Is Change Good?

I never wanted this day to come. And yet, I knew that eventually it would. Our best friends of the past eight years are moving tomorrow.

These are the friends that you click with the moment you meet.
These are the friends that, once you start talking about what you have in common, you are blown away and CONVINCED that you must have been separated at birth because there are too many parallels to be coincidence.
These are the friends that you are dying to meet where all of you get along- not just the wife and the wife, but ALL of you.
These are the friends that were your cul de sac neighbors when you bought your first house and they brought over brownies to welcome you into the ward.
These are the friends that had their first daughter 3 months before you had your first daughter.
These are the friends that you not only wish, but dream, that you could build a bridge from your house to their's.
These are the friends that you call when you need an egg or almond extract or a ladder- and then you keep the ladder for like 2 months.
These are the friends that move with you when you move to a city 30 miles away, and still your houses are within 2 minutes of each other.
These are the friends where you spend the night at their house because your a/c is not on in your brand new house yet.
These are the friends that have a son 4 months after you have your second daughter.
These are the friends that forgive you when you act stupid.
These are the friends that don't judge you.
These are the friends that you share milestones with.
These are the friends that have a daughter 18 months after your first son is born.
These are the friends that you trade babysitting with on a weekly basis.
These are the friends that you make extra dinner for.
These are the friends that you call and say, "We have chicken- what do you have? Let's combine and have dinner."
These are the friends that you call when your tire blows out and your battery dies and they come and jump start your car.
These are the friends that say, "Here, I'm done with my maternity clothes. Do you want 'em?"
These are the friends that support you in your calling and come and help with every move.
These are the friends that golf with you.
These are the friends that don't judge you because of your lack of organization.
These are the friends that you look at and want to be like.
These are the friends that let you take their baby to Relief Society while they play the piano in Primary.
These are the friends that are your daughter's nursery teacher.
These are the friends that have the number one chocolate chip cookie recipe on the planet.
These are the friends that come over and help bless your sick child at a moments notice, in the dark of night. And then, return the next night to bless the next one.
These are the friends that invite you to their parent's cabin.
These are the friends that have an awesome garden and they give you gardening tips.
These are the friends that have a son that your youngest daughter wants to marry.
These are the friends that you confide in.
These are the friends you go to the park with.
These are the friends that step in to help whenever help is needed.
These are the friends that take care of your children the same way you would.
These are the friends that become more than friends.
These are the friends that are FAMILY.
These are the friends you are going to miss terribly...

Celebrating Post #3

So, I’m onto the blogging secret: you have to celebrate your milestone posts. Well, in true blogger spirit, I will celebrate. I have made it to post #3. This is one of the lesser-known milestones, so don’t feel bad if you didn’t celebrate your post #3. (maybe you could just celebrate your next post, cause hey, isn’t every post a celebration?) And in the tradition of great bloggers worldwide, I will share 3 little known facts about myself. (can you even contain the excitement?) Read on- it gets better. (um, before you read, could you set up a little celebration atmosphere at your place? I don’t know, you might want balloons, or candles, or party hats. Noise makers might add a nice effect. But hey, whatever you are comfortable with. Music?)

1) Contrary to what you may think from my first post, my biggest pet peeve is not rosy bloggers, but it is in fact stepping in gum on a hot day. You know, the way it strings from the pavement to your shoe as you take your first step away from it? It’s an automatic awareness that something is not right. Let’s call it “hot gum intuition”. Could there be anything worse than that? I know! I can hear your collective “uh-huhs”. And then, it has to be dealt with immediately. How do you get it off? And don’t event think about stepping back into the car and putting your foot on the floor mat, cause it WILL leave a permanent gum black spot. And here’s one for your “Can You Believe This?” files. Last summer while running errands, I happened to experience hot gum intuition four separate times! Yes, I did. I actually stepped on four different pieces of gooey gum- one at each stop I made. Yeah, betcha didn’t know that about me.

2) When I have a really great treat, it is possible I might perhaps maybe take it into the pantry to eat. Yes, this is shocking, I occasionally don’t like to share my treats with the kids. If it has a plastic wrapper, I have the technique down for muffling the crinkling wrapper sound. (Because when you are trying to be quiet, that is the loudest sound in the world.)Usually, though, their spidey senses tell them something is going on and, being the genius kids that they are, they typically find me by brilliant deduction. That being: since it happens often, they know the drill. Can’t a mom get a break? Note to self: ask the husband about installing a lock on the inside of the pantry.

3) I have had a tattoo. Gasp! Scandal! Actually, I cannot mislead you. I am not as home girl as all that. Said tattoo was actually a smiley face painted and fired onto a crown on my lower left molar. Yes, I know, a “trying to be a rebel, but gotta hide it so no one sees” type tattoo, even though my mom knew all about it. Anyway, it is all gone by now. It took about 10 years to completely wear off. And, no, I will never get a real tattoo. Even fake tattoos are outlawed at our house.

Well, I just wanted to celebrate my post #3. I made it to post # 3! (Did I mention that? Because I just thought I would mention that!) What an accomplishment! Thanks for the party. Go clean up your decorations. (But keep them handy for my next milestone post. Or whoever‘s milestone post you read next. Because it is all about the atmosphere.)

Golden Thinking Time

Third grade teachers should know how to correctly pronounce words, right? While I was showering today I was remembering my third grade teacher and how she always pronounced “orange” incorrectly. She called it “oinj”. I think that is how you would spell it. Maybe not. I do my best thinking in the shower- the best 7 minutes of my day.

Let me take you through my shower today:
Before even going upstairs, I lay down the ground rules for the kids:
No going outside while I am in the shower.
No answering the phone or door.
No TV.
No markers.

All set and ready for my 12:37 shower. (Yippee! Not quite one o’clock yet, I am already doing better than yesterday!) I turned on the water and it was too hot, so as I adjusted the temperature I realized that all I needed was to turn on the cold- it came out warm anyway. It was so refreshing. That is what is great about living in Arizona- no need to even turn on the water heater in the summer.

As I began shampooing my hair I glanced at the bottle and did a little inner laugh because the husband always makes jokes out of that bottle of Pantene and the foreign language description of “Hidritacion Diaria”. How does one coax their husband’s head out of the gutter? But then I remember an episode of The Muppet Show where a salesman asks if a customer is interested in his shampoo, and the customer responds that he doesn’t want SHAMpoo, he wants REALpoo. So, I resign myself to the fact that even when the husband is not in the shower with me, he is in the shower with me.

Coming out of the Pantene reverie, middle daughter enters the bathroom and this is the conversation that ensues:
Middle Daughter: Mom, my sister just found a bug and it is hungry.
Me: k, it will have to make its own lunch. Put it outside.
Middle Daughter: It’s ok, Mom, she put it in the plant so it could eat.
Me: Oh, good.

While rinsing out the conditioner, which also had a version of the shampoo description printed upon it, I begin to make decisions what I will wear upon completion of this lovely, lukewarm shower. I settle on yoga pants because a) I need to do laundry and b) doesn’t that sound comfortable? But then I wonder, does one have to do yoga to be in the yoga pants club? I tivo’d a few yoga episodes that were on PBS, but never did them. Does that count- it's on the tivo if I ever need to do it. And then, I realized that if I were to do those yoga sessions, I would look much better in those pants.

About this time, my little son enters and says something about helping him with something. Parting the shower curtain, I see a balled up fist encapsulated in an inside-out black glove, no fingers poking through. “Can you help me, Mom?” I send him out to ask his sister, telling him I am not quite done and my hands are wet. Turning off the water a minute later, he toddles back in and smiles, “You all done!” As he holds his gloved hand up to my face to help him fix it.

Shower time= golden thinking time.

Who Reads These Things?

Here I am blogging world! I know, sorry, another one to add to your blog roll. Or not. But you really can. If you want. And another blog to cause a traffic jam on the information superhighway. BTW- when is rush hour? Anyway, the husband called it- he always said I would get into blogging and really enjoy it. Do, I stroke his ego and admit he was right? K, I will. Swallow. My. Pride. The husband, you were so right.

I will say that I am going to be an honest blogger. That is one of my peeves about blogs: all the sugar-coated sweetness out there. (especially in the LDS world) How many perfect homes, children, and people really exist? Not as many as are portrayed on the blogscene, I would venture to guess. This really is one thing that has kept me from blogging. I have a fear that my neighbors will actually find my blog (out of the billion out there) and realize I am complaining about their dog that barks at all hours, or their kids who cut across my yard on the way home from school and scatter my rocks all over the sidewalk (does it really matter?). It is possible they could find this one, right? Right. But I will be honest anyway. And vague.

K, enough. I am not a negative person, really. Really. I am just a stay-at-home mom who feels outnumbered by little people at times and who sometimes swims through piles of laundry just to make it through the loft. But, I love my life. Could I be any more blessed?

Anyway, welcome to Life's Little Wedgies. I promise, if you comment, we can help each other figure out how to pick those wedgies together and have a good laugh later. What could be more satisfying than that? Um, nothing.