Lighten up, or you'll be over come by the dark force

My son recently decided that he wanted to run for student body president which is not normally a problem. But when I asked him what the timeline was to accomplish the campaign of all campaigns, the conversation went something like this…

Friday Evening…..
My son - “Hey, Mom, will you sign these release forms for me?”

Me - “What are they for?”

My son - “I’m running for SBO President for next year.”

Me - “Can you handle that with everything you are already involved in?”

My son - “Oooooh, sure! It just takes good time management and refusing to procrastinate. By the way, I need eight posters, twenty handouts, a speech and a twelve foot banner. I figured that since you were so good at stuff like this, it’d be no problem for you to help me out.”

Me - My eyes go wide as I looked at my to do list that I was already ten days behind on. “And when do you need all of these items by?”

My son - “Monday morning at 6am.”

Me - “I was afraid of that….”

And so I got to work designing the campaign of a lifetime. I was so into creating a dynamic crusade, that I forgot one very important element – the assistance of my son.

My buttons were witty! My banner kicked booty! My posters were polished and snazzy and the speech, well let’s just say Obama’s wit and magnetism would’ve suffered in comparison had he been speaking opposite me.

My son – “Uh,….mom?”

Me – “What, I’m in the middle of writing my speech!”

My son – “Don’t you mean my speech???”

Me – “Wha…? Oh yeah. That’s what I mean. But I've got to get it done so I can,…I mean we can practice, practice, practice! I want it to go off without a hitch!”

He then got a little scared at the glint in my eye. The thoughts of ruling the school through one of my offspring was obviously going to my head.

My son – “Are you doing this for me or to make up for the year you didn’t make the drill team?”

Me – “You know about that?”

My son - “Mom, everyone knows about that. You still scream about the injustices of it in your sleep.”

Me – “Oh. But this could be my, I mean our chance! We just need the right opportunity! I know we’re wired for success, honey! Think of what we could do and the records we could break!!!!”

That is when the wisdom of youth put things back into perspective for me and helped me plod on with my vision and a dream.

“Mom,” he said looking deep into my bloodshot eyes and gave me today’s ‘Life Saver’,
“Be careful, all power corrupts.” He then popped my last bit of beef jerky into his mouth, took my last swig of Crystal Light and then slapped me on the back while grinning that most captivating grin, “But we need the electricity. Glad you have the energy. Hopefully I can wave to you from the winner’s stand. I love you 'watts'!”

Isn’t it fun living vicariously through our children?

"I want a divorce!" said the elephant to the ass..,

I have spent the better part of my years (I won’t lie, ALL of my years) surrounded by conservative people which have helped shape my views on America and the Democratic process.

I have my opinions, and usually am not one to flaunt them. But I just could not resist this little gem that came from my dear Aunt in Arizona since I as of late, feel so overwhelmed by the liberal tone that seems to think spending trillions of dollars in other countries and on pork barrel entitlements will somehow fix what is going on here at home. If we have to spend trillions, then why for heavens sake, can’t that money go to the citizens, who by the sweat of their brow, have heretofore keep our economy alive?

And since I am in the minority but still love the freedoms of this country and the ideals of Democracy, this brings me to today’s “Life Saver”;

Democracy is three wolves and one sheep voting on what to have for dinner.

And now for your reading enjoyment…..;-)

DIVORCE AGREEMENT

Dear American liberals, leftists, social progressives, socialists, Marxists and Obama supporters, et al:

We have stuck together since the late 1950's, but the whole of this latest election process has made me realize that I want a divorce. I know we tolerated each other for many years for the sake of future generations, but sadly, this relationship has run its course. Our two ideological sides of America cannot and will not ever agree on what is right so let's just end it on friendly terms. We can smile and chalk it up to irreconcilable differences and go our own way.

Here is a model separation agreement:

Our two groups can equitably divide up the country by landmass each taking a portion. That will be the difficult part, but I am sure our two sides can come to a friendly agreement. After that, it should be relatively easy! Our respective representatives can effortlessly divide other assets since both sides have such distinct and disparate tastes.

We don't like redistributive taxes so you can keep them. You are welcome to the liberal judges and the ACLU. Since you hate guns and war, we'll take our firearms, the cops, the NRA and the military. You can keep Oprah, Michael Moore and Rosie O'Donnell (You are, however, responsible for finding a bio-diesel vehicle big enough to move all three of them).

We'll keep the capitalism, greedy corporations, pharmaceutical companies, Wal-Mart and Wall Street. You can have your beloved homeless, homeboys, hippies and illegal aliens. We'll keep the hot Alaskan hockey moms, greedy CEO's and rednecks. We'll keep the Bibles and give you NBC and Hollywood .

You can make nice with Iran and Palestine and we'll retain the right to invade and hammer places that threaten us. You can have the peaceniks and war protesters. When our allies or our way of life are under assault, we'll help provide them security.

We'll keep our Judeo-Christian values.. You are welcome to Islam, Scientology, Humanism and Shirley McClain. You can also have the U.N. but we will no longer be paying the bill.

We'll keep the SUVs, pickup trucks and oversized luxury cars. You can take every Subaru station wagon you can find.

You can give everyone healthcare if you can find any practicing doctors. We'll continue to believe healthcare is a luxury and not a right. We'll keep The Battle Hymn of the Republic and the National Anthem. I'm sure you'll be happy to substitute Imagine, I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing, Kum Ba Ya or We Are the World.

We'll practice trickle down economics and you can give trickle up poverty your best shot. Since it often so offends you, we'll keep our history, our name and our flag.

Would you agree to this? If so, please pass it along to other like minded liberal and conservative patriots and if you do not agree, just hit delete. In the spirit of friendly parting, I'll bet you ANWAR which one of us will need whose help in 15 years.

Sincerely,

John J. Wall
Law Student and an American

P.S. Also, please take Barbara Streisand & Jane Fonda with you.

Calling Kujo to strike down the young hearts of foolish old dogs

Kersten Campbell, author of Confessions of a Completely In-Sane Mother, is a woman after my own heart! Her book of quick witted essays on motherhood had me laughing until my sides hurt because I could relate to so many of them!!! The titles alone (Booby-Trapped, Zen and the Art of Zucchini, Alice in Mormonland, Hope and Schemes Oops, I Lost the Baby and Sew What?) are enough to make you want to laugh

But the one that brought back memories and immediately sent me once again tripping through the past was one called Older but Dimmer. It discusses in such glaring reality the gap between those of our children’s generation and our own.

It didn’t take me long to remember a time when I had wanted to reclaim my youth and show the younger generation that I was till hip. (Is that even still a word – oh,…no my son verified it, if you are cool you are now sic…)

On a dark October night I took a large group of teens (my brother, his friends and a few of my younger cousins) up to the Salt Lake City Cemetery and prepped them for a night full of ghostly fun by telling them one whopper of a story about the first caretaker who’d died mysteriously after burying someone who had been a dead ringer and found a wee bit too late..

For those who do not know the tale behind this old saying, it dates back to the turn of the 18th century when sickness, paralysis or a comatose state could make a person appear as dead. The fear was that they’d be buried alive and so to remedy this, if a mistake happened, they’d string a cord from the coffin to a bell planted in the ground above the supposed corpse. If it rang, the person was said to be a “dead ringer” and was exhumed immediately. If they saw someone who looked just like the person buried, they were also to have been called a dead ringer since the person obviously couldn’t be dead and was still walking around.

Back to my story – So I set this gaggle of adrenaline crazed youth up for the scare of a lifetime enjoying every delicious minute of it. I drove them by a house and told them that on the anniversary of the dead ringer’s death, his ghost could be seen on moonless nights in the attic of the old caretaker’s clapboard house stocking him and still looking to find justice from his troubled state beyond. (It’s amazing how the power of suggestion works at times…)

After “seeing” the shadows of the ghost in someone’s clapboard house that was in serious need of repair, my young friends wanted to see the exact grave of the “dead – ringer”. I had remembered a grave that looked like a door way with bars and an old bowl set deep into it with a bell hung right above it. It was perfect!

After spinning my tale a bit more, Chainsaw (a nickname,… but yes, that is what he went by) mentioned in a tone that was casual yet made higher by nerves, that he was starting to itch. He began twitching and itching at a rather dramatic rate which worried me since he is highly allergic to only one thing – animals.

“But there are no animals around! Unless of course you count Chavez over there – his hair is pretty long…”

Then what’s that coming towards us?”

It was about that time that we heard a rather distinctive snarling as the fiercest-looking Doberman Pincher I’d ever seen barreled towards us. And on his heels were two more.

They looked at me like I was the wise one. Were they daft???? As if I could direct them anywhere - I’d planned this whole night on a youthful and uncharacteristic whim!

“What’re you looking at me for? Run, you idiots!”

They did and I was left alone realizing that my aging body could not quite keep up with their youth, vigor and more nimble knees. And since I was on my own, I ran with all I had hoping for life and limb that I could make it to the fence before that dang dog could tear me apart1

As I barely managed to scale the fence with Kujo nipping at my backside, I limped to the car smiling. I had finally answered one of life’s biggest questions (and today’s “Life Saver”;

I now understand how a cemetery can raise its burial charges and blame it on the cost of living - It’s because people like me need to regain their youth by hassling the dead and the new wave of caretakers needs an army of dogs to keep the idiots out.

If you need a good laugh, read Kersten’s book It’s sure to tickle your funny bone!

When it rains,.... the dishes don't get clean

I’ve come to learn - and expect - that when it rains it pours.

And so when my cousin called to ask if she, her husband and her family could come stay for a few days, it was a call that invariably meant that something in the house would break. For days before, I gingerly pushed the vacuum, ritualistically performed ‘Hail Marys’ over the washing machine and fed an extra helping of Drano to the kitchen sink.

Meanwhile, I was begging my son, Josh, to empty the dishwasher so I could load it again and keep up on the mound of dishes that seem to multiply like rabbits – or hangers - whichever overpopulates at an exponentially quicker rate at the moment.

He would whine and I’d use a broom to sweep him off his bed and back down to the kitchen. I’d come back a few hours later only to find that the dishwasher STILL hadn’t been emptied. I marched back upstairs with my broom ready to give him a good swift brush in the pants when he said, “I started to empty it but the dishwasher never got turned on so I put them back.”

“Did you turn it on then?”
“Uhhh,….I thought so.”
“Get downstairs and empty it then!!!” I said in my best exasperated mother’s tone before turning my broom on end and poked him with a pretend bayonet before heading off to make sure the toilets were running correctly.

Two hours later, I went back to the kitchen only to find that the dishes still weren’t unloaded. “I’ll show that lazy, good for,….. aaarggh!” I grumbled as I re-rinsed the dishes and turned on the dishwasher before scurrying off to make sure the freezer wasn’t building an insurmountable ice dam.

Two hours later, I hollered up the stairs. “Get your fanny down here and empty the dishwasher! I know I turned it on so you can’t put it off any longer, Mister!!!” As he passed by me, he grumbled something illegible so I ignored him like I usually do when he mumbles about having to do chores. I am after all his mother trying to teach a sense of responsibility – and he is 15.

I watched from behind the wall with a smirk on my face as he emptied the dishwasher. Mom had prevailed yet again – or so I thought. As I was getting the plates out, I noticed dried on gunk where the corndogs ought to go. I immediately marched upstairs to confront my errant son and find the meaning of his willful anarchy.

“But I did as you said and emptied the dishwasher.”
“Didn’t the dishes look clean?”
“No but you were hell bent on having it done, so I did it!”
“Well now, you smart little pup, you get to load it with all those dishes you apparently never rinsed in the first place.”

And then my husband called.

“What’s up?”
“I’m arguing with Josh, over loading the dishwasher again.”
“Oh. About the dishwasher, I forgot to tell you that it’s broken. I think the pump went out and it’s not shooting any water upward.”

My face went a shade paler as I turned towards my son.

“He told you the dishwasher was broken didn’t he? That’s what I tried to tell you hours ago when you told me to unload it again!!!”

Mothers are a smart bunch and we know better than to make ourselves vulnerable to sons who tower over them. It’s all about positional authority once they start to grow and so I looked him in the eye and defiantly said, “Well consider the run around as payback for all the hell you put me through the first four years of your life!” I then swept some crumbs off his dresser onto the floor and marched down the hall.

I wasn’t sure if my confidence came across as genuine or not since I was thinking to myself what has become today’s “Life Saver”;

Never argue with a stupid person because when you do, they will drag you down to their level.

I still haven’t figured out if that more aptly describes him or me – but I’m pretty sure I’ll soon find out the answer if I argue with him long enough.

Spacey Stacy Does it Again

As of late, frazzled has become a part of my character.

I’ve been swamped with editing, writing, preparing presentations, running school government campaigns, painting my basement and keeping up with soccer and hockey schedules. My husband recently told me that I make Taz look like he’s going in slow motion,....times eight.

Much to my shame over the knowledge of my sons’ grumbling stomachs but lacking the timely resources to cope better, dinner, as of late, has consisted of whatever I could get through the nearest drive through or out of a bag of Wal-Mart trail mix.

The trail mix has become the meal of choice since a double fisted serving consists of enough protein (nuts), natural sugars and starches (fruit, crackers and pretzels) and fiber (raisons or craisons) to marginally meet the daily USDA nutrition guides. And there’s no clean up since the dog will happily scrounge for any leftovers that have fallen between and under the seats.

So you can understandably see why, when the other day, the smell of chocolate brownies wafted down to my office, I immediately raced to the kitchen to see who had done this marvelous thing and actually baked something in the oven – the appliance heretofore being used as a dryer for wet sneakers.

There stood my husband and three sons with a look of confusion which turned into countenances of rapture when I raced up the stairs and yanked the oven open.

“Finally, she remembered how to use it,” caustically remarked Josh.

“Don’t count on it, I watched Maison put his shoes in there less than an hour ago,” whispered Mitch not daring to hope.

Ignoring my permanent peanut gallery, I checked on the shoes and then turned to every hiding spot in the kitchen as I riffled through trying to find the stash of chocolate decadence. I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before.

“Okay, where’d you hide ‘em? Come on, give it up! I know one of you hooligans broke into my recipe file and created a covert batch of chocolate something or another. I’m not backing down so you ‘d better fess up!!!” I said as I looked directly into each and every one of their guilty eyeballs with a finger popping them on the ends of their noses just for good measure.

My husband choked. “What,…..oh you mean,…..what,…we???” He began to laugh as he went for a banana and a cup’o pudding.

After holding them captive and using every interrogation trick in the book while scouring the kitchen looking for a square of chocolate sin, I noticed the burning candle next to the bread box. Earlier that morning, knowing I wouldn’t have time to clean, I’d lit the dang thing in a futile effort to hide the smells and stenches I didn’t have time to unearth and vanquish. I should’ve looked at the label before torching it.

It said, “Essence of Chocolate Bunt Cake”

I turned and smiled ever so sweetly at my lost looking sons. “False alarm, gang. I know I’ve been a bit spacey lately so how ‘bout I make it up to you? Get your sneakers out of the oven. I’ll let you choose the tonight’s drive through and I’ll even buy dessert for you too!!!”

Mitch who has always been too smart for his own good, rushed over to look where my line of vision had been before my demeanor and attitude changed. He too looked at the candle before shaking his head in disgust and putting his arm around my shoulder.

Despite all my flaws, I knew I’d done something right when he looked at me with compassion and gave me today’s “Life Saver”;

“Mom, try to remember - space can be a dangerous place, especially if it’s between your ears!”

He then grabbed his shoes and ducked around the corner to go hide my “Essence of Banana Bread” candle.

I smiled gratefully after him and pondered the moment. If you can’t find your way to a boy’s heart with food, then try to kill him with kindness. And if that doesn’t work, combine the two and you can get away with murder!

Eggs-tra! Eggs-tra! I Eggs-ort you to join me for a couple of Egg-cellant Adventures!!!

Easter is in a week and so along that vein, I figured I’d hop to it and get a jump start on eggs-ploiting the season.

Those who know me best know I am an egg–strodinary person. I’m not ‘yolkin’ folks! I will go the eggs-tra mile for friend and sometimes,… even foe. But that is only because I have managed by the grace of God and a few lucky stars to surround myself with eggs-ceptional people. That brings me to today’s “Life Saver”;

A friend is someone who thinks you’re a good egg even though you’re slightly cracked.

And so when I had the opportunity to take part in a couple of events this weekend, I jumped at the chance to eggs-pose myself to even more egg-strordinary people and a bounteous egg-cesses of bunnylicious loot! And these eggs-travaganzas are not eggs-clusive to the book worm types alone. No – there will be prizes and activities for the children that will leave them eggs-hausted after eggs-pending so much egg-cess energy thus later allowing mom to go home and eggs-perience the world of take-me-away books!

And if after that paragraph of presumptuous puns, you were eggs-pecting anything other than a couple of book signing events where you can meet your favorite authors, you must be a true basket case!

Here’s more information on the ‘hoppy’ proceedings;

The Pleasant Grove Library is hosting their annual Book Festival Fundraiser! On April 3rd, 2009 from 7:00 p.m. to 9:00 p.m. at the Pleasant Grove Library, Provident Book and Humdinger Toys, Scholastic books, and fourteen authors are uniting together and selling their books and other merchandise to help raise funds for the Pleasant Grove Library. There will be author readings, door prizes, music, and more!

“We will have plenty to do for the whole family,” said Julie Coulter Bellon, the event’s organizer. “That should eyolk,…oops,…er,…..I mean evoke a hare of non-sugar induced eggs-citment!”

“With economic conditions the way they are, the library needs all the support and help it can get so our community will continue to have the services we've enjoyed in the past. All the proceeds from the Festival will go toward our library and its programs,” she said.

They are eggs-pecting a bevy of children who can eggs-cavate even the best kept deals from authors since apparently, toothless grinning children are eggs-ceptional for melting the hearts of moms-by-day and author-by-night personalities.

Some of the authors appearing are: Rachel Ann Nunes, Julie Coulter Bellon, J. Scott Savage, Tristi Pinkston, Julie Wright, GG Vandagriff, Suzanne V. Reese, H.B. Moore, Christy Hardman, Jewel Adams, Rebecca Shelley, Elodia Strain, Anne Bradshaw, and Stacy Gooch Anderson.

And if mom wants to run away by herself, then Saturday’s Night Out for Ladies at Provident Book, also in Pleasant Grove, is the time to do it! That event will be held from 6pm to 8pm on Saturday night and authors appearing there will be Stacy Gooch Anderson, Michele Ashman Bell, Julie Bellon, Janet Burningham, Terri Ferran, Kristen Landon and Tristi Pinkston.

“I love event’s like these,” said Karlene Brownig, an owner at Provident Book. “It gives me fuzzies to see all of those ladies scrambling with excitement (she really means eggs-citement) as they get to meet some of their favorite authors!”

Ad since they want people to be ‘hoppy’ they came, they will be giving away door prizes every fifteen minutes all through out the night!

Now that you know about them, surely you must agree that these events should eggs-ceed all eggs-pectations and add to the eggs-huberance of those awaiting the fluffy one (And no,…I don’t mean me…;-))

(Some creative license was taken while writing these interviews since technically the author did not interview the interviewees,….but you get the point.)

The Baggage We Carry...

I’m convinced that for most of my adult life, I’ve been allergic to food. Every time I’d eat it, I’d break out into fat.

I kept trying to lose weight but for some reason unbeknownst to me, it kept finding me! Despite all my efforts to NOT become the prototype for the new BYU Barbie circulating around my high school (you put a ring on her finger and her thighs blow up), marriage, lack of finances and kids took a toll and even diets and exercise (that handle on my recliner does constitute as an exercise device,…right?) couldn’t help after twenty years.

I knew it was bad when even in my dreams, I was hiding behind muumuus and baggy sweats. I went from being the toast at my almamater to eating toast with butter and gobs of jam to drown the depression of lost youth and beauty.

But worse than my outward appearance was the baggage I continued to hang onto internally. Hiding behind a wall of fat was a LOT more comfortable than facing the demons of unwanted attention and the guilt I harbored and had strived to hide my whole life. Besides (or should I say butt-sides), the permanent cushion I packed around on my backside was quite cozy too!

But when I finally had to face those inner issues and resolve them, something interesting happened. I had a desire to exorcise (I still wasn’t sure about exercise) the chains that held my physical body at bay. I turned to surgery and pretty soon, my outer body began to reflect the lightness I was feeling on the inside.

This does have a point.

Recently I had the opportunity to return back to my high school so I could turn in enrollment papers for my son who has chosen to be sophomore there next year. Although I was not quite back to my former svelte self weight wise, I was back to where I needed to be emotionally.

Or so I thought.

I had just returned from the hairdresser who’d given me a sassy, springy, youthful do and was wearing a new outfit I’d had my fashionably literate sister help me pick out. I was feeling quite good about myself as I headed down to the counseling center until a shadow from a rather large Polynesian swooped over me. I started to walk a little faster and he did the same. It was then, as my history clashed with my present (namely thinner thighs which I was still uncomfortable with) that I thought of my first “Life Saver”;


Fat people are harder to kidnap.

When I saw the drinking fountain, I made a beeline for it and hoped that my large friend would pass on by. He didn’t. He stood right behind me and in a smooth voice with post-pubescent seductiveness said, “I haven’t seen you around here lately. What’re ya doing this Friday?”

I choked on my water and then smiled as I slowly turned around. “I’ll be spending it with my two teenage sons and my husband. But thank you for asking.”

He stuttered and said in a rather contrite voice that instantly shot up a few octaves, “Sorry, Mam.”

Feeling much lighter and realizing that a quick set of male footsteps does not have to mean disaster, I genuinely smiled and told him. “Don’t be. You just made my day.”

It’s nice to know that although the baggage of the past will still make me want to run and hide at times, I can face the future with optimism knowing that a sassy haircut, a new outfit and a lot less baggage will take years off (at least a couple of decades!!) one’s life….