A few things on my mind lately...

A few things on my mind lately:

• Friday Night Lights. Do you watch it?? It's taken over our lives lately, thanks to the public library. Did you know the public library has tons of normal TV shows on DVD?? It does and Matt Serason and Julie Taylor are killing me! Not to mention, who doesn't have a crush on Tim Riggins? And Landry, the zitty teenaged Matt Damon? Do you watch it? I know I'm generally about two years behind the TV curve so it's okay if you're over it, but it's lighting up my life. We've busted through both seasons in an embarrassingly short amount of time.
  
• Also, I think Levi Bristol-Palin's-Baby's-Daddy Johns(t)on is a real life version of Tim Riggins, only not as good looking or sympathetic. But still. And Riggins has a total Sawyer thing going on, which reminds me, I'm pumped for LOST.

• Did you see this baby-had-a-fully-formed-foot-growing-out-of-its-brain story?!? Weird.
• You know how you can "yearbook yourself?" Like, take your face and surround it with decade-appropriate hair and clothing and laugh about how you suddenly look like the sixties? Well, whenever I see pictures on facebook of elders I knew on my mission I get the giggles. Bc that's exactly what it looks like, like they yearbooked themselves into 2008. The awkward, well-scrubbed face I know so well suddenly has a nasty goatee or soulpatch, throw in a faux hawk, put them next to a mascara'd blonde overloaded with jangly jewelry and voila, 2008. It's incredible.
  
• Have you seen this blog, men who look like old lesbians? Accurately named. The header is the best part. Enjoy.
• Did you know that sometimes little kids have birthday parties at the Lion House? They really do. ChuckECheese it's not. We started brainstorming themed games kids could play there and while most of them are inappropriate to mention here, one reason I married my husband is because he suggested a version of Duck, Duck, Goose entitled "Widow, widow, virgin."
  

shake it!

Just finished my last final and I'm high (on life)!! Time wise I'm 83% done with law school but credit-wise I'm 91% of the way done with law school and it feels pretty good and I just want to do this....remember this??:



Last time I had finals it was within a week of pushing out a baby so this time, I'm frazzled but not ablaze in private places, so that's a plus. Time for a vacation, and by vacation, I mean cuddle my cute kiddo all day every day and consume a lot of Cap'n Crunch. Feel free to e-high five me. Also, it's embarrassing how much Beyonce's latest album is spicing up my life. "PUT YOUR HANDS UP!"

hold the salad

Q significantly more interesting than Business Law: How many ingredients are necessary before you can rightfully call an assortment of vegetable(s) a salad? Is just lettuce enough? Someone I know claims it's permissible to just have a bowl of lettuce and some dressing and it's officially a salad. Agree or disagree? I mean really, do you see lettuce and think "that could BECOME a salad" or "that IS a salad"?

argh blech grrr and so forth

My last semester of college, I took a tele-course for some stupid art history requirement and when I say "took" I mean signed up for. No offense to Austrialian Megs the art history master, but this class was dumb. At least, I think it was, though how the freak do I know bc I never went.

It was one of those courses you supposedly watch on TV but (shocking, I know) I never did. Ever. It was on public television at something ridiculous like 10 PM on Fridays, and we didn't even have channels at our apartment (seriously...we had a TV but just for movies, make sense?). You could check videos out from the library which I always planned on doing to catch up but it just never happened. I'm a pretty good student most of the time but this was a glaring exception and you know how the less you do, the less you want to do? Yep. So, when I got an email telling me it was time for the open-book midterm I figured, "Uh oh, better pull something out." I hadn't thought AT ALL about the class...in fact, I didn't even own the book. The morning of the midterm, I went to the library thinking I'd check the book out and fake it.

Of course, the book was checked out.

I scurried to the bookstore to buy it (20 minutes before the exam) and OF COURSE, they don't have it. So what do I do? Why, what any self-respecting BSer would do...I show up to take the open book exam sans book and WITHOUT ONE RELEVANT PIECE OF INFORMATION IN MY BRAIN.

I walked in a little shy bc I didn't know if the man standing there was a proctor or actually the teacher, since I'd never watched the class. And then I just made stuff up. I got an email a few weeks later saying I could pick up my midterm, but I was scared to go, so never found out what I got on the exam. Naturally, I swore I'd salvage in time for the final.

(In my defense I'll say that in my other classes, I was attending, doing well, "learning," etc.; this one was uniquely impossible for me to feel motivated to do anything for. I promise I have a brain and, minus several glaring exceptions, am a responsible, reasonably good student).

Well, the final rolled around, and I still hadn't purchased the book,and I still hadn't watched a single class period. Luckily he emailed a "study guide" pdf out that looked like it was from the 1950s, Xeroxed or something so it looked all old-fashioned and smudgy. So I showed up armed with that.

45 minutes late.

All the doors were locked so I had wandered around the building for a while and finally got in, sat down, realized I had been really, really, really awful about this whole thing and just hoped for a miracle. I was about to graduate and just kept thinking, "Well, it's a general requirement, so if I get a C- or better I'm fine. Visualize a C. Visualize a C," and just started word-vomiting on the page. Good, old-fashioned make shiz up type word vomiting from someone startlingly unprepared for absolutely no good reason.

What did I get?

An A-.

Well, tomorrow morning I have an eerily similar situation and as Jennifer says, I'm alternating between panic and apathy. I'm just banking on the planet sending me the gift of bullshit. Though I have a sinking feeling United States bankruptcy code may be slightly more difficult to pretend on than the History of Art in Utah.

However, at the risk of sounding like TAMN, it's not my fault this guy made class too mind-numbingly boring to attend. In the words of the illustrious Rachel Williams, may I say, "Passing finals this year will be a Christmas miracle."

Here goes nothing.

the superhighway?

"You can see it on the net! Written on the blogs and on the facebooks."

--my professor, 30 seconds ago

generally...

I'm a pretty easy going person, but just as a warning, if you:

-send me condescending lecture emails
-ask me to do something you can obviously do for yourself just as easily
-scoop my kid up without asking, especially if we hardly know each other
-explain anything obvious to me, e.g., "The bar--that's the exam you take to become a lawyer--is..." or "In Brazil, they speak Portuguese..."
-make fun of my mission
-refuse to my eye contact with me and instead talk to the only other person in the room as though I'm not there
-treat me like I'm twelve
-think that reading Time and People means you're "up on current events"
-act like my cute baby's cooing is an intolerable pain in your butt
-mock me for going to law school THEN ask me for legal advice not two seconds later AND use the term "supposably"
-choose the only day I'm in an uber-hurry to BOOT MY CAR in the very lot I've been parking in the last 2.5 years, and when I call the number listed, tell me I have to walk across campus to talk to an overweight cop even though it's 2008 and there's no reason you can't just transfer me to him.
-in giving directions to said parking office, if I tell you that I never leave the law school on principle so I don't know where anything is across the street, yet you insist on speaking in nonsensical code, e.g., "It's by the swicket" (despite the fact that I keep saying I DON'T KNOW WHERE THAT IS) or or "over by the Helaman Smith Cannon Don Carlos Memorial Tower" or "just north, and then west up a ramp by the square building" (THEY'RE ALL SQUARE).
-treat me like I'm a moron in any way,

I will squish you like a bug.
(insert evil laugh)

glimpse of awesome, or, quotes of the day

One of my favorite law classmates just said the following about her boyfriend:

"That's the problem with being single and thirty. There's a much greater likelihood you're an a**hole."

Another classmate, about a kid in a suit with a bright pastel dress shirt:

"Look! A jacketed Starburst!"

I know, I KNOW!

Yes, I am still alive and no, I haven't disappeared or been kidnapped. I am going a little cross-eyed because there are 500,000 things going on and my life is out of control (good way) with law school over-involvement and hub's grad school and our sweet baby and a 90 mile commute and lunch dates and avoiding crazies and everything. Please note that our kiddo gets the giggles these days and it's killing me. Do I still e-love you? Yes. Will I be back to consistent regular old blogging soon? Perrrrhaps.

thrilled, I tell you

Can't wait for this to be the new first family...


I get the happy-tingles thinking about this country having a president who can explain WHY he makes certain decisions and that even when we disagree, we'll know that he thought it through. Our cute kid is wearing her Obama onesie proudly and yesterday, husband and I wore our shirts and people were high-fiving us left and right...elderly neighbors, the lady who gave me my Costco hot dog, the parking guy at school. What a great year to be alive! I took a con law class this summer and it reminded me how it was not all that long ago (in the lifetime of people reading this blog, even) that white people in mainstream America flipped out at the idea of a black classmate...a black first family was totally unfathomable. Now we are hours away and I can feel the excitement in the air! Can you??

random

I really recommend everyone spend a significant chunk of quality time with a 6 month old girl at least once in life because it's pretty great.

In other news, we had the great pleasure of going to see David Sedaris on Monday night and rejoiced not only because of the event, but bc the great people watching. We enjoyed guessing which woman sitting by us was anxious about her shift at the community garden, who rode their bikes there from the Avenues and is pissed the other chick wore the same keffiyeh, why the kid sitting alone didn't have the guts to invite his tattooed coffee shop crush, and which member of the hairy father/son adult combo in front of us had recently divorced. Unfortunately, the man next to me smelled like mussels. I want to be him (David Sedaris, not the musselman) but Mormon, heterosexual and fewer f-words.

On an unrelated note, Friday one of my law profs answered his phone in the middle of class with one of those blueteeth. I just wanted to make bluetooth plural. But, he really did, and I felt like I was in the twilight zone. I have another professor that says "err" as in "Ur." Correct or bizarre?

deep, I know

Husband is recently hooked on getting CDs from the public library and it has really changed our home's tune environment. He brought home the "For the Kids" CD yesterday and I've had Cake's "Mahna Mahna" in my head ever since. Warning: if you click here to listen to it, you'll hum it all day and even when you want to slam your face into the sidewalk to get rid of it, you'll realize you're slamming it to the rhythm. Don't click. DON'T CLICK.


In other news, let's say you have a totally made-up calling that you start to resent. Is it ok to boycott it in silent yet meaningful protest? Discuss.

Ask the audience

How do you feel about someone clipping their nails at the public library?

grumble grumble

I'm guilty of blog neglect, I know, I know, but not due to lack of love for you and definitely not due to lack of material, if by material you mean gripe-age (I wrote gripage and realized it it looked like rhymes-with-rip instead of rhymes with ripe so hopefully the hyphen helps). And now for some griping...

I saw one of my least favorite people yesterday (not you...I LOVE YOU! You read my blog!), which is already bad enough by itself; in fact, she's the very woman who inspired most of these debbie downer run-ins but thankfully (because of something I consider a merciful act of God) we don't interact as much as we used to. Yesterday in our five minute encounter she managed to do the following:

• said "Are you sure you can handle all THIS?" and pointed at my sleeping daughter, reminiscent of the recent inexplicably weird "THAT one" Papy McCain line. Where the crap does one take that conversation? "Nope. WAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!" BEGIN MELTDOWN. Thanks for your faith in me, beeyotch.
  
• asked if I was "still going with the whole law school thing," like a pathetically dogged maniac who's been rocking back and forth in the fetal position for 48 hours non-stop and everyone's wondering when I'll give it up and pass out or pull it together already.
  
• began texting WHILE SPEAKING to me. I CAN SEE YOU. Don't make me stand there if you have something else to do because I sure as hell don't want to talk to you. (No offense...saying "no offense" is an automatic meanness-remover, right? RIGHT? Should I add a smiley to take the sting off?)
  
• called me Katherine when she knows full well it's Kathleen.

Grumble grumble.

In other news, hub's a champ, I'VE HAD NO CLASS ALL WEEK, and to top things off, our kid sits up and laughs a lot and grabs my cheek and it kills me.

I wholeheartedly recommend reproduction.
I'm Gurrbonzo and I approved this message.

pretty pumped

So one of the many perks of serving your mission at (quote fingers) historical sites (quote fingers), involves ALL THE OLD PEOPLE. Seriously. The number of senior citizens per capita there is pretty darn close to most rest homes, but with more agility and potato salad. Either way, one endearing old owlish woman who (of course) eerily resembled her endearing old owlish husband told me she could always tell when it was time for General Conference because her batteries were low and needed re-charging. She said, "Every now and again, I feel like something's missing, just a little more tired, or grumpy, or a little extra impatient, and I'll look at the calendar and sure enough, conference is right around the corner." Though she always said "in-patient" instead of "impatient." Anyway, I couldn't relate but laughed politely and then looked at pics of her great-grandkids and listened politely as she told me (again) to store water in soda bottles, NOT milk cartons bc the milk never gets rinsed out all the way and lit up when she lectured me on the variation involved in yarn textures and the latest family history software.

Anyway, I didn't get it. Maybe it's just bc I'm stretched thin these days (figuratively, not MY figure-atively) with the thirty plates I'm spinning (can I climb the ladder of mixing metaphors a little harder?!...bahahaha). Maybe it's just with trying to be a semi-competent parent and wife and almost-lawyer, I need a nap. Maybe I'm just ready for another Julie Beck pep talk since her comments at the law school were right on the money. Maybe it's just the fact that I'm a little nuts but man, I'm spent, and frankly a little weary. So, I'm excited for conference in a way I haven't been before and I see what the sweet owl grandma's charge-up-these-batteries-already comments are all about.

Is it bad to say "hit me" about conference?

HIT ME.

the mighty ducks + politics

Oh man, did that debate put anyone else to sleep? Hub and I were snoozing 15 min in and we're INTO politics, so the rest of the country must have been snoring before it started. This looks way more fun than, you know, ISSUES...

a bunch of hocus pocus

Is it just me or are Bette Midler and Sarah Jessica Parker the same person, separated only by 20 years and 50 lbs?

jiggy

Will Smith and I are both parents, we both hate Carlton, we both cried during the Pursuit of Happiness, we both rap AND we were both born today. Okay, so there are a few differences--he's black, I'm white, he fought aliens, I am an alien, he's 40, I'm 26. Whatever.

((birthday shimmy))

26, Internets!! Can you believe it?? Are you gasping bc my youthful exuberance convinced you I was younger, or bc my startling maturity convinced you I was older? I know, I know, my fart jokes and casual swearing make me come off pretty cultured. Either way, it's been awesome. Hub has to do his VIP job teaching wee minds this evening, so cute baby and I had a serious girls-only pajama party...we both rolled to the Redbox for a cheesy husband-would-never-want-to-watch-it flick, grabbed ourselves a bit of Little Caesars and put on our pajarmas. We both drooled as I tried (and ruined) a few chocolate-covered oreos, now I sup diet cola and she sups my teet as we wait for Andrew to get home. Pretty chill, pretty nice, pretty awesome.

shudder

Worst oft-heard cliches/phrases that lead to insta-cringe, both of which I was exposed to today:

"Finger in the dike"

"I'm feeling a little testy."

Got any you hate?

Bonz's gabfest

How have I not blogged about my love for Slate's political gabfest before and how my eyes light up when I see it appear each week?? I could TOTALLY do Emily Bazelon's job, i.e., shoot the shiz once a week about politics and have people tell me I'm awesome and get paid for it and come up with a cocktail chatter tidbit. I especially like that they interrupt one another bc as you know I prefer interruptors. Another reason I want to be her is that it turns out there's something called a Fellow of Law and Creative Writing...YES PLEASE. Seriously, start listening to Slate's political gabfest every week and it's like having a lunch date but in your undies while you eat Life cereal and make funny faces at your cute baby, if you have one, and ignore your damn homework.

Here's MY cocktail chatter: the Sarah Palin Baby Name Generator is a freaking genius idea. My own Sarah Palin baby name is not really that funny bc it's not believable (I'd be named Mullett Troll Palin) but hub would be Rock Crane Palin and baby would be Buster Taint Palin and our CUTE NEW NEPHEW (welcome to your life, buddy!) would be named Spackle Camshaft Palin). What would you be named had you been born to Sarah Palin?? Check it out, and you're welcome for the tip.

Lest you be overwhelmed by my striking maturity, just want to remind you that I'd like to arrange things like this in my spare time:

I really do this all the time.

A gift from heav'n

Cheap, close, reasonably healthy, delish.

I could eat there daily and sometimes I do.

Chipotle, I love thee.

TELL ME THIS IS A JOKE

I saw this headline in the Wall Street Journal Magazine and about shat my pants.

"Palin's workout, eating habits."

The article includes such gems as "And I always wear sunglasses. My kids tell me to put them on so I don't freak people out when they see me with a goofy hairdo and no makeup."

IS THIS A JOKE?? The mainstream news media responds with this when a female VP candidate is announced??

Can you imagine if we saw an article like that on Sen. Biden? What do you eat for breakfast, Senator? How do you keep the baby weight off, Senator? What's your biggest diet pitfall, Senator?

Whatever you do, do NOT write anything SUBSTANTIVE about a she-candidate, and as the candidate, do NOT talk about anything that could take attention away from the riveting and relevant issues like your hair, makeup or fitness level. I know, maybe it's partly bc there's not a lot substantive to say, but seriously, workout and eating habits?!? Is it Teen People's Ashlee Simpson special? Arrrrgh.

I'm on the top of the world...

If you'd told me my first day of law school that in two short years, I'd bring a computer bag AND a diaper bag, I'd have laughed in your face. But WE DID IT!

Yesterday was the first day of school and the longest day of my life except for childbirth and maybe the first couple days in the MTC...I brought our sweet baby to school and it was quite a production with the carseat, stroller, my books, diaper bag, computer bag, blanket, sink. Ok, not the sink. Generally I'll only bring her one day a week but this first one was intense, not just bc it was a long day but bc I didn't know what to expect spending the whole day with her out of our element. I spent most of each class period really tense, praying "Please don't flip out. Please don't flip out." Not that she's a flipper outer very often, but I was worried that everyone around me was sighing in annoyance, that she'd poop everywhere and we'd be 45 miles from home, that I'd run out of enough clean clothes for her (or me), that I forgot the wipes, that my computer would melt down, that I'd get called on while she was tugging on my earring, that the stroller would break, blahblah.

WE DID IT!

By the numbers:

90: miles we traveled roundtrip
3: classes she (mostly) behaved through
2: meetings she smiled (mostly) through
billion: people who opened doors for us as I felt like I was pushing an SUV around the law school
2: kind classmates that switched me spots so we could sit in a stroller-friendly part of the room, one just on his own when he saw me walk in with a look of panic on my face as I realized the only available seats were down a bunch of stairs.
2: profs who welcomed my cute baby to the class; one of them I was expecting to hate but instead, he actually timed out during class to smile at my cute baby and welcome her, saying something like "We're glad to have her, a visual aid for family law, don't feel bad if she fusses. Any lawyer worth their salt needs to learn to speak/think over substantial distractions, thanks for this opportunity to help us focus, blahblah." I wanted to hug him.
11: hours we spent at the law school
20: miles we were away from home when my car died on the freeway in the dark.
0: number of my lights that were working, INCLUDING HAZARD LIGHTS, on the side of the road, with my cute baby, after one of the longest days of my life.
1: husband that saved the day.

WE DID IT.

Cue applause.

Ahem.

Exercise your veto power

I spend a lot of time looking at various items and thinking a glorified version of WTF, "Who DIDN'T VETO THAT when they had the chance?" and I'm hoping you do too. Mostly ads, but also horrible TV shows, bad movies, and gross clothes. For example, the "Plant both feet when you cross the street" campaign. Is that even possible? Or how about any dialogue from The Mummy. Or Transformers. Or P.S. I Love You and the unbelievably retarded: "I know what I want, because I have it in my hands right now. You." Some shatty dialogue is so cringetastic you have to wonder who the crap wrote it, and if the initial author actually typed it out and didn't immediately erase it and think, "I will never show that to another," how did the editors let it through?? WHAT DID THE EDITORS DECIDE TO CROSS OUT INSTEAD? And what actor looked at the script and instead of saying "I have standards and this is a line of lame I shan't, nay, cannot cross," said "I will now say that aloud, on film, for all posterity to mock." And the producers?? WHAT IS EVERYONE THINKING? Similarly, painfully awkward and/or disgusting engagement pics...if that's the pic you chose to send out to everyone you know and it's gross, what the freak did the other ones look like? What went in your "no" pile? Do you HAVE a no pile?? Conversely, sometimes I make decisions and I WANT people to know what was in my "no" pile, e.g., I know you think by looking at me that I have no standards, but you should see the outfit I decided against wearing. You just don't know how much worse it could be.

Discuss.

thought salad

Last week, one of my hilarious profs spent a good hour raging about what a waste of time interviewing (in general, but particularly in the law/business world). "What do you do in an interview? You bullshit. Study after study shows interviews aren't an accurate predictor of success on the job. Guess what the best predictor of good job performance is? PAST job performance! Interviewing is a colossal waste of time and money, AND a diversity reducer, because people like people that are like them. So whoever's doing the interview hires people exactly like him. Colossal waste."

When I was a 1L I mentioned to a classmate that I had an intense fear of becoming a corporate bastard, getting sucked into the business world and never actually helping anyone. He rolled his eyes and said he could help more people by making a ton of money, saying something like "I can hire others to help. If I pull $300 an hour, it makes more sense for me to make that and hire 6 other people to help the poor for $50 an hour." I was appalled. I was fresh home from my mission and a firm believer in the person-to-person, voice-to-voice, one-by-one we make a change school of thought, and was shocked that it didn't occur to him that maybe HE had something to learn from THEM, that throwing money at others to help poor people robbed HIM of an important reality check. Not to mention he sounded like a total douche.

I thought of all that yesterday in RS yesterday (as usual) we had a fantastic lesson, this one about becoming Zion, "of one heart and one mind." Yeah, we talk about "cherishing differences" but when it comes down to it, most of the time our hangout friends are just like us. That's part of what was so hilarious and awesome about the mission, sitting down with people that I would NEVER in ten thousand years meet on my own. Can we help the poor if we don't know them?

Husband showed me this from Speaking of Faith the other day, talking about how Jesus wasn't in charge of the poor, he WAS poor. The author talks about how charities function as "brokers" between the rich and poor so we never see each other, and the wealthy can "pay off their consciences" bc without these "carefully sanctioned outlets, Christians might be forced to live the reckless Gospel of Jesus by abandoning the stuff of earth. Instead, thanks to charity, we can live out a comfortable, privatized discipleship."

The first paragraph talks about how this rich man wanted to be like Jesus so he got a 24 karat gold cufflink made that said "WWJD" on it. Funny, right? But maybe there's not much difference between that guy and me waxing poetic while I type about the poor on my freaking laptop.

One of heaven's most glorious creations

The McGriddle.

Discuss.

Ask the audience

Let's say you're doing a fake negotiation for your cheesy class, and you spend an hour in a room with the "other party" who is a nice but sweaty/sniffly fellow, and throughout that hour you watch him wipe his runny nose on his fingers and he picks at his face incessantly. You make a concentrated effort not to cringe throughout the negotiation. Then, you reach an agreement, he sticks out the very hand you've watched crawl all over his face for sixty minutes and says "Pleasure working with you."

What to do?

blahblah

So I am taking this ridiculous but funny "intensive" course at a law school that is not my own, and it goes all day everyday for a week...seriously...8-5...HURL. It's interesting even though it involves a lot of Steven R. Covey-esque barftastic phrases like "Money now is better than money later," the profs swear a lot which I appreciate, and for a split second yesterday I actually understood why someone would want an MBA bc the professors make business stuff sound interesting. One of the them said, "Is this more fun than BYU? Wait til we bring out the keg on Friday!" which made me pee. But I'm having baby withdrawals BIG TIME bc I haven't been away from her all day before. And it sucks. And I call every 2 hours to see if she's okay, and of course SHE'S okay, but I'M not okay...who knew reproducing made you so gushy? Man, she is the best. Even when she poops on my skirt at church--AGAIN--in the middle of a musical number and it's so messy and noisy that the lady in front of us turns around and says "I bet SHE feels better! Hrmph!", she is the best.

There was a time in my life I thought I'd never blog about about baby feces, and that time is over.

insightful little bastuhds

"What're you doing, goin' to work?" asked the grumpy, slightly rough-looking 50ish man at the cash register as I was grabbing a bit o diet cola at a gas station the other day. "Kind of, I'm going to study," I explained nicely, though a bit warily considering my history of awkward gas station conversations. He proceeded to tell me how he is a nurse so he knows how hard it can be to study. (Question: why do you work at the gas station if you're a nurse?) He asked me what I was going to school for, and when I told him I was in law school, he said (direct quote):

"Fight injustice, lady. Fight the cops. Fight the pigs. They make shit up all the time. We need you to fight 'em! WILL YOU FIGHT 'EM FOR US??!" He got a little loud near the end, so I politely responded with, "I'll do my best," and scurried off.

This is a great blessing in disguise because people are always asking me what I want to do, and now I have a good, short, vibrant answer: "Fight the pigs!"

Also, today in Sunday School we were talking about the Anti-Nephi Lehis burying their swords and the teacher said, "What swords do we have that we need to bury?"

Huge pause.

Husband says, "It's mostly guns, these days."

Disagree with me!

I like a bit of controversy. This explains why I like things like politics, law school and casual sex. Just kidding about the last one. You know the saying, "If two of you think alike, one of you is unnecessary"? Don't you agree?? You'd better! (get it? You better agree about thinking alike?? Bwahaha!). Like Elder Wirthlin's last conference talk, "The Lord did not people the earth with a vibrant orchestra of personalities only to value the piccolos of the world. Every instrument is precious and adds to the complex beauty of the symphony. All of Heavenly Father’s children are different in some degree, yet each has his own beautiful sound that adds depth and richness to the whole." You're probably freaking out that I said "casual sex" and "conference talk" in the same paragraph. You would never do that, would you. AHA! We're different! SEE?

But seriously folks, we are different on PURPOSE. Not only do I like a healthy debate, IT'S IMPORTANT. And if I may be frank, and I suspect that I may because this is my blog, too many of us just shut down rather than disagree. I'm not talking about fighting, hurting feelings, personal insults, I'm talking about having (gasp) different opinions. I wonder if it's that many of us (women, especially) are pleasers; we like it when people are happy and we interpret any conflict, even friendly, substantive conflict, as bad. So in almost any circumstance, we jump to the smooth-over portion before dealing with the meat-n-potatoes of the issue, just shutting down and saying "Okay, let's not get into it, have a great day! Love you!" or "I'm staying out of it, let's get a treat!" But 'getting into it' doesn't have to mean raging like a cyclone...how about a bit o depth, here? And I'm convinced that shutting down at the first sign of any conflict does us, and our communities, and the PLANET, a pretty serious disservice. Are people uncomfortable with dimensions? Hesitant to share how they feel? Hesitant to DECIDE how they feel because someone might disagree and then they'd have a meltdown? I think most adults have great intentions when they try to avoid conflict, but it worries me when it's primarily women who avoid conversations like this. Give me a break. I get concerned when people avoid a real discussion because they think everyone will get their feelings hurt like we're 7.

Do you think that was insensitive? GREAT! Something else we can disagree on! Anyway, here are a few random thoughts I'm just going to throw out there to stir the e-pot a bit (not a drug reference). No insults, just some healthy conflict. Embrace it.

I have some stretch marks and I kind of like them because they remind me what my body is capable of doing...growing a human. What the awesome!

When married couples say they've never been in a fight, I don't believe them, or else I figure one of them is a doormat. Husband and I disagree all the time and one of my favorite things about him is how he explains himself and how he'll listen to me do the same and how we don't have to agree on everything

I comment on strangers' blogs all the time. It is the WORLD-WIDE WEB, and if you put it on the Internet, you want people to see it. You're kidding yourself if you have a non-private blog and think strangers don't see it all day long. Aren't you happy I at least make myself known when I visit? I don't think it's creepy. Stranger comments are fine with me as long as they're not spam, gross, or insulting. I figure that elevates someone from creepy stalker to new e-friend and I always laugh when someone says "Isn't that weird that someone I don't know commented on my blog?" Um, no. It's not weird. You put it on the Internet.

Which brings me to another point...I don't believe people when they say their blog is their journal. I mean, it's neat to have stuff to look back on, but if you truly wrote for "yourself" you'd have it private or just do it in Word. We all blog (at least partly) for the interaction and attention, don't we?

The whole idea of private school freaks me out. If your neighborhood school isn't good enough for our kids, I figure we can help fix it. Unless you live in the hardcore ghetto and your kid's going to join a gang or get stabbed by one, it's pretty snooty to say your kid deserves a good education more than the other kids on the street do.

I don't understand why people think anything environmentally friendly is "liberal." It seems like keeping the planet we call home in tip-top shape should be the one no-brainer we all agree on.

I am impulsive and I like other impulsive people because in the time you spend thinking about doing something, you could've finished it.

Birth control is the devil's tool....okay, I don't really think that, I just wanted to get some healthy-disagreement juices flowing in you. Did it work?

what's WITH that!?

What's with...

1. the baby on the box o Costco baby wipes? It's an otherwise cute baby with a creepy cabdriver toupee. Gross. You know I'm right.
2. the recent spike in African-investment spam I've been getting? "May I humbly introduce myself to your good self? I recognized associating with you will derive a huge success there, ten percentage."
   
3. people thinking Seriously, so blessed! is written by a guy. Seriously?? Come on!
4. harems in hip-hop videos? Just watched part of a documentary on that and it rocked, er, hip-hopped me. Skanktastic. One more reason hub, baby and I refuse to turn thug.
5. there not being a Tar-jay closer to my home??
6. our baby's huge, toothless grin. Call me a cheese all you want but it's the CUTEST EVER.
7. people hating Wall-E? No joke, I read a blog post recently in which someone claimed it was "the most offensive movie" they'd ever seen. Helluva statement to make about a ROBOT CARTOON, eh?? A little defensive about your trash?? And while I'm raging about that, what's with people acting like taking care of our planet is a bad thing? Ever heard of tending the earth? Politics or no politics, LOGIC tells me that smog is bad.
8. Chipotle not having a frequent stampy card?

Your turn.

rage-tastic

Non-answers kill me. I've been known to give a few myself but what the hell is up with people in law school speaking pure nonsense and everyone else nodding knowingly??? Overheard today:

"Individual consumers, you know, just contribute to this marketplace of ideas, and at the end of the day, that's how it is."

"Everything we've discussed here, this whole theme, is uniquely American in principle."

"Well, politicians are always treated differently, and that's not going to change, and it really just depends on whether you like Democrats or Republicans better, you know?"

"Are you not making my point? That's exactly my point, on another level."

"I don't necessarily know if we can trust much of anything, in my opinion."

These are all code for "I've been playing Solitaire for the last hour and am going to offer up a non-opinion opinion to act like I am particularly aware and nonchalant when really I'm kind of a douche." I love it, and I can fake it with the best of them, but COME ON. Everyone must've watched this and taken it to heart:


Today Now!: How To Pretend You Give A Shit About The Election

Embracing the ways of the matron

THIS POST IS ABOUT TO INVOLVE A RECIPE OR TWO.

DON'T FLIP OUT.

DO NOT ADJUST YOUR SCREENS. THIS IS NOT A MALFUNCTION. REPEAT: DO NOT ADJUST YOUR SCREENS.

So I just mocked a stranger for posting a recipe. Relax, it was light-hearted. And I know YOU always post recipes, and that's neat for YOU, but most of the time they involve things I can't pronounce and sure as hell don't have around, let alone have the patience to mix with other things to create something edible. I don't make stuff, remember? But now that law school has chilled out (I only have one class and it's with Michelle Obama) and I hang out with our cute new kiddo, I've got the time, so I often make stuff. And many of you reading this may poop your pants imagining me cooking, but seriously friends, I've changed a lot in the last few months. I breastfeed and everything. That's right, BREASTFEED. Also, I got a short mom haircut (not a bob, NOT A BOB, it's totally hip)...I didn't have the patience to wait for an appointment with my regular hair lady so I got a nice $13 chop from a kind Asian woman who had to reach up to cut my hair kept yelling "Welcome to Great Crypts" when people walked in. But all this is my way of saying that this is a big step for me, but I'm going to post a few things I have made twice in the last week and plan on making tomorrow. Laugh it up, but soon you'll breastfeed and cook too and I'll laugh even harder at you than you are at me.

Baked Ziti Wonder
boil 1 lb of noodles (whatever you want. We got a bunch of penne a while back so that's what we use 'round here) and while you're doing that, brown 1 lb of hamburger with some chopped up onion (if you're into that) and garlic (or just garlic powder if you're like me). When the beef is nice and brown, dump a jar of spaghetti sauce in and simmer it for about 10 minutes. In the meantime, drain the noodles and put half of them on the bottom of a greased 9x13 pan. Then put a whole package of sliced up provolone cheese over it (or grated mozzarella if you want), then some sour cream (3/4 a cup), then 3/4 cup of cottage cheese (seriously), then half the meat mixture. Then the rest of the pasta, some more cheese, the rest of the meat mixture and a bit of parm on top. Put some tin foil on it because the pan's probably full by now, and pop it in the oven at 350 for about 20 minutes or til everything is warmed through. Then eat up and high five yourself (or a terrorist fist jab, whichever) for making such a satisfying meal.

The other favorite in our easy-stuff-only home is a little thing I like to call
Chicken FIESTA Casserole, or Yo Soy Bonita.
Cook up a couple of chicken breasts and then chop them up. Mix 2 cans of black beans (or one big can), 1 can of corn, 1 can of green chiles, 3/4 cup sour cream and 1 cup of salsa with the chicken. Crunch up some tortilla chips and put them on the bottom of a greased 9x13 pan, then half the mixture, then some grated cheese, then some more crunched up chips, then the rest of the mixture, then cheese. Bake half an hour at 350 and mmm mmm! Eat it up with some tortilla chips and some more salsa, and then reward yourself afterwards by cuddling with your cute baby (if you've got one) or surfing the internets, if you don't.

You're welcome. I'll now offer the baby the other teat.

with a kiddie root beer, please

Today involved one of my favorite outings: a little lunch date with Supa-ironwoman-linds. To my delight and amazement, as I walked into the good old Red Butte with cute baby, the nice gentlemen working there kindly showed me to my seat and proceeded to ask me if we wanted a kids' menu.

A kids' menu.

She's ELEVEN WEEKS OLD. If there's ever been a time for a grilled cheese or bite-sized corndog, it's now.

Thanks but no thanks, man. I AM her kids' menu.

the true north strong and free

I am Canadian!



Happy Canada Day!

I bet he sings "You'll Be In My Heart" during oral arguments

So I just realized that there's an eerie resemblance between Phil Collins and Chief Justice Roberts. Am I right or am I right??

Only allowed for accountants and engineers. I should know because I'm an English-ist Political Scientist

What does a bachelor's degree qualify you to say about yourself? Not a lot, right? I mean, good job, pat on the back, you learned a lot, snap a photo, here's the diploma, we salute you, but you don't get to introduce yourself as "Gurrbonzo, B.A." right? RIGHT. Yesterday I started class (and spent a lot of it worrying that our cute baby was flipping out, but apparently she handles 2 hours away from me better than I handle 2 hours away from her) and despite the size of the class, everyone introduced themselves. Not surprisingly, there were many former political science majors in the room (because the only thing that qualifies you to do is go to more school). Moments later, we start discussing interpretations of the Constitution, and some kid behind me raises his hand and proclaims, "Well, as a political scientist, I approach this in the following way..."

HOLD EVERYTHING. Did you get a Ph.D. and neglect to mention it? Do you work for a think tank?? Do you measure election results in test tubes?? If a bachelor's degree means this fellow gets to call himself a political scientist, WATCH OUT WORLD. Turns out my college buddies just got a lot more impressive: "My friend the economist..." or "My friend the organizational communicator..." or "My friend the art historian..." or "My friend the biologist" or "My friend the international relations theorist..." Who cares if they're secretaries and/or working for the man? We sound awesome.

Thinking about this reminds me that it's time for my mid-morning nap

And now it's time for an e-high five. One of my nearest and dearest buddies Supalinds just rocked the hell out of a triathlon, and when I say “triathlon,” I don’t mean one of those sample-cup-from-Costco ones where you swim a lap, bike for half an hour and slap a 5K on the end (though she does those and tends to kick everyone else around on them), but one of the “do people really do that? I always thought it was a myth” ones you hear about occasionally or see on TV and think only drugged-up pros or speedy Kenyans ever think about. ONE OF THOSE. She’s been training like a maniac for months and months and yesterday became an IRONWOMAN, swimming 2.4 miles (sh*t you not), THEN biking 112 miles (mmm hmmm, that's right, like riding your bike from Provo to Logan, folks), THEN throwing a full-length marathon on at the end just for good measure. That's 140.6 miles in one day without a motorized vehicle, ON PURPOSE. She's like our very own Sayid, unbelievably good at everything hard and the one person you want on your side if you do something dangerous.

And for those of us whose competitive exercise involves seeing if we can walk around the neighborhood before the cute baby gets mad, 12.5 hours of competitive triathl-racing is impossible to imagine, but possible to shimmy about, so join with me in shimmying for this rockstar friend of mine, and please think I'm a little cooler just for knowing such a champ. SUPALINDS FOR PRESIDENT!

Blogging about this is like...

Be honest, you don't know the difference between a simile and a metaphor either, do you? Well, I rarely keep them straight, but the Internets reminded me that a simile is when the word "like" is involved, and if there's one thing you can count on in this world, it's that the Internets don't lie. And with that, may I present a couple recent funny similes:

Briefing every case in law school is like mowing your lawn by grabbing fistfuls of grass.
Going out with a friend's old boyfriend is like wearing your sister's hand-me-down underwear...you just don't do that.
Seeing a Sig at the Gateway is like seeing a teenager at a high school.
Lisa Simpson, about Nelson: "He's like a riddle wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a vest."
and my personal favorite...
Mom blogs are like family Christmas newsletters on crack.

Deep thoughts about cancer and racism

The other day a nice lady about shat herself when she saw me walking with our cute baby (strapped in what's been called a Swedish Chest Saddle) and as we started chatting, she asked me if I "had a degree." When I said I was in law school, she--kid you not--shrieked and said "NO WAY! No way! GOOD for YOU! With a BABY?? Wow wow wow wow WOW!" and just stared. I laughed awkwardly and said something like "Hey, thanks, you're making me feel like a rockstar," and she said "You ARE a rockstar! LAW school??" And for a brief moment, I felt like I'd cured cancer. Then I remembered that all I'd done was get knocked up while enrolled in something that involves paying knowledgeable professionals to publicly berate and humiliate me and wasn't sure why I was being so congratulated. Sometimes, people act so surprised that I'm in law school, it makes me wonder if they think I'm quadriplegic and/or mentally challenged or some other supreme challenge that would make me a good motivational speaker. It also makes me wonder if they've ever opened a phone book and seen how many douches have made it through law school. In other news, Sunday hub and I caught part of the rebroadcast of the June 8th celebration of the 30th anniversary of extending the priesthood to all worthy males and it rocked our socks off. You can watch it here. It was surprised at how nice it was to see black men and a black woman preaching from the pulpit of the tabernacle and was really moved by a black stake president from NJ, I think, who spoke about how his patriarchal blessing said he'd preach the gospel to "his people" so he assumed he'd go to an inner city. Instead, he went to Latin America and realized Latinos were and are "his people" and that we're all each other's people. I've been thinking about that all week. Watch it now. Don't say "don't tell me what to do." Just watch it already. In an uncharacteristic act of bravery, I actually attended an RS activity (and didn't hate it! Progress! Turns out book clubs are a little more up my alley than recipe swaps) during which we discussed To Kill A Mockingbird and how prevalent racism is, even/especially in our vanilla community. And how it's bigger than race, it's just fear of people who are different than we are, in looks or economic circumstances or just life, and how in 4 Nephi, the people were happiest and most peaceful when distinctions disappeared and they had all things in common and there were no manner of -ites. So I have realized that my fear of stroller moms is discrimination and just because we're different (though not all that different anymore, now that I'm a crockpotter and serious crafter) doesn't mean we can't be friends. So if you're a crafty stroller mom, will you be my friend? Actually, just in general, will you be my friend? The end.

A few things I've learned this week

1. In an effort to find a kitchen item you got as a wedding present and have yet to utilize, you may have to venture into the Closet of Doom, so named because it is scary and DOOMLIKE, impossibly full and everything inside it is perched precariously on top of everything else. In digging through the Closet of Doom, you will discover the item you're looking for beneath Clue, a cooler, a camping chair, and a huge box of Sweet & Salty Nature Valley granola bars purchased many months ago which you will begin eating immediately, and you may also stumble upon a Hillary Clinton Boogie Diva doll.

2. If you aren't a crafty person, make peace with that, because venturing into the unknown world of craft two days before Father's Day in an effort to make your hub something awesomely creative will probably result in an embarrassing disaster and 3 separate trips to the crafty store where the women working there will laugh at you for not knowing what the hell "decoupage" is.

3. If your baby happens to poop all over your skirt at church, you can try to act natural, but orange on white is not camouflage.

4. If you feel ambitious and bust through some recipe books looking for the easiest things you can find, and then you decide to use a crockpot for the first time in your life, it will probably remind you of a time right before you got married when a friend said, "Remember, boys are like microwaves and girls are like crockpots," and then you will be grossed out.

unrelated

Question:

What happens if you fill your car up with gas using the pay-inside option, and then your card doesn't work? Or you don't have the cash you thought you did? And the gas is already in your car? Do you have to wash out the hot dog machine? Do they take your license plate number and put it on your tab? I ask not because of personal experience, but because it occurred to me today that I am 25 years old and have no idea what would happen in that situation. Enlighten me.

Reasons You Should Applaud My Bravery

1. Saturday I got in a swimsuit. Six and a half weeks after pushing out a kid. Good job, eh?
2. We blessed our cute baby Sunday and she was really cute and really good and really cute. Same with hub, who refrained from changing her name during the blessing; I shall therefore bear him more children.
3. We actually (gasp!) cleaned up our home in anticipation of the festivities involved in the event mentioned in #2. This includes the bathroom...yikes.
4. I got up in front of the whole congregation even though I was 90 percent sure my boobs were about to leak.

more reasons the internets are awesome

I recently discovered (shall we say, MUSIC-overed??) a real e-treat. If you ever want to listen to a combination of say, calm gospel, funk and folk music from, say, 1954, it's only a click away! Style, mood, year of your choice, any combo...Choose Your Own Adventure! What a beautiful change this will be in the law library; no longer will I have to peruse random shared itunes libraries and bust a gut over how many people have tracks of THEMSELVES SINGING (not a joke). It's blowing my mind. Knock yourself out.

In other news, in 9th grade, two cowboys got in a "planned fight" by my locker right after school and it was awesome. People were climbing on top of lockers to watch. In the crowd, all you could see were two cowboy hats slowly coming towards each other, then hair flying.* It's all anyone talked about all day, because everyone knew the rumble was planned. The two-hats-approaching-each-other-in-slow-motion phenomenon was incredible. Like any good 14-year-old cowboy worth his belt buckle, they had awfully tight pants on (the tightness of which led some of us to believe they put potatoes in their pants), and I remember that one of them had gum on his bum, shaped exactly to the cheek because of the jeans' tightness. Anyway, I share this beautiful memory because it turns out, PLANNED FIGHTS ARE STILL HAPPENING.Awesome or what? These cowboys were mad, but they sure as hell didn't STAB EACH OTHER. IN THE EYES. (insert shudder). But, if you're going to get in a planned fight, at least make sure you get a gross headline out of it. Way to go, guys.

*denotes falsehood

The Official Launch of L&L

Don't be shocked. Even though I'm a new and somewhat temporary FSAHM (fakeout stay at home mom), my domestic skills are at their nadir. Though, I did make dinner thrice last week, which I feel is just enough to make me a helpful member of our family team without actually becoming socially 35. Everytime I do something like clean up (and when I say "clean" I mean "straighten"), make dinner or pack up a little lunch, I tell hub I get an A in housewifery (say it in your head "house-wiff-ery"...or out loud, if you want, I'm not here to judge you). All this is my way of saying that at least for a month or two, the law life is a thing of the past, and now I hang out with our baby a lot, which means my days consist of cuddling, nursing, changing diapers, walking around our neighborhood a lot, gushing over her with nonsense songs about the cutest baby on planet earth, and then when she sleeps, I read other people's blogs and do embarrassing home workout videos. If that's too honest for you, I'm sorry, but I'm just trying to be genuine with the internets. So FSAHM life is awesome, but I'm working on avoiding mushbrain.

Consequently, I now commence this year's version of S!R!E! (Summer! Reading! Extravaganza!) only now it's called L&L. That's right. Literature and Lactation. So, tell me what to read. I'm looking for audio books, books I can find at the local library in less than 5 minutes, books you have and want to lend me, books I can find used on Amazon.com for less than five bucks, and books that can be read and easily enjoyed in 20 minute increments. Catch the vision? If you say anyone that rhymes with Refanie Reyer, I'll eat rotten pea soup and barf it in your favorite shoe (no offense to my many readers who are fans of hers) and no Nicholas Sparks either, mmkay? I'm looking for fun, light reads, and preferred but not required is some element of absurdity, a la World According to Garp. Lead me, guide me, recommend beside me...

Pen pals

Dear guy who plays Michael on LOST,

BOO FOR YOU! I'm glad you found a job that'll last through 7 seasons, and I'm glad that you're comfortable playing a murdering, sneaky, conflicted spy of a fellow, but WHO HIRED YOU? You are a horrible actor and when I watch you get angry, I get angry because I think I'm watching a 7th grader try out for the school play who's about to walk home sobbing because he DIDN'T MAKE IT, not even as stage crew. Also, you look a lot like Jamal from the hit series Ghostwriter. Do you get that a lot? Thank you for your time. And what's the deal with Walt, anyway?



Sincerely,
Gurrbonzo.

Dear whoever is responsible for Ghostwriter,

Whose idea was it to have Alex and Gaby share a room? Brothers and sisters at that age are not quite so close. Kind of a weird message to send to public-television-watching kids in the early 90s, don't you think? A little Flowers in the Attic-esque? Also, I want you to know how often I wanted to write "Rally K!" somewhere and wait for my friends to show up, and I also want you to know that more than 13 years after your show is off the air, occasionally I STILL get Lenni's hit song, You Gotta Believe, stuck in my head. Damn you.



With respect,
Gurrbonzo.

Dear Murray from Flight of the Conchords,

Yesterday during the American Idol finale, when David Cook rocked out with the celebs, I couldn't hear the music...all I could hear was your voice saying "Zed Zed Top." Thanks for that. Don't add me to the fan club.

Best wishes,
Gurrbonzo.

In which I light incense and beckon you to come through the beaded curtain

FAQ involving our hippie birthing experience:

Natural? Are you crazy? No way, man. I'm awesome. I buy the whole medicine-is-for-when-things-go-wrong phenomenon, and figure childbirth is a natural part of life, and figured women have been doing this a helluva long time, so wanted to give it a whirl the old-fashioned way (not in a cave or handcart...I mean without drugs). If there had been a problem, I would have been open to medical intervention, but since there wasn't, it worked out well. And yes, of course it still hurt. Relaxing is not magic and it's not marijuana.

Do you have an abnormally high pain tolerance or something? I don't really get this question, because I don't have anyone else's pain tolerance to compare mine to. Do I faint when I get shots? No. Am I a triathlete that pounds my body into the ground for the thrill? No. So whatever that means.

So do you think others are spineless for getting an epidural? What?? You have to have a spine to get one, right? I vote that everyone should do whatever the freak they want. I even have a shirt that says that. And I'm all about modern medicine and don't think anyone who gives birth is a wimp and I am not going to refuse blood transfusions for our child or pray for a miracle instead of getting her glasses. If you want to give the natural way a try, I recommend it, and if you don't, high five as well. Just live the dream.

What are the perks? I knew what was going on the whole time, felt totally in control, could walk around after (even though I took babysteps like a 90-year-old hunchback), had a speedy recovery, and to our delight, our sweet baby was totally alert from the first second. Also, it was pretty great to just know that I could do it, and all the nurses made me feel like a rockstar.

Hypnobirthing? Do you hypnotize yourself or what? Basically, yes. I clucked like a chicken whenever husband snapped his fingers, and even now, when he says the magic word (which I can't reveal here), I fall asleep immediately until someone offers me a corndog. Either that, or we just ditched a lot of the weird hypnobirthing stuff (I didn't have much luck imagining myself as a rainbow or visualizing a fawn running through the forest or picturing me throwing a treasure chest of my problems out of a hot air balloon. None of those examples are made up) and went with the normal stuff, which was just relaxing and some positive affirmations that champion hub read to me the whole time. That, and he pushed on my knees during every freaking contraction to take the edge off my damn back. I'd take that over an imaginary hot air balloon any day.

Other questions?? Feel free to post them in the comments and all mysteries shall be revealed.

WTF

Since most of things going on in my life are things I refuse to blog about on principle in my effort not to become one of THOSE people (you know, blogging about poop, diapers, bathtime, boogers, how absurdly cute our child is and how I gush over her all day, how freaking adorable her gas smiles are, how she hypnotizes me with her wise gaze and how my newfound mom-cheesiness is OFF THE CHARTS...I'm going to keep all that to myself...and not even mention how FREAKING CUTE SHE IS...I'll keep quiet), I shall now share a little something that's cracking me up:

• "Hey, let's commit a crime. I want some fast cash, and I want it to involve gunpoint, and I want to be a bad-ass criminal. No, banks are too scary. No, not a home with valuables. I know! ARCTIC CIRCLE. IN TAYLORSVILLE. THAT'S where the big bucks are." Genius. And while I was reading that, a pop up ad told me I could lose 15 lbs by April 25th. Tempting, considering THAT WAS TWO WEEKS AGO. Where am I?
  

In other news, last night we finished Season 3 of Lost. That means I've spent approximately 50 hours of my life watching that show in the last few months, and if that shan't make me proud, nothing shall.

Finally!

I've waited 25 long years, and now that I'm finally a mother, I'm getting me some of these, pronto.

A little perk of hanging out at home this week

In some magical way, despite my best efforts, laundry in our home has increased exponentially since the child came into our lives. The drawback is that folding it all (we haven't really made it to the putting-away step yet, but we're getting there) seems to take up an absurd and embarrassing amount of time.

Once nice perk is that when you're folding laundry, you might look out the window, and when you do, you'll happen to see a neighborhood ten-year-old cruising on his bike, and he thinks no one can see him because no one is outside, so you will have a secret front-row seat, and he'll have a backpack-style violin case on, and he'll be humming/singing to himself, and then he'll try to pop a wheelie, then he will fall off his bike, and you will watch the whole thing. And when he falls, he will smack right on his stomach, spread-eagle with his arms and hands spread out like hangman, and his violin case will hit his head, and he'll yell "Oooof!" Then, he'll look around to make sure no one saw, then thinking he's alone, he'll yell "DANG IT!" and continue on his way.

And you'll laugh about it all afternoon.

treat

You know how sometimes you get a little treat in your life that reminds you all is well in the world, that God exists and things are good and people are awesome and life is beautiful??

I know, I know, you're wiping a tear while you think about your own "tender mercies." Today, cute baby and I had to wait for 100 years (LITERALLY...literally...) at the clinic for her to get a blood test since she is 2 weeks old (timeout to brag and say she is packing on the pounds, er, ounces thanks to mama's cream). She's napping, I'm wishing I was asleep, and I'm staring out the window when TO MY DELIGHT AND AMAZEMENT I see two 'heavy-set' or 'plump' or (insert politically correct term for chubby here) women in their 50s come out of the lab. And they are twins. And they both have dyed red-but-also-slightly-pink hair. And they are WEARING MATCHING CLOTHES, khaki pants and navy t-shirts.

And....

they are both in jazzies.


God bless America.

SHIM-SHIMINY SHIM-SHIMINY

(INSERT LARGE CELEBRATORY SHIMMY)

Finished my second year of law school yesterday! Baby and hub took a big fat field trip to the law school with me and it was intense but now it is over so let us give thanks. Cute hub was on thankless law school baby lockdown basically all day and for that I salute him. In the morning, I had a big meeting during which I frantically ran out twice to feed her bc the cries of a 9-day-old baby's hunger break me heart, and by afternoon I took a lame Wills & Estates final during which she shat all over hub's shirt, the changing pad, and a large portion of the study room. Haha! Your father and I think finals are shitty too, dear. We have a lot in common.

In the last 10 days I have pushed out 1 adorable baby, fed her 30,000 times, changed her 30,000 times, taken 2 big law exams, and now I am 2/3 of the way through with law school and don't plan on thinking about it again til August and just want to shake it like a polaroid picture, but that hurts, so I'll just treat myself to another load of laundry and maybe a shower. Woopwoop!

Welcome to our family.

A few years ago, I really clicked with Ammon. I was preaching the good word door-to-door with a nametag, a frumpy skirt covered in cat hair and some serious bottom-of-the-foot blisters and I was the happiest I'd ever been. I read in the Book of Mormon about when Ammon says "My joy is full, yea, my heart is brim with joy" and thought, Amen, brother. I really got it. I was sure that THIS, this mission thing, this feeling God's love for strangers when I couldn't feel my toes and bits of my hair were frozen together, THIS praying for stuff then watching it happen, THIS was what he meant by a heart brim with joy. Gotcha.

Then, a year later, I knelt across from my champion husband as we got married and realized, nope, THIS is brim with joy, THIS is as good as it gets, THIS staring at your favorite person and realizing you're perma-joined for the long haul and about to build a life together, THIS is as good as it gets, THIS is brim with joy.

Then exactly one week ago, husband placed our 10-seconds-old, wriggly, bloody, screaming, perfect baby on my tummy. I stared at her and at him and together we looked at this little person we made together who was inside me just a minute ago and I realized, THIS is brim with joy, THIS is as good as it gets. I have never felt anything like it but it's gotta be what Ammon meant when he said, "I cannot say the smallest part which I feel."

I feel weird blogging about her. You blog about sushi night, funny things people say on the bus, lame commercials, or how you hate finals. How do you tell the internets about the most intense feelings you've ever experienced in your life in the same space that you laugh about the gas station lady's sex advice? I don't know what to say but I can't even handle the love I feel.

I will never forget how husband stared at me when it was all over, how proud he was of me and how much love I felt from him and for him and how the love I felt for this screaming, goopy infant was amplifying every good feeling I've ever had in my life and I forgot for a minute that I'd just pushed her out without any meds and that I hadn't changed a diaper since I was a Beehive and that I don't know how to give her a bath and I don't get babies at all, and for a minute all I could think about was how NOW I might explode with love and I finally know what Ammon meant and I finally got it through my thick head that this whole family thing really is what it's all about.

best. day. ever.

Welcome to your life, baby!

After a long drumroll, our daughter finally joined us Tuesday April 15th at a beautiful 8 lbs 13 ounces. I have never prayed so hard or hurt so much or been so happy, EVER, let alone all in the same day. Husband talked me through the whole thing and the hippie in me is delighted that everything went just as we hoped it would.

As I figure out life with a new little person, what one writer has termed "National Geographic crotch," enormous bricks for boobs and with two more law school finals ahead of me, I will have to delay blogging about the most amazing day of my life for a while. This poem is hanging in our baby's room and it captures what we're feeling, and it's my blog and I can cheese if I want to. She is so awesome I could explode.

On Children
by Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let our bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Still in the oven, er, crockpot

One of the many perks of being this pregnant is that people start to give you advice on how to bring the baby out, and when I say "people," I mean strangers. The grocery store cashier told me to try black or blue cohosh pills. A professor suggested I sniff peppermint and start jumping up and down. A lady in the temple told me the baby would come "in the Lord's time," which is scary since at that rate, one day is a thousand years.

But best of all, the rough-looking gas station lady asked me if I'd tried "s-e-x," cautioning that "it might not be worth the trouble at this point." Ummm...YOU'RE THE GAS STATION LADY. DO I LOOK LIKE I WANT TO HAVE A SEX CONVERSATION WITH THE GAS STATION LADY?

drumroll....

Nope, this kiddo's not here yet! I keep eating spicy foods and pineapple and I keep taking long waddle-walks between sessions of pouring boring law into my head. And as time goes on, I'm developing a few theories. Do you have any ideas? Maybe she's waiting for...

• the sun to come out. The weather is gross, and it's been rainy and snowy and cloudy, which is probably tricking her into thinking it's still February so she thinks she shouldn't come out for two more months. Uh oh.
• us to get off her back. If she's anything like me or husband, she's likely shrugging us off with a "Don't tell me what to do!" when we try to nudge her along. Good luck trying to boss or rush anyone in our family.
• my finals to get closer and closer so she can make a hell of an entrance.
• tomorrow to come so she can share a birthday with Marlon Brando, Alec Baldwin and Jennie Garth.

What do you think?

This just in: hub just asked what I was up to, and I said I was just learning more about fiduciary duty. His response reminded me why I married him.

"Fiduciary duty sounds like something you tell your kids to do in the bathroom."

My feelings exactly

Overheard when I was stopped at a traffic light yesterday, with my window rolled down as two boys walked by me, on their way back to elementary school after getting some laffy taffys at the gas station:

8-year-old street urchin to 6-year-old street urchin: Yeah, school's a hassle, but if you wanna get a decent job, you gotta go.

Because yesterday I forgot my ipod and spent 2 hours with the good old-fashioned radio

Remember All I Wanna Do? Remember, it was the early-to-mid 90s, and Sheryl Crow wanted to have a good time, and she felt as though there were others who had similar feelings?
Zacharoo is famous for thinking she was talking about four friends of hers, "Til the sun comes up over Santy, Monty, Coco and Roy."

Yesterday, I accidentally left without breakfast and spent the drive enjoying a little 80s love brought to me by the radio when I caught myself singing "Two Pop Tarts" instead of Two of Hearts.

And how about that Sophie B. Hawkins? Remember her? Is it just me or at 1:14 and 1:25ish, are the background singers as asking if we like tacos?!

WTF. I'm not making it up. Give it a listen and you'll agree.

WHOA. WHOA. WHOA. HOLD THE PHONE. Finding that video led me to click on her other stellar hit, "Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover." I am freaking out a bit because I'm pretty sure that instead of "damn" she says "shucks" at 1:51. Am I right??? Give a listen and tell me I'm right. Way to let us all know you're serious, Sophie. If there's one way to tell the world you mean business, it's singing "Shucks!"

Sidenote: let's start sentences with "damn" more often. It's like telling the world, "I'm dead serious, and not afraid to drop a casual swear word, but don't freak out, because I'm not angry, I'm just underscoring an important point in a way that will mildly shock you if you're BYU student and/or my grandmother."

P.S. Nope, the kid's not out yet. I am scrambling to finish some law poop and realizing that so far, every class in law school can boil down to about 3 pages...damn, I wish someone told me that sooner.

URGENT QUESTION

How do you feel about people brushing their teeth in public restrooms?

How do you feel about people making loud, back-of-throat spitty noises as they spit out their toothpaste in public restrooms?

How do you feel about people leaning down to drink directly out of the faucet in a public restroom?

Today I've seen three people brushing their teeth in various law school restrooms and I'm curious about others' feelings on the issue. Share.

whirlwind weekend

Imagine this past weekend with me.

Let's say you're 8.5 months pregnant, so attending a little shindig affectionately called "Law School Prom," aka Barrister's Ball, involves a lot of de-frumping effort, but thanks to concerned friends and family, you band together and everyone babes you up a little for the occasion. And at this fancy-pants affair, you know you're in Provo when a certain Mormon boyband begins performing. You watch several of your professors nod to the beat and mouth the lyrics.


To top things off, let's say you receive a nice award for winning a nerdy competition earlier in the school year. The presenter neglects to mention that the award you're receiving is related the competition and instead tells the life story of the woman the award is named after, saying that she lit up a room, died a young, tragic death and that rarely does anyone face such grave challenges with such grace and optimism. He talks about what a tragedy she was faced with a debilitating illness so young, then invites you forward.

Based on this, a number of your classmates think you just won the dying student award and/or that you are deeply troubled.

The next day, you go on a tour of the hospital where you are about to birth your first child. You gawk at all the pregnant women and marvel as the tour guide explains that they have ipod hookups and VIDEO GAME hookups in each room (wtf), not to mention free fountain drinks on each floor. You get rage and want to scream, "YOU KNOW I CAN'T HAVE DIET COLA AT THIS POINT IN MY LIFE." Bastards.

You then attend a rockin' baby shower thrown by a dear old friend with tasty treats, tons of adorable baby stuff and of course, outstanding company, and a weird but wonderful assortment of people from different parts of your life. Woopwoop!
THEN, you attend a fundraiser for your favorite congressman, during which kind attendees share some timeless wisdom with your husband, including:

• "THESE hormone changes are only the beginning. Just wait til 'the change' when she's angry AND forgetful."
• "Girls are weird and have meltdowns. We don't have meltdowns; we get stuff done."
• "Babies are amazing. It's in you, then next thing you know it's out and it's alive. (long, awkward pause) Don't think about it too long or it gets crazy."
  

Then, Sunday at church, the teacher spends a remarkable portion of classtime on the evils of "Three's a Company."