:(

My grandma had a massive stroke sometime this past week.  We don't know when for sure, or even what's going to happen next. 
Harsh reminder that life can change in an instant.

Paternalistic Dish Network

In my history class, I hear the word "paternalistic" a lot.  Normally, I would have thought this word to have a positive connotation (after all, who doesn't want a dad to take care of them?) but my professor has always used it in a very negative way. 
Now I truly understand the meaning of "paternalistic."
Recently, we got rid of Dish Network.  Of course it was a huge hassle, but that's another story.  When they had us ship back our DVR, remote, etc., they provided a "pre-paid" label (that they would then charge us $15 for using).  The letter they sent with it was weird, almost snobbish.  They made a big deal out of saying what a great deal we'd get for using their label (even though we still have to pay for shipping).  Obviously., they were doing us a huge favor.
My parents always taught me that if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.
I sent Steve to UPS to mail the box, and he had them weigh it to see how much it would cost to ship.  It was $14.64.  Granted, 36 cents isn't much, but it still made me feel good to throw in their faces that I could get such a good "deal" when they acted like it would cost $40 to send their stuff back (which, by the way, we had to pay a monthly rental on--yet another rant).
Anyway, the point of all of this is that I really felt like Dish was saying, "Now, since you're so stupid and can't do anything for yourself, let big old Daddy Dish take care of this for you.  Now, say thank you."
Oh, yeah?
Well, I'm enjoying my 36 cents, Daddy!
:P

Adventures at Church

Oh, my gosh!  I can't believe I forgot to post this one!  It's a classic.
So, my husband and I teach a church class of 7-year-olds.  There's one boy in the class, in particular, that's always out of control.  This past week, the lesson was about how Heavenly Father watches over us.  At the end, the kids were supposed to draw a picture of themselves on these lame necklaces I made that said, "Heavenly Father Watches Over Me" on them.  Well, Mr. Genius, as he shall now be known, drew a picture of himself with a mustache and pony tail.  Okay, fine, whatever.  It's when he chose to draw a rather detailed picture of his "area" that the crap hit the fan.  On top of that, every single kid in the class knew what it was.  I didn't know what an "area" looked like until I'd been married for a year!
I told Mr. Genius that that wasn't okay and that he needed to draw some arms or something over it, since it was below his bemustached head.  His answer was to get a yellow crayon and to write, very lightly, over the top, "Sorry."
Shockingly, he somehow managed to drop his picture in the trash can.  In hind sight, I should have taken it out to his mom and made her wear it around her neck for the world to see.
This is why I'm not going to heaven.

"Children's" Books

Okay, I was told I needed to post, and I have no idea what to post about, so I'm going to rant about so-called "children's" books. 
As anyone who knows me can tell you, I'm a loser that goes over to the children's section as soon as I walk in the library (note, I'm a loser, not a predator).  To cement my loser status, I have officially read every single hardbound chapter book in the children's section at my public library. 
As I've spent the past years doing this, I've stumbled across some stuff that has seriously disturbed me.  For example, the book with several pornographic drawings in it.  (Not as bad as the Men are From Mars incident, but dang close). 
I also distinctly remember reading a book one time about a girl kissing a boy and her friend asked her some questions that made no sense to me at the time, but make a scary amount of sense now.
And periods.  Seriously?  Why in the world does everyone write about their period?  It's disgusting!  I still get embarrassed if a pad commercial comes on and my dad is in the same room, yet a good 30% of the books I've read talk about it.  Do I really want to explain to my 3rd grader what a period is?  No.
(On a side note, I had that wonderful talk with my mom in a crowded Disney Land bathroom when I kept demanding a "treat" from the machine.  She finally explained, in an effort to get me to shut up, and I was horrified.  I still am).
So why do authors, adult authors, I might add, throw in stuff that's completely inappropriate for children to read?  I just don't get it.  I can't even begin to count the number of books I've read that have mentioned puberty, specifically a girl "developing" in the upper region.
Freaking sick, nasty people.  Let's just all go back to Sesame Street.  Oscar the Grouch doesn't have boobs.

Life's Important Questions

You know, life has a lot of really important questions that never seem to get answered.  You know what I'm talking about.  Questions like:
Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
Or:
Can sour cream actually expire?  Isn't that the meaning of "sour"?
But today I was hit with a question that trumps all of these.  Not only does it have practical applications, but it could change mankind for eons to come!
Are you ready?
Can you handle it?
Can you answer it?

*drumroll*
*suspenseful silence*

If you dip your broom in dog water, then sweep, does it count as mopping, too?

*cymbals clang*

Thank you.  I know.  I'm a genius.  Or a philosopher.  Or whatever is more impressive.

Reasons to Love my Husband

Okay, so I was told that I should never, ever say anything bad about Steve.  Ever.  And since I really, really want to, but I can't, I'm going to list his good qualities  Maybe that will help.
1)He brought in firewood
2)He chopped kindling for me
3)He loves me
4)He makes me laugh every day
5)He lets me have...wait...let me count...14 pets
6)He goes to work every day so I don't have to
7)He fixed my washing machine
8)He gave me Fay
9)Um...
10)He bought me a castle calendar
11)He ordered me See's candy for Valentine's Day
12)He married me, even knowing I'm broken
13)He's very good to help with the baby
14)He goes to church with me
15)He reads the scriptures with me
16)He honors his priesthood
17)He takes my criticism well
18)He lets me go to the store in my pajamas
19)He doesn't care if I don't shower every day
20)He gets rid of bugs
21)He said the gravy I made was good when it was just so-so
22)He gets the mail every day
23)He wants me to be happy
Now the baby's fussy, so I have to stop.  Let's see if this helps any.

Babydom

You know, I always thought it was hilarious when I'd babysit and the kids would play with their toy phones, mimicking their moms.  I always thought, "Geez, how much time does she spend on the phone?  I mean, come on!"
Fay is 8 months old and she's already started.
On the bright side, she also turned pages in a book for the first time today.  Since I'm such a massive reader (I spend massive amounts of time reading, I'm not physically massive*) I have to say it tickled me pink that she can do it.  Sadly, I have yet to make any progress in getting her to say, "Daddy, I want a cow."

*see "Hot Pants at the Thrift Store"

Fatal Popsicle Stick?

So, last Sunday Grandma was feeding the baby a popsicle (her teeth were hurting, okay?) and the baby got tired of it, so I told her that Jake likes popsicles.  She had it wrapped in a paper towel so it wouldn't make her all sticky, and she was having a hard time holding on.  She asked if he'd eat the popsicle stick.  I said no.
Big mistake.
Did you know it's possible for a yellow lab to swallow a popsicle stick whole without coughing or gagging once?  Well, it is.
I called the emergency vet (yes, it's shameful to say your mentally deficient dog swallowed the popsicle stick) and he said we could induce vomiting, at which point he had a 50/50 chance of choking to death, or we could hope it would pass on it's own (50/50 chance of having to do surgery to remove the dang thing).
We've left well enough alone, and he's acting fine.  It's been 8 days. 
How long does it take a popsicle stick to kill someone?

Hot Pants at the Thrift Store

So, I went to the thrift store the other day, wearing what Steve calls my "hot pants" (they're hot because they're actually the right size, rather than a triple-X), and it resulted in all sorts of interesting encounters.  For example, the man who kept asking how much my baby cost (no one ever, EVER talks to anyone else in the thrift store, unless you came out of the same womb).  I got all of my stuff (Steve would call it junk) and started carrying it out to good, old, trusty Charlie.
Just to give you some background, Charlie is as old as I am.  And he looks it.  Maybe worse.  He also has a hole the size of a dinner plate in the passenger side floorboard.  Just sayin'.
So I take the stuff (junk) out to Charlie, and I discover that his poor tailgate no longer latches in place.  I guess he needs suspenders.  After trying to slam it several times, while holding the baby, I gave up and started cramming the stuff (junk) in the front seat, next to the car seat.  I go back, get more stuff (junk), and repeat one more time.  The last time, I hear someone call, "Ma'am."  Being completely antisocial, I pretended not to hear.  So dude got louder and started running, yes, running down the street toward me.
At this point, I just want to leave, but I'm too dang polite (a.k.a. doormat) to ignore him, so I smile.  He asked if I wanted him to close the tailgate.  At this point, it's completely pointless as everything is already loaded in the front, but I find myself saying, "Yeah, that would be nice!" like he just offered me a kidney.  He goes in the back and starts slamming the tailgate, to no effect.  He gets puzzled, stops, then starts again.  The whole time I'm standing in back of the thrift store, holding a baby, in December.  Fantastic, right?  It gets better.
He starts looking at Charlie's inner workings (pervert) and discovers the issue (you know, other than the fact that he's wasting his time like this).  Out of the blue, he asks me, "So, you do you have anyone in your life that knows how to close this?"
Let's review for a minute.  Mr. Helper is my dad's age and lives in a single wide trailer that is about to fall down--literally.  However, to give him his due:
1)I'm holding a baby
2)I'm wearing my "hot pants" (so I can have a baby and still be "hot")
3)I'm driving Charlie and shopping at a thrift store, so I must not have very high standards/expectations
Unfortunately for Mr. Helper, though, I responded, still smiling, with, "Yeah.  My husband.  Who's at work."  I realized what was going on at this point, and refrained myself from adding that he's a cop.  Barely.
Mr. Helper disappeared mighty quickly after that.
I'm going to dress like a slob from now on.
And park in the front.
And not take Charlie.