Here's a fun fact about Morgan: She loves Scottish things. Well, not exactly Scottish "things", like kilts and bagpipes. It's really more about the accent.
About four years ago, when Morgan was 10, we went to Thanksgiving Point (SUCH a beautiful place, if you haven't been there before, you really need to go). The girls caught a grasshopper. We were in the Secret Garden when some other people there saw the girls with their new pet. They commented, with a Scottish brogue, "Look, it's a grasshopper. Aye, it's lucky you know." Morgan was intrigued. "It's lucky you know." (complete with Scottish accent) is now one of the favorite phrases in our house.
So, fast forward a couple of years to UEA weekend in Salt Lake. We had driven past the Scottish store, which was a block or two away from our hotel, and made plans to go there the next day. That night we headed for the pool. Since I can't swim, I spent most of my time lounging in the hot tub. I had Austin with me and a nice, older man in the hot tub made a comment about him. I noticed he had an accent but I really didn't think much about it. He was the only other person in the pool area besides our family.
Later, as we were leaving, I saw the same man at the drinking fountain. He had a towel wrapped around him, which I thought was kind of interesting, and we exchanged a couple more words. I realized then that it was a Scottish accent.
Well, later on, Hal and the girls commented on the guy in the hot tub. They were all grossed out because when he climbed out he had on a speedo. (That would probably explain why he was wearing the towel.) He was kind of a big guy too, so it was not a pretty sight.
I said to them, "Oh, you mean the Scottish guy?"
"Scottish guy?" they asked. "No, we were talking with the Scottish accents."
"What?" I replied, "No, I mean the guy in the hot tub. He was Scottish."
"No, we were the ones talking with the Scottish accents in the hot tub."
"What? What are you talking about?"
"What are YOU talking about?"
We finally got the story straight. They never talked to the guy, so they didn't know he was Scottish. While they were in the hot tub, they started talking in fake Scottish accents in anticipation of going to the Scottish store. I asked if they actually mentioned the fact that they were going to the Scottish store so the guy wouldn't think they were making fun of him. They didn't. How embarrassing. No wonder he left the hot tub. He was probably really offended. At least he didn't know I was with them so he was still nice to me at the drinking fountain.
The next day we finally made it to the Scottish store. We spent a long time searching for my Scottish family name from the Nystrom side, which is McClinchey, so I could buy something with the McClinchey tartan. Well, we couldn't find it. We even had the guy who worked there search for it in his two books that he could special order things out of. The name wasn't in either book. I'm starting to wonder if I'm legitimately partly Scottish or not.
I can't end this post without mentioning our (Morgan's and mine) favorite thing about Scottish accents. It's the men who sport them. Two of our personal favorites are Gerard Butler (think Dear Frankie, not necessarily P.S. I Love You) and Craig Ferguson. Craig Ferguson actually reminds me of a slightly demented version of my brother-in-law Thom. I think he's pretty funny when he keeps his humor clean and silly. When it's not, clean I don't really appreciate it. (That reminds me, I really, really like Chris Rock too, when he's clean. I like watching him on network t.v. because he has to keep things PG.)
Friday, March 6, 2009
Get Over It
That's my new mantra. I've said that to myself a lot lately.
I'm really not the type of person to get my feelings hurt easily, but I over-analyze EVERYTHING. In fact, I'm more inclined to worry over something I said to someone else and how they took it than something someone says to me.
This facebook business is exacerbating the problem. The last time I felt this way was the first few months after Hal got put in as bishop. I felt so conspicuous and worried about everything, including what I'd said in Relief Society that day, if my skirt was too short, who I hadn't said hi to that expected me to, etc. I finally just had to tell myself to get over it. It was ruining my Sundays.
Now in facebook I'm starting the whole process all over again. Once you send a message you can't get it back. If someone doesn't write back I worry. Did I offend them, was the message too long, do they just want me to leave them alone? (Sometimes I forget the obvious, like maybe they are busy or thought the conversation was done.)
(Note: If I had one of those actions that played music, I'd insert Life Goes On by LeAnn Rimes right now. I love that song and it kind of fits my mood today. I probably won't start putting music here because it kind of annoys me when I go to a blog and it plays music I don't really like. I'll spare you the same annoyance. If you want, you can google the song and play it in the background while you read. See how conscientious of your feelings I can be!)
Whew! Now that I got that out, I think I'm good.
Thanks for hanging in there with me for this one. If you didn't enjoy reading this post I have only one thing to say to you: Get over it.
I'm really not the type of person to get my feelings hurt easily, but I over-analyze EVERYTHING. In fact, I'm more inclined to worry over something I said to someone else and how they took it than something someone says to me.
This facebook business is exacerbating the problem. The last time I felt this way was the first few months after Hal got put in as bishop. I felt so conspicuous and worried about everything, including what I'd said in Relief Society that day, if my skirt was too short, who I hadn't said hi to that expected me to, etc. I finally just had to tell myself to get over it. It was ruining my Sundays.
Now in facebook I'm starting the whole process all over again. Once you send a message you can't get it back. If someone doesn't write back I worry. Did I offend them, was the message too long, do they just want me to leave them alone? (Sometimes I forget the obvious, like maybe they are busy or thought the conversation was done.)
(Note: If I had one of those actions that played music, I'd insert Life Goes On by LeAnn Rimes right now. I love that song and it kind of fits my mood today. I probably won't start putting music here because it kind of annoys me when I go to a blog and it plays music I don't really like. I'll spare you the same annoyance. If you want, you can google the song and play it in the background while you read. See how conscientious of your feelings I can be!)
Whew! Now that I got that out, I think I'm good.
Thanks for hanging in there with me for this one. If you didn't enjoy reading this post I have only one thing to say to you: Get over it.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Entertaining At The Hollywood Bowl
I think I've mentioned before that I sang the National Anthem at the Hollywood Bowl. Here's my story:
When the girls were 6 and 9 we went to California for a trip. Disneyland, the beach, L.A., the usual stuff people do. While we were driving around, Hal mentioned looking for the Hollywood Bowl.
I'd heard the term "Hollywood Bowl" but I really didn't know what it was. I kind of thought it was like the Rose Bowl. (It's not.)
Anyway, as we were driving, about 10 minutes later we happened across a sign that had an arrow pointing the way to the Hollywood Bowl. What luck. We followed the signs around and came to some pretty busy streets. We followed another confusing sign and ended up in a parking lot. So far, so good. We hiked up the hill to where we thought it should be, but never figured out where it was. We thought it must be up the hill a little farther. Since I was pregnant and the girls weren't that interested, we gave up on our search, much to Hal's disappointment.
End of story, or it would have been except for the fact that we ended up doing almost the exact same trip one year later. Hal had another convention in L.A. the next January, so we all tagged along, Austin included (he was about 6 months old). We ended up going on almost the same exact drive, around the same busy, curving streets when we came across the same Hollywood Bowl signs.
I could tell it meant a lot to Hal, so we tried again to find it. We ended up in the same parking lot scratching our heads. I finally talked him into letting me ask someone and I'm glad I did because we would have never found it on our own. We were actually kind of kitty corner across (I'm thinking it is the freeway) the road from it. Once we got pointed in the right direction, we crossed the road and ended up driving directly into the entrance. I think it was also pretty clearly marked. All we would have had to do the year before was look across the streets to the other side.
So, we drove in and got out to take a look around. There were a couple of other people there who looked like they were supposed to be there but they didn't say anything to us so we went in and started checking things out. (At this point I realized that there really was no football played here.)
We ended up wandering around the little box seat sections and sat down for a while. Then the girls started exploring a little. That's when we realized that we could go on stage.
I was a little concerned, thinking someone was going to show up any minute and throw us out of there, so I decided to make it worth being thrown out.
Hal was still down in the audience section with Austin, so I told him we (the girls and I) were going to sing The National Anthem. Since I'm no singer, I'm sure he thought I was nuts but I was not going to waste this once in a lifetime opportunity.
I cleared my throat and started out, "My country, 'tis of thee..."
Something didn't seem quite right. Finally I realized that that was not The National Anthem.
Embarrassed, I started again, "Oh beautiful, for spacious skies..."
Rats, still not it.
I totally blanked out. Good thing this was not in front of a paying audience or they would be asking for their money back. (For more reasons than one.)
Finally, consulting with the others in attendance, I found the right words. "Oh say, can you see...." The girls started off with me, but I lost them there somewhere among the broad stripes and bright stars.
I'm proud to say, I made it through the whole song. I'm not proud to say that I was off-key probably 99 percent of the time. Oh well, you can't blame a girl for trying. (It's probably the closest thing to 15 minutes of fame I will ever have, although it was more like 3 minutes.)
And so, there you have it, the story of how I sang a solo of The National Anthem, on stage at the Hollywood Bowl.
When the girls were 6 and 9 we went to California for a trip. Disneyland, the beach, L.A., the usual stuff people do. While we were driving around, Hal mentioned looking for the Hollywood Bowl.
I'd heard the term "Hollywood Bowl" but I really didn't know what it was. I kind of thought it was like the Rose Bowl. (It's not.)
Anyway, as we were driving, about 10 minutes later we happened across a sign that had an arrow pointing the way to the Hollywood Bowl. What luck. We followed the signs around and came to some pretty busy streets. We followed another confusing sign and ended up in a parking lot. So far, so good. We hiked up the hill to where we thought it should be, but never figured out where it was. We thought it must be up the hill a little farther. Since I was pregnant and the girls weren't that interested, we gave up on our search, much to Hal's disappointment.
End of story, or it would have been except for the fact that we ended up doing almost the exact same trip one year later. Hal had another convention in L.A. the next January, so we all tagged along, Austin included (he was about 6 months old). We ended up going on almost the same exact drive, around the same busy, curving streets when we came across the same Hollywood Bowl signs.
I could tell it meant a lot to Hal, so we tried again to find it. We ended up in the same parking lot scratching our heads. I finally talked him into letting me ask someone and I'm glad I did because we would have never found it on our own. We were actually kind of kitty corner across (I'm thinking it is the freeway) the road from it. Once we got pointed in the right direction, we crossed the road and ended up driving directly into the entrance. I think it was also pretty clearly marked. All we would have had to do the year before was look across the streets to the other side.
So, we drove in and got out to take a look around. There were a couple of other people there who looked like they were supposed to be there but they didn't say anything to us so we went in and started checking things out. (At this point I realized that there really was no football played here.)
We ended up wandering around the little box seat sections and sat down for a while. Then the girls started exploring a little. That's when we realized that we could go on stage.
I was a little concerned, thinking someone was going to show up any minute and throw us out of there, so I decided to make it worth being thrown out.
Hal was still down in the audience section with Austin, so I told him we (the girls and I) were going to sing The National Anthem. Since I'm no singer, I'm sure he thought I was nuts but I was not going to waste this once in a lifetime opportunity.
I cleared my throat and started out, "My country, 'tis of thee..."
Something didn't seem quite right. Finally I realized that that was not The National Anthem.
Embarrassed, I started again, "Oh beautiful, for spacious skies..."
Rats, still not it.
I totally blanked out. Good thing this was not in front of a paying audience or they would be asking for their money back. (For more reasons than one.)
Finally, consulting with the others in attendance, I found the right words. "Oh say, can you see...." The girls started off with me, but I lost them there somewhere among the broad stripes and bright stars.
I'm proud to say, I made it through the whole song. I'm not proud to say that I was off-key probably 99 percent of the time. Oh well, you can't blame a girl for trying. (It's probably the closest thing to 15 minutes of fame I will ever have, although it was more like 3 minutes.)
And so, there you have it, the story of how I sang a solo of The National Anthem, on stage at the Hollywood Bowl.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
My Great Idea For Getting Kids To Help Out Around The House Without Being Asked
.
(I'm sorry. I've got nothing.)
If, by chance, YOU have any great ideas to get kids to help out around the house, please enlighten me.
Thank you.
(I'm sorry. I've got nothing.)
If, by chance, YOU have any great ideas to get kids to help out around the house, please enlighten me.
Thank you.
Breaking the Word of Wisdom
We don't drink coffee or tea at our house. (Well, actually I take that back, we do drink herbal tea. My mom hasn't quite figured out the difference between that and other teas, so she just gives us any sort of tea she runs across and then acts put out when I tell her it's not the kind we can drink.)
One day we were at Maceys, which is a grocery store with a deli in it. The girls were probably 5 and 8 at the time. I needed to hurry and get us something to eat because we were running from one activity to the next and I wasn't going to have time to get us home for dinner before we needed to be somewhere else. I bought the girls some chicken legs to eat and paid for cups of water, which you needed to fill yourself at the soft drink area.
The water was located in with the Nestea. You just needed to push a little tab to get the water instead of the tea. I filled the cups and we sat down to eat. Later, Lexi (a.k.a. Ally) was still thirsty and wanted to fill her cup all by herself. It was in plain view, so I told her how to get it and kind of kept her in the corner of my eye until she came back.
As she walked back to Morgan and me, I noticed her licking her hand with a look of delight on her face. Then I looked at her cup and, sure enough, it was full of iced tea, not water. Morgan must have also put two and two together and figured out exactly what Lexi was ingesting.
As I was getting up to explain to the deli clerk what had happened, and pay for the iced tea if necessary, I heard Morgan shrieking, in a panic, "MOM, MOM, Lexi broke the word of wisdom!!!!! MOM, MOM, Lexi broke the word of wisdom!!!!"
Now the old Maceys, which we were in, had the deli right up front by all the registers. No lie, every head at every check stand turned in unison to see what all the fuss was about. It was so embarrassing! Morgan kept screaming and crying and carrying on.
She just kept screaming, "Mom, now what will we do, what will we do?" I practically had to shake her to get her to calm down. Finally I figured out that she thought Lexi would be seriously injured or even possibly die from that little taste of iced tea. I calmly and quietly explained to her that Lexi wouldn't suffer any permanent damage from a couple of licks of iced tea.
Once Morgan got it all sorted out in her head, I could see the little wheels turning in her head.
Less than a minute later, she turned to Lexi and said, "So Lexi, how does it taste?"
Lexi got a big grin on her face and rubbed her tummy and said, "MMMM, good!"
Then Morgan started in on me, "I want to taste the iced tea. I want to taste the iced tea."
I gave up on the idea of paying for it at that point and just dragged them both out of the store.
One day we were at Maceys, which is a grocery store with a deli in it. The girls were probably 5 and 8 at the time. I needed to hurry and get us something to eat because we were running from one activity to the next and I wasn't going to have time to get us home for dinner before we needed to be somewhere else. I bought the girls some chicken legs to eat and paid for cups of water, which you needed to fill yourself at the soft drink area.
The water was located in with the Nestea. You just needed to push a little tab to get the water instead of the tea. I filled the cups and we sat down to eat. Later, Lexi (a.k.a. Ally) was still thirsty and wanted to fill her cup all by herself. It was in plain view, so I told her how to get it and kind of kept her in the corner of my eye until she came back.
As she walked back to Morgan and me, I noticed her licking her hand with a look of delight on her face. Then I looked at her cup and, sure enough, it was full of iced tea, not water. Morgan must have also put two and two together and figured out exactly what Lexi was ingesting.
As I was getting up to explain to the deli clerk what had happened, and pay for the iced tea if necessary, I heard Morgan shrieking, in a panic, "MOM, MOM, Lexi broke the word of wisdom!!!!! MOM, MOM, Lexi broke the word of wisdom!!!!"
Now the old Maceys, which we were in, had the deli right up front by all the registers. No lie, every head at every check stand turned in unison to see what all the fuss was about. It was so embarrassing! Morgan kept screaming and crying and carrying on.
She just kept screaming, "Mom, now what will we do, what will we do?" I practically had to shake her to get her to calm down. Finally I figured out that she thought Lexi would be seriously injured or even possibly die from that little taste of iced tea. I calmly and quietly explained to her that Lexi wouldn't suffer any permanent damage from a couple of licks of iced tea.
Once Morgan got it all sorted out in her head, I could see the little wheels turning in her head.
Less than a minute later, she turned to Lexi and said, "So Lexi, how does it taste?"
Lexi got a big grin on her face and rubbed her tummy and said, "MMMM, good!"
Then Morgan started in on me, "I want to taste the iced tea. I want to taste the iced tea."
I gave up on the idea of paying for it at that point and just dragged them both out of the store.
The Heckler
Austin has a nickname. I've dubbed him "The Heckler". It doesn't matter where I am in the house or what I'm doing, he just constantly seems to be talking "at" me. I've given up on watching t.v. until he is in school full-time.
I've never seen anyone else who can just talk on and on for hours on end. I think I've mentioned before that he talks more than any woman I know. Sometimes I just want to cover my ears and run screaming from the room. (So far I've controlled myself but it's getting close to the breaking point.)
Last week we negotiated back and forth for over 30 minutes about how long I would play with him. I think we discussed playing longer than we actually played.
Here's a conversation that actually happened:
Austin: "Mom, will you play cars and blocks and legos with me."
Me: "Honey, I can't. I have to go somewhere in a half hour. I can play cars with you or read you a story."
Austin: "Well, will you play cars and blocks and legos and let me drink one of your "emergency" drinks." (He's talking about Slim Fast. I keep cans of it in the car in case I can't get something to eat in time. I have bad blood sugar. Once I told him it was just for emergencies and now he thinks everything is an emergency.)
Me: "No, I need to leave soon and I'm still getting ready. Go pick out a book and we'll read it."
Austin: "Mom, ok, let's do this. You get ready and then I'll get the toys and then we'll drink TWO emergency drinks."
Me: "Austin, let me get ready. If you don't give me a couple of minutes then I won't have any time to play with you."
Austin: "Ok mom. Give me the emergency drinks and we'll talk about it."
Me: "NO! This is not an emergency, but it will be if you don't stop talking to me."
Once again, I won't be winning any "Mother of the Year" awards.
I've never seen anyone else who can just talk on and on for hours on end. I think I've mentioned before that he talks more than any woman I know. Sometimes I just want to cover my ears and run screaming from the room. (So far I've controlled myself but it's getting close to the breaking point.)
Last week we negotiated back and forth for over 30 minutes about how long I would play with him. I think we discussed playing longer than we actually played.
Here's a conversation that actually happened:
Austin: "Mom, will you play cars and blocks and legos with me."
Me: "Honey, I can't. I have to go somewhere in a half hour. I can play cars with you or read you a story."
Austin: "Well, will you play cars and blocks and legos and let me drink one of your "emergency" drinks." (He's talking about Slim Fast. I keep cans of it in the car in case I can't get something to eat in time. I have bad blood sugar. Once I told him it was just for emergencies and now he thinks everything is an emergency.)
Me: "No, I need to leave soon and I'm still getting ready. Go pick out a book and we'll read it."
Austin: "Mom, ok, let's do this. You get ready and then I'll get the toys and then we'll drink TWO emergency drinks."
Me: "Austin, let me get ready. If you don't give me a couple of minutes then I won't have any time to play with you."
Austin: "Ok mom. Give me the emergency drinks and we'll talk about it."
Me: "NO! This is not an emergency, but it will be if you don't stop talking to me."
Once again, I won't be winning any "Mother of the Year" awards.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Underachiever (And Proud Of It)
I was talking to my friend, Kristi, about how some of the people in their blogs sound like Superwomen. They can bake 10 loaves of bread, sew matching outfits for their 5 well-behaved (and happy) children, take dinner to a sick neighbor, catch up on ALL the laundry and wash and wax the cars, all in high heels while looking like supermodels.
Me, I'm not really like that. (As you well know, if you know me at all, which you must or you wouldn't be reading this, now would you?)
Well Kristi, bless her heart, politely pointed out that in the blog world, exaggerating is an acceptable practice. It's perfectly fine to make yourself (and your family) sound a little - how should I say this, better? - than normal.
I'm sorry, but that doesn't really work for me. What if you meet us in real life and discover that (gasp!), we aren't perfect? What if we don't all have perfect teeth or look perfectly happy all the time? What if, heaven forbid, you came to our house and needed to use the bathroom and it wasn't perfectly spotless? What if you see us out somewhere and you find out that the kids aren't as perfectly well behaved as I'd alluded to in the blog? (Case in point, as I started writing this, I noticed a used q-tip sitting by my keyboard, earwax and all. Do perfect families do that? I think not.)
I want you to meet us and think, "Well, they're not as bad as I expected them to be. They talk in complete sentences and everything."
I'd also rather have people think that I don't know how to do anything and then be impressed when they find out that I do have a marketable skill or two. (Although I'm having a really hard time trying to fix the paragraph spacing at the end of this post. I have no idea why it won't work. I think it has something to do with importing photos that makes it go haywire. Anyone?)
Right.
You know, now that I think of it, maybe there are some good reasons for writing only the good stuff. If your kids read your blog years from now, they might actually believe that that's what their life was really like. Also, there will be less evidence to take with them when they end up in therapy at age 50 because their parents never understood them.
I think I'm going to turn over a new leaf and sugar coat everything we do so we sound like a perfect family from now on. I'm going to make it look like we are all perfectly happy all the time, so my kids will believe that I always had cookies waiting, hot out of the oven, for them when they came home from school. (We won't worry about calories. Perfect families never gain weight, do they?) I'm going to write about how, when they don't want to do their chores or homework, I just smile and say, "That's okay honey, you don't have to do it. I know you're tired. Besides, I know you're going to marry into money anyway so you don't need to know how to do any of that boring stuff."
Yes, maybe that's the key to happiness. I'm going to try it. Maybe everyone will like us better because I'm going to tell them how wonderful we are.
Let me start by introducing my three beautiful children:
Dirty Laundry (You Thought This Was Going To Be A "True Confessions" Post, Didn't You?)
I don't mind picking up dirty socks. I really don't. I've never had a problem picking up a dirty sock because for one, I know if it's on the floor it's probably dirty and also if you pick it up at the top, it's not too awful.
What I do mind, however, is shirts on the floor. If they aren't noticeably dirty, they may have just been tried on and then dropped on the floor. This means I'm going to have to smell the shirt under the arms to decide if it's actually dirty or has just been tried on. I'm at the point in my life where I just don't think I should have to do that.
Dirty underwear on the floor? Don't even get me started. Just ask my kids my opinion on that. (Because I do have a pretty definite opinion.)
What I do mind, however, is shirts on the floor. If they aren't noticeably dirty, they may have just been tried on and then dropped on the floor. This means I'm going to have to smell the shirt under the arms to decide if it's actually dirty or has just been tried on. I'm at the point in my life where I just don't think I should have to do that.
Dirty underwear on the floor? Don't even get me started. Just ask my kids my opinion on that. (Because I do have a pretty definite opinion.)
Cleaning Ally's Room
Last night we all decided that today we would all start with a clean slate. To help implement this idea, I decided to clean Ally's room all up while she was at school.
I discovered some interesting things.
Ally has a couple of new hobbies.
First, she dismantles and destroys pens (and sometimes pencils and big erasers). I had a little bit of a heads up on this one last week so I wasn't shocked. I was somewhat shocked, however, by the sheer amount of pen parts that I found all over the room.
Second, apparently she likes to spray paint. I found all sorts of papers with spray paint all over them. That would explain the strong odor in the garage (and the strange marks on the garage floor) when I got home from doing errands last week and she had been "babysitting" Austin.
I would like to elaborate on all this, but I'm trying to live by the motto, "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all."
The end.
I discovered some interesting things.
Ally has a couple of new hobbies.
First, she dismantles and destroys pens (and sometimes pencils and big erasers). I had a little bit of a heads up on this one last week so I wasn't shocked. I was somewhat shocked, however, by the sheer amount of pen parts that I found all over the room.
Second, apparently she likes to spray paint. I found all sorts of papers with spray paint all over them. That would explain the strong odor in the garage (and the strange marks on the garage floor) when I got home from doing errands last week and she had been "babysitting" Austin.
I would like to elaborate on all this, but I'm trying to live by the motto, "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all."
The end.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Vanilla Milk
We have come across a tasty idea that we really like. It's called Vanilla Milk. It can also be a good substitute when you are tired of hot chocolate and it's really good with popcorn. It's easy too.
First you take a mug and fill it with milk. You don't really need to measure it. Then you add in about a teaspoon of sugar or maple syrup (or more if you want). I like to use pure maple (not maple flavoring) because it's supposedly healthier for you. Now put it in the microwave and warm it up. I heat mine for about 45 seconds and then check it. When it gets as hot or warm as you want, add about 1/4 teaspoon of vanilla. I like to use Mexican vanilla because I like how it tastes.
That's it. It's a pretty simple, comforting drink. I like to have it ready for the kids when they come in from a snowy day at school, or playing outside.
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