Greed

How much money would you say you need to live comfortably from week to week? A couple hundred? A couple thousand? Well, the soon-to-be ex-wife of United Technologies Chairman, George David, thinks that number is around $53,000. Per week.

Just how is so much money necessary to maintain the lifestyle to which Marie Douglas-David has become accustomed? I'll lay it out for you:

Mortgages and maintenance fees for her several homes: $27,300
Travel: $8,000
Clothing: $4,500
Personal Assistant: $2,209
Horse Care: $1,570
Domestic Help: $1,480
Entertainment and Restaurants: $1,500
Health and skin care: $1,000
Dry-cleaning: $650
Flowers: $600
Trainer: $250

As those expenses amount to a little more than $49,000, I'll assume she has allotted herself personal spending money of a few thousand. (Are you throwing up yet?) But according to her statement, this is cutting back (poor thing). She and her estranged husband used to spend upwards of $200,000 a week.

Honestly, the thing that bewilders me most is not the obscene amount of money in play here, it's the fact that someone who spends $4,500 a week on new clothing needs to spend $650 on dry-cleaning. Dry-cleaning what? The cat? Because at $4,500 a week, I'm quite sure she has never worn the same outfit twice.

I think this is a prime example of why the love of money is the root of all evil. Money itself can be a wonderful blessing and can do great things. But when you are spending this much, or even thinking you deserve to spend this much all on yourself, there is a real problem. You'll note she doesn't have any weekly charitable contributions on the list. It's me, me, me, glowing-skinned and designer-clothed, all the way to her black little heart.

Of course, it's easy to say that if I had that much money, I would never spend it that way. But considering the fact that anything besides the dollar movie used to be an extravagance saved for a rare occasion, and now it's not all that unusual to hop up to Broadway for an evening, who is to say that I would never be blinded by that much wealth? None of us is immune to greed.

But seriously, I would NEVER spend that much money in a week. Or two weeks. Or ten. If I ever do, it better all be going to charity, otherwise I give you all permission to slap me silly. And ask me to buy your lunch.

Mmmm... Pie

My sister and her family are visiting NYC to take in the sights and test out some of the goodies to which David and I have become addicted. In honor of their visit (and the fact that I will be out of town on Easter, leaving David to eat his peanut butter eggs in solitude), I made pie. Only, one should never make pies the day before one intends to eat them, because the siren song of a freshly made strawberry pie is simply irresistible.

So we found ourselves eating our pies a day early, not realizing that we were consuming our dessert very appropriately, as it was March 14th.

Mmmm... accidental Pi Day celebration.

Good and Bad

There has been a lot in the news lately about fertility treatments, thanks to Nadya Suleman (aka "Octomom") and the incredibly irresponsible behavior that resulted in fourteen fatherless children being born into the world. The uproar has been interesting to observe. Everyone suddenly has an opinion about who should and should not be allowed to seek fertility treatment, even prompting legislators in Missouri and Georgia to draft bills limiting the number of eggs that could be fertilized and transferred per IVF cycle (drastically reducing the possibility of a successful pregnancy, and effectively eliminating options like cryopreservation or frozen embryo transfer).

I find it fascinating that people are in such a tizzy over this, not because it is unworthy of a tizzy (as you know, I certainly had my own), but because very few people seem to be concerned about how babies come into the world the "normal" way - whether it's teens having babies or "committed" couples who aren't committed enough to sign a marriage license, most people say "we shouldn't judge", "times have changed", "you don't need a ceremony to be committed to someone", "everyone has a right to have a child", etc. And yet, throw one irresponsible woman and her equally irresponsible doctor into the mix and the non-judgmental crowd goes judgmentally ballistic.

I've read most of the comments accompanying recent news articles, and I would say that of the thoughts I've read, more people than not are concerned about fertility treatments, and very few of them have been armed with the facts. Their concern is simply a knee-jerk reaction to one disturbing case of fertility treatment gone wrong.

Many commenters take the opportunity for a good old-fashioned, holier-than-thou rebuke, saying that if God wanted an infertile couple to have babies they would get pregnant naturally, and that it's obviously not in His will for infertile couples to reproduce. (To those people I say, "Hand over your eyeglasses, because it obviously wasn't God's will to keep you from slamming into walls. And don't be taking any Tylenol when you get a concussion, either.")

There is also an outcry from the self-righteous loudmouths who say that fertility treatment should not be an option as long as there are children without homes, as if there are a bunch of babies wrapped up in pink and blue bows, sitting in stork-ready baskets at the adoption agency. These people have apparently never actually looked into adoption, with all its bureaucratic red tape, years-long waiting lists, exorbitant costs, and risks of losing a child to his biological parents after spending a year getting attached to him.

There is one view, however, that I can agree with - the fact that fertility treatment makes it too easy for people to have babies who should not be having them (although there is nothing "easy" about fertility treatment itself). But the same could be said for sex outside of marriage. Yes, too many babies are being born into bad situations, but that doesn't make sex or fertility treatment innately wrong. When used properly, both can be a profound blessing.

I firmly believe that children are entitled to birth within the bonds of matrimony to a mother and a father who honor their marital vows with complete fidelity. I do not think anyone should mess with that God-given formula, ever. But just because some people choose to ignore that ideal does not mean lawmakers should begin interfering, especially because, in this case, the damage they do would be greater than any benefit that might be derived. No matter how "pro-life" it might sound, a bill that severely diminishes the chances for good, stable couples to become parents isn't pro-life. It's anti-life.

It is unfortunate that we live in a world where many will misuse the gifts God has given them. And it is a sad fact that the miraculous scientific advances that have allowed my husband and me to become parents are the same advances that will allow others to do things they shouldn't be doing, and to mess with things they shouldn't be messing with.

There are many good things in the world, things I would consider to be direct blessings from heaven, that are used the wrong way and for the wrong purposes. But that is not a case for eliminating those good things altogether.

Random Thoughts

I haven't blogged in a week, which is, like, a record. I'm sure you've been grateful for the reprieve. I don't really feel like putting anything coherent together, so here are my random thoughts for the day:

Why do women wear long, fake fingernails? Especially women who have to type or use ten-key at their job all day long, like tellers at the bank. I have to double-check my account numbers to make sure there haven't been any press-on-nail mishaps with my deposits.

I hate all the cutesy terms people apply to pregnancy like "preggo" and "preggers". It's like "Hi, I'm preggo, and like, so totally thirteen. And, like, totally responsible and sooo mature, too."

Is it really necessary to have Daylight Savings Time? I blame it for the unreasonable amount of grouchiness I've experienced this past week.

Michael said his first unassisted prayers this week. The first went: "Hennly Father, thank you mommy, thank you daddy, and mommy and daddy. Thank you mommy." The second: "Hennly Father, thank you eight, nine, ten, Amen!" The funny part is I'm sure he is honestly grateful for those numbers.

I've decided I should become irresponsible, stop paying my mortgage and my taxes, (and mostly any other bills I should be paying) and just let Pres. Obama take care of me. At the very least I'm sure I could secure a position in his cabinet.

Teaching primary is spending half the time having good feelings about your class, and the other half wishing you had bought the Costco-sized Tylenol.

I was sitting across the aisle on the subway from a woman who had had such a love affair with collagen injections that she looked like a fish whose lips had been smashed with a frying pan. Is this what beauty has come to nowadays?

I love how media outlets fall all over themselves to treat the Muslim religion with respect, but Mormons are always made to look like intolerant nutcases (with totally freaky ceremonies, to boot).

When information about a medical procedure is accompanied by the words "slight discomfort" this means you should arrive dosed up on morphine and expect to spend the hours following getting acquainted with your bathroom floor.

I find it very amusing that at least once a day someone's Facebook status is: "I have so much to do and not enough time", or "I'm so busy I don't know how I'm going to get everything done". Then what in the world are you doing messing around on Facebook?

Why is it that no one teaches their children playground manners anymore? And why is it that I, as an adult, can tell an eight year-old kid who should know better to get off the slide and let the other kids come down, and he can look at me and say, "No!" without batting an eye? Why do parents let their children get away with such behavior?

I haven't stepped foot in a car for four months. And I haven't seen a gas station in all that time, either. I wonder if I'll remember how to drive?

Looking in on your sleeping toddler at night can give you enough warm fuzzies to last you through nearly the entire next day. Sometimes I look in on Michael two or three times, just to stock up.

It Depends on What the Meaning of Emergency Is...

In the news today, a Florida woman called 911 three times to report an emergency: McDonald's had run out of Chicken McNuggets.

I would say McDonald's running out of processed chicken parts was God's gift to humanity, but I will admit to enjoying the revolting things myself every now and then. So while I'm sure the prospect of missing out on the nuggety goodness was disappointing for this woman, she obviously needs a lesson on what 911 is for.

She insisted: "This is an emergency. If I would have known they didn't have McNuggets, I wouldn’t have given my money, and now she wants to give me a McDouble, but I don’t want one. This is an emergency."

Apparently the real trouble came about because she had ordered the McNuggets, paid for them, and then was told the restaurant was out of their supply. A manager, apparently lacking a brain, denied her a refund, instead trying to get her to choose something else from the menu.

Well, that manager is an idiot (and has now issued a public mea culpa). But regardless of how wrong the manager may have been, it was absolutely no excuse for this woman to call 911 even once, let alone three times.

For heaven's sake, Chicken McNuggets are an emergency? Let's hope this woman never stubs her toe.

Apocalypse Now

I have now exercised... drum roll please... eight days in a row! (That crashing noise you hear is the the angel choir skidding into place at the last moment, not having expected their services to actually be needed).

So as you can see, thus far the Wii Fit has been a smashing success. It appeals to my addictive personality in that it is, at its core, a video game, and is thus able to trick me into doing an exercise "one more time" to better my score. And then, lo and behold, I've worked out for 45 minutes without even realizing it! Who knew that was even possible?

I was correct in surmising that the Wii would think me an unbalanced old woman, but I am getting better. And I can hoola-hoop with the best of them, though only to the right - my brain apparently does not work trying to hoola-hoop to the left. Most of the balance games leave my Mii kneeling on the ground in embarrassed anguish, but I'll just blame my lack of balance on an unfortunate genetic gift from my father - flatter than flat feet.

Considering that up to this point the only exercise I engaged in on a regular basis was lifting brownies to my mouth, eight consecutive work-outs is a vast improvement. And while the Wii is just a machine, it knows if I exercised or not, so it's enough accountability to get even my sorry behind off the couch. Plus, I don't want to spoil my perfect record! I'm even, dare I say, excited to get out my Wii during Michael's nap time.

So I guess this means you had better start preparing for the end of the world. My exercising on a regular basis is definitely a sign of impending apocalypse.

Morning at the Museum

Saturday morning seemed like a great time to head to the Museum of Natural History. This is fast becoming one of my favorites, for the simple reason that nearly everything is behind glass and thus indestructible by small wild children. I don't even have to bother with a stroller, because, unlike The Met, Michael can roam free without my having to fear his desecrating a Pharaoh's sarcophagus and cursing our family for generations to come.

The museum is equally as fun for Michael as it is for us. He has developed somewhat of a fascination with dinosaurs since we started going and shrieks "Ohnosaur!" with each new set of bones he sees, running happily from one fossil to the next. Throw in a couple of penguins, some monkeys and a blue whale, and he is in animal heaven.


I have a sudden urge to add "Night at the Museum" to my Netflix queue.

And speaking of movies, at this very moment there is a show filming on the rooftop directly across the street from us. David is fervently wishing he had binoculars so he could get a better view.

Of course, David did get a great, inside view today of an apartment that used to be occupied by none other than Tom Cruise during his "Risky Business" days. He helped a fellow ward member moved into the hunky nutcase's former digs this afternoon. (Inexplicably, David came home with an overwhelming urge to dance around in his underwear...)

There's no place like New York.