this I believe

In addition to my handful of strengths (being good with names, decent with accents, and the ability to nap at will), I'm also a philosopher.

((cue the fog machine))

You see, friends, in the last 27 years, I've pondered the world around me and developed several deeply-held theories that explain many of life's mysteries. I shall now share one with you.

Everyone on earth can be divided into three categories: fun haters, fun havers, and fun makers.

(1) Fun haters. Guess what they do? Hate fun. They hate having fun themselves, they hate other people having fun, they hate hearing about fun, and they hate the existence of fun. Examples: Your friend who WOULD come to your party except she's not feeling well...ever. They'll never want to go to a late movie because they'll be tired the next morning. They'll tell Mom if you sneak out during a jr high sleepover. They won't consider going to a last minute concert because it's FHE. They roll their eyes when you tell them a true funny story bc they "saw the ending coming." They never go out to eat because it's too expensive.

(2) Fun havers are willing to HAVE the fun if someone else makes it. They have the same trusty 3-4 stories they'll tell at a gathering once someone gets the ball rolling. They have a stupid human trick they do with enough prodding, e.g., walking on their hands. They'll smile and say "That's hilarious" instead of laughing. They have a good hearty ugly laugh they'll bust out when someone does something hilarious, but they don't DO the hilarious thing, they just appreciate it.

(3) Fun makers MAKE the fun, often out of thin air. These are the people who take a yawntastic get-together and get the party started. There are several sub-species of this category, including (a) adaptable fun makers, who switch freely between fun-having and fun-making depending on the circumstance, and (b) alpha fun makers, who must be the only fun maker present and can rarely relax and HAVE fun bc they are so busy making it (and wanting credit for making it).

Am I right or am I right?

Theory addendum:
Regarding fun-haters, havers and makers, my friend Wendi just made an important point about the fluid nature of these categories.

At different times, I am each one. I am a fun hater when the fun is being had by annoying teenagers or snickets. I am a fun haver most of the time, cause I'm too damn tired to make the fun. Also, I can be a great fun maker sometimes, but it all boils down to how many fun-havers show up.

Amen and amen. Thank you for your time.

hrmmmm

"Deliberately shaved heads are almost always a sign of aggression."

Discuss.

the internets are genius

Ever had an obscure [item of your choice] on your mind that you couldn't quite pin down?

And then it got even more maddening as you realized you didn't have enough information to even know where to start? For example, perhaps you catch yourself humming a little tune you can't place, and quickly realize you don't know any of the words so you can't even google it? Or you end up asking a friend a question and, as it forms, you realize you sound mildly autistic? ("What was the book you told me about, you know, the book about the girl, and the girl in it, maybe it was a boy, I think the main guy might be a boy, either way, there's this PERSON in it, and I think you said they have a friend ...")

This not-having-enough-initial-info-to-go-on happens to me quite a bit in regular life, but is even more common in pregna-life, and it can be awkward. (e.g., when packing our hospital bag for our kid's birth, I couldn't think of the word "ipod dock" and ended up asking my husband "Where's that thing that....(long pause)...(begin waving arms dramatically) makes the ipod go everywhere?")

Anyway, all this is my way of saying that if this happens to you, DO NOT DESPAIR. Hub and I were recently discussing obscure television shows from the late 80s/early 90s. Some of what we covered you probably aren't familiar with since chances are you didn't have the privilege of spending those years in Canada (Dear Aunt Agnes, anyone?), but others you may remember fondly. I found myself describing a show about which I could remember almost nothing but still insisted on discussing. The following sentence came out of my mouth:

"What is that show, with the girl, oooh, what IS it, she has a mom who is an alien living in space but she's a regular girl and they communicate through a box?"

If you've ever doubted google's power, I invite you to STAND BACK.

"What is the tv show where a girl has a mom who talks to her from a box in space?"

And what do you think is the first link listed?? Go ahead! Try it!

It wasn't even her MOM who was the alien...it's her DAD! But the internet didn't even need that info to take me to the right place! Behold, the power of the interwebs, bringing totally useless topics to your fingertips given only the most inane of clues.

Is this heaven? NO, IT'S IOWA.

If there is a better fall weekend activity than bundling up and chasing your toddler around the actual field of dreams, I don't know about it.

Also, Happy Canadian Thanksgiving. Were we still in SLC, this occasion would warrant a visit to Chuckarama or someplace similarly awesome/embarrassing. However, since we aren't, and since I am presently hanging out with our kid all day and the excuses are dwindling fast, I shall momentarily attempt to make a substantive meal. Not turkey. Geez. I'm realistic. But the goal is something warm and reasonably tasty. This could get ugly.

Let us pray.

rage against the keyboard

My tolerance for lame is even lower during pregnancy than during non-pregnancy. I have a lot more rage and am a lot more likely to lose all tact. Just be aware of that.

• Speaking of which, what I am about to say is harsh. Brace yourself. I know some may find it cruel. I loved my mission as much as anybody. It affected me a lot, in a good way. I think about it almost daily. I really feel like it was an opportunity I didn't deserve and that I will spend my whole life paying back. It rocked my world in a million ways. But it is also OVER. And when people come home, they need to move on. Keep your good habits, keep your memories, but there is no reason to yap on and on about it and YEARS later be wearing your (mission country's) soccer jersey or saying "burrrrito" like you're a native speaker or unloading useless bits of church history trivia on everyone you see. IT'S OVER. CUT THE STRINGS. LIFE GETS BETTER AND BETTER. MOVE ON. THE BEST IS YET TO COME.

• The same is true for every life event. It's cool, but it wasn't THAT cool. If you have too much pride for STUDY ABROAD '96 FOR LIFE! or DRILL TEAM '03! or if you're thirty and still talking about your ward freshman year, or really just involved any overly-nostalgic yappage, it's embarrassing. Can you mention them? Yes. Briefly. If relevant. But take the letterman's jacket off.
  

• On an unrelated note, we hit up Philadelphia last week which was awesome. Not only was it delightful to see hub's sister's fam and watch our toddlers bond (meaning ours took stuff away from theirs), but it also caused me to reflect on things like the Constitution. And sometimes you forget how miraculous it was, and that stories aren't just stories; they involve real people with real lives, but sometimes important things become so familiar that you become numb to their significance. This is true, for example, with the pioneers. You hear enough stories that you end up thinking, "Okay, they walked and walked," like you're talking about something trivial like running a lot of errands, but once in a while it seems real and you feel real reverence. I had that experience several times in Philadelphia, looking at pictures of people from the suffrage movement or abolitionists or what have you and feeling real awe and amazement and how stories aren't just stories; they involve people. Where is the balance between talking about something enough so we honor, and talking about things so much that our senses become dulled? Now, back to the griping.
  

• What is WITH the obsession with the 1950s/60's stuff? The red lipstick, the pillbox hats, the aprons, the bright kitchen appliances, the fetishization of domesticity, the whole bit. I'm pro-parenting, pro-cooking, pro-cleaning, and so on, but I'm confused about the costume-ification of SAHM-life. No offense if you're into it, but can you explain it to me? I suspect it's more than just fashion. It seems to be romanticizing a time which--NEWFLASH--was not all that innocent or really all that awesome for us women, many of whom struggled mightily to forge their own identities and be treated as non-ornaments. Do we really want to go back there? Do we? Betty Draper as a role model is pretty depressing.

• Annnd, just to remind you that I don't spend ALL my e-time outraged: a funny friend (who is also a beauty expert) sent me some Moroccan Oil for my hair the other day. Not only did it cause the best hair day of my life last week, but it also gave me a few minutes of belly laughing thanks to this video (click on the short video and then wait for the dude in the white shirt, aka, professional hair-swisher, to begin).