Gotta Stick to my Principles

There are just certain lines I will not cross, things in good conscience I can not participate in in this life. I simply can’t lest I become one of those women on Oprah—“I just lost who I was once I became a mom.” I have principles and I need to be able to look at my freckly-face each morning in the mirror.

Life lesson #1: It it makes the kids happy, but me miserable, ban it. That's the litmus test in my house for parental decisions—if it makes them happy and it makes me miserable, I know it's a bad idea. I don't take my kids to Chuckie Cheese. Chuckie Cheese sucks the life and money out of its patrons. I could lose myself—a dangerous thing. Life lesson #1 has caused me to also ban Caillou—that annoying Canadian cartoon, as well as me planning art projects for my kids.

Life lesson #2: Deprivation is good for children. When you give a child everything, you teach them to appreciate nothing. My kids own (from me at least) two pairs of shoes, they don’t get soda or other sugared drinks, I don’t buy them toys unless it’s their birthday or Christmas, they have to eat their vegetables to get dessert, and bedtime is always at 8pm—winter or summer. Their birthday parties are always at home and always include pin-the-tail on the whatever they can draw—Jedi, donkey, etc. I figure once they leave our house, life will only be uphill for them. They’ll never need medication because all they’ll need is a giant sugared soda at Chuckie Cheese.

Life lesson #3: If it’s too much work, it’s just a plain bad idea. This has caused me to give up scrapbooking at least 6 years ago—a decision I have never regretted since. Someday my kids will inherit CDs (or whatever the method of storage is then) chock full of their childhood pictures and videos. Basically, all crafts are bad. I guess the children crafts mentioned in #1 should fit here as well. Mopping and most other house work involving chemicals definitely fits here as well.

Life lesson #4: Life is easier when you are not sentimental. I don’t save hair from my kids’ first haircut because I’d have to remember where I put it for them in 25 years and I don’t save their teeth. Ilene lost a tooth the other day at my friend Allison’s house and Allison kindly wrapped the tooth and carefully sent it home. We quickly threw the tooth away and gave her a buck. What tooth fairy?

Life lesson #5: Guilt is for sissies. This life lesson may send me straight to hell, but at least I’ll go without emotional baggage. If I do something wrong and know it’s wrong, and want to stop doing it, I stop, repent if necessary, and move on. If I need to start doing something, but I’m too lazy to do what needs to be done, I always give myself an out. Life is just easier that way.

A terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day

Crazy kids, urine everywhere, mopping up pee, sweeping up an entire box of Life cereal, breaking out in cold sores, digging cereal from between couch cushions, spent two hours on ebay trying to figure out why I couldn’t print a shipping label for two customers, only one customer. Stood in line at post office with three kids to mail aforementioned package. Sat at the Nissan dealership with three kids watching ESPN at an extremely high volume while oil was being changed and my kids stared the entire time at a 10-year with a rainbow mohawk. Went to Walmart and let the kids buy a donut for being good at auto place. Bought myself a donut too for being good. Ate the donut—disgusting donut. Applied Abreva to now two cold sores. Took Nathan to piano late because I was cleaning up more pee. Didn’t have time to change Hallie so grabbed a cardboard box and made her sit on it in her booster while we drove to piano lest I have to clean pee off of car uphostery. Forgot to pay the piano teacher. Forgot to make dinner. Called Paul and had him pick up a Costco pizza. Applied more Abreva to now 3 cold sores. Bathed Hallie. Off to presidency meeting. Forgot to make an agenda. Came home, applied more Abreva to now four cold sores, watched reruns of Frasier. Went to bed at 10:30 and slept like a log. End of story.

Getting Soft

I always tell others than I am a true California girl and simply am a Utah resident but lately I am feeling more like a Utahan. I was going to title this blog “Things I don’t see in Provo” but I think once you read on you’ll see that the chosen title is the correct one. I found myself surprised, aghast, and afraid on one too many occasions while in California last week visiting my family.

On simply the road trip there I found my knuckles getting white as I braved the 5:00pm traffic down the El Cajon pass and through the San Bernardino area. Cars were whizzing past me at 90 miles an hour while I was going a good 70 mph! I realized quickly that I shouldn’t be traveling in the fast land going at such a turtle’s pace but I could hardly merge over as the cars literally were whizzing past me. I arrived at my parents’ house all frazzled and tense. The very next day my sister Carolyn drove me into L.A. to go to the fashion district and to Chinatown. Now, I knew Carolyn had a lead foot, but I quickly realized she had become Mr. Toad—she had become the crazy drivers that were cutting me off the entire day previously. The girl can weave and merge and slam on her brakes like no one else. And she has a temper too which explains her little Tinkerbelle ‘wind chime’ that hangs from her rear view mirror that she slaps and screams out, like Frank Constanza, “Serenity now!” when things just aren’t going her way on the 10 freeway. Yea, you just keep saying that Carolyn, like a mantra. It’s bound to work. (I could write a whole blog on Carolyn’s driving. But I won’t. It’d sure be good though.) I'm guessing other L.A. commuters have their own version of Tinkerbelle that gets them through the commute.

Later on in the week we went shopping at the Victoria Gardens shopping center to visit the lovely Crate and Barrel. As we exited the shop I was gleeful at the prospect of using my new individual gratin dishes when I spotted a cross dresser. He passed me, I stopped, and then turned around because I couldn’t believe my eyes. A man in a dress, carrying a purse, wearing high heels with hairy legs? Was it wrong of me to turn around and stare? Truly I just kept wondering why not shave your legs if you’re going to go to all the trouble of getting a matching purse for your outfit! See, none of the other shoppers were surprised. What’s wrong with me? Later on that night Carolyn and I were heading to Claremont to have dinner at the Harvard Café when I saw a lady of the night in Pomona on Holt avenue. Now, no surprise there, but she wasn’t wearing any pants—just her skivvies. Aren’t they issued at least a tiny skirt?

And let’s not forget the cars that are dedicated to dead relatives. Those always make me do a double take. I just don’t see those kinds of things in Provo. Please re-read that last line with a high-pitched Barbie-like and naïve voice. Yea, now you get what I’m saying. I’m becoming soft. You see, the longer I live away from California, the softer I become. Yup, it’s killing me to admit it, but I am getting soft, and I’m not just talking about my thighs. Pass the fry sauce.