We went swimming at the gym yesterday. Gwen was throwing a tantrum and not getting in to the pool because she was under the impression that we were going to an outside pool, so when she realized that it was an inside pool she kind of freaked. Mostly because "no mermaids would even WANT to be in this kind of pool". So we left her to wallow in mermaidless misery on the shore while we took tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum swimming (I really call them that). I had IJ and was bouncing around in the pool and started chit chatting with a guy who was holding a baby about Ivy's age.
We were having a pleasant enough conversation, discussing whether or not the gym was worth the exorbitant monthly fee, when his five-year-old came up to me and said, "you have pee on your head"
I was astonished! What a rude thing to say! Who the heck is this kid? Little twerp.
But then the dad looked at me, did a double take and said "oh my gosh you have pee on your head!"
Well, the apple apparently does not fall far from the tree.
But then the dad said with an increased sense of urgency "Seriously there is a BEE on your forehead!"
and then it all made much more sense.
And I probably looked like a maniacal idiot jumping around and splashing in an attempt to get a bee and possibly pee off of my forehead.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Thursday, September 23, 2010
I cry zumba zumba zia!
I like to think that if things would have gone a little differently for me in life, that I could have been a professional dancer. True, I never took dance lessons (though I did take a tap dancing class at BYU), but it seems to me like I have some innate talent. Somehow in highschool I got all caught up in the nerd scene and never really had a chance to try out for dance company and really exlpore my talent. But, I can really shake my bon bon late at night in the kitchen while doing dishes.
Sure I'm probably not as awesome as I was three kids and thirty pounds ago, but I've been told I've still "got it".
I've heard all the craze about zumba, an ultra hip way to exercise to awesome music. Pretty much it's just like an hour long dance party. Seems perfect for a would-be dancer, such as myself.
We are doing a two week trial of Lifetime Fitness (ie Heaven) and last week I went to their 6:15PM Zumba class. I was stoked.
I got there a few minutes early and nervously started chit chatting with the two others in the room. They seemed nice enough. As the clock struck 6:15PM all of the sudden the room was packed- wall to wall- and here's the kicker, there was not a slightly overweight person in the room (myself excluded). I had to go and double check the schedule to make sure I wasn't in some cheer practice for the Dallas Cowgirls or something.
I noticed a few things right off the bat, besides me weighing the most in the room, I was also the only person wearing a baggy t-shirt. Excuse me, but isn't a baggy tshirt like required gym attire? I had no idea that I was supposed to be looking...like....gorgeous. Secondly, I was the only person without a water bottle.
So, in walks our Zumba teacher
Sure I'm probably not as awesome as I was three kids and thirty pounds ago, but I've been told I've still "got it".
I've heard all the craze about zumba, an ultra hip way to exercise to awesome music. Pretty much it's just like an hour long dance party. Seems perfect for a would-be dancer, such as myself.
We are doing a two week trial of Lifetime Fitness (ie Heaven) and last week I went to their 6:15PM Zumba class. I was stoked.
I got there a few minutes early and nervously started chit chatting with the two others in the room. They seemed nice enough. As the clock struck 6:15PM all of the sudden the room was packed- wall to wall- and here's the kicker, there was not a slightly overweight person in the room (myself excluded). I had to go and double check the schedule to make sure I wasn't in some cheer practice for the Dallas Cowgirls or something.
I noticed a few things right off the bat, besides me weighing the most in the room, I was also the only person wearing a baggy t-shirt. Excuse me, but isn't a baggy tshirt like required gym attire? I had no idea that I was supposed to be looking...like....gorgeous. Secondly, I was the only person without a water bottle.
So, in walks our Zumba teacher
And with nothing but a wink and smile she starts dancing furiously.
I feel really bad for the one man in the room. He was probably hoping to catch some hot booty shakin' but somehow he wound up next to me. And I collided with him on more than one occasion. It was especially awkward when we shimmeyed around in a circle.
I have never been more relieved to see the day care people walk in with the dreaded white board of shame (with your name on it meaning your kid is either inconsolable or poopy). I think that is the first time that the people in zumba had seen the white board because I was obviously the only one in there who has had the pleasure of bearing children (trust me, I saw a LOT of tummies in there).
The moral of the story? Zumba is awesome. Zumba is hard. I need new, sexier gym clothes, and now I know that that business about me being a really good dancer, it's total crap.
I consoled myself and my inconsolable child (the reason for the white board) with a trip to chick-fil-a. And then we got home to find that our house had nearly blown up while we were gone. So, in a way, zumba saved my life.
But more on that another day...
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Turn a profit
I had to dig through my memory box for quite a while yesterday when I was looking for the email Blaine sent me to ask me to homecoming twelve years ago. So the next thirty or so posts on the blog might be nostalgic (but funny!) stories from yesteryear.
Like how the week after Blaine opened his first checking account we were sitting at his kitchen table doing homework (wink, wink! No for reals though, we were!) and I saw a twenty dollar bill laying there. I snatched it before he could see and told him I thought it would be "so cool" for him to write me a check that I would be willing to give him a twenty dollar bill if he would write me a check for $18.60. Blaine's not one to turn down a profit, so he quickly obliged.
Once I had the check in hand I burst in to laughter. I told him he had been bamboozled and that the twenty dollar bill wasn't even mine, it was just sitting on the counter. He turned furious so quick, snatched the check out of my hand and made darn well sure I would never be able to cash it.
But I SO got him. Zing!
Like how the week after Blaine opened his first checking account we were sitting at his kitchen table doing homework (wink, wink! No for reals though, we were!) and I saw a twenty dollar bill laying there. I snatched it before he could see and told him I thought it would be "so cool" for him to write me a check that I would be willing to give him a twenty dollar bill if he would write me a check for $18.60. Blaine's not one to turn down a profit, so he quickly obliged.
Once I had the check in hand I burst in to laughter. I told him he had been bamboozled and that the twenty dollar bill wasn't even mine, it was just sitting on the counter. He turned furious so quick, snatched the check out of my hand and made darn well sure I would never be able to cash it.
But I SO got him. Zing!
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Happy 9/11
That phrase sounds so eerie now, but it didn't always. See, back in our sophomore year of high school (1997/98) a strange thing happened to Blaine. It seemed like more often then not when he looked at his watch it was 9:11AM/PM. He didn't see it every day, and it didn't always read 9:11, but it happened enough for him to take notice.
"Something special is going to happen on September 11th" he'd say. He wasn't sure what, but he knew it would be something big.
As the day approached I kept egging him on... "it's almost the big day!" or "you better watch your back, it's coming!" that sort of thing.
Then on September 11th 1998 I was sitting in my kitchen when the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find a package. In the package was a box of oreos. But it wasn't just a regular old package of oreos, it appeared as though I was being asked to Homecoming.
In all the oreos I found slips of paper, each with a letter on them. It took a while but I finally figured out that the papers were giving me an email address and a password.[I should point out here that email addresses weren't totally commonplace at the time, and also I had a pet dinosaur (I'm SO OLD!)]
I logged on to the email dress and found a message in code. . .
A little background info. Blaine and I became friends in the beginning of 10th grade. I was always boy crazy. I have a journal from that time of life and at the end of each entry I listed the top 5 guys I liked. The list order changed daily. The same five guys would stay on for a while then some would slip off and others would enter in (Bryce C. and Richard S.) usually hogged most of the room on the list, but there was one guy who was always on my list. He wasn't always on the top, but at least he was always there. And I referred to this guy as my "constant".
Apparently in an email in late August of 1998 I confessed to Blaine, in code (obviously), that he was, in fact, my constant.
Anyway the decoded email in the mysterious inbox read...
Be still my heart! A real love confession! And not only that, but he thought it was "appropriate" that it was 9/11. He knew something life changing was going to happen on September 11th and a confession of love, er.... "like", for me, was it!
And so it began. We always had a little kiss at 9:11PM if we were together. It was our little secret..."happy 9:11!" we'd say with a wink and a smile.
[Ironically enough, precisely one year later on 9/11 Blaine took me up on a hike and commenced to rip my heart out and throw it in to a blender, but I digress....]
We've had good 9/11s, we've had bad 9/11s (see note above). And we all know that September 11, 2001 was NOT a good 9/11. And after that, it almost seemed wrong to celebrate such a devastating day. It seems downright sacrilegious to wish Blaine a "happy 9/11" and certainly we get weird looks from anyone who overhear us.
But anyway, September 11th is a day of mixed emotions for me. But it all started as the best day of my life.
For 9/11 this year we went out to Olive Garden and got a never ending pasta bowl. Then we drove up on top of a mountain and he read me his "Do You Remember" letter. The Do You Remember letters are a tradition we have for our anniversary (Feb 14th). He takes a lot of time and makes a big list (22 pages this year!) of memories. He was really busy this February so the list had to wait this year till our other anniversary, September 11th. When I heard that he was going to read me the list, I asked him not to. It's been a really hard year for me (you may have noticed!). I've never been so stressed, depressed, boggy, and sad as I have this past year; why on Earth would I want to relive it? But you know what? He took my hard year, and our hard experiences, and put them in such a beautiful way, and he found so many positive things about our year and brought them to the surface.
And that's what Blaine does. He can take the dark and the dismal and the depressing, and find the good and the funny and the happy.
Just like last week when I was an emotional wreck after TWO failed attempts to make cookies for a family function. I was out of patience, out of eggs, out of butter, and it nearly seemed I was out of my ever loving mind. I hucked a tomato across the kitchen, dumped out a double batch worth of "wasted" cookie dough in the garbage and told Blaine I was refusing to go to the family meeting. He looked at me, bewildered (we had just had a really fun afternoon laughing and talking), and, refusing the urge to call me insane, instead just insisted that he was making the cookies, without eggs and without butter and without a recipe. He insisted that he would do it and that we would go to family meeting and that he would tell everyone he wanted to surprise me by making the cookies. I think he put in about a half a cup of vanilla. I've never laughed so hard. And usually I am stubborn enough to still be mad at him and the world when I am in a mood like that, but for that day I stepped back and saw that he was just trying to make things better. He knows I'm not crazy. He knows I have bad days, bad years. But if he can make it better he will. That's love.
Happy 9/11 Blaine, I am so glad that you like me (a lot).
"Something special is going to happen on September 11th" he'd say. He wasn't sure what, but he knew it would be something big.
As the day approached I kept egging him on... "it's almost the big day!" or "you better watch your back, it's coming!" that sort of thing.
Then on September 11th 1998 I was sitting in my kitchen when the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find a package. In the package was a box of oreos. But it wasn't just a regular old package of oreos, it appeared as though I was being asked to Homecoming.
In all the oreos I found slips of paper, each with a letter on them. It took a while but I finally figured out that the papers were giving me an email address and a password.[I should point out here that email addresses weren't totally commonplace at the time, and also I had a pet dinosaur (I'm SO OLD!)]
I logged on to the email dress and found a message in code. . .
A little background info. Blaine and I became friends in the beginning of 10th grade. I was always boy crazy. I have a journal from that time of life and at the end of each entry I listed the top 5 guys I liked. The list order changed daily. The same five guys would stay on for a while then some would slip off and others would enter in (Bryce C. and Richard S.) usually hogged most of the room on the list, but there was one guy who was always on my list. He wasn't always on the top, but at least he was always there. And I referred to this guy as my "constant".
Apparently in an email in late August of 1998 I confessed to Blaine, in code (obviously), that he was, in fact, my constant.Anyway the decoded email in the mysterious inbox read...
Yes, if you didn't know, this is your own code. This being the case, you realize that I know that I am your constant. It is appropriate that it is 9/11 because this is the first time I've ever told a girl that I like her. But you may as well know, if you don't know already that I do like you (a lot). Well, I'm glad we're friends. Hopefully you will reply soon. -Blaine
Be still my heart! A real love confession! And not only that, but he thought it was "appropriate" that it was 9/11. He knew something life changing was going to happen on September 11th and a confession of love, er.... "like", for me, was it!
And so it began. We always had a little kiss at 9:11PM if we were together. It was our little secret..."happy 9:11!" we'd say with a wink and a smile.
[Ironically enough, precisely one year later on 9/11 Blaine took me up on a hike and commenced to rip my heart out and throw it in to a blender, but I digress....]
We've had good 9/11s, we've had bad 9/11s (see note above). And we all know that September 11, 2001 was NOT a good 9/11. And after that, it almost seemed wrong to celebrate such a devastating day. It seems downright sacrilegious to wish Blaine a "happy 9/11" and certainly we get weird looks from anyone who overhear us.
But anyway, September 11th is a day of mixed emotions for me. But it all started as the best day of my life.
For 9/11 this year we went out to Olive Garden and got a never ending pasta bowl. Then we drove up on top of a mountain and he read me his "Do You Remember" letter. The Do You Remember letters are a tradition we have for our anniversary (Feb 14th). He takes a lot of time and makes a big list (22 pages this year!) of memories. He was really busy this February so the list had to wait this year till our other anniversary, September 11th. When I heard that he was going to read me the list, I asked him not to. It's been a really hard year for me (you may have noticed!). I've never been so stressed, depressed, boggy, and sad as I have this past year; why on Earth would I want to relive it? But you know what? He took my hard year, and our hard experiences, and put them in such a beautiful way, and he found so many positive things about our year and brought them to the surface.
And that's what Blaine does. He can take the dark and the dismal and the depressing, and find the good and the funny and the happy.
Just like last week when I was an emotional wreck after TWO failed attempts to make cookies for a family function. I was out of patience, out of eggs, out of butter, and it nearly seemed I was out of my ever loving mind. I hucked a tomato across the kitchen, dumped out a double batch worth of "wasted" cookie dough in the garbage and told Blaine I was refusing to go to the family meeting. He looked at me, bewildered (we had just had a really fun afternoon laughing and talking), and, refusing the urge to call me insane, instead just insisted that he was making the cookies, without eggs and without butter and without a recipe. He insisted that he would do it and that we would go to family meeting and that he would tell everyone he wanted to surprise me by making the cookies. I think he put in about a half a cup of vanilla. I've never laughed so hard. And usually I am stubborn enough to still be mad at him and the world when I am in a mood like that, but for that day I stepped back and saw that he was just trying to make things better. He knows I'm not crazy. He knows I have bad days, bad years. But if he can make it better he will. That's love.
Happy 9/11 Blaine, I am so glad that you like me (a lot).
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