The Shocking Revelation

I went to my OB today...and I DIDN'T SWEAT!! I'm so excited.

Now apparently, much to my amazement, not all women out there will understand that last statement. Normally when I have to do the naked thing for my OB, I get all nervous and start sweating EVERYWHERE and blushing (which is no good because I'm terribly fair skinned and it all shows) and getting nervous that I'm going to fart while the OB is down there.

But today - none of that. I just laid there calmly, chatting about our move and my happy pills. No sweating. No odiferous bombs below. It was FABULOUS!

Well, as fabulous as those appointments can be.....

Oh...what's that?

Oh, you mean you were expecting me to tell you the cost of shipping the package to my husband?

The package that I was supposed to send priority mail but turns out, because of the size, they wouldn't ship it priority mail and I had to send it Parcel Post which is cheaper but takes longer?

Okay, Jillybean, Lizzie and Lola (since you're the three who bothered to guess) it was......
.
.
.
drumroll please
.
.
.
$89.24.

I am so NOT kidding.

If I'm reading this receipt right, the weight alone (5lbs 10.6oz) was $10.11 but the size, THE SIZE, cost me $79.13. Seriously.

Ugh.

Anyway, I guess Lola wins (1,583 bonus points! Way to go! Only 43,097,982 left until you get your prize!) as she was the closest with her bid of $60; I was only thinking $50.

This is why we're packing everything on a barge, because at these postal rates, 30 cents per pound is butt cheap.

And for those who don't read comments (cough - Mia), the box is full of fishing rods (no reels).

Sunday Quick Takes

Because I've got a lot of little bits to share but nothing that requires a whole blog post unto itself.

I'm addicted to the ads for the new ABC show "Cupid." I generally watch my tv shows online (ideally when I'm folding laundry but that doesn't always happen). The song they play during this ad is so bouncy and fun, I just start to dance. Then again, I am a sucker for all things Italian.

*****

I think I finally get the parable of the 10 Virgins; it's only taken me 33 years but supposedly it's better late than never. I have always hated, *hated*, this parable as it seemed so horribly selfish. Yeah, yeah, I know the whole "but the oil can't be shared" stuff but it's always bothered me. Today was ward conference and our stake RS presidency chose to have the Stake President give us a talk (which I thought was incredibly clever of them - next time I'm called to teach a class, I'm just going to keep having guest speakers -- "Bro Soandso, I just felt so inspired to have you come talk to the girls. The lesson is #23, I've copied it all out for you. Have a great time; I'm heading to Hawaii.") The talk was on the importance of taking care of yourself and how this is of prime importance for each of us. Something seriously clicked (I think I even heard it). The 10 Virgins is all about the need for each of us to secure our own salvation, to experience our own life, to connect with God and fill our lamps with our relationship with Him. Yes I realize that this is along the lines of the blah blah blah I've heard before (just slightly reworded) but for some reason it suddenly clicked in my heart and not just my head.

******

And speaking of taking years to figure things out, I've been carrying around heavy bags and children's coats through all three hours of church for the last, oh, 10 years. Today, today I finally figured out that, HEY!, I could drop off the stuff in the car. Wow. And then I could just carry the stuff I need around for the next two hours. Wow! Who woulda thought?

******
You know how we are encouraged to welcome and introduce ourselves to new people in the ward whether they be investigators, people who have just moved it or one day visitors. This is very hard for me; I like to hang by in my safe place but I work on forcing myself to be more congenial. Today I walked up to a lovely couple of women and introduced myself; thy are, I thought at first, new members of the ward. Ha!

I learned their names and one of the last names rang a bell, I asked, "Oh, are you related to the other Whatserfaces in the ward?"

There was that pregnant pause and she replied, "As far as I know, the only otheWhatserface in the ward in my husband."

Oh.

Crap.

I looked at her and, of course, made matters worse. "Really? Because you don't look familiar?"

The daughter (I think - see how well this stayed in my head) tried to save me, "Maybe it's just because her hair is pulled back."

Yeah. Time to cut and run.

"Oh sorry, I'm just a flake, not a brain cell in my head. Gotta go."

I think I'm going to go back to my safe place.

******

I have discovered Mafia Wars in Facebook and for some reason, this really appeals to me. Could again just be the whole, "I'm a sucker for all things Italian" even cheesy Americanized Italian.

Why I Love Sundays

Every other day of the week I bemoan the fact that my children are growing so fast and that they are almost as tall as me.

On Sunday, I put on 3" heels and WHOA!! They shrink. They're incredibly small.

And I am tall and beautifully svelte.

I love it.

So why, you ask, don't I wear heels all week?

Because they &^&!#@$)* hurt!!!

And on Sunday, I spend most of my time sitting.

*sigh* I just love Sundays.

My Husband Left Me Something...

looong and hard.










Can you guess what it is?





















Or, the real challenge, can you guess how much this will cost me to ship it to him in Alaska? I will be shipping it via USPS Priority Mail.

BIG points to be awarded to the winner.

You know, the kind of points that they used to award on "Who's Line Is It Anyway?"

Because I'm cheap.

Poor Ish Is Dead

I know. Ish doesn't rhyme with Judd at all but I thought it was clever.

Hey - I haven't slept much in last few days!

Anyway, we came home from Quinn's baptism last night to find Ish gasping his last little fishy breaths. Rob aerated his water. I mashed up some peas and placed them in the water (because I've read in several places that it helps in situations like these). He tried to swim sideways (because he was pretty much belly up already) to get some fish food but I don't think he ever did.

This morning, he was at the bottom of the tank and not moving.

And so passes the great Ish, won at a pre-school carnival, lovingly tended for 2.5 years as he lived in his 1 gal ice cream bucket (really, it was so the opaque plastic would give him privacy - that's what it was! Would you want to live in a glass house?). He will be mourned by my children and by our cat Jenny whom I'm sure is thinking, "Damn, I coulda had a good meal too!"

Is it bad that upon noting his death, my first thought was, "If I flush him down the toilet now, I can put the ice cream bucket on the curb for the recyclers to pick up!" And I did. No sense keeping more trash evidence of his demise around to torment my children.

As a side note, which I will not be confessing to my children, I'm thinking that he died from not being fed. These last few days have been crazy and little things have slipped through the cracks. (And you thought this blog was the only thing I was ignoring!)

Or, as I will tell the children, he was faking his death because, "all drains lead to the ocean." And now he is a free fish swimming in the vast Pacific Ocean. Heck, Nemo's his best friend.

That's the official story anyway and I'm sticking to it.

Happy Days Are Here Again

Forget happy pills, all I need is Robert.

We picked him up from the airport yesterday (he'll be here for the next three days for Quinn's birthday - today - and baptism - Thursday) and I haven't stopped smiling.

I'm so happy that after so many years, we've finally arrived at a place where we have considerably more good days than bad; a place where I am happy to call him my husband and he genuinely makes every day better just by existing.

Of course, his existing somewhere where I can actually touch him is a big plus!

Twice the Mom I'll Ever Be

I watched the Secret Life of Bees last night which was wonderful and uplifting in a strange and depressing way. As a way to distract myself from my moroseness (which, shockingly, is a word), I picked up a trashy romance novel.

This authoress has several books all devoted to one family so she thoughtfully provided a family tree so I can keep the characters straight. There are several asterisks on the page. At the bottom, it tells me that each asterisk denotes twins.

Twins.

Which got me to thinking, "What is it with twins these days?"

Everyone is having them (at least all the celebrities). They are so vogue, so hip, so in, so stylish.

Heck, ordinary moms aren't even doing the twin thing anymore. They've got to go for more than just two at a time. (Eight is enough has a whole new meaning these days.)

Which all leaves me feeling like we're trying to ramp up what it means to be a mom.

Again.

First we couldn't just stay at home and eat bon bons and watch soaps.

Nope, we have to have ambition.

But, lest any random company be embarrassed by racing striped underwear strewn all over our house, we still have to be immaculate housekeepers.

Now, it's not enough to be the perfect CEO of a major corporation and run a tight ship at home....

No. I have to have twins.

Singletons are just not enough.

Seriously?

Grrrr....I'm going back to my bon bons and soaps.

And sending my kids off to school where someone else will raise them.

And heck, the racing stripe underwear? I'll leave it on the piano bench so you can see it first thing when you walk in my door.

ANTM Hits the Nest

I learned in college that when life hits crisis mode, it's time to change the hair.

I started my freshman year with waist length hair and ended up bobbing the whole thing shortly after my year began.

Several times since I have chopped my hair to cope with life's changes or to waken myself to something new. (Notice I've never dyed it or permed it - quite frankly I'm a little too vain to want to damage it to the extent that would be required to change my dark, dark, DARK brown color and I've done the perming thing; it is so not attractive on me!)

However, perming and dying aside, I have currently made a vow to let my locks grow as a gift to my hubby (who continually bemoans the loss of my long tresses). So right now, what's a girl to do?

Blog makeover.

Oh, whoops. That should be said with lots of exclamation marks.

BLOG MAKEOVER!!!! (Imagine some hearts, girls shrieking and giggling as well.)

Not nearly as effective in creating a life change but good for an evening's distraction and a smile on my face!

And unlike hair, I can do this nightly without any long term effects.

Hormones Shmormones

I suppose this is what happens with hubris; I was feeling so pleased with myself last month when I was sad over Rob leaving, cried it out and awoke reborn - I was thinking I had this depression stuff licked or at least better understood.

Whatever.

Yeah, my period showed up and so did my tears, my black funk and blue fog. I spent yesterday escaping into work (volunteering at a school function) or into lalaland (I watched a few new episodes of my favorite TV shows).

This morning I finished reading the third book in the Uglies series. Once the book came to an end, the sadness descended.

Have I ever mentioned how much I hate this aspect of my personality? Z described it as being a wind swept moor as opposed to a sunny, tropical beach. But there are days when I am tired of the darkness, the emotions and the drama. I just want to be flatline, still and at peace with everything around me. Sometimes numbness seems like such a welcome relief from the onslaught of drama.

When I'm depressed, everything just seems to grow to gargantuan proportions and I shrink away into nothing; I become a meaningless non-entity and I wonder at being allowed to exist at all. The dishes and laundry and children and need to worship God all become so, so heavy until I can't do them at all and I lie in bed overwhelmed with enormity of it all.

Like I said, drama.

And I revert to a two-year old. "I want my mom! I want my Robert!" which all only serves to make me sadder. As if their presences would solve anything.

And then I think of all the people in the world who have real problems and not artificially induced sadness and I feel guilt.

More drama.

So today I'm back to wondering why it would be such a bad thing really for a 33yo to have a radical hysterectomy and live without any female hormones at all.

But in the back of my mind is my real fear, that all of this would keep going on even without my hormones.