Random Thoughts

I was going to write a real post based on real news articles and everything, but it's been a frustrating day and the kids were so crazy at bedtime that I went kind of kali-ma and threatened to start ripping hearts out of chests.  So instead of writing I've spent the last hour video hopping on youtube, hoping to find a clip that would make my blood pressure go down.

Eventually, I landed on this one.  It makes my brain hurt.  Literally hurt.  How is this even possible?  She's playing "Flight of the Bumblebee" in OCTAVES.  I'm seriously still sitting here with my mouth hanging open and I stopped watching it five minutes ago.  I mean, I know I should have practiced the piano more, but I think even if I practiced 95 hours a day I'd never be that good.

Anyway...  Since it's been ages since the last Random Thoughts post and I don't have the brain power to put together more than two sentences per subject, behold, my randomly firing synapses:

Tonight I got a text from someone that said, "I am so crabby and I hate everyone.  Except you.  You are reasonable."  Best. Text. Ever.

Can't all stores put the date at the top of the receipt?  It takes me five minutes to find the date every time I'm entering things into Quicken.

I do not understand "security" these days.  I can call a company and they won't give me a single piece of information because I'm not "David."  They won't even let me send them money.  However, I can use all the information I have to log on their website and do whatever I want with the account.  Is there really a point to this charade?

I love pull-ups.  I love washing machines.  I do not love finding pull-ups in washing machines.

Sunday afternoon I had two pans of brownies in my house.  This made me a little panicked so I gave them all away except for one little brownie.  Then I woke up Monday morning and remembered I only had one little brownie to eat.  Saddest morning ever.

Why is it that kids who are potty training freak out if you flush the toilet for them, but once they've got the whole big-kid thing down they NEVER flush the toilet?  I think it's been over a year since anyone voluntarily flushed the toilet in our house.

Today Michael asked me, "What are hard times?"  At first I thought he was being all deep and philosophical, but, after some probing to find out why he was asking, it turned out he just wanted to learn his times tables.  I immediately revamped the way I would respond to the question, "How are babies born?"

I wish companies would quit miniaturizing their packaging and instead just raise their prices.  I want my half-gallon of ice cream back!

Recently I got a migraine and, while I was busy smashing my head between pillows, my kids left a ticking metronome in the hall outside my bedroom.  Someday, when they have children of their own, this is going to come back to bite them.

I hate Amazon reviewers who give products a one-star rating for things like, "It arrived late" or "The packaging was damaged" or -- my favorite -- "I haven't received this product yet."  These people should not be allowed to vote.  Or get on the internet.  Or reproduce.

Ding Dong, the Fish is Dead!

I am not a pet person.

I used to be, but that was before I had three goats children who I'm required by law to take with me any time I go somewhere.  Honestly, by the time we get home from the grocery store and someone spills a gallon of milk I'm like NO PETS.  EVER.  Not even cute little kittens who will die if we don't take them in.

So I don't know what I was thinking when I let my kids bring home three little goldfish from a party.  But I did, so we had three of the most bored goldfish ever swimming around in a triangular vase (I wasn't willing to spring for a bowl).  And then I started having worried mommy feelings for these fish.  They would creep in when I least expected it and suddenly I was washing their vase every day because I didn't want them to be uncomfortable.

Seriously, I didn't want goldfish to be uncomfortable.

This is what pets do to you -- even slimy little goldfish you can't hold or pet -- they sneak in and make you care about them.  And then you are stuck looking after them while your kids go about their lives ignoring them.  Your kids don't even care about the fish at all until little Nemo dies and you find your daughter digging next to the raspberries because she wants to see her buried fish again.  Then you feel bad for her and have delusional thoughts like, "Maybe we should get another fish."

The problem with that is that fish are just gateway pets.  Once you get one you'll find yourself allowing thoughts of hamsters and bunnies and purse-sized doggies.

Thankfully, all three fish are dead now and I'm back to my senses after Matthew and Leah's quiet time project reminded me that I don't need any more living creatures to look after.

That's play-doh wrapped up in about three dollars worth of scotch tape, in case you couldn't tell.  (I knew I should have been suspicious when I couldn't find the tape dispenser!)

I didn't take a picture of my carpet because it made me twitch a little bit.  Let's just say that play-doh is officially banned from our house until the kids are 45.

Maybe by then I'll be willing to consider another fish...

Edition 3.1

I ran a 5K on Saturday.  For reals.  (I'm serious!  Stop laughing.  And stop checking the url!  It really is me blogging).

Okay, okay, I didn't so much "run" as "not die" but considering that my bucket list consists of things like "Drink out of a chocolate river, Augustus Gloop style" you should be impressed.  I didn't even come in last.

And I have proof that I finished!  See?

The most unflattering picture of me, ever, crossing the... what the??? The START line?  Dang it!

David was a nice boy and agreed to stay with me for the entire race even though I know he wanted to run faster.  He even tried to keep me going with some talk about hard things being good for us until I told him to quit being so inspirational.

Honestly, I thought I would be able to run more than I did, but I had a rude awakening when I discovered that my treadmill had not adequately prepared me for a race that was 50% uphill.  My marathoner brother and sister-in-law kept trying to make me feel better by telling me it was a really tough course, but that's just because they are nice people.  Also because I leave chocolate mints on their pillows when they come to visit.

But, the fact remains, I did it.  I survived.  I not only ran in an actual race, I ran in a race where missionaries handed out water cups and a bagpiper serenaded us from atop a hillside.  How many of you can say that?

Plus, I only limped around like an old lady for two days afterward and now I have a really cool medal that I can wear on special occasions hang on my wall keep in a box.

Hmmm.  Come to think of it, why did I do this again?

The Truth About Beauty

What do you think of when you look at this picture?

I'll tell you what I thought the first time I looked at it (hint:  It wasn't "Oh, what a cute picture!")  For a split second I looked at it and thought, "Wow, my butt looks big!"  

And then I cringed.  Not because of my pant size, but because it seemed tragic to look at a picture of my beautiful, happy family and think, "Man, my rear end is huge!"

Coincidentally, the same day this picture was taken, this article was published, in which U.K. Women's Minister, Jo Swinson, encourages parents not to tell their children they are beautiful:  “I know as an aunt, you fall into the trap of turning to your niece and saying, 'you look beautiful’ — because of course all children do look beautiful — but if the message they get is that is what’s important and that is what gets praise, then that’s not necessarily the most positive message you want them to hear.”

This is not the first time I've read something like this, and I'm sure it won't be the last.  In the last year alone I've come across dozens of articles that chastise parents for telling their daughters they are beautiful instead of focusing on the more important things like intelligence and work ethic.  (These days "smart" is de rigueur.  "Smart" and "capable."  They don't need this "beautiful" stuff).

And then, in the midst of my musings on the subject, a duchess gave birth to the future King of England and everyone slunk out of their holes to weigh in (pardon the pun) on the new mother's post-pregnancy belly.  Less than 24 hours after she delivered the future monarch, news outlets across the globe couldn't think of anything better to do than to comment on Her Royal Highness's "mummy tummy." 

This is the world we're living in.  A world that's full of derision for anything less than bodily perfection, a world where IT MAKES THE NEWS because the future Queen of England appeared with a rounded stomach less than a day after giving birth.  And, in this world, we think that the best way to boost our daughters' self esteem -- the best way to make sure they achieve their potential in life -- is not to tell them they are beautiful?

I'm sorry, but this is madness!

How is it that we have frightened ourselves into thinking that "You are beautiful" or "You look beautiful" translate into "Looks are the most important thing."?  How have we twisted these words so much that we think we are doing our daughters a favor by not using them?  

Well, I'm here to tell you that these words are vital for our daughters to hear.  They are vital for our girlfriends and mothers and grandmothers to hear.  Because as much as we like to pretend otherwise, most women need to be told they are beautiful more than they need to be told they are smart.  (You don't believe me?  How many women do you know who complain that their husbands never tell them they are intelligent?)

Problems with body image and poor self-esteem aren't caused by telling our daughters they are beautiful; they are caused by living in a world that makes them feel like they must meet an impossible standard before they can be considered as such.  

My daughter will spend her entire life in this world, and it will tell her that she is not beautiful, that she is not valued, that she does not have infinite worth; it will denigrate her body and discourage her spirit.  Which is why, every single day, I will tell her she is beautiful.  Every single day I will tell her she is loved.

And when she's grown and looking at a picture like mine, I hope she sees the truth -- because the truth isn't ugly, it's beautiful.

And so is she.

Differences in Black and White (Er, Pink and Purple)

I bet you can't guess which twin created which picture:

This is why I laugh at people who insist that preferences for certain toys or colors are the result of socialization.  Honestly, Leah is so girly that I imagine she envisions the first commandment as being the brainchild of a sparkly princess draped in a pink and purple gown who solemnly intones, "Thou shalt have no other colors before me."

As for Matthew, he appears to be taking after his father and brother in organizational and spatial skills.  He can put together a 100 piece puzzle all by himself and gets very bothered if something is in the wrong place.  (And yet, five days worth of clothing all over the floor does not seem to bother him.  Go figure).

But, being as smart as he is, he's figured out the best way to handle his chores:

"Matthew, is your room clean?"

"Um, yep!"

"Is it clean enough for me to check?"

"Um, nope!"

"Is your bed made?"

"Leah is doing it for me!"

Ah.

Like I said, he's a smart one.

Why I Haven't Been Blogging (Plus, a Schedule!)

Michael is on year-round school, which means we only had four weeks in which to pack all of our summer fun.  This also means that time was short for the average summer dose of pinching, hitting, whining, screaming, poking each other's eyeballs, and slamming our little sister's fingers in the door, so we had to make sure we spent plenty of time each day acting like boogerheads .  And by "we" I mean "Michael."  Also Matthew.

Sigh.

Let's just say that I wasn't one of those mothers who sauntered to the bus stop yesterday singing "Sunrise, Sunset."  I did take some pictures, though.  Right after I said, "Don't let the door hit you on the way out!"  (What?  I said it with a smile!)

Isn't he a cute little first grader?

And speaking of cute, in just over a month these little whirlwinds...

...will be spending four hours a week in preschool.  Four hours!  Do you know much stuff I could get done in four uninterrupted hours??  That is so much time for couch sitting!

No, seriously.  I lost my ability to focus on significant projects after I served in the children's organization at church for four years and developed a problem getting anything done without stopping periodically to sing "Once There Was a Snowman"  Add six-and-a-half years of stay-at-home mothering to the mix and it's a wonder I have enough brain power to get to the bathroom without calling someone just to say, "I like cookies!"

Which is a good reason to call people, don't get me wrong.  But mostly I reserve making phone calls for when I need my kids to come find me, because the sound of dialing is like a siren song -- I hit "Talk" and all of them come running.  It's okay, though, I can do anything while talking on the phone.  Recently I even blew up a pool while I was chatting with my sister.  "Sorry for the loud breathing," I said, "I'm blowing up a pool."

"You shouldn't say that," she said with exaggerated paranoia in her voice.  "The NSA is probably listening to this phone call and now they're going to show up at your door with handcuffs."

"Hey NSA, if you're tapping this phone call, we're about to start talking about our periods," I said.

That'll show 'em.

As for this blog, it deserves a little more attention.  My things-to-write-about queue is bursting at the seams, and with the demise of Google Reader (Why?!!!!) I feel like this blog deserves a schedule so that my  Favorite Aunt Rebecca can know when to expect new content and won't demote me to Least Favorite Niece at the next family reunion.  So look for new posts on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  Yes, I realize it's Friday today, but hey, I started this post on a Thursday and once there was a snowman, tall, tall, tall...

Ahem, where was I?

Oh yes, Tuesdays and Thursdays.  This is not to say I won't ever post on other days, but you can definitely look for new content at least twice a week.  And if you find an article or some other item you'd like me to write about, let me know -- I take suggestions and questions.  If you send me something that really intrigues me I might even bump it to the top of my queue.  Or get off the couch.

Stranger things have happened...

Ten Commandments for the Bride-to-Be

What would wedding season be without a little dose of Bridezilla?

Writing to the Huffington Post, a reader tells of attending a wedding of a "not close" friend and giving a $100 cash gift only to be berated by the bride for being so "cheap":

"Just for the cocktail and reception alone the cost per plate is $200" the bride whined.  "Mike and I both have already paid for everything else including decor, photography, attire etc and didn't expect we had to cover that huge amount for reception as well."

Oh, you poor thing!  I just hate it when I'm expected to pay for my own party instead of lining up my guests and soaking them for cash.

P.S.  If you're reading this blog post, you owe me $29.95.

Honestly, I'm not sure how God withstands the urge to throw a lightning bolt at this greedy little snot.  So help me, if any of my children ever act like this I'm going to ship them to the slums in India and not let them come back until the only thing that comes out of their mouths is "Thank you" and "What can I do to help?"

How on earth did weddings go from being a simple celebration of a marriage to a $28,000 (the average cost of a wedding these days) bride-led circus complete with fireworks and trained bridesmaids?  People, you can buy a car for $28,000.  Or make a down payment on a home.  Or get an education or fill a savings account or do any number of more prudent things.  And you want to spend it all on ONE party and ONE day?

*hyperventilates into a brown paper bag*

Not that I'm saying there is anything wrong with having a party.  If you can afford it and want to do it, then go ahead.  But, if you cannot afford to have a big party, you should hold off on the ice sculptures and the live music.  And the last thing you should do is have a $200/plate dinner and demand that your guests cover the cost.

But since this bit of common sense seems to have flown out of the atmosphere in search of more intelligent life, I present to you Ten Commandments for the Bride-to-be:

1.  Thou shalt not be a snot.

If you are not mature enough to be gracious to your friends and family, you are not mature enough to get married.  You must behave kindly to everyone, including your mother-in-law, your husband, and your bridesmaids.  And, if you have one, your caterer, your photographer, and the nice ladies who will clean up after you.

2.  Thou shalt not spend more than you can afford.

If you cannot afford the "dream" wedding you want, do not act like you can.  If you think a marriage cannot begin without an extravagant party, you need to re-examine your priorities.

3.  Thou shalt not demand that guests or members of the wedding party spend more than they can (or want to) afford.

Unless you want to pay for each and every one of your guests to attend your wedding off the coast of Bora Bora, do not have a destination wedding that requires guests to use their precious vacation time and limited budget to travel somewhere they do not want to go to see you do something that you could have done at the local courthouse.  Do not demand specific gifts ("cash only" or "donations" for the honeymoon) or any gifts at all, for that matter.  Do not demand that the bridesmaid who is working the night shift at McDonald's shell out for a Vera Wang gown and Jimmy Choo shoes.  Do not demand that guests reimburse you for the cost of your selfish extravagance.

4.  Thou shalt not go into debt for any part of the wedding (including the ring).

Reasonable debts:  House, car, education.  Unreasonable debts:  Huge parties, designer dresses, gigantic diamonds.  A note to future husbands:  If your fiancee expects a huge ring she knows you cannot afford and demands that you go into debt or work for three years straight just to pay for it, run away fast.  This is not the kind of woman you want to be married to.  

5.  Thou shalt remember that bridesmaids are friends, not servants.

If you are treating your Maid of Honor like she deserves to be shackled to your to-do list and will only be let go on good behavior, knock it off.  She is doing you a favor.  Be grateful.

6.  Thou shalt focus on things that matter.

It doesn't matter if someone wears tennis shoes to your wedding.  It doesn't matter if the florist used the wrong flower.  It doesn't matter if someone stepped on your dress.  What matters is that you are getting married.  All the other stuff is just fluff.

7.  Thou shalt remember that it is not "your" day.

Remember that guy... the one you are vowing to love forever?  He's kind of important.  Treat him that way.  Respect his opinion and value his input.  You are in this together -- don't forget to act like it.

8.  Thou shalt remember that the marriage is more important than the wedding.

The point of this whole thing is to get married, NOT to throw oneself an I'm-the-center-of-the-universe-worship-me party.  I have read countless stories of brides who felt their marriage (and in some cases, their life) was ruined because one little day did not go perfectly as planned.  It is only ONE day.  As far as marriage goes, the wedding day means nothing.  The marriage means everything.      

9.  Thou shalt have an attitude of gratitude.

If someone gives you three pennies and a used postage stamp, your job is not only to write a gracious thank you note (promptly!), but to be grateful.  The gift doesn't matter.  Your attitude does.

10.  Thou shalt treat your husband the way he deserves to be treated.

Marriage vows mean something.  The way you treat your husband means something.  Don't treat him like a child.  Don't make fun of him.  Don't kick him around like he's some kind of pet whose ears you only scratch when you want something.  Honor and cherish and respect him.  Show him you love him more than anyone in the world.  He is the most important person in your life.

Never forget it.