motherhood, I took this to be a sign that potty training had arrived. (Not the best timing since I'm leaving for two weeks on Friday. Oops, didn't I tell you already?) I said, "Well, if you don't want to wear a diaper, you can sit on the potty and ..." (I'll spare those without children the cutesy phrases I use to refer to our excrement.)

That was when I got a diaper throw in my face, while Miss Dub shouted, "No potty! No diaper! Naaaaked!"

I'll spare you the nitty-gritty on the rest of the day, but there was a two-hour battle over wearing shorts, a battle over coming inside, a battle over taking a nap, a battle over leaving Target without purchasing a very large doll house, which she physically removed from the shelf herself.

And then, just when I thought she was ready to rest from her loud labors, she preceded to screech when I put her to bed. I did the typical mom debate - Is she hurt/sad/soiled v. Will she become spoiled/dependent/needy? - ultimately siding with my eardrums and the very real possibility that someone would call CPS on me. THREE times I tried to get her back into bed with various bribery techniques, including stuffed animals, books and "candy milk" - vanilla soy milk - all to no avail.

At 10 p.m., she finally fell asleep on Mr. Dub's lap while watching "The Office."

So now I'm thinking five kids might be just right.

What about you?

HTT - HTT Edition

2008-07-01T06:42:00.000-05:00

A lot of you have told me you love Hot Topic Tuesday. My stat-meter indicates that more people check out M&M on Tuesdays than any other day of the week combined, so it must be readable. Good thing because it gives me an ulcer. It's not that I don't enjoy discussing controversial issues; they are things I'm already discussing with friends and family, so I'm happy to get them out of my mind to analyze what I believe. Sometimes I'm adamant and hope to persuade you. Other times, I'm looking for more insight. But every single time, I feel like I have to write and rewrite and soften everything one more time so I don't offend someone - even though it's my blog.

Why, you ask? First, I don't like to offend people, even though I wish they wouldn't take it personally. Second, because when someone goes off on me in the comments or criticizes my parenting, it affects me. I'm open to dispute, just not disparagement. And it's even worse when readers attack each other. Sometimes my whole Tuesday goes from great to gloomy just because no one is playing nice and usually they are named Anonymous. (Who knew it was such a popular name?)

Which brings me - yes, three paragraphs later - to today's Hot Topic: blogger etiquette. On one hand, I'm a huge blogging fan. I feel like I know more about my friends and family now than I used to. It goes beyond chit-chat - I get to see pictures and hear details about day-to-day activities, which is a better glimpse into their lives than a short phone call.

On the other hand, blogging brings out the worst in some people. It makes them mini-experts on every topic, and gives them permission to pass judgment on people they don't even know - who are not public figures. I feel like some people are just waiting to jump all over someone if they make the slightest mistake, as if bloggers should be held to journalistic standards.

Even our so-called friends are abusing the blog medium. I've had friends receive rude and critical remarks from friends, both openly and anonymously. I've also heard of people posting anonymously to others' blogs, or their own (I plead the Fifth!) to say something in their defense.

So where should the line be drawn?

Is it OK to treat someone differently online than you would face-to-face?

What are your rights as a blogger and as a commenter?

And has HTT ever gotten too heated for you?

p.s. Wish I'd had this article when we talked about guns.

Due Date

2008-06-30T07:10:00.001-05:00

Dear Zee,

Happy un-Birthday! You were supposed to be born this day. Then again, most babies aren't born on their due dates, and you weren't any different - except that instead of coming a couple weeks early like your sister, you came four months early ... and you only stayed for a minute.

At one point in my pregnancy, they moved your due date back a few days, but I just knew you wouldn't be a July baby. I assumed you would be born in June, which has made this month very bittersweet for me. But the more I think about it, you were always meant to be a February baby. Now, you share a birthday month with your dad and your aunt. Now, celebrating your special day will bring me sunshine during a month that is often gray.

Still, I have some regrets about our pregnancy - like how I focused too much on the pain and complications and not enough on your little kicks and subtle growth; how I complained more about the intense nausea and fatigue instead of marveling at the miracle of it all. I still feel bad that I had to deliver you before your little body had given in to its unique composition. But for just a moment, you got to experience life on earth, so maybe you didn't mind coming out so soon.

I wish that you could have stayed. I wish that you could have been born today, and that I could have taken you home from the hospital. I wish that I could watch you grow up and decide if you like tomatoes. (Your Dad and I do not.) I wish that you could be my baby on earth, but that's not what you were destined to be. You are my baby in heaven; I was merely a surrogate to help you get the body you needed to move forward eternally. In return, you touched my life - so many lives - in a way that cannot be measured in birthdays. You are priceless.

I miss you.

I love you.

Forever,
Your Mom

p.s. If you see a brother or sister hanging around, tell them to come on down!

Miss Dub chronicles

2008-06-27T07:43:00.000-05:00

Yes, I let her out in public in her pajamas.

I fear that my portrayal of Miss Dub has led some of you to believe she is a genius. And while she probably will graduate from high school at 10, she's also a typical toddler. Also, even though she talks like a teenager, only a few people can understand what she is saying. I happen to be one of those people.

So without further adieu, I'll share a few things Miss Dub has been doing and saying as of late:

1) The other day I was getting ready and trying to ignore my puffy midsection. Just then, Miss Dub shouted to me, "Mommy's skirt is pretty." This not only made me feel good, but gave me an incredible urge to eat her, which you will be glad to know I resisted. Then she added, "Mommy, you're pretty!" So I ate her.

2) Every time we drive in the car, she shouts out the windows, "Piiiiink! Piiiiink! Piiiiink house!" After some investigation, I discovered that she is on a quest to find and purchase a pink house. If anyone finds one, please let me know it's geographical coordinates so we can drive by and promptly never return. Maybe then she'll stop screaming while I drive.

3) When we were in Nauvoo, she wanted to get on stage before a musical performance. I indulged her since only the brass band was playing. Immediately, she began to shake her thing for the crowd, which they loved. Just then, the band stopped playing and the audience clapped. Miss Dub thought they were clapping for her. Confused when they stopped, she raised her hands and clapped again. The whole audience began clapping with her. She stopped, they stopped. And so on it went for a few minutes. She was beaming the whole time. When I finally got her down, she kept saying, "I want to go on stage." And when she awoke the next morning, the first thing she said to me was, "Clapping with me!" Looks like I'm going to be a show mom. Now, I just need to take a class on how to pressure my child and/or steal her earnings.

4) Miss Dub's favorite joke is to call grapes, apples. In fact, she doesn't even have to be eating grapes to crack herself up. She'll just look at me and say, "Aaaapples!" And I have to say, "No, grapes!" And then she laughs for 30 minutes, which is nice because it's hard to get anything done with a toddler around.

5) We recently purchased Juno. In one scene, Juno's friends suggests she might be pregnant with a "food baby." I guess Mr. Dub and I have been quoting that on occasion because Miss Dub recently turned to me and proclaimed, "Food baby!" I had to explain to her what that meant, at which point she motioned to my stomach. And no, she didn't say I was pretty this time.

p.s. Happy Birthday to me mumsie! She's an amazing lady and a great rhymer.

How I survived my first heart attack

2008-06-25T07:43:00.008-05:00

The Lord works in mysterious ways ... sometimes through hypochondria.

Last night, Mr. Dub had a friend over for one last hangout - he's moving, not dying - and they decided to watch "Live Free or Die Hard." I say "they" because I generally don't like to watch movies with action sequences that last more than 30 seconds at a time and/or involve planes, tunnels or abandoned warehouses. (Check, check and check.) But I decided to watch it, and even though some of the scenes gave me an ulcer, it was pretty enjoyable. (I should note that my love for fictional terrorism outweighs my aversion to intense action.)

When the movie was over, I felt a sharp, shooting pain in my chest. This is not abnormal. I don't think it's my heart, but my proclivity to sit in uncomfortable, compact positions while watching TV. Then, the pain was followed by tingling in my left arm. I let this go for a minute, but it continued to persist. I jokingly asked them about the signs of a heart attack. Then, Mr. Dub's friend left, and I didn't have to pretend to joke because Mr. Dub knows how paranoid I can be. We researched it a bit on line and found out that "numbness in the left arm" is actually not as common of a symptom as you think. Sorry to shake up your world, but do be alert for pain in your jaw.

Wow, this is getting long. Short story not as short as it could be, I decided it would be best to call a doctor. She was basically asleep and said something like, "Who knows?" so I decided to it was OK to go to bed. Still, I wanted to be prepared and keep my phone by my bed just in case. Unfortunately, I realized my phone was still in our swimming bag, which was in Miss Dub's room.

I tiptoed into her room and was hit by a smell wave. Clearly, someone had soiled her diaper, and it wasn't me this time. While I got out my phone, I debated whether or not to wake her. Just then, she woke up. I asked her if she wanted me to change her and she said yes. Then she said, "Mommy, I'm scared." I held her for a bit, and put her back in her crib.

This morning, I asked her if she remembered me coming in. After some prying and translation, I found out she had a bad dream about drowning and that she had been praying for me to come in her room. And I did ... because I was possibly having a heart attack.

So there you have it. Next time you have numbness in your left arm - and I admittedly still do - you should first check on your child, then turn off the intense action film you are watching and, finally, go straight to bed.

HTT - BC Edition

2008-06-24T07:44:00.003-05:00

By now, you've all heard about the pregnancy pact. And whether or not you believe it actually existed, the point is: some young girls are getting pregnant intentionally ... and even more are getting pregnant accidentally.

In my opinion, the real controversy to this story is not the fact that these girls want to be young mothers. I think maternal instincts kick in at puberty. I myself often fantasized as a teen about finding an infant on my doorstep and raising her while I went to school. Thankfully, my parents discouraged premarital friskiness and explained the challenges of being a young, unwed mother so I never got past the daydream phase.

What's the real Hot Topic for me is that some schools are giving out birth control or contraceptives without parental consent. And what really intrigues me (WARNING! WARNING! Plot twist ahead!) is that some people are against it. I mean, perhaps the school shouldn't personally distribute birth control and should refer students to a third party resource instead, but I just don't understand why people are so upset - to the point that the school nurse had to resign.

Personally, I don't believe that birth control and condoms make teenagers have sex. Sex is an act of passion for most; it's an act of rebellion for others - and sometimes it's just sheer stupidity. But whether or not the sex is going to be safe is usually not the deciding factor, I think. Not having safe sex, however, is the cause of many hard consequences, including disease and unplanned pregnancy.

I do believe in abstinence and practiced it myself. I do plan to teach my children moral, spiritual and practical reasons why it's the best choice before you're married - but I do not want them to have unsafe sex if they decide to do it anyway. (And I doubt they would bring me a permission slip if one was required, knowing how disappointed I would be.)

Sex education doesn't just happen at school; it also happens in the home. We've already discussed this, but I really believe that you have to do your best and trust your children to make good choices on their own. When they don't, you pray they won't face tragic consequences. And if someone besides myself helps them avoid those, I'm grateful.

Granted, it would be nice if someone would tell me if my child is having sex. The issue isn't just religious - I would want to address the emotional and physical consequences of such behavior and help them understand their decision from all sides. But I don't think most sexually active teens are telling their parents - and those who are probably can acquire birth control with their parents' help.

Please understand, I think schools should teach their students about the negative consequences of sex more than they advertise contraceptives. And I think the context of distribution should be appropriate - having a counselor meet with a student privately versus throwing them out at a prep rally or having a box of them at prom.

But I bet that most of you (and a large part of the country, obviously) disagree. Please, help me understand why.

Do you think that distributing birth control encourages sexual behavior?

Or is this just an issue of parental rights?

Share.

I'm my own grandpa!

2008-06-23T07:23:00.000-05:00

After nearly three years in Illinois, we decided to get serious about our citizenship and heritage and trekked down to Nauvoo this weekend. For those of you who aren't LDS/Mormon/consumers of Jell-O hybrids, Nauvoo is a place where early Mormons settled before persecution drove them West.

I have to say, I don't blame them. And by them, I mean both the persecutors and the pioneers. I mean, there's nothing going on in Nauvoo - one would get bored and prone to mischief. Sure, it's a beautiful place by a scenic river, but there are literally only seven eating establishments in the whole town and most of them close at 5 p.m. We actually paid $14 for a buffet that featured fake crab meat marinating in butter alongside reconstituted mashed potatoes. Mr. Dub loved the kitsch of the whole experience, while I just kept wondering why no one had opened a really good Mexican restaurant. And then I remembered they would have to live there ... in the winter.

The historical sites were pretty cool, although I got a bit weary of tour guides. Also, the Nauvoo Temple is so beautiful inside and out. I always thought it was a little trite for people to love one temple ("San Diego is the bomb!") and detest another ("Ew! Provo!"), but I now have a strange affinity for the rebuilt Nauvoo temple. It's decorated in chartreuse and buttercream tones, which is just lovely. Lovely, I tell you! Plus, my dad was in the hospital again while we were there so I especially enjoyed the unique spiritual peace you feel inside the temple. (Go here if you're still confused. Or here.)

Some thought we were crazy to head towards the Mississippi while everyone else was evacuating from there, but Nauvoo is set at a higher elevation so the super swollen river didn't quite make it to the town. Besides, the river knew it would get bored after 8 p.m. so it stuck to the Iowa side. (You know how crazy those cornfields can get!)

Anyway, I am glad we made the trip, mostly so I don't feel like an idiot when everyone asks us if we've been yet. Then again, I didn't go to the Grand Canyon until I was 14, and I lived in Arizona most of my life. (Little known fact: I was born in Washington D.C.)

Oh, but if you are now hankering to visit Nauvoo, I should warn you. The musical performances are big on overacting and references to inbreeding. In fact, when we first pulled up, I saw "I'm my own grandpa" scribbled into the dust on the back of a van. I thought it was the funniest thing I'd ever read, mostly because it sounded like immature gibberish, but when we attended a musical performance later that night, there was a song by that same name. I won't go into details, but it gave me a decidedly creepy feeling inside.

But did I mention the temple is lovely?

* Kristen is the random winner of an Eliza subscription. Email me!

Tune of thought

2008-06-19T07:25:00.000-05:00

Excuse me if I'm not myself today, but I recently found out that Beck is a Scientologist, and I need some time to take it in.

In other music news, Mr. Dub recently introduced me to Blonde Redhead, and there is no turning back. Bliss in melodic form, my friends.

Finally, in self-congratulatory non-news, remember Eliza? Well, my quarterly column is getting rave reviews from up to five people. Want to make it 10? Go here and find a place to buy the summer issue, which - according to mass amounts of emails I've received - is Eliza's best yet. Do it.

Or you could live life like Kenny Rogers and post a comment about why you should receive a free Eliza subscription. Leave your remarks by midnight Sunday (CST), and you might be a winner.

Now, what's on your mind?

HTT - Modesty Edition

2008-06-17T06:08:00.000-05:00

Miss Dub and I recently went swimsuit shopping since at 19 months she is already growing out of her 2T suit. (Is this normal?)

I told her she could pick one out, and pick she did - a nice tropical-patterned one with a plunging neckline and deep backside. Whaaaat?

I had to give her a quick lecture on modesty, which I really hadn't been planning to deliver for a few more years. As a result, it was a little haphazard and may have included the word "skeezy."

I'm all for kids clothes that mimic certain adult fashions. I adore a toddler in capris or a cropped sweater; I love tiny Converse or Pumas - but I do not want my daughter dressing like a grown vixen.

I think some people take this concept too far - it troubles me when I see a 3-year-old in a one-piece outfit with snaps, and I'm not into baby clothes adorned with Winnie the Pooh*. Also, I'm totally cool with my daughter wearing sleeveless tops or dresses, as long as they don't have spaghetti straps or the aforementioned Pooh graphics.

But small girls in plunging halters and skimpy bikinis trouble me. Not only because they are a pedophile's dream, but because such fashions send a message that more skin is better. (And that how you look is more important than who you are.)

I mean, they sell thong underwear in some children shops. Seriously? Because I don't think VPL should be a concern for someone who still wets the bed.

But obviously someone is buying it because it's available at most stores, and I see it on little girls in my area, although winter makes modesty more common.

What do you think?

Are we dressing our kids older than we should?

What are the fashion rules at your house?

And who is buying all the Pooh Bear clothes at Target?* (If you are, I never wrote that.)

*If you haven't caught on yet, I'm concerned about Pooh Bear's intentions. No offense to the rest of the Hundred-Acre Woods posse.

For my SAHMs

2008-06-16T07:47:00.005-05:00

I've thought about this a lot, but what do you think is the greatest perk of being a stay-at-home mom, aside from the whole be-with-your-chittlins-all-day thing?

After some consideration, I've decided it's spending more time outdoors. OK, in the winter this isn't really a perk - it's a punishment - but I still get a chance to see the sky a lot more than I did when I worked full-time.

In the summer, our life is spent outdoors. Last week, I put on makeup twice because we spent a huge chunk of each day at the pool or a park or another outdoor arena. Miss Dub and I are already sporting wicked tan lines. (I'm not proud of this. I'm becoming part-iguana with my nasty leather hide.)

Some days I feel guilty. When Mr. Dub heads off to work for another busy day of reports and meetings, I say things like, "Yeah, our day is going to be busy, too. We're going to swim in the morning, then have lunch with friends, then head to a park." As if he should be grateful!

It's not totally fair, but there are entire days in the winter when I don't speak a word to an adult and change 5+ diapers full of reconstituted food ... so I guess it balances out.

Plus, when I start to feel guilty that my life is largely creating fun experiences for my child - I remember that I would never forgive myself if I stayed home and focused only on myself. I'm not staying home to swim; I'm staying home to teach Miss Dub to swim. To show her the beauty of a blue sky. To teach her water etiquette. To point out the letters and shapes and sounds we see on the way to the pool. It's all part of a greater educational experience - and I'm lucky enough to be her teacher.

But it's pretty cool that we get to do it outside.

C is for Compassion ... and Clavicle

2008-06-12T05:16:00.000-05:00

Miss Dub has been naturally blessed with a strong sense of compassion. Not only does she voluntarily offer hugs and kisses to me, but she offers them to others, including strangers and television characters. (She also tickles the TV.)

Yesterday, I overheard this conversation between the little Miss and her toys while taking a bath:

Miss Dub: Ready? Go!

Pig: I winning.

Sheep: No winning.

Miss Dub: Good job, pig! Fast!

Sheep: (pretend crying)

Miss Dub: Good job, sheep!

Sheep: (sad voice) No winning.

Miss Dub: You winning. You trying.

Miss Dub: (kisses sheep) Ready? Go again!

Gone Swimming!

2008-06-11T07:22:00.003-05:00

* A winner has been announced here.

HTT - Beauty Edition

2008-06-10T07:08:00.004-05:00

I was going to post a certain Hot Topic this fine Tuesday, but Mr. Dub persuaded me not to for a variety of reasons, including his personal embarrassment level. (Hint: a country in South America + what candles are made from.) My sense of propriety is seriously lacking, as you can tell.

So I'll go with a related issue - Beauty. These days there are so many beauty regimens one could prescribe to. Mani/pedis, waxing of all varieties, hair cut and color ... the list goes on and on, and then threading your eyebrows becomes trendy and your list needs a second page.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a good pampering. I get my hair highlighted frequently, though less than my stylist recommends and more than Mr. Dub economically encourages. And I do enjoy a good pedicure. (Though I must give a shout-out to the Ped Egg, recommended by my mums.)

Still, I feel like beauty care is a slippery slope that leads to things like excessive plastic surgery - and vanity. Plus, it's such an unfair expectation for young people. I express thanks frequently that I went to high school and college at a time when it was still acceptable to be somewhat natural and individual. Today's teens, however, are expected to be as highlighted and teeth-whitened as possible in order to be date-worthy.

I also feel pressure to fix my various flaws. I won't name them all, but, yes, that is included. But I remind myself that I don't want to be a robot. I don't want to be perfect. And I don't want to spend all my time and money on fixing my outside, when I've got a whole lot of nurturing to do on my inside.

But what do you think?

What is your level of beauty maintenance? (I consider myself "middle" most days and "low" 1-2 times a week.)

Is it wrong to primp and pluck to your heart's content, or that just what girls do best?

** In an unrelated but equally enjoyable topic, click here for a review and GIVEAWAY of a tasty (and very personal) treat!

The weatherman who cried wolf

2008-06-09T07:45:00.005-05:00

We slept with flash lights by our beds last night. For the umpteenth time in a few weeks, there was a tornado warning for our area.

In our nearly 3 years in Illinois, we've yet to be hit by a tornado. (Wood? Wood? Where are you?) I don't know if it's because we live in a suburban area, sheer luck, or we just smell bad, but all these false alarms are creating a false sense of security.

Last night, as the Weather Channel beeped out hideous warnings and promises - "A dangerous storm with damaging winds will reach you in 10 minutes! Seek shelter! Put on some deodorant!" - Mr. Dub got out the flashlights and emergency backpacks, while I typed some emails.

Maybe I'm just mad. Coming from Arizona, where our big natural worry is drought, it's hard to live in a place where deadly tornadoes are commonplace. And now, apparently, we also have earthquakes to worry about. So I'm sorta ticked, and I think the tornadoes know it.

Anyhow, there was no tornado. There were no damaging winds. There was no soft-ball sized hail. There was an intense downpour ... and a lingering distrust in meteorology.

Do you trust your weatherman?

My little drummer girl

2008-06-06T00:36:00.003-05:00

Miss Dub already likes to dress herself. And if you think fashion sense is genetic, it's not. It's an acquired skill, and I can only hope that these early, awkward acquisitions lead to future outfits with coordinating colors. (Or at least thoughtfully mismatched ones as is über-hip these days.)

It takes some serious self control to let my child out of the house wearing pink cowboy boots and red shorts. I try not to be embarrassed or make explanatory comments to strangers - after all, isn't fashion about discovering yourself? - but it's hard not to when she looks like I just found her on the doorstep ... of Weird Al's house.

So much of parenting is trying not to control your children - forcing them to do or behave the way you would. Like, I'm obsessed with simple, modern children's products. I daydream of toy boxes full of wooden blocks and kid gear void of plastic, bright colors, characters or noises. So far, I'm failing, mostly thanks to grandparents who are happy to give Miss Dub the brightest and loudest toys they can find.

And you know what? She loves them. She likes her big turtle-shaped toy-holder in the bathtub, even though I lay awake at night thinking of ways I could make a simple beige pouch to replace it. She likes her Winnie Pooh plastic car, complete with obnoxious songs. (And, let's be honest, Pooh is one creepy bear.)

I need to make peace with it. I need to realize that she's not going to like the same things and styles as me for the rest of her life. I marched to the beat of my drum, so why should I try to keep control of her drumsticks?

But I seriously draw the line at light-up character shoes ... but ask me again in a few years when she's throwing a fit in the middle of Target.

Let's be losers!

2008-06-05T07:11:00.005-05:00

Looking better last year ... sigh.

I have a secret: I'm chunky. Not full-blow fat again but definitely soft. Actually, the world would probably consider me a buffet-lover with the girth I've got going, but by suburban mom standards - in a Midwestern suburb, I should clarify - I'm just average. Yes, the 15+ pounds I put on in my half-term pregnancy are still here four months later. I could blame the fact that I didn't have breastfeeding to help me shed those stubborn pounds, or I could contribute my apathy to physical and mental issues caused by such a traumatic experience, but the real culprit is the snack aisle. I mean, with so many choices out there - sweet or salty? - how is anyone expected to control their calories? And let me tell you, I can eat. I've even contemplated competition eating, but those skinny Asians can pound some red hots.

The worst part is that I joined a weight loss competition 10 weeks ago, named after The Biggest Loser. Here's another secret: I've never seen the show in its entirety. But I get the concept - go to adult fat camp, cry a lot and lose your man-boobs. Thankfully, there's a lot less crying in this competition, as well as angry personal trainers. But after 10 weeks, I'd only lost and gained the same few pounds.

So the competition is starting up again on Monday. Despite my embarrassment, I decided to give it another shot. After seeing the "after" photos of the top winners - er, losers - I realized that I had just wasted four months of my life. Rather than feeling confident in a swimsuit this summer, I'll be searching for a cover-up. So why wait another four months - especially since I hope to give baby-making another try later this year?

But I decided to invite you all to join, since I know it's a great motivator to pass by the dessert plate at BBQs this summer. If you're already skinny, you can leave now. People hate you.

Here's how it works: You pay $100 to participate. Every week, you send in your weight to the administrator, who is also a participant. To keep things honest, you must send in a personal photo of yourself and an image of the scale at the beginning and end of the competition. A weekly spreadsheet is sent out with info on each contestant, and emails are exchanged sharing tips and some ribbing. All weight loss plans are OK, but no fasts, cleanses, pills or supplements are allowed. There are a few raffles during the competition, but most of the money goes to the winners. Last time, the winner took homes $1,100, second place got $660 and third place got $440. (Winners are based on percentage of weight loss, not total weight loss, so there is not a real advantage to being heavier.)

Last time, there was a wide group of women, mostly from Arizona, who participated. Most had a significant amount of weight to lose, so if you only need to lose a few pounds, this competition might not be for you. You can go join the skinny girls now, but you make us less insecure than they do if that makes you feel better.

Anywho, if you are interested, email me at missusdubATgmailDOTcom. You need to be ready to go on Monday morning, but it's OK if you can't get the money for a week or so. And I should mention that I'm planning on winning, but you're welcome to come in second.

Now, where's my danish?

HTT - Gun Edition

2008-06-03T06:24:00.002-05:00

I couldn't even bring myself to post a picture of a real gun - that's how much they scare me.

I'm going to steal some heat from last week's hunting Hot Topic and discuss a cousin controversy: guns.

Remember how I told you I'm pretty passionate in my disdain for hunting? Well, my feelings on guns are even stronger and even more opposed. I don't like guns. Period.

(This is the point where those of you who might take offense if I share a differing viewpoint should click here. I enjoy a healthy debate, but I know some of you don't like it when I get on my soapbox. Remember, it's cheaper than therapy for me, and no one will make you read it if you don't want to. Besides, disagreeing doesn't mean we can't be friends. We all agree that the Simpson sisters are overexposed, right?)

I recognize that many people have different reasons - some frightening - for wanting to own a gun. I'm sure most of them are valid, but for me the pros can't outweigh the cons, which is why there will NEVER be a gun in my house.

Guns kill people. I know, I know, "people kill people," but guns sure help them accomplish that goal. And while gun owners may argue that firearms also protect you, I believe the chance they'll get to do that is small in comparison to the possibility of harming someone you love.

I know that most gun owners are very responsible, which I applaud and encourage, but most parents who have lost children to suicides by gun or accidental shootings thought they were being responsible, too. They kept their guns unloaded, their gun safes locked and their ammunition across the house. They taught their children how to use guns responsibly and warned them to stay away. But accidents happen - and when they happen with guns, they can be fatal.

Kids are smarter than you think. They can access guns no matter how careful you are, even at a very young age. My biggest concern is suicide because it's a rising epidemic among our youth and when guns are involved there are rarely second chances, unlike other methods. My next concern is curiosity - a child showing off guns to siblings or friends, resulting in accidental firings, which could result in criminal charges. My final concern is someone using a gun for violence, whether petty crime or mass shooting.

I'm not really worried about criminals and guns. Most of them acquire their guns illegally, which is obviously hard to control. And if they turn one on an innocent citizen, it's often for intimidation and not with the intent to kill.

I worked as a reporter covering crime - and have been a news junkie most of my life - and in my experience it is rare for someone to save their life or others' by using a gun. When someone has, the shooter was usually someone in law enforcement or another occupation where advanced gun training and experience is required. Other times, innocent people were hurt or an angered assailant fired back with better precision.

The world is scary place. I worry about bad things that could happen to my family like the rest of you, but I think guns can be a placebo effect. I think they make you feel safe, but it is a false sense of security. The odds of your gun being used on someone you know are much higher than using it to protect yourself.

But I know some of you - maybe all of you - disagree.

Help me understand why or why not you would own a gun, and how you can be sure they won't be used inappropriately.

Your comments really softened my views on hunting, so maybe this will do the same.

Then again, it might take a miracle.

But I'm listening.

Planes, trains, trolleys and Legos

2008-06-02T07:36:00.017-05:00

Having Mrs. Jay here with us was ... well, not "awesome" because that word is a bit 90s, and not "cool" because it was cooler than cool, and not fabulous because only one woman can use that word legitimately without sounding like a drag queen. And dope, fresh, wicked, sick and tight are all a little juvenile. But whatever word means "like, the best time ever" should go here.

Wednesday we just chilled with a little deep dish and watched Nacho Libre - the first of three viewings, I might add. Thursday we went to a local farm that had potential, but fell so far short that I found myself mocking it, until I realized that it's run by developmentally disabled young people, at which point I felt terrible. But then I realized that someone who is not developmentally disabled probably runs the farm so there was no excuse for the dilapidated buildings and lackluster attractions. (Not to mention a train ride that features a turn through a barn filled with cleaning supplies and a half-painted mural.) So then I resumed my mocking. I feel good about it.

On Friday, despite a tornado warning and threat of hail, we took the kids downtown on the train. It was a roundabout excursion because we weren't really clear on our objectives, but once the rain stopped, and we figured out the free trolley system, we had an awesome - and you know how I feel about that word - time at the children's museum. I even purchased a membership there because isn't it only fair that Miss Dub get something with our stimulus payment? The only down point of the day came when a homeless woman cast a spell on Miss Dub. I can't be sure of the exact nature of the spell, but I hope it's something like, "Compelled to do homework on time" or "Cowlick-free hair." Still, it was weird to have a woman staring down my child in an eerie made-for-television way. But what's a downtown experience without a little voodoo?

Then on Saturday morning, the whole clan packed up and left for Mr. Jay's parents' house in a town that is - seriously - called Kankakee. And Miss Dub immediately burst into sobs and shouted, "My friends, my friends!" I didn't even know she knew that word, but I'm sure glad we've got some. We had a great time seeing the local sights with them, although I'm pretty sure if you asked the Jay boys what their favorite part of the trip was, they would say it was going to the Lego store at our mall. Hey, who doesn't love interlocking plastic?

Q&A with Mrs. Jay

2008-05-29T06:00:00.002-05:00

Just two BFFs talking real.

Me: How was your flight?
Mrs. Jay: It was pretty smooth - slim to no turbulence.

Me: Be honest, did you come to see me or your in-laws?
Mrs. Jay: Mr. Dub, actually.

Me: Best hamburger in Phoenix?
Mrs. Jay: That's a good one. I've got to go with Delux or Freddy's. Also good: Stax.

Me: If you were lost on a deserted island, what one food item would you want to have?
Mrs. Jay: No doubt - refried beans.
Mr. Dub: That's disgusting, but I don't blame you.

Me: What's my best feature?
Mrs. Jay: It's a tie between your "East-West" chest or your Asian butt.
Me: Would it be more appropriate to call it Oriental?
Mrs. Jay: No, people are Asian, things are Oriental.
Me: Good to know.

Me: If you could describe our friendship in one word, what would it be?
Mrs. Jay: Oh no.
Me: That's two words.
Mrs. Jay: Beautiful. Or sensual.
Me: Whaat? I was thinking something like, "Crazy."

Me: Favorite memory from middle school?
Mrs. Jay: It's a toss up between the Headbanger's Ball bar mitzvah or painting the school stage without permission.

Me: What is something you know about me that no one else knows?
Mrs. Jay: Oh, the People Mover comes to mind.
Me: I think other people know of my escapades on the People Mover.

Me: Any thing you want to say to the blogosphere?
Mrs. Jay: Nienie, who is taking all those pictures of you and your kids?

Me: Have you always wanted a little man to live on your shoulder?
Mrs. Jay: No, that was you.

Me: Any last words?
Mrs. Jay: Make it sound funnier. Do some editing.

Be-Fri

2008-05-28T07:04:00.000-05:00

Guess who's coming to dinner ... and breakfast and lunch, too, for the next few days? My BFF, Mrs. Jay. I'm very excited to spend some time with her and her trio of adorable boys, although housing them in our 900-square-foot bungalow* might drive them crazy.

In honor of her trip, I've decided to share one of our classic memories:

One day after school, Mrs. Jay and I (along with brookegfunk and her former boyfriend, who shall remain nameless) decided to head back across the street to our high school and have a swim in the fountain. Originally constructed in honor of students who had died, the fountain only worked for a few months of our entire HHS career, but this happened to be during that time, so we thought we'd take a dip in its unnaturally blue water. After chillaxing for a few minutes, we realized the water was both heavily chlorinated and dyed blue. Our clothes - we had neglected to wear swimsuits - were spotted with blue and white stains. Just then, a school janitor found us and came to berate us about our unsanctioned swim. Nervous, we jumped up and did what any honest youth would: we stole his janitor cart. We took off at a speedy 10 mph, but ended up crashing into a wall. Thankfully, no damage was done, but we had to take off and seek refuge in the choir room for a few hours to make sure the coast was clear. It wasn't; we were confronted by some security guards while trying to cross the street. The others took off running, leaving me to fend for myself. I may or may not have lied.

The end.

Wow, that didn't sound as cool on computer screen as I remembered it, but I will be interviewing Mrs. Jay tomorrow for my daily post, which should be engaging.

Any question suggestions?

* Did calling my apartment a bungalow make it sound more quaint?

HTT - Hunting Edition

2008-05-27T06:00:00.000-05:00

There are a few topics that Mr. Dub knows not to discuss with me, mostly because I get so passionate about them that I cannot be swayed. What can I say? I'm human. That's why my weekly Hot Topic posts are usually ignorant, biased and often tongue-in-cheek. They're just my humble opinion, which is apropos since it's my blog. But I am open to reading your comments and sometimes even changing my mind, which is progress.

So I'm wondering if you can help me with this topic: hunting. Like, I'm totally against it unless you live in a cave and depend on buffalo for sustenance. I won't go into religious details here, but I've read many quotes from LDS leaders suggesting to me that hunting for sport is not acceptable.

Personally, I find hunting wrong because I just don't like the idea of someone who enjoys stalking and killing animals. Yes, it is somewhat hypocritical since I buy meat on a regular basis, but I figure the cattle rancher who brought me my hamburger is doing it for a living, not for fun. He's not going out with a couple buddies to relieve stress; he's doing it to provide for his family.

I just don't understand the thrill of pulling a trigger. To me, it reflects an inner hostility that makes me uncomfortable. I wonder if it could become a slippery slope where hurting others is a possible reaction. And no matter what, it's delighting in the bloodshed of another living thing - at least from my perspective.

Plus, in a world where all types and cuts of meat are readily available, can anyone really claim to be hunting solely to provide food? (I mean that seriously - I'd love to know what really motivates someone to hunt.)

I personally know many great men who are hunters, which makes it even more confusing. And really, there isn't much difference between hunting and fishing, yet I think of fishermen as mellow guys. But I just can't shake that feeling that hunting is bad.

Of course, it's just my opinion, and I'm dying to hear yours. I want to know if this is an ethical issue for others or just something you've always done.

Do you think hunting is OK?

Why or why not?

Shoot.

Just say no to LiLo

2008-05-26T06:54:00.005-05:00

I saw two bad movies this weekend. The first was Will Smith's thriller I am Legend. Entertaining and suspenseful, but improbable and disappointing. The second was - and I hesitate to admit this - Herbie: Fully Loaded. Really bad, even for a movie meant to entertain a 6-year-old. And it left me with this insatiable desire to cat fight Lindsay Lohan. I've never had an urge to pull someone's hair so badly. I may or may not have told Mr. Dub I wanted to rub her face in "dung butter." And I don't even know where one buys a good dung butter these days.

Seen any bad movies lately?

Even better, seen any good ones?

Next stop: linens

2008-05-23T07:00:00.000-05:00

I have this recurring fantasy that I suddenly come into so much money that I actually leave my house, turn the key and never look back ... meaning I have to buy everything brand new - clothes, shoes, housewares, furniture. And this time, I make better choices. It's sort of along the lines of my fantasy where I get married again (to the same guy) and get to redo my wedding and registry.

It has occurred to me that doing all that shopping at once could actually be annoying, as well as the fact that I would need to take some important documents and family mementos with me. But seriously, why are you all raining on my dream? Just think of the matching appliances.

What's your secret fantasy*? You know, the clean kind.

* It is probably in your best interest to ignore the Google ads generated by this post.

Really?

2008-05-22T07:00:00.000-05:00

Is anyone else surprised by how many people still have "Baby on Board" signs on their cars?

HTT - Pets Edition

2008-05-20T07:00:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time there was a girl who hated pets, who belonged to a family that liked them. Despite the fact that their beloved but mostly ignored dog had died several years earlier, her family went out and bought a new one. Though he appeared sweet, he had some issues with motherly figures and began to attack the girl's mother without warning, so they had to get rid of him shortly thereafter. The end.

I won't name names, but that girl is me. And that dog was psycho.

So you can't totally blame me for disliking pets. And I really do. I took Miss Dub to peruse a pet store the other day since she's a fan of puppies and other small animals. While she squealed and gawked, I just felt creeped out. I don't like the smell or sight of anything animal-related. I don't like the idea of animal breath, hair, spit or urine anywhere near me, my furniture or my children.

I respect that other people, including members of my family, love them. And some pets are definitely better than others. I, myself, even had an amazing turtle named 23 de Junio when I was on my mission, but he performed tricks and was potty-trained so I think he was a special exception.

Mr. Dub and I are in agreement on the pet issue; he may be even more vehement than I. After all, one day one of children is bound to beg for an animal of some variety for a birthday/Christmas/Arbor Day. And will I have the strength to turn down whimpering eyes?

Um, now that I think about it, yes. Conveniently, I am allergic to pet dander so that will eliminate a good half of the possibilities, but even fish seem like more work than they are worth. I mean, just have another kid. At least he or she will take care of you when you get old. Can you really say the same of your parakeet?

But what about you? Do have pets? Do you like them?

Dish.

Sundays with the Dubs

2008-05-19T06:47:00.005-05:00

For those of you who don't have the pleasure of attending church with us every week, let me summarize Miss Dub's behavior in two words: loud and crazy. Yesterday, for example, she hung herself from the pew and swung her body, shouting, "Swiiiing, Mommy, swiiiing!" Sounds cute on paper, but it was actually pretty annoying, mostly to the people sitting in the pew in front of us.

And that's just a sampling of her bad behavior, which included roaring during the sacrament and playing peek-a-boo with the general audience. Eventually, Mr. Dub gave up and took her out. She just doesn't get the concept of whispering and nothing about her personality is demure. That's also why I love her. She will dance on command. She can speak in full, albeit hard to understand, sentences. She has a vivid imagination already. She gets many adult concepts. She says, "Cool man," "Cool dude," and "Cool beans" without prompting. But she is very loud, very stubborn and very energetic. (This is probably the part where my parents chuckle and say, "Pay back!")

It's funny how certain qualities are appreciated at different times in life. I have no doubt her enthusiasm and stubborness will make her a very successful career woman. I also think her outgoing personality will make her quite popular in school. But as a toddler, it's a lot to control. I find myself looking at more subdued, proper children and wishing Miss Dub could be a little more like that, but then I remind myself, "That kid is on the road to nerdom." And nerdom brings its own set of challenges, like bad fashion sense.

I really have no one but myself to blame. I'm loud and crazy myself. And I'm just not a discipliner. I don't tolerate really inappropriate behavior, like biting or kicking, but I can turn a blind eye to most other things - including pouring water all over the ground and pretending it's a pool. I don't have the energy to fight every battle, plus I just love to see her imagination and independence at work.

But on Sundays, it really comes back to bite me.

Mom moment

2008-05-16T07:10:00.000-05:00

I had a total mom moment last month. As my husband headed off to be a good lil' church boy, I took Miss Dub to Target for some bonding time. OK, so our normal time and special time are one and the same. She didn't care, so why should you? Things got a little crazy when she demanded pizza in lieu of a pretzel. So we split a pan pizza, which is sort of like eating healthy food.

Miss Dub was feeling this pizza. "Peec-suh!" she would squeal between bites. Then, she'd take a swig of lemonade. Then, she threw it up all over the floor. (Hitting her clothes and my feet in the process.)

Now, when I witnessed such mom moments from an outside perspective, I thought the mom was thinking, "Great! This is so disgusting! Where are some Targeteers to clean up this filthy mess?"

Instead, I found myself thinking, "Poor, Missy. I hope she's not sick. I feel terrible about this mess. I hope I can clean it up before anyone sees it."

I wasn't grossed out. I wasn't mad. I wasn't even stressed. I was, however, a little weirded out when Miss Dub's only response was, "More pizza, please!"

I did tell a young worker about the mess since it needed some serious mopping after my initial chunk-removal. But he just went and got some fellow worker friends, all who seemed more concerned about what caused her vomit incident rather than cleaning it up.

Luckily, I ran into a church friend who helped me get some bags to put Miss Dub's dirty clothes into. I then put her into my cardigan and took her home.

I must say, she was pretty excited about wearing my cardigan. In fact, she didn't even notice that we never made it to our friend's house, where we were supposed to spend the evening. And I didn't even notice how gross it was to wipe off her clothes before tossing them in the laundry.

But that's being a mom, I guess - when your child's vomit and poop doesn't make you vomit or poop.

But what do you think? Fill in this sentence:
Being a mom means _________________________.

*For more on being an adult, read my review here.

Tagging begins at home

2008-05-15T07:02:00.000-05:00

Hey Ricky!

2008-05-14T07:08:00.005-05:00

I'm a Mormon, yes I am. So is Ricky Schroeder. And since some of you have a hankering for the dude, and since my mom reminded me of this experience, I thought I'd share my personal encounter with him a few years back.

(Setting: A foyer at a Scottsdale LDS chapel. Church is ending for one congregation, while another is having their big sacrament meeting. A college-aged girl who should have appreciated her beauty and body at the time, but did not, walks into the foyer, waiting for her family. A man with shaggy blond hair sits opposite, holding a young girl.)

Me: (Staring at shaggy blond dude, wondering, "How do I know this guy? He looks so familiar.")

Ricky: (Makes eye contact.) Hi!

Me: Hi! I know you from somewhere, don't I? Did we go to seminary together?

Ricky: Um, no.

Me: Were you in this stake growing up?

Ricky: No.

Me: Did you go to the high school across the street?

Ricky: (Growing increasingly uncomfortable.) No.

Me: Huh, you seem so familiar to me.

Ricky: I think you know me from TV. I'm Rick Schroeder.

Me: That would be it.

Another time I caught him chatting with Steve Young in the hallway. I wondered what their conversation was like. Here's how I think it went down:

Ricky: Sucks to be famous, huh? All these Mormons staring at you - asking you to participate in the next youth conference.

Steve: Or thinking you're an apostle.

Ricky: But I sure am a big fan of yours. I was a huge 49ers fan.

Steve: Actually, I totally loved you growing up. That train that went through your house was awesome.

Ricky: Well, it actually wasn't my house.

Steve: Man, I can't believe I'm talking to Ricky Schroeder.

Ricky: It's Rick now.

Steve: Sure, Ricky. Do you still talk to Alfonso?

HTT - Crush Edition

2008-05-13T07:01:00.001-05:00

Let's not mess around and get to the hottest topic of all this fine Tuesday:

Who is your celebrity crush?

I've had quite a few over the years - John Cusack, David Duchovny, Alistair from You Can't Do That on Television - but right now the apple of stalking eye is:

JASON BATEMAN

I mean, he was great in The Hogan Family, but ever since Arrest Development (RIP), I am smitten. Everything he does these days is brilliant. Even Dodgeball.

... and yours?

Calling all coupons!

2008-05-12T06:27:00.001-05:00

"Please don't blog about my bowels."

So I've been thinking about coupons lately. I mean, I'm someone who prides herself on being frugal - if your definition of frugal is buying way too much cheap stuff - so I don't know why I haven't considered coupons. Probably because it sounds like a pain - clipping them, remembering them, standing in line an extra five minute while my cashier tries to understand them.

But it's come to my attention that I like money and the things that it buys. Thenceforth and heretososeems, I should try and save my money for important things like shoes and not waste it on silly items like bread and milk.

But where does one begin to coupon? Do you still clip them or is it all online? (I feel like a senior citizen trying to send a text message.)

Is it worth it?

Also, is anyone giving out money? Because I like that idea even better.

We'd make beautiful children

2008-05-09T06:29:00.001-05:00

It's official: I have a girl crush on Tina Fey - even though Mr. Dub has technically forbidden me from saying "girl crush." I've explained to him that it doesn't mean I want to kiss her; I just want to date her. And I would probably stress about my outfit and witty dinner conversation just like I did when we were courting. Because she is fabulously talented. I cannot get enough of "30 Rock." I didn't give the show a fair chance last year, ditching it from our DVR listings after a weak pilot, but I've thankfully had a chance to catch back up, and I'm in humor heaven. I dare say I like it better than "The Office." Call that blasphemous, but you are talking to a woman in love ... with a woman ... just not like that.

(Maybe obsession would be a better word than girl crush, although that has similarly freaky connotations, like wanting to steal her footwear, and I'm just not into sneakers.)

But one girl crush I refuse to abandon is the one I have on Björk. How could someone not? And as I explained to Mr. Dub, he can't be threatened by this crush. As I tell him, "Björk isn't even human; she's Icelandic."

You probably still listen to Oingo Boingo

2008-05-07T09:05:00.000-05:00

NEWSFLASH!

If your house boasts artwork like this:

Or a matching bedroom set like this:

You can no longer classify your decor as "modern."

HTT - MMR Edition

2008-05-06T08:02:00.008-05:00

Yesterday, Miss Dub had two immunizations to mark her 18-month-old-ness. Yes, we do that in our house. I'm aware that some people believe immunizations can cause autism. And while my heart goes out to families with autistic children, I just don't think there's a link.

I've read the research - and nearly all of it shows that immunizations have no bearing on a child developing autism. Most of it suggests that autism is a genetic disorder. So the only correlation between shots and autism appears to be that children receive them at the same age autism is typically diagnosed ... no matter what Jenny McCarthy says.

My first pediatrician, who prescribed to an organic lifestyle, told me she refused to treat children whose parents refused vaccinations for them. Most times, she told me, they would present her with faulty Internet research or personal testimonials. "Do you mean to tell me your hour-long Internet search is more accurate than my 10 years of rigorous schooling and 10 years of medical practice?" she would ask them. Sadly, most of them said yes.

And a good friend, who is studying to be a neuropsychologist, recently shared with me research revealing children who supposedly "changed over night" after immunizations were actually displaying autism spectrum behaviors since birth; their parents just ignored them or didn't recognize the signs.

I do think today's children are often over-diagnosed and over-medicated, but I also think there's a reason our child mortality rate is lower since vaccinations were implemented. So even though it can cause Miss Dub to wail something awful, I'm happy to spare her mumps, measles and rubella, whatever the heck that even is.

But what about you?

Do you get your children immunized?

And if not, why?

Shoot.

My other baby

2008-05-05T07:41:00.004-05:00

I almost adopted a baby yesterday. Okay, almost is a bit of an exaggeration, but I made a valiant effort.

This experience shouldn't surprise those of you who know me well. As a teenager, I contacted the 20/20 producers to see if I was eligible to adopt children featured on a show about Romanian orphanages. (Short answer: No. Long answer: No way in h...) On my mission, I often daydreamed about packing a neglected child home in my suitcase along with my ridiculous assortment of local knick-knacks.

But this time, adopting actually made sense. I am old enough. I am married. I even have the baby gear. So when my friend told me about a baby girl whose mother had fled the hospital after giving birth, my heart broke. These stories always make me sad, but after Baby Zee, I'm extra protective of little ones.

I instantly assumed that this baby was meant for me - after all, we were expecting a baby girl next month, so we couldn't say it was bad timing. Mr. Dub, however, wasn't so sold on the idea. (Not that he's against adoption; he just thinks we should finish up our own baby-making before we consider it.) But I had to explore the possibility - I mean, wouldn't you?

Me: "Hi, this is weird, but I had a friend tell me about a baby born at your hospital the other day whose mother abandoned her. I can't stop thinking about her. I was just wondering if someone had come forward to take her."

Nurse: "Yep." (click.)

And like that, my baby girl was gone. I shouldn't be surprised; every time an infant is abandoned here, which is way too often, like 400 people ask to adopt it. But since I'm a bit dramatic, I actually felt a little sad. In those 12 hours I'd considered it, I'd made grand plans for our future together, which may have involved a pony and some apple picking.

To make me feel better, my friend assured me the baby had been ridiculously chunky - like, stop traffic chunky. And that didn't even help.

Maybe next time.

How's your Phlebotomist?

2008-05-02T08:54:00.001-05:00

The other day I went to get my blood taken. If you feel sorry for me, you have no idea, because I go every, single week. So maybe up your sympathy a notch, OK? Anyway, while we were getting my blood taken from my least favorite phlebotomist, who happens to be Filipino, she mentioned Miss Dub's (unnaturally huge) blue eyes.

Phleby: Such blue eyes! Do you have blue eyes?

Me: Yes, and so does her dad, so I guess it was sorta inevitable.

Phleby: But her eye shape is different than yours.

Me: I know, I don't know where she gets them from.

Phleby: I like yours much better. Yours are (motioning up and down with fingers). And hers are (motioning side to side with fingers and squinting).

Phleby: I think she got those eyes from me.

Whaaat?

Safehouse of mouse

2008-04-30T08:12:00.001-05:00

I was talking to a friend the other day and found myself saying this:

"If it was the end of the world, and I had to get to a safe place, I would go to Disneyland or a hospital."

What about you?

HTT - Adjustment Edition

2008-04-29T06:57:00.000-05:00

Many of you will be shocked to find out that my Target obsession continues even though I was seriously injured at a Target store four years ago. While examining some folding chairs with Mrs. R, a loose rack filled with chairs broke off and came down on top of me. I actually wasn't going to say anything, but a Targeteer came by and made me fill out a claim. Good thing because when I awoke the next day my back was in serious pain.

Mr. Dub's family frequents chiropractors so he recommended I go and see their ... doctor, practor, dude? Anyway, I needed some quick relief so I made an appointment to get an adjustment. First mistake - I told them I'd never seen a chiropractor. Second mistake - going there. Because rather than give me a quick adjustment like everyone else appeared to receive, they took me back in a room and asked me to put on a black leotard. Yes, a black leotard. They had a whole closet of leotards in varying sizes. Reluctantly, I put on one to accommodate my adequate shapeliness.

Then, they placed little orange stickers all over my body and took pictures, I kid you not. This is the point where you think I was a victim of some doctor/practor/dude with a freaky leotard fetish. It's still a possibility, but since there were several female assistants in the room with him, I'm not sure. Turns out, he had some sort of computer program that would draw lines from my different body parts to see if anything was out of alignment ... or so he said.

He then went on to assure me that all my health problems - thyroid issues, endometriosis, bad hair - could be cured by chiropractics/wizardry. (I add the latter because this guy actually rubs a rock to locate people's pain. Also, there were anatomical pictures all around the room, but with words like "life force" where it should say spine. And I'm pretty sure life force isn't a scientific term.)

Anyway, after two hours and no adjustment, I fled his office, never to return. I ended up using another chiropractor, who fixed my problem in a few weeks by hooking my back muscles up to an electronic massager ... and Target paid for the whole thing.

But even though I had some success with the second chiropractor, I'm not totally convinced. I think they do help in some cases because they combine physical therapy and massage to decent results, but I don't believe they can usurp modern medicine. And I do not believe in a life force.

In fact, I think a lot of it is a placebo effect - or just that people like massages.

But what do you think?

Are chiropractors fo' real or super freaky?

Discuss.

Attention: Pay attention

2008-04-28T07:04:00.002-05:00

The other day I was feel a little stressed out. It's not like I'm busy curing cancer or anything - oh, how I wish! - but I have my fair share of play dates, church meetings and household responsibilities to keep my days quite full. Sometimes I feel like I'm going at 100 mph.

At the same time, Miss Dub's behavior is becoming almost laughable, if it wasn't so cryable. She's been whining, hitting, biting, begging, you name it, but no, not that. She's just not happy unless I'm giving her constant attention, which sort of makes my fair share of stuff hard to accomplish.

As I pondered over the two issues, I thought of two things: First, I need to live in the moment. Perhaps Miss Dub demands my constant attention because she never gets my total attention. I've been known to cuddle and pay bills online at the same time. I've been known to read a book to her while thinking of my next household task. I've even perused a catalog out of the corner of my eye while playing dolls with her. And while multitasking might be fulfilling for me, I think it's leaving Miss Dub feeling half-empty.

Second, I need to stop over-scheduling myself, even when they are good things. Service is great, but when I'm serving others more than I'm serving my own family, it's not so hot. I need to remember that NOW is my time to be a mom; My time to wow everyone with surprise dinners and a willingness to drop everything in a moment's notice can come later. For now, an occasional casserole - (mental note: learn to make a casserole) - will have to do. Even a friend in need comes second to a daughter who needs me.

This is all easier said than done. Making it through the day without a temper tantrum doesn't sound quite as satisfying as refurbishing a side table. And helping someone out usually sounds more important than reading Goodnight Moon for the 20th time. Although, when it says, "Goodnight stars, goodnight air," I always get the chills.

So here's my pledge to be a better mom - one who "[treasures] the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less."*

(*Quote by Anna Quindlen as quoted here. I know I totally Ballard-ized this whole concept, but can you blame me? That talk was gooood!)

.... and a Happy B-'licious-day to Mrs. Jay, Darren Lees, Lisa Parker, Mark Lambert and Angie Earl. But mostly Mrs. Jay.

Juno what I mean?

2008-04-25T06:41:00.000-05:00

I'm starting to think that the best way to find out if I'm going to be great friends* with someone is to ask them if they liked Juno. If they say no, I should probably have "something come up."

It was funny, it did not condone teen pregnancy - and who doesn't love Michael Cera at his awkward best?

Wizard.

*Should you already be my great friend, and you hated this movie, you can plead your case in the comments for an exemption.

More crazy

2008-04-23T06:42:00.001-05:00

In one of my few successful attempts at being Super Mom, we taught Miss Dub how to sign. (A DVD may or may not have played a part. This cannot be confirmed.) Since she now speaks - "I like to kiss!" she recently announced - we don't have much need for signing. But she can't let go of the "more" sign, which she does by putting together the tips of her two hands and shouting, "Mo'!"

Initially, this sign was limited to food and beverage requests. Like, "more carbohydrates because I'm your daughter and a gluten-addict, please!" These days, however, she's requesting items I can't always replenish. Like, "mo' planes!" after we see an airplane in the sky. Or "mo' quack-quacks!" after we see some ducks. But the weirdest one came the other day after we heard a little boy crying at the store.

"Mo'!" Miss Dub shouted.

"More what?" I asked.

"More sad!"

Is this normal?

HTT - Emily Edition

2008-04-22T06:05:00.005-05:00

When my SIL, Emily, offered to take over Hot Topic Tuesday for me, I couldn't refuse. First, we're not sleeping much at our house these days because apparently you can get roseola twice. Second, Emily is selling her house and whether or not you live in Rhode Island, you MUST BUY IT! Third, she is the witty author of Acte Gratuit, which is a French phrase that no one can pronounce. No one. So without further ado, let's turn up the heat:

Mrs. Dub was generous enough to let me borrow her blog today so I could do a little venting and maybe get some helpful advice. Two weeks ago, her hot topic dealt with “Mom mistakes” and it got me thinking about the problem in a different way. What if you are a witness of “Bad Mom behavior” or just any bad behavior in general. When do you intervene?

There are times when I see a mom yelling at her kid in the grocery store that I want to walk up, make a citizens arrest and take immediate custody of her child. (If you ever see me at the store and I’m the mom yelling, please take custody of my children! I could use the break!)

But for the most part I walk the other way and do nothing.

So I’m going to share three stories with you and then I want you to tell me what you would have done. Here goes:

#1 A mom is sitting in her car, in a parking lot, waiting for her baby to wake up so they can join the rest of the family at the beach. She has her windows down and watches and listens as a man and little girl start loading up in a nearby car. The little girl is probably 5 and has done something to seriously upset the man. He is yelling at her, berating her, threatening her, telling her that her mom isn’t worth “this aggravation” and he’s ready to “get the ____ out”. His verbal abuse is so bad, it leaves the eavesdropping mom to suspect much more serious abuse at home. The little girl's Mom makes it back to the car, listens to the mans vitriol, and sheepishly gets in the car with out a word in her daughter's or her own defense.

#2 Three days a week, a woman drives up to the local preschool to drop-off and pick-up her three-year-old. She leaves her other two children, a sleeping baby and a six-year-old, in the running car. The walk up to the school is a little long, and she cannot see the car once she’s inside the preschool.

#3 A neighbor notices something amiss with one of the families in the neighborhood. The four kids never seem to be in school and are always running around with bare feet. Not only that, the mom is pregnant again with number five!!!

Here’s what happened next:

#1. I was the mom in the car. I sat there listening to this big jerk feeling totally helpless. I wanted to get out and yell at him, but since I’m a total weakling, I had to consider my safety and the safety of my baby. I thought about calling the cops, but figured they wouldn’t be able to do anything. “Officer, that man was YELLING! Take him away!!!” I even thought about writing down his license plate so I could track him down and figure out a way to report him to CPS. But ultimately I did nothing and still feel horrible that I didn’t find a way to help that innocent little girl.

#2. Once again, I’m the mom in the car. Or at least, the mom that left her kids in the car. Here was my thinking: “Six is pretty old! Surely Max can keep an eye on Gabe who is safely buckled into his car seat and isn’t going anywhere. I’ll leave the car on so they don’t get too hot (or cold). There are so many moms around, nothing is going to happen to them! My mom used to leave me in the car to run into the store all the time. Max is old enough that if someone tried to get in, he could lay on the horn.”

Yes, that was almost a whole paragraph of self-justification and yes, when I type it out, it does sound lame even to me. Which is why I totally deserved what happened next.

A few weeks into the school year, I got an e-mail from a good friend who took her daughter to the same school. She said she’d been really upset by seeing me leave the kids in the car, that it was dangerous and illegal in some states. She gave me some examples of the horrible things that could happen, offered to sit with my kids if I really couldn’t manage by myself and begged me to forgive her for saying all this in e-mail form. Basically, she told me I was an idiot and needed to get a clue, just in much nicer terms. I immediately wrote her back thanking her for her concern and promised not to do it again. For all I know, she saved me from a very unfortunate encounter with the cops, or worse, a situation that would have put my boys in serious danger.

#3 The family with the 4 (now 5) kids are friends of mine. A neighbor reported them to Child Protective Services, who opened a file on them and came by for a surprise visit. When CPS showed up, they talked to my friend who home-schools her (very bright) children and thinks (like me) that it’s okay for little kids to run around barefoot. She mentioned that her husband is a Neuro-Psychologist who works for Harvard and that her kids are well-taken care of and well-loved. The case was closed.

So, now that you know the kind of hypocritical pansy I am, I want to know what you would have done.

What do you do when you see something happening to a child that worries you?

Do you jump right in and try to help, or hang back and mind your own business? (Or are you the snarky neighbor type who likes to stay anonymous?)

I’d love to hear what you all think! Just don’t tell me I’m an idiot, because I already know that!

Thanks for the soap-box Mrs. Dub!

Still under it

2008-04-21T08:58:00.000-05:00

I'm sure some of you are growing weary of me talking about Baby Zee. You might think I'm bitter or overreacting. You might think I should be over it already.

But I'm not.

I still cry. I still think about her. I still walk through the baby section at Target and feel a bit disoriented. I still obsess about having another baby, even though I have to wait 6-12 months to make sure I don't have placental cancer.

Like any life experience, I've suddenly met tons of people who have experienced infant loss, both recently and long ago. As we've talked, I've noticed a few common emotions and experiences that I'd thought I'd share to help people understand us better.

First, we want to celebrate our baby's life, no matter how short, and that doesn't mean hushed conversations when the moment is just right. It's not that we don't appreciate your sympathy and reverence, it's just that we're not always sad about our babies. Sometimes we feel proud or nostalgic. Often times I just want to vent about my recent pregnancy - "the nausea was the worst!" - without bringing everyone to an awkward silence. I feel like I have to hold myself back from making others feel uncomfortable.

Also, we want people to acknowledge our children and give us credit for their existence. (Labor is labor, people!) We don't want you to avoid the topic or dance around the details. Even if it drudges up some emotions, we're grateful for the chance to share. But please do not tell us that our babies are "mistakes" or "accidents of nature," or that their deaths are "really for the best." Let us make those judgment calls.

Now, I'm not speaking to any of my friends or family so stop wondering. And do not call me! (That means you, Mom.) I'm not depressed, though the experience does make me melancholy at times. I'm not taking this any harder than anyone else in my situation would. And I'm not refusing to move forward; I'm just insisting on taking my memories with me.

Because what I'm experiencing is normal, even though I can never really be a normal mom again. But no one really makes it through motherhood unscathed. I mean, your son might get into role-playing games, so we all have our challenges. I just don't want to be rushed through mine.

Call me Richter

2008-04-18T09:56:00.007-05:00

Not my house or my buttocks

Last night I had the "privilege" of being up during the night with a sick Miss Dub. (To her credit, she asked to stay in her crib the whole time but wanted us to rub her back.) Around 4:30, I returned to my bed, when it began to shake. Having been privy to a few major earthquakes and thousands of aftershocks when I lived in El Salvador, I knew the feeling. I told Mr. Dub, "I think it's an earthquake." Still standing, he said he didn't feel anything, but I stayed firm in my opinion. Then, a strange whining noise came from outside, shortly followed by a strange whining noise coming from inside. Who knows what the first sound was, but the latter was our own Miss Dub in need of some more back rubbing.

Sleeping on her floor distracted me from the whole quake controversy, which I totally forgot about until this headline greeted me this morning: Earthquake shakes Midwest. Yep. A 5.2 magnitude temblor centered in southeast Illinois hit at 4:37 a.m. So I was right. And it's not the first time - I felt an even smaller, more distantly centered earthquake when we lived in Utah. And while I don't mean to question the good folks at USGS, wouldn't I be a lot cheaper at measuring and predicting earthquakes than expensive and impersonal equipment?

Just an idea.

Here's my first prediction: I'm going to need a nap before the "big one" hits.

But I've been busy!

2008-04-17T07:14:00.001-05:00

The other day I was leaving a comment on Leslie's blog when I thought to myself, "Wow, it's been a while since I've commented on her blog, even though I read it faithfully. I'm a bad friend."

Just then some confirmation letters popped up on the screen. I clicked before I could save the image, but this is what I had to type in:

UHRMOM

Yeah, apparently her blog noticed.

So much cooler than blue jumping

2008-04-16T07:20:00.000-05:00

Me: What's your favorite thing to do?

Miss Dub: Jumping!

Me: What's your favorite color?

Miss Dub: Pink jumping.

HTT - Shower Edition

2008-04-15T06:56:00.002-05:00

I'm throwing a baby shower for my German friend on Saturday. We won't go into my proclivity to throw parties for other people, or the fact that no one is adhering to my "red, white and blue" food request, but we will discuss baby showers for today's Hot Topic.

When I asked my friend if I could throw her a baby shower, she fretted that it might not be appropriate since she's have her third child (her third girl). I said, "P'shaw!" both because I want to bring back that word and also because it's her first baby shower as such events are very American. Moreover, I firmly believe that you can have one baby shower in each area you live. If you choose to stay in one place, that's the price you pay. If you have to pack up and go with frequency, I say you deserve a little incentive. And if you have a whole load of friends, you're totally entitled to multiple parties, as long as you don't invite someone twice.

So now I'm busy coming up with red, white and blue foods - which isn't that hard; just think of the world of possibilities using blue corn tortilla chips! - and planning the entertainment. Oh yeah, here's the entertainment: there is none because I loathe a shower game more than I loathe my callused heels, and we're not even speaking these days. (Although I recently won a sweet prize at a bridal shower in Arizona after I correctly identified 48 out of 50 celebrity photos. I'm not sure whether I should be proud or embarrassed.)

Like my friend, I also don't like passing around gifts unless there is some intricate needlework that must be examined with a magnifying glass. Otherwise, let me eat my croissant in peace.

I mean, isn't that the real purpose of a shower: gabbing with friends while you hook a sister up with some needed gifts?

But what do you think?

Is it ever OK to have more than one baby or bridal shower?

As for me, I had a huge baby shower at Glamma's house in Arizona, and a smaller gig in Illinois. The latter I missed, however, as I was giving birth. I blame Miss Dub.

MASH-ups

2008-04-14T06:57:00.007-05:00

It will make sense in a few paragraphs, trust me.

Sunday nights can get a little boring around our place. Mr. Dub grew up in a home where TV viewing on Sundays was strictly prohibited, except for animal programs. (No comment on the rules at my house.) We usually split the difference by limiting our viewing to the Food Network or period piece movies, which I feel carry the Spirit by virtue of the colloquialisms.

Last night, there was some sort of candy competition on FN, which is never interesting or tasty, so Mr. Dub and I took turns coming up with things to do. He picked UNO, which was good for about two games, until we both realized how uncompetitive I am. I mean, I feel really bad if I give him a draw two card, while he happily throws down every reverse, skip a turn and draw card in his deck. So he generally wins. And I generally don't care.

So on my turn, I suggested we play MASH. Except I changed the name to MACH - the C is for Condo - because where can you even find a good shack these days? We adjusted the game a bit for our life situation, though Mr. Dub nixed the idea of a "second spouse in event of death" column. Here are the results from Mr. Dub's MACH-up:

House price: $1 million
Home amenities: Outhouse
Home feature: Cross bow range
Location: Santa Barbara, CA
Mr. D's job: Pro golfer
Mrs. D's job: Newberry Award-winning author
Combined salary: $250,000
Kids: 2
Mr. D's car: Mercedes C63 AMG
Mrs. D's car: Mercedes SUV
LDS Mission Presidency: Poland Warsaw Mission
Vacation Home: Sea Ranch, CA

Blue was the best possible option, green was somewhere in the middle and red was the worst. (And, yes, Mr. Dub went to Poland on his mission and yet it was his last choice.)

Overall, not too bad, although I'm still trying to figure out how to make it to the outhouse without getting caught in the hairs of a cross bow.

But just for the record, I'd marry Josh Duhamel and order him not to open his mouth as he may be one of the dumbest people I've ever not met.

From the department of "Whaaat?"

2008-04-11T07:21:00.001-05:00

Did you know that Dooce makes an estimated $40,000 a month by blogging?

If your jaw just dropped and accidentally swallowed a moth, you are not alone, my friend. I knew that Dooce was popular and advertiser-pursued, but I did not know that she made more a month than I did in an entire year as a reporter.

And while I don't want to knock the ridiculousness of such a salary - mostly in the event I ever have one - it does seems crazy that she writes a few snippets every day and gets paid oodles more than someone who is required to attend a 5-hour long city council meeting and then write 15 column inches about a P-overlay zone.

But the more I think about it, the more I can understand why professional blogging is harder. I mean, writing about yourself is precarious - not too snobby, not too meek, not too much detail about that family member that everyone doesn't like, but she doesn't know it. Also, you have to get creative. I mean, the diaper explosion at Target story was funny the first time, but now I have to make it wittier - "the pooh was like spackle." And don't even get me started about the constant pressure to post, even when on vacation.

Since I'm not as funny as Dooce, and I religiously refrain from F-bombers, I probably will never garner the readership necessary to net $40,000 a month. But I'd be happy to settle for $10,000. Shoot, $1,000 would be close to $1,000 more than I'm currently making as a freelance writer, hand model and amateur mechanic.

So tell your friends. I promise things are going to get hotter, funnier and possibly chewier around here.

Now, where's my check?

Zuzu's Petals

2008-04-09T07:18:00.002-05:00

When I was in the hospital recovering from my C-section, I had two well-meaning hospital staffers ask me about my baby. One maintenance woman asked me if my baby was going to go home with me when I was released - assuming, I guess, that I had a preemie in the intensive care unit, hence my empty room. Sadly, I had to tell her my baby died, which upset her so much I felt terrible. So when my nurse started to give me advice on taking care of a newborn, I didn't have the heart to remind her that my baby hadn't made it. So I played along ... and it kinda hurt.

Clearly, there was no blatant signal for staffers that let them know I was mourning my baby. Although on the last day I was there, Mr. Dub did find a sign that said, "Bereavement," taped to my door. Needless to say, that's got to change. I wasn't too bothered by those comments because I had two full weeks to prepare for such incidents. But what about the mom who has a stillborn unexpectedly? Such comments could be devastating for her.

I know some hospitals use a tear drop to signal the situation, but even that is a little insulting, in my opinion. Why not something cheerful? So I've decided to make my own door markers.

Enter Zuzu's Petals. Named after Baby Zee's nickname, these paper "love blossoms" will hang on the doors of mourning mothers to encourage sensitivity among hospital staff. In addition, they are a happy memento to add to a baby's memory box, which is all these mothers take home from the hospital.

Only catch - I need some help making the flowers. I've already received a generous donation of paper from Waste Not Paper - Paper Source's wholesale division - but I still need a pattern for the actual flowers. I've determined the best way to make them will be to use a die cut machine. I'm currently favoring the Cricut machine and its Walk in my Garden cartridge. That way the flowers can be textured but won't be too heavy to hang on a door with tape.

Anyone have connections with Provo Craft, maker of the Cricut machine? Or any other scrapbooking or paper company that might like to contribute to my cause? Please let me know as I'm looking for donations wherever I can get them. (And I will publicly laud them if they do contribute, I might add.)

When I get up a running - I'm dreaming of a Web site and official charity tax status - I will share my plans and patterns with ch'alls so you can help me flower the hospital doors of mourning mothers across the country. Shoot, the whole world!

I know there are a lot of great causes out there, but this one means something to me.

Help!

HTT - Mom Edition

2008-04-08T07:14:00.007-05:00

Have you read this article, "Confessions of a Modern Mom"? If you haven't, and for those who refuse to link - and may the jaws of the inferno swallow you whole for your laziness, or whatever - then let me sum it up for you: Moms are human. We all do things for our own darn convenience that the "perfect mom" would never do.

I, for one, am guilty as charged. As we speak, the TV is babysitting Miss Dub so I can write this post. To be honest, it would be on even if I wasn't using the computer. It's just an easy way to start our day.

I've also forgotten to brush her teeth on occasion. I feed her processed foods. I've even locked her in the car for a split second so I could drop off my rent check without unbuckling her.

Does that make me a bad mom? Well, maybe. But for every bad thing I do, I do something unnecessary, like worrying the whole time she's with a babysitter. Like letting her nap time rule my life. Like watching her around any vaguely elevated surface in case she takes a stumble. (And really, isn't the occasional stumble good?)

Here are some recent "bad moms" who made the news. You tell me if they deserve the criticism they're getting:

A. An Illinois mom who was arrested after leaving her napping toddler in a parked car (in eye sight) while donating change to the Salvation Army out front.

B. A New York mom who let her 9-year-old ride the subway home by himself - with specific directions, instructions and change for a phone call.

C. A Massachusetts couple who left their sleeping kids in a car strategically parked in front of a restaurant window so that they could grab some dinner and keep an eye on their children.

The first one just infuriates me - I mean, really? Thankfully, those charges have been dropped. I don't judge the mom in the second, I just doubt I'd have the guts to let my 9-year-old do that since I'm a bit paranoid. But seriously, why not? I remember being 9, and while there is always a risk in life, that risk is probably no less at 12, when most of us would consider it OK. And the last one - I have to admit I found it clever ... but I probably wouldn't do it. (And if I did, I wouldn't tell you!)

But the overriding thing for me is that we're too quick to judge ourselves and others. Short of abuse, we need to give each other a break. It's hard to be a parent. And if TV makes it a little easier sometimes, so be it!

But what do you think?

What makes you a modern mom?

* To see what my negligent mothering has done to Miss Dub, go here.

The Ultimate Cookie Quest

2008-04-07T07:17:00.003-05:00

Monday bloody Monday. That's how it goes, right? Well, aside from the false hope that I might accomplish all of my 5,679 goals that week, Mondays are no fun for me. Mr. Dub leaves for work again. I resume my household and life responsibilities, which I generally shirk for the weekend. Also, Baby Zee was born on a Monday so now the day has an even bittersweeter context.

So I decided to do something about it last week ... and it involves flour and two types of suga'. I'm talking about cookies, people. And I'm not just talking about any ol' crsipy choco-chipper. I'm talking about The Ultimate cookie - the kind that blows your mind and makes doubling the recipe a weekly necessity.

Last week, Miss Dub and I attempted to make the infamous Doubletree chocolate chip cookies. And while they were good, I'm wondering if my bootlegged recipe was the real deal. But I must say that it was awesome to always have cookie dough on hand to make a quick batch for friends.

Today, I'm thinking about some sort of Snickerdoodle. You know, like the kind they serve at Chino Bandido's Takeeoutee, which just happens to be featured tonight on Diners, Drive-ins and Dives.

Any good 'doodle recipes out there?

In fact, how about I make your Monday blogging even easier and ask ch'alls to link to your blogs, where you will post your favorite cookie recipe. And then, I will make it on a Monday. When I've baked my way through your recipes, whoever has The Ultimate Cookie recipe will receive deserved accolades on this here blog, along with a prize of some sort, which may or may not be cookies.

Go!

Panty pride

2008-04-04T07:01:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, Miss Dub and I went shopping for her first pair of panties. I don't like the word panties. I told myself I would never use the term, but somehow I just feel like Miss Dub will end up with a gender identity crisis if I don't get all creepy-feminine when talking about her underthings. She picked a set adorned with images of Elmo and requisite doses of pink. I'm not sure why she is obsessed with "Mo" since she's never really watched Sesame Street, but it appears she came with an inborn knowledge of Big Bird and his gang of furry friends.

You might be wondering why I'm trying to potty train my 17-month-old. Well, for starters she has an unnatural interest in potties and poop, including public declarations of the latter, so I thought she might be ready. Also, I just read a little blurb from the Baby Whisperer which declared that Americans are lazy and potty train their children much later than any other nation, even though it's easier for children to do it before 2. Did I mention she's British? I feel like British folk should be trusted for anything except dental referrals.

So I'm going to give it a half-hearted attempt since whole-hearted is not my cup o' tea. (See, I feel British already.)

But as the panties get rolled across the scanner by our young, male Targeteer, I got a little embarrassed for her. (This from someone who proudly purchases tampons and enemas without any cover-up items.) And wouldn't you know it - Miss Dub didn't even care. She was like, "Check out my sweet chonies! They're awesome!" Though it came out like this:"Look! Mo!" To his credit, the cashier acted mildly interested and didn't even blush.

I'm not sure where this panty pride is headed, but I worry it may be my fault. Would underwear have been a better word choice?

You tell me.

p.s. See Miss Dub in all her fairy glory here. Thanks Glamma!

Little Boogies

2008-04-03T10:02:00.005-05:00

I don't mean to consistently make you feel bad by flaunting my family's bevy of talents - trust me, I feel plenty bad myself - but this is my sister's new children's clothing line, Little Boogies. Click here to check out their fabulous collection of onesies, shirts and prints. As for my talent: clicking on the different animal graphics. I'm, like, really fast at that. So maybe Mrs. Gee isn't the only star in this family.

* Lest you are worried, Boogies is not a reference to boogers. Read the charming story behind the name here. And then go pick your nose.

* Click here to see Miss Dub's modeling debut.

Nooner

2008-04-02T12:46:00.006-05:00

Just when you think you know the real Mrs. Dub*, I shake things up with a nooner. My blogging used to be so predictable that if I didn't post by 9 a.m. my mom would call me and make sure I was alive. Most of the time, thankfully, I was. But I've realized that I'm often a slave to my - also known as Miss Dub's - schedule. So I decided to get a little crazy and post on a whim.

Things I should be doing: Making dinner for a family moving in today, editing my SIL's tween novel, envisioning world peace, potty-training Miss Dub, figuring out why the government doesn't owe me more money, building a log cabin.

Things I'm doing instead: Contemplating why some people are under the false impression that I have a life, wondering what my favorite toe nail polish color is, ignoring my hunger, mentally eating coconut cream pie.

*By the way, had I known that Mrs. Dub was going to stick, I would have put a little more thought into my pseudonym. Maybe Yvette? Or Chilequiles? Or Joan? My friend's 3-year-old daughter informed me yesterday that she is pregnant with twins named "Favey" and "Twenty." But Favey is so common, you know. Any ideas?

HTT - Diamond Edition

2008-04-01T07:11:00.004-05:00

"There are two types of people in the world: those who like Neil Diamond and those who don't."

Personally, I love him.

What about you?

* No, this is not an April Fool's joke.
*Yes, I am aware he has a Christmas album.

Attention: Arizona is a desert!

2008-03-31T07:30:00.000-05:00

As you know, I fled Chicago for Arizona for a fortnight. But there's no way to fully recount my journey, both because it would bore you and because I already can't remember what I did. So let me summarize it with this statement: Cancer sucks. Sunshine rules.

No, I do not have cancer. I also do not have sunshine - at least not the kind of sunshine that embraces 85-degree winds, allowing me to prance outside with nary a hat or jacket. I'm talking flip-flops, baby! Instead, I have the kind of sunshine that is generally coated with clouds and frigid winds. In other words, it's highly likely that Arizona and Illinois are actually on different planets. I would encourage further study on this topic, but who wants higher taxes?

So it's kind of a bummer to be back to regular life. I miss my parents. I miss my "Fabulous" friends. I miss flip-flops.

And I really have to give Arizona credit. Growing up I liked to bag on it, mostly because it didn't have an ocean, which is still true . However, the weather (8 months out of the year), the infrastructure and the shopping/eating are divine. Granted, it is a desert, something I didn't believe as a kid. I'd think, "Sure, it was once a desert, but now it looks like anywhere else." Um, no. It's very brown and very cactus-dense. Most front lawns have rocks instead of grass. And while there are definitely less scarve-wearing wooden coyotes now than a few years back, there's still an epidemic of bolo ties, typically worn by Midwestern transplants. But overall, it's a nice place.

That's about it.

Any questions?

Like a post, but not really

2008-03-28T10:23:00.006-05:00

FIVE reasons Arizona is better than where you live*

1. Blue skies - natch.

2. Higher percentage of stairwells = more hare-tossing opportunities.

3. World's largest collection of porch swings.

4. Easter every day!*

5. Better acoustics.

* Does not apply to anyone living near a beach or in the south of France.
* Does not apply to any day except for the Sunday immediately following the first full moon after the vernal equinox.

Gone 'til April

2008-03-12T06:51:00.001-05:00

HTT - Party Edition

2008-03-11T06:59:00.003-05:00

I'm off to Arizona for a fortnight so I don't have much time to stir up controversy. But I will toss out this question for you - Which political party makes you par-tay?

Since I asked, it's only fair that I tell you I'm a ...

Um, a ...

Well ... it's a complicated situation. I've been registered as pretty much everything. I started out as an Independent because that was my uninformed way of saying, "Who freaking cares about political parties? We should be voting for candidates!" I then registered as a Republican because I had an adolescent obsession with Richard Nixon. I saw his humanity in spite of his foibles and thought I could atone for his grievances by being a Republican.

But when the time came to register in Illinois, I had to face the cold, hard facts: I almost always vote for Democrats and my political beliefs are largely reflected in D candidates, although Republicans by and large have better hair and do represent my moral stance on a few key issues. But, again, who says I can't vote against my party on occasion?

So ... I'm a card-carrying Democrat who will totally vote for a Republican if I want to. (Except probably not in this election. My friend and I agree that McCain seems to have latent rage issues.)

Also, do you like to host a party or do you prefer to attend one?

As for myself, I always think I like to host, but then the pre-party stress reminds me that I make a better guest.

Freaking out Friday

2008-03-10T07:53:00.001-05:00

Well, my great plans to be Mrs. Perfect on Friday fell to the wayside as another medical crisis hit our family. I won't go into details, but please pray for PDaddy! He's not only a charismatic commenter, he's also the world's best dad. (No, this is not open for debate.)

So instead of baking complicated cookies and shopping for rare art, I spent most of Friday crying. Our recent experience with Baby Zee has made me very aware of the fragility of life. As a result, I have nightmares most nights that some member of my family has been kidnapped, killed or just plain disappeared. So it really freaks me out to have my dad face one of those possibilities. And while I'd like to say I was the positive one, I was totally leaning on others for support that day.

The good news is that the outlook for Mr. Ess is better than it could be. Also, confronting his mortality put Baby Zee's death in perspective. It sort of helped me sew the final stitches in that wound because I realized that life is going on around me, and I need to be fully engaged in it to avoid regrets. Of course, there will always be a scar - a constant reminder of Baby Zee and our love for her - but the wound isn't gaping open any more.

With both of these hard experiences, I've been sort of shocked to realize that the world is still going on despite our sadness. I kind of expected E! to stop stalking Britney for a day in honor of our hardships - but there she was in all her "is-it-a-bump?" glory.

But the positive side to that is that the world is still beautiful despite our sufferings. Having a baby die doesn't mean a blue sky stops being breathtaking, or that flowers stop growing. Even amidst all the horrible things in this world, like the recent glut of mass shootings and global strife, there are glorious things to be found.

So even though I'm still consumed with worry for my dad, I'm also optimistic. But I recognize that one day - a really, really distant day, I hope - I will have to say goodbye to him, just like I will to everyone I love. But I also know without a doubt that I'll say hello them again when it's my turn to bid this life adieu.

That brings me peace. And at a time like this, I need it.

Finally, a good excuse to get gangrene

2008-03-06T10:26:00.007-06:00

You might not know this about me, but I'm obsessed with Target.

(I'll pause while you all absorb that shocking revelation.)

Another fun fact is that I have to take medication every day to stay alive, in addition to the other medications I take every day just 'cause. As a result, I frequent the pharmacy A LOT.

Yet, despite the terrible service and anti-social staff at my local grocery story pharmacy, I only recently made the connection that I could combine my love of Target with my prescription needs. And so it was with great glee that I switched my pharmacy to my local Super Target.

You might think I've been pleasantly surprised by the service, and you'd be wrong. The service is so freakafantastabulous that my quality of life has been improved tenfold.

First, the staff is nice. Like, I think they might actually like their jobs, rather than my other pharmacists who probably stole narcotics to make it through the day. They are fast, friendly and informed. And they're happy to fill the prescription while you're waiting. With a smile. I think it has something to do with the lighting.

Second, the bottles are cool. They have this cool inverted design and color rings you can request to help differentiate between your myriad of medicines. Miss Dub recently had an ear infection and got a liquid prescription, which has a small opening that you insert the syringe into so there's no mess or awkward measuring.

Third, I have no third, but I just really, really like Target. Although, I must confess that I said to my friend the other day, "I think I'm getting bored of Target." And it's not that I want a new lover or anything, it's just that I need a second refuge from the cold and snow when the Miss and I get bored. I mean, I think I've bought every piece of costume jewelry on their clearance rack by now.

But I digress.

The moral of this story is that you should change your pharmacy to Target. Don't have any prescriptions right now? Go lick some dirt or infect a small wound. It's worth it.

p.s. I just got a call from the pharmacy asking how Miss Dub is feeling. Bonus points!

Freaky Friday

2008-03-05T07:12:00.001-06:00

I spent a ridiculous chunk of nap time yesterday rereading the archives of one of my "love-to-hate-you" bloggers. (I won't name names, but, no, it's not her.)

Rather than just mindlessly read about her purposeful existence, I began to mindlessly take notes, as well. This has to do with a book that I recently read - "Getting Things Done" by David Allen - that focuses on writing EVERYTHING down so that your mind can be free. Hence I now have a list with such random notes as "More fruits and veggies for Miss Dub!" and "Display everything in glass jars." Granted, I will probably continue to supply cookies to my precious offspring when she squeals, "Pweese!" And I will probably put off buying glass jars until I'm sufficiently content with my spring shoe collection - BUT the important thing is that I've clarified what I want to do so that I don't have to obsess over it all day.

But as I was writing all these things down, and feeling intense guilt that I haven't been scouring thrift stores for months to decorate for an upcoming church event, I thought about what it would be like to be another person; to live like the personas created by some of our favorite bloggers, who intentionally or not come across as the most engaging, spontaneous and creative folk in the universe.

So I'm going to try for 24 hours to be this dream person that I've been taking notes about for years. I'm going to push myself to live a little larger and more colorful rather than settling for pretty good. My meals will be prettier. My activities will be grander. And we'll see for once and all if it makes me any happier.

However, I can't do it tomorrow. I'm in charge of decorations for a church event and have just barely started to think about them.

But Friday will be my experiment.

Anyone want to join me?

HTT - Eatin' Edition

2008-03-04T07:17:00.001-06:00

Attention people who are trying to get grants for research: I'm not paying you to find out what is everyone's favorite cuisine. I will, however, hustle up some funds for you to study the correlation between monkey spit and fashion sense, and/or any similarly strange topic that would make for an entertaining dissertation.

But I'm not going to pay you to poll people on their favorite type of food because it would get redundant:

"Mexican!"

"Uh ... Mexican."

"Ameri -- No, Mexican!"

"Eurasian."

What the --- ?

Because I think there is a general consensus (at least in my social circles) that Mexican food is www.thebomb.com. And while there is certainly a plethora of bad Mexican food to be had, you generally can't go wrong with beans, cheese and some bad ol' hot sauce. I once found a cockroach in my quesadilla at a dive in San Diego, and I probably wouldn't have noticed if they had served a decent taco sauce - because I say sauce over salsa any day, but that's a personal issue.

But the same can not be said of other cuisines. Chinese food, for example, must be immaculately prepared or it's only good as a glue substitute. Same goes for a hot dog. Granted, I don't believe the hot dog has yet to qualify as its own genre of food - it currently resides in the Ballpark Eatin's category - but a good dog is heaven with a helping of mustard, while a nasty dog is just that.

So to save you greedy granters some time and lots of donation request letters, I am going to rank my favorite food cuisines in order:

1. Mexican - Stuff a pepper with cardboard, and I'll eat it.
2. Thai - Curry, curry and, um, curry.
3. Japanese - It's like the rice is made of crack. Rice crack.
4. Indian - I really like the one that looks like spinach diarrhea.
5. Italian - One word: gnocchi.

After that, it starts to get blurry with random Vietnamese and Guatemalan dishes duking it out with other cuisines for a higher ranking. But I honestly like most cuisines and have sampled lots of them, although I've yet to try Ethiopian. (I blame Mr. Dub and his higher-ranked Italian hankerings. Also, his aversion to injera and communal hand washing.)

So, my dearest bloggity friends, what are your FIVE favorite cuisines? Rank 'em and weep.

And then let's all go out to lunch. I'm craving Mexican. What about you?

Babies and boxes

2008-03-03T06:22:00.002-06:00

This is Baby Zee's box. For now, it is her resting place until we can make it to Utah and bury her ashes with her Great-Great-Aunt Zee, who died as an infant, as well.

But more importantly, this box is full of the only mementos I have of Baby Zee's short life. Inside it I've placed blankets, hats and bracelets from the hospital. I've put ultrasound and post-delivery photos. I've included a birth announcement made by her Aunt Gee and a sweet poem written by her Aunt Bee.

Tonight, Mr. Dub and I are going to write letters to Baby Zee, and Miss Dub will scribble some sort of abstract tribute. Then, the box will be complete. And that's all we'll have to remember Baby Zee by for the next 50 years, unless I start wearing more sunscreen, in which case I might make it a little longer.

I never thought I'd be this sentimental. I didn't think I'd need formal reminders of our baby's existence. And I didn't think I'd be so adamant about including Baby Zee as an official member of our family - but I just can't count her out.

The other day I was at a new pediatrician and she asked me if I just had one child. I said, "Yes," at first, but found myself disturbed by my response and five minutes later blurted out, "I actually have two children." I quickly explained that I had one here and one up there (motioning heavenward) and felt much more peace. Of course, she was a doctor and wanted an in-depth retelling of my situation - I find I'm somewhat of a medical celebrity these days - and expressed sincere sympathy afterwards.

But I don't know what I'll say when the Target cashiers ask me a similar question. Will I be quick to include Baby Zee, or will I avoid any awkwardness by subtracting her short existence? It's tough to say. I don't think either one is wrong, but I do hope that if I include her no one will think that I'm crazy or sappy or "not over it."

Because the reality is that you never get over these sorts of things - you just get through them.

So for that reason I've given my baby girl a special box, just like her sister has a special bag filled with her newborn mementos.

They're both my girls, after all.

You're the baby-baby!

2008-02-29T07:25:00.005-06:00

It has come to my attention that Miss Dub is no longer a baby.

Sometimes this awareness is more glaring, like when she proudly declares, "Toot-toot!" to a crowd of strangers after passing some noxious gas, or when she yells, "No, Mama!" when I ask her to do something simple, like not hold her breath and pretend to choke herself when she doesn't get what she wants.

Other times it's more subtle: When I ask her where we're going for the night, and she proudly declares, "Chicago!" (Granted, we weren't going there, but it is a three-syllable word.) Or when I go to check on her and she's tucking all her stuffed animals into bed. Or when I find her sketching out advanced mathematical equations on our family blackboard. You know, stuff like that.

Late last night as we were returning from a fun night with friends, I asked Miss Dub if she was my baby, just to settle the argument once and for all. She replied, "No, Mama! Baby Zuzu!" referring to Baby Zee. I agreed that Baby Zee is my baby, but that she could also be my baby forever, even when she got old and had her own babies.

"Silly, Mama," Miss Dub said.

And in that moment I realized that she wasn't going to stay young forever; that I'd already forgotten what it felt like to hold her in the nook of my arm or wake up with her five freakin' times a night. That while it seems like it now, my life will not always be consumed by sippy cups and dino nuggets. That one day Miss Dub will refuse to tell me about her crushes and will rant about how she needs a new outfit.

As I looked out at the snow-frosted trees, I couldn't help but wish to bottle the moment for safe-keeping. I ached to know that despite my best efforts (or any growth-stunting, processed foods I frequently feed her) I can't keep her from growing up.

But don't tell Miss Dub - she'll always be my baby.

p.s. Is it weird that I think Leap Day is a Canadian holiday? 'Cause I do.

Dress Up

2008-02-27T07:16:00.000-06:00

HTT - Ticket Edition

2008-02-26T09:42:00.003-06:00

Not my car. Not Chicago.

I got a ticket yesterday, and I'm not happy about it.

Mind you, it was only my second ticket and my first since I was 16. Which means I've had 12 years to convince myself that I'm invincible. In fact, every time I do something vaguely illegal (usually every 2.5 seconds), I come up with an elaborate explanation I will give a cop, should one dare to question my driving decisions. They are pretty impressive, from, "But I'm actually helping the flow of traffic, Officer," to, "But don't you think a traffic light should act as a 4-way stop before 7 a.m.?"

So imagine my surprise when I got pulled over yesterday and said nothing. Nothing. Even though I had just told Mr. Dub my great explanation for why I illegally turn left into the Target parking lot several times a week: "Officer, I feel this is a safer entry into this lot. And shouldn't my family's safety be my top priority?"

Part of it was my state of mind: I'd suddenly encountered a blizzard as I attempted to visit my SIL, who is in town, and decided to seek refuge. As a result, I didn't have my cop radar on. I was also talking on a cell phone to me mum. (Yes, I was being that driver.)

To my credit, the officer acted like he was going to let me off, so I didn't think I needed an explanation, and lying is never an option for me. But then he asked for my license - which I lost while traveling over the holidays - and then he asked why I have Arizona plates - because I just got the title from my parents and haven't yet registered my car in Illinois - and his sympathy went down a notch.

Anyway, he claimed to be letting me off, but I still have a $75 fee to pay and the sad reality that I will now have to sit through two additional lights rather than turn left into my local Target lot. But mostly I have to suffer from lowered driving self-esteem because I'm wondering if I really have the ability to allude law enforcement.

What do you think?

How many ticket notches do you have on your dashboard?

And have you ever talked your way out of one?

(If so, details, please!)

Understood?

2008-02-25T06:43:00.003-06:00

This week has been MUCH better than last week. I've kept myself busy and tried to get back into my normal routine as much as possible. For me, it's been therapeutic, though I am sometimes afraid of appearing too normal for fear that others won't be sympathetic to me in the future when I feel mad/sad/confused again.

I have spent a lot of time contemplating my situation and others who have cause to grieve. I've realized I really didn't understand how mourning worked. Because, to be honest, I used to think when people said, "No one can understand," that really we could understand - that death was terrible and you didn't have to experience it personally to know that it was a dark, horrid abyss for those left behind.

But no one does understand except the person in the situation (and the Lord, of course). Only people whose unborn children or newborns have died can truly understand my grief, just like I can't relate to the severe pain of someone who has lost a spouse, even though I've now experienced my own loss. It's not that someone else doesn't understand that I'm hurting, it's just that they can't understand the strange myriad of emotions that one uniquely experiences in each separate situation.

For example, the two most emotional experiences I've had were somewhat unpredictable. The first came in the hospital when I got a call on my cell phone from my original OB's office reminding me that my big 20-week/ultrasound appointment was the next day. I got flustered and stuttered, "The baby died," before hanging up the phone and sobbing. I wanted so badly to go to that appointment; to be a woman with a normal pregnancy and a healthy baby. But it was too late to even dream.

The next time came when I went to pick up Baby Zee's ashes. I expected to be very emotional, but found myself very calm as I went to claim her remains. I was so touched to see they'd put them in a tiny silver urn with pink etchings. But when I got back to the car and had to find a place to put them for a moment, I got really upset. The best place to put them was in the car's cup holder and that just seemed wrong. I wanted to hold my baby, not some trinket that could fit in a compartment.

Yet, other times when I should be emotional - holding her after birth, looking at her pictures, putting away my maternity clothes, seeing other babies or pregnant women - I feel either happy or nothing at all. And I don't think someone who hasn't experienced a similar situation can totally understand my reactions. That I like to talk about it with people, but that I don't want to cry in front of them. That I want people to ask me about her and how I'm doing, but that I want the option of not answering back.

So far few people have said anything offensive, and no one has done it intentionally. My favorite thing is when someone just gives me a hug or says, "We've been thinking about you." I also like it when people offer to watch Miss Dub so I can have some alone time, or ask me a direct question about Baby Zee, like, "What did you name her?" or, "What did she look like?" instead of dancing around the topic like I had surgery for an unknown ailment.

But everyone is just trying their best, including me. And somehow we'll figure it out together. Because I really am doing better; it's just a long road that I still have to walk, and some days I just want to stand still.

* My fabulous SIL sent me a link to this LDS talk. A must read for anyone struggling with anything.

The one with a big finish

2008-02-21T06:46:00.004-06:00

Our computer power cord recently gave up the ghost. Unfortunately, its passing came exactly at the time when my computer announced that I had better save all documents because it was out of juice. (Apple? Carrot? White Grape Peach Pear?)

So in my last moments of laptop love I quickly found a replacement cord online and bought it. Then, the power cord snapped in half ... which may leave you all wondering if my pregnancy cravings included electronics and wiring, but actually it's probably due to the fact that all my computer time takes place on my couch, leaving the power cord tweaked at an odd angle around our side table.

So my big question is - did you envision me typing on a couch or did you think of me as a desk type? Or, even rarer, sprawled across a piano with laptop beside me?

Actually, I lied. My story is not even close to done, I think, so stop your 'ruptions.

Anyway, since I ordered the cord it has occurred to me that I probably could have bought one at at my local Best Buy and had instantaneous Internet access, but as a matter of principle (and economics) I'm waiting the 5-7 days for it to arrive in the mail and borrowing the Internet from Mr. Dub when he leaves his work computer around.

So most of the day I'm without my precious computer, which has been so insightful for several reasons. First, it is amazing what you need to do with a computer these days - look up directions, pay bills, write articles, research shoewear. And it's also amazing what you don't need to with a computer these days that we all do - check the news every half hour, browse blogs, research shoewear.

It's been really liberating to not even have a computer to use. It's like going on vacation and knowing that you couldn't even clean your house if you wanted to. Or going a whole day without wearing a bra.

I think that's the end of my story -

No, wait, the point of my story is that I'm considering implementing some computer restrictions - like only using it at 7 a.m. and 4 p.m. for a half-hour each. Or is that a little Depression-era-esque?

The End. (Picture fireworks.)

HTT - Parent Edition

2008-02-19T07:07:00.005-06:00

I'm borrowing today's Hot Topic from a dear friend, who posted this question on her blog: Which is harder, being a stay-at-home mom or a working dad?

It's a question that I've often posed in my mind, but I've never had the eggs to ask aloud to Mr. Dub. To his credit, he often remarks on how hard it is to be a mom and how he's not genetically composed to do it as well as I do. (Aw, shucks!)

Not to be too Swedish on this issue, I can see pros and cons to both sides. Let us review:

Working Dad

Hard because he ... Has the pressure of being the sole provider, must go to work at assigned hours, has to switch brain from working issues to family matters as soon as he returns home, is under tremendous stress from work projects, must climb the career ladder to earn more, which will then go towards family expenses, etc.

Easy because he ... Doesn't have a child following him around 24/7, can generally check out mentally from work when evenings and weekends come, misses out on most diaper changes, spit-ups, huge messes and accidents, can take a day off from work when sick or on vacation, etc.

Stay-at-Home Mom

Hard because she ... Is always on call, must put her child's needs before her at all times, has to act as a chauffeur, cook and nurse despite whether or not she wants to be any of those things, can't take a day off in her own house, is constantly consumed with her child's welfare, etc.

Easy because she ... Is her own boss and makes her own schedule, gets to set the rules, can wear loungewear every day if she chooses, gets to cuddle with her child instead of writing a report, has the best job in the world, etc.

After weighing this sampling of pros and cons, I must tip my hat to the mothers because they are truly more physically and mentally engaged during the day. (And, let's be honest, do more of the waking up at night.)

But I do want to tell the dads how grateful we are for their hard work. And it is hard, just a different kind of hard.

(And then, of course, there are working mothers, who do a bit of both things and have an entirely different perspective.)

But what do you think?

Which is harder - being a stay-at-home mom or a working dad?

And what would your husband say?