Boy Caught with Pants Down, Mother Laughs Earlier this week, a young 4-year-old was attempting to use the toilet when his mother laughed at him. Fortunately, the boy was too groggy to register the fact, and will not be scarred as an adult as a result of the incident. "He had been really sick for a day or two with a fever and bad congestion. When he started crying about an hour after we put him down, we were worried that he was going to hurl or something," the father tells reporters. "I went in to see what was wrong, but he was too loopy from the medication to tell me." At this point, the boy's mother guided him to the bathroom to wipe the snot off his face, and the boy (who had been screaming and howling horribly up to this point), automatically pulled down his pants and used the potty, crying the entire time. "After he was finished, he reached for some toilet paper to...uh, dry the dew from his lily, and it was at that point..." the boy's mother tells us, but she breaks off due to a fit of the giggles. "Well, he was so out of it that he used the same bit of toilet paper to wipe his nose, and then he threw it into the sink instead of the trashcan or toilet," she sputters. "He was very groggy," the boy's father explains, who also laughed at his son. "It is a regrettable incident, of course," the father tells reporters, "and one we hope will never be repeated." "But you should have seen his face," the shameless mother snorts. Thankfully, once the boy had relieved himself, he quieted immediately and went to bed. As for the laughing parents, justice was served by both mother and father catching the same illness. Both are currently miserable, but the boy is feeling much better and not allowing either of them to rest. Mormon Missionaries Mocked Again When LDS missionaries left the church building in Centralia, WA, last Sunday, they were shocked to find that some unknown party had vandalized their car. "You just aren't safe anywhere anymore. If your car isn't safe in a church parking lot, where will it be safe?" one Elder mused. The vandals had used soap to write such phrases as "Just Married" on the back window, "True Love," on the front, and marked the rest of the windows with hearts and flowers. When asked whom the Elders thought had vandalized their car, one Elder said, "Now that is a good question!" They have no idea who the perpetrators may have been. Unfortunately for the missionaries (but rather to the amusement of everyone they passed), they were forced to drive their car home in this condition. Damage was estimated to be at a loss of 15 minutes for cleaning the film off the windows, but the estimated cost of snickers from passerby, priceless. Woman Does NOT Meet Other Woman She Met Online Today Centralia resident Wynne Urien, traveling with her son, returns home from Seattle where they were visiting with family members. "Originally, we were supposed to be up there for four days, but my son got sick, so we didn't go up until yesterday." Urien's plan had been to meet up with a fellow blogger while she was in the Seattle area, but her plans were further complicated by her contraction of the same illness that her son had. (See related story, "Boy Caught with Pants Down, Mother Laughs") "We came home again on Sunday, and I considered dropping by her [the fellow blogger's] home, but decided not to because I didn't have directions, she would probably have been at church at the time, and snot was raining from my nose. I don't think she would have appreciated me dripping on her children." Urien further explains, "Well, she didn't exactly know I was going to be there. The only notice I gave her was an obnoxious comment on a blog posting, and I don't even know that she read it. I should have emailed her," she sighs. When questioned about how she felt about this near miss, the online friend, a Mrs. Carrot Jello, replied, "Frankly, I'm quite relieved. When you make a friend online, you never know what you're going to get: a flatulent bean-eating Texan? A tiny shopaholic sushi addict? And then when you meet them in real life, well...the weird only gets weirder. I mean, have you read her blog? The girl is a complete psycho, and she never explains what a muskadillo is. And how did she get my address, anyway? I think she's stalking me."

What I Did During My Last Hiatus

Question: If you are sitting around in a presidency1 meeting discussing an issue that the Bishop2 is concerned about (in this instance, general cleanliness of ward3 members), and you ask the other presidency members if they've ever heard of FlyLady, and they say, "oh, no—what is that?" do you:

A. Backtrack rapidly with: "Oh, that's too bad, because I don't know what it is either."
B. Attempt a distraction technique: "Hey! Look out the window there! Is that Sheri Dew4 running through the backyard?"
C. Tell the truth: "It's a woman on the Internet who has program that helps you organize your life along with your housekeeping."
D. Break wind.

Correct answer:

A or D would be the most effective, though B might work as well.

What I did:

I took option C, and told them what I knew about the FlyLady and her program. They thought it sounded wonderful. Five minutes later they had made the decision that the ward would host a "De-cluttering and Organization" class (basically "Housekeeping 101" but with a less offensive title), one class a month for the next five months, and I would be teaching it.

Um. Excuse me? What? Who, me?

Anyhoo, I finished the LAST CLASS this month, and it will no longer be eating my time! Hooray! If you would like to see how I happily ripped off FlyLady methodology and re-packaged it for our ward, you can click here to download the documentation for the entire five months' worth of classes! Whee! (No, really. Click. Download it. Really. I put a lot of work into it.)

But that wasn't the only thing that took me away from the computer this past little while. Oh, no. Oddly enough, this other thing also originated in a presidency meeting.

This time, we were talking about Enrichment5. (I am the Enrichment Counselor6, you know.) The idea was we were having a modest Enrichment Night that was going to focus on scripture study, and, since I was in charge of it, I managed to work PIRATES7 into the theme.

Then the Bishop, who happens to be married to the Education Counselor8 whose home we were meeting in, walked in and eavesdropped on the meeting. It just so happened that he was wanting to do something with scripture study for the entire ward. In yet another five minutes' time, I was suddenly in charge of a much more ambitious ward activity.

Sigh.

At least I can say that I thoroughly enjoyed putting this one together, 'cause, hey! Pirates! Cool!

Take a gander at this flyer that went into the Sacrament meeting bulletin:


I made two of these posters to sit outside of the chapel for a few Sundays—because flyers in the bulletin just weren't enough (they were enough for me, but I got outvoted):


(Sorry about the cat. He thought I made the posters just for him to sleep on. Dork.)

And then I got to make my own treasure! This is what a bucketful of pea gravel, a can of gold spray paint, some serious glue, and a few cheap acrylic gems from WalMart will get ya:


...and I made a WHOLE bunch of it, too.

Anyway, the whole thing is now over, and I am relieved. See? I'm lettin' my hair down:


And now that I am free from all of these things, I should be free to come back whole-heartedly into the world of bloggin', right?

Alas, NAY.

An old "friend" of mine has popped up, and he's a pretty demanding fellow.



More about him later.

*sigh*


*****************************************************************************

This blog posting comes with helpful footnotes for the Mormon-impaired. Hooray!!

1. In this case, a Relief Society presidency meeting. Basically, three to four women sitting around plotting how to take over the ward.
2. Busiest guy in the ward. And you never, ever want to babysit his cell phone, believe me.
3. All the LDS folk that live in a geographical area, like three blocks in Utah, or three counties in Kansas.
4. Author of such inspirational books such as "If Life Were Easy, It Wouldn't Be Hard."
5. The bane of my existence. It usually involves food and lots of women and cutesy evenings based around a theme. We always spike the punch with multivitamins, which is where it gets its name.
6. 2nd counselor in the RS presidency, also known as "the workhorse."
7. Pirates have nothing to do with people of the LDS faith. Or Mormons, either. I think some investigators were confused.
8. 1st counselor in the RS presidency, often heard to say, "man, am I glad I'm not the 2nd counselor!"
9. Yeah, these footnotes aren't all that helpful, I know. What are you going to do about it? (Keep in mind, before you respond, I HAVE A SWORD.)

Free Monkey to a Good Home

Here's the deal: Jake received some goodies in the mail this past week from one of his grandmothers. She sent him some monkey-related items—which Jake adores—but he already has a copy of this particular movie, and this is the second monkey that grandma has sent—how many monkeys does a boy need, anyway?

He has agreed to share the love and send the extraneous monkey paraphernalia to some other kid/adult/canine/parakeet/etc who doesn't have this much monkey love in his or her life.

So, are any of you readers in need of a monkey in your life? Leave a comment if you're interested, and I'll do a random drawing of those interested in...oh, two weeks, then throw the monkey and movie in the mail to you.

And I may not be around much* for the next two weeks or so (I've been procrastinating church projects again).

* When am I ever?

Purty Flowers

**achoo!!**

I love this time of year.

**cough**

And in NW Washington, it's abso-freakin'-lutely lovely. **sniffle**

I want to share what I've been **achoo** seeing, without the...ah, side effects. **cough**

From my back yard:


I have no idea what these are, but they grow wild ALL over the place up here on these scrubby-looking bushes:


Why do people say violets are blue? They aren't:


I just learned that snails can climb trees. Look:


This is a rhododendron and a Jake. These really are red, red, red, but all the pictures came out making them look like they were pinkish. They're not:


Close-up of a pink rhododendron (isn't "rhododendron" a dreadful name for such an exotic-looking flower? "Rhododendron" sounds a great deal more like a dinosaur than a flower):


Mossy fencepost in the back yard:


Close-up of same post:


There is a huge field on two sides of our yard that is full of flowering grass **ACHOO!!** and wildflowers. The following are all taken in it, but am dissatisfied with all. None really capture it well **achoo, ACHOO!** enough. **sniffle**








And here are a bunch without commentary, because there are SOOOO many pictures, and no one wants to read commentary on each picture. Am I right?








Merry Hay-Fever Season, Everyone!

Mayday! Mayday!*

*This post was intended for the first of May, but since I was not bloggin' at that time, I missed the day. I would like you, dear reader, to ignore the fact that it is no longer May 1st, and pretend that I actually got a post up in a timely manner. Y'know, for a change.

Jeff and I were married on May 1st NINE years ago. That's right. Nine years ago. I thought in order to celebrate the day, I would share some of my favorite wedding photos with you! That's right! Get ready for some mushy cheese, folks. Weddin' pictures ahead!

This one is a favorite because it captures the mood of the day perfectly. It was taken at the end of a very long day, and yet, you can still see how happy we are! Look, we're almost glowing!

(Actually, I think Jeff may be...what is that look? Ah, yes, exasperated! As in, please don't take another picture of us. As for me, I don't think I'm conscious any longer. I think I may even be drooling.) Oh well. On to the next:

At the reception in Jeff's home town, we had a harpist. Isn't that nice? Yeah. I can still hear the strains of "My Heart Will Go On**" strummed on the harp, echoing in the empty corners of my brain (behind where I keep the boxes labeled Forget About This as Soon as Possible and Nightmares with Dust Bunnies).

Unfortunately, the photo-guy was obsessed with the harp. He just thought it soooo picturesque. He made me pose with it, several times. However, my most favoritest shot of the "Harp Series" was this candid moment that he caught of bride and groom:

The harp and harpist just make the picture, don't they?

And of course, there is always the decor. Most wedding decor is fairly boring and commonplace: flowers and greenery and white fabric and pearls, etc. But I had something truly unique. My mom was entirely in charge of the reception in my hometown, and here is her creative masterpiece of the evening:

Your eyes are not deceiving you. That is, indeed, a tinfoil-swan-watermelon-fruit-basket†. Betcha didn't have one of those at your wedding. Try not to be too jealous.

Here are things I would have liked to have pictures of, but sadly, didn't get a shot of, to my deep and everlasting regret:

• The papier-mache butterflies that flocked all over centerpieces and anywhere else my mom could find a place for them to land.
• A picture of the cake tipping. (Apparently, the poor thing was slowly sagging on one side, quite like the leaning tower of Pisa. This amused my uncle to no end. He sat there and watched its progress with great delight, and was terribly disappointed that we cut it before it collapsed.)
• Brother and cousin sneakin' a doobie in the church parking lot, and then wearing sunglasses to hide the bloodshot eyes.

Good times, good times.

At least the best part of that day I get to see every day. And it doesn't hurt to look at him, either.

I love you, Punk-a-saur. Happy nine years of us, and thanks for not running out the door when my crazy comes on.

**What kind of song is that to play at a wedding, I ask you? "My Heart Will Go On?" We're only just married, but don't worry, my heart will survive this tragic separation? Ah, Celine Dijon, no doubt your career will go on and on and on to my utter dismay.
†There was some debate as to whether it was a tinfoil duck head attached to that watermelon basket, and there was even one small faction that thought it was a platypus, but my mother firmly affirmed it was a swan, thankyouverymuch.

Cultivating My Inner Redneck

Living in a green state has its advantages. For example: burning. I've never lived in a place where it was acceptable to burn yard waste. So when a neighbor suggested—after I complained at length about what in the world was I supposed to do with the piles of branches, leaves, and logs* that I had amassed from trimming things around the yard—that I just trot on down to the fire station and get myself a burn permit, I was shocked.

"Really? You can do that?"
"Yup. We're outside the city limits here."
"Really?"
"Yeah."

I walked away in a daze that quickly turned into a fervor of excitement. I could BURN stuff—in my own yard—and no one would call the cops? Wow.

So I duly trotted myself down to the fire station.

"I'd like to get a burn permit, please."
"Okay. Hold on, let me get the paper...here it is." She watches as I fill in the address.
"Where is that? I'm not familiar with the street name."
"Oh, it's just around the corner from here."
"Just around the corner?" She's frowning. Uh-oh. "Here, can you point it out on the map, please?" And she plunks down a map of the city. I find our house and point at it.
"Oh, I'm sorry. You're not actually within city limits, but you're still too close to areas of Residential Development for us to allow you to burn." (Yes, she did pronounce the capital letters, just like that.)
I tried not to let it, but I'm pretty sure my face fell about 1,000 ft. Before the altitude drop caused undue precipitation, she continued: "Yeah, the only thing you're allowed to do where you are is recreational burning."
"Excuse me? What?"
"An outdoor fire confined to a small space for recreational purposes only."
"Okay, then."

So Jakey and I went home, sans burn permit, and had ourselves a recreational bonfire. Right on the lawn, all through the month of March, whenever it wasn't raining. (I kept a cooler of hot dogs on ice nearby just in case someone checked up on us.**)


What I learned from this experience:

• Dried and dead juniper sure goes up quick—and HOT.
• If you don't have an axe to chop up the extremely long branches and logs—no worries! Just throw 'em on the fire and when they burn through the middle, just pick 'em up by the cool end and move 'em back into the middle.
• It IS possible to eat Otter Pops in cold weather. Just sit down by a really hot fire, and you'll crave them, I promise.
  

Things I already knew, but that this experience reaffirmed for me:

• I like burning things.
• A very hot fire makes a chilly and misty 40-degree-day quite pleasant.
• Grass does not like being burned. Neither do insects, spiders, or the eyelashes on my left eye. (Oops.)
  

Jake's favorite part was getting to play fireman with the hose after I had doused the fire.


Jeff's reaction to the whole thing:

• Suspiciously: "You smell like camping. What have you been doing?"
• "You did what?"
• "Right on the lawn?"
• "Why?"
• "What are we going to do with a black charred ring on the grass?"
• "You're a redneck. You know that, right?"

The end result is that the piles and piles of dead stuff around the yard are gone, I had a lot of fun getting rid of it, and now I have some ash to throw into the compost pile. I had to transplant some grass, but hey—no biggie***!

*I know I've complained about the rental we're living in numerous times, but mostly it's been about the inside. The outside, however, has been equally neglected. I swear no one trimmed that juniper bush for 30 years. The piles of dead branches I got out of that thing alone was as tall as I am.
**No, not really. It wasn't really necessary. Anyone who came by would see how much fun I was having and would be forced to assume this was a purely recreational activity, not yardwork.
***No, the really BIG deal was this threat I received in my comments about this time (because I was too busy doing this sort of thing to blog in the month of March). Here:

If you do not blog soon I will be forced to take my summer road trip to your home and I will CAMP on your front lawn for a week. Can you imagine? Me, Abby, S and the dog all over the grass like a bunch of deranged lawn gnomes...filthy from not bathing. Don't get me started on the smoke from the cooking fire. And, as soon as your back is turned, we will abduct your adorable child and turn him native. You know what 5 natives means, right? It is critical mass for a Lord of the Flies scenario. You have the power to stop this, Wynne. IT'S ALL IN YOUR HANDS!!!

Megan, I was really, really hoping that you would come by. I wanted to surprise you with the fact that I already had the campfire started for you. So I continued not to blog. But...sniff...you never came.

Monkey Beans

Sometimes I swear there is more than one of me jammed into my head.

Sometimes we have arguments. Or discussions. Or parties.

Sometimes it gets pretty crowded in my skull.

And sometimes, we get very, very bored, and a conversation like this happens:

persona 1: Monkey beans.
persona 2: Excuse me?
persona 1: Okay, lady, hand 'em over. I need some more monkey beans.
persona 2: You could ask, you know.
persona 1: Okay, HAND 'EM OVER please.
persona 2: Hmph. That barely counts. Why do you want them anyway?
persona 1: Well, I'm fresh out of monkeys and I thought it would be good to grow some more.



persona 2: That's not what monkey beans are. They are for monkeys to eat.
persona 1: Yecch! The cannibals!
persona 3: Did someone say cannibus?
persona 4: No.
And they are called monkey beans because they look like monkeys.
persona 1: No, no—they're perfectly round and pink.
persona 4: Yeah. Like monkeys.


persona 3: No, they are called "monkey beans" because it was a monkey's uncle who discovered them.
persona 1: That's stupid. If that were true, they'd be named after the uncle, not the monkey.
persona 2: But the uncle was a monkey—what else could a monkey's uncle be?
persona 1: Oh, no. You're not going to sidetrack me with that. And plainly, they are called monkey beans because they are toes. Monkey toes.
persona 2: You lost me. Why not call them toes and be done with it?
persona 1: Because their name is "monkey beans."
persona 2: They're probably not monkey toes. They are probably human pinkie toes.
persona 4: Or baby mice.
persona 3: I think you're right. They are human pinkie toes. And pinkie toes from a grown man.
persona 2: So why are they not called "toes" again?
persona 5: AAAAAHH! My toes are missing! Where the &%#@! are my toes?!


Sometimes Jeff interrupts...uh, us in the middle of one of these debates. He immediately regrets it.

Does anyone know how to get the extra people out of my head?
Hey! Who are you calling extra? You're the dead weight around here.

I think I'm going to use the phrase "monkey beans" from now on whenever I find something nutty. I'm tired of saying "crazy" and "nuts" and "insane." "Monkey beans" sounds like fun to say.

Wow, that's monkey beans!
My mother? Yeah, she's certifiably monkey beans.
Did you see that monkey-beans hairdo on that kid?

And just in case you wanted some more beans, click on this: