Party Like It's 2012!

We have awesome neighbors.  Since we've lived here in D-town, John and Michelle have thrown a New Year's Eve party every year.  Not being a party thrower myself, I admire their generosity, sense of fun, and inclusion of so many different people and ages into their home.  I didn't go last year because of Daniel, but didn't miss out this year.  Maureen, who spent the Christmas break with us, had a headache and didn't feel like mingling with new acquaintances all night so offered to watch Daniel at home while we went.  I hope we didn't abandon her or take advantage of her generous offer but it was so nice to have an evening with friends without chasing after a toddler with mad new walking skills!





The party starts at around 7:00 pm and guests are asked to bring finger food to share.  I always bring something that Sam and Jay can eat, in case it's the only thing they can eat, but couldn't find any shrimp rings at the grocery store that day.  Apparently, shrimp rings are a highly popular New Year's Eve food.  Instead, I got Little Smokies and put them in a crockpot with barbecue sauce.   Jay didn't say anything but when we got to our friend's house, there was already another crockpot full of them with barbecue sauce.  And a whole tray of them in croissant roles.  Apparently, Little Smokes are a highly popular New Year's Eve food.  

Turns out, Jay doesn't even like Little Smokes but, thankfully, there were other options for him there.  I think the reason I enjoy this New Year's party so much is that it's full of families and there are lots of friends for my kids to play with.  Again, this is enjoyable because it is not at my house.  I have learned that I have neither the patience nor the sense of fun anymore to enjoy lots of other people's children in my home. It's with a sad awareness of my own hostessing shortcomings that I envy John and Michelle their hot-spot house.  You know how some people proclaim that they want their house to be the house that their kids and their friends want to hang out at?  That is their house.  It is fun.  They are fun.

At 8ish, all the kids under 12 took turns whacking a pinata.  Everyone wore a blindfold, got turned around a couple of times by John and then had to find the pinata on their own.  It took quite a while for it to break.  Eventually, John let them hit it without the blindfold as everyone was ready for the pinata part of the party to be done.  That was one tough piñata!






Henry cried, of course, because he didn't get as much candy as he thought he deserved, meaning most of it. The adults chatted and snacked for a while longer until the awesome fireworks show started.  This show seriously out-wowed most fourth of July shows.  John was like a dancer out there, lighting and replacing fireworks while waltzing between rows (not really waltzing but it was something to watch!)  I stayed inside as it was freezing outside but Jay went and stood with Seth, Sam and Henry and, later, launched Roman candles with them.  At 10:00 pm, or midnight in New York, we did a countdown and had horns, hats and bubble wrap to ring or blast in the new year.  I had my mustache free man to kiss and after toasting in the new year with cherry 7-Up in plastic goblets, we were all rung out.



I used the HDR setting on my phone so you can see how John moved.






There had already been about 10 minutes of fireworks before this Grand Finale!



Fun and noisy!






You have to watch for about 20 seconds before you get the full effect of the noise.




My friend Lori with Jay trying to photobomb in the background.




It's a lot of fun to ring in the new year with my kids!




It's also fun to ring in the new year with friends.  Here is Lori and her husband, Dave.


I always assumed the boys knew we went by New York time but when I was tucking Henry and Sam into bed, Sam saw his alarm clock and thought it was wrong.  "Mom, it's off.  It says it's 10:42pm."  "It is 10:42 pm, Sam," and I showed him my phone with the correct time.  "What the..???  I thought it was midnight!  I thought I was not tired enough for it to be midnight.  You guys tricked me!"  Whoops!

I fail most years in my New Year's Resolution but this year, I have two that seem keepable.  First, I resolve to write a book review within 2 days of finishing a book.  I have 50 books over the past two years that I have read and not written about.  I hope to review a few of those 50 but I doubt I'll get even half and that makes me sad.  It makes those books feel unread.  My second resolution is to never, not once, read any kind of article about any Khardashian family member.  I have never watched their show but being a digital news reader, I feel like I know way too much about any of these narcissistic and fame-hungry people.  I almost clicked on a link today so this resolution, unfortunately, isn't as easy as it seems.  I'll be so pleased with myself if by the end of 2013, I know no details about any of them (I'd make the goal complete ignorance, but headlines give so much away and are so hard to avoid).

Here's to 2013!!!!!!  And thanks, John and Michelle for such a fun ending to 2012!

Twenty Year Statute of Limitations

After three attempts and a very shaky hand, I took a black Expo marker and wrote my name next to "Sophomore Class Treasurer" on the white board in Mr. Brown's classroom.  I have a horrible weakness in only trying out or auditioning for spots that are already pretty sure things but I had no idea about my chances of being elected treasurer.  My good friend, Kari, was very involved in student council and I was slightly jealous of her class officer status throughout freshman year.  Not being interested in accounting, budgeting, finance or banking, I suppose I chose the position of treasurer because no one very popular would be running against me.  It seemed my best chance of having student council success.

I was elected and my confidence in running for things grew.  At the end of my junior year, I decided to throw my hat in the ring for head honcho and try for Senior Class President.  I don't know about your high school elections, but ours were held during the day and were kind of set up like a sketch comedy show.  The goal of any candidate was to be the most entertaining and memorable show of the day and I stuck to what I knew and gave my speech while sitting at a grand piano bench, sing/talking my speech a la a lounge act while wearing a very tight sky blue tuxedo (I distinctly remember not wanting to stand up because those pants were like painted on).  Again, I was more interested in the status of the position than in actually leading any kind of high school government but after I won in large part because my opponent decided to give a real speech decrying meaningless, silly speeches (he was going after the serious voter, I guess, if such a thing exists in high school), I actually enjoyed student government.  I liked going to meetings and making decisions and...well...leading.

A HUGE downside of being senior class president at my alma mater is the tradition of that person being in charge of planning future class reunions.  I took the responsibility seriously and went about planning our ten year without the benefit of Facebook, Twitter or any kind of email list.  We graduated before email, after all.  I conducted the business of reuniting everyone the old fashioned way: paper and snail mail.

I hated it so much.  We lived in Spokane at the time and I had just had Sam and I knew the easiest thing would be to just say "meet at this bar on this day" and let the alcohol do all the work of planning something fun for me but being a non-drinker, I just couldn't.  No, I had to plan a night at the high school with refreshments and a family picnic at a park and an evening meal at a nice hotel with a cash bar.  I even made color copies of everyone's senior pictures from the yearbook and cut and pasted name tags by hand.  We had some money saved as a class after PROM and opened a bank account for the express purpose of having money for our ten year reunion. You'd think those sophomore class treasurer skills would have been useful but at the weekend's end, I was in the red and I lost personal money on the reunion.  It was nice to see a few old classmates but my memories of the weekend are not particularly fond ones.

Now, our twenty year reunion is approaching next year and within the past month,  I have seriously gotten a half-dozen inquiries about what I'm doing to plan it.  All have come from nice people but not anyone with whom I've stayed in touch or even anyone  who was a particularly close friend. They wonder what dates I've selected and if they can do anything to help.  I ignored the first two because they stressed me out and I just felt like it was so unnecessary to respond.  It's been twenty years people!  No seventeen year-old who wins and election because she plays Tea for Two in a blue tuxedo should have to organize a weekend gathering for hundreds of people she no longer knows, all while living almost a thousand miles away.  I think this should be obvious.

A few months ago, I wondered if I should send out a Facebook message reminding any former classmates who hadn't yet hidden me (I have hidden a lot of them so I try not to take it personally if I'm hidden) that I had said at the ten year that I was NOT planning the next one.  I decided that it was pretty presumptuous of me to think that sort of grand announcement was even necessary.  Surely those Bruin alumni who still live in my hometown would be saying, "I can't even remember who our senior class president was so I'll just get this thing going!"  Am I crazy to think so?  My husband, who also happened to be his senior class president and has never even been to one of his reunions even though we live in the town where he graduated, thinks it's insane that anyone would expect me to plan it.  My four siblings who have already had their twenty year reunions reassured me that they just sort of get planned by self-selected committee and I shouldn't feel responsible. I thought so too until the messages started.

I've responded each time that they (whoever sent the message) should plan it because they'd "do such a great job!"although with each subsequent message, I've had to include that so and so also contacted me and they should check with them before any major planning in case something has already been done.  The end result has left an unpleasant mood.  The multiple "Nope!  I'm not doing a thing!" responses have made me feel lame and flakey, like I am letting the class down in some way.  It's also made me very disinterested in attending anything that does eventually get planned.  Which is weird because I am one of the few that actually really liked high school.  So I search deeper.

Of course there are other reasons beyond simply not wanting to be the one in charge.  I don't want to go see a bunch of people I knew who knew me when I was seventeen and had six pack abs and Julia Roberts hair in my current state of significantly overweight with greying roots.  I also think Facebook has ruined a bit of the lure of high school reunions.  It's kind of embarrassing to admit here but some old friends have hurt my feelings by actively commenting or liking mutual friends statuses and pictures and totally ignoring mine.  I can't believe I just wrote that.  Hello insecure Facebook user.  It doesn't hurt all the time.  I don't see Facebook as an extension of high school but there are a few people who, in my memory, were my really good friends. And their Facebook snubbing is like a much more boring episode of Mean Girls.  On the other hand, I already know too much about other classmates, including their political leanings, alcohol drinking tendencies and whether or not they "like" Walmart or not.  I mean, what else it there to talk about at a reunion :)?  Still, I don't want to be one of those grouchy people who can't enjoy running into someone and reminiscing about a time when we were all younger and dumber.

Whatever happens with the reunion,  I think twenty years pardons any high school crime.  Especially those involving sky blue tuxedos and a girl singing the line, "If you want your time to be well spent/Vote Lucy for your class president!"

It's Not You...It's Me

A couple of weeks ago, I heard through my son, Sam, that our neighbors and friends were moving to Utah. When this friend confirmed the news through a text that same night, I drove home in a fog of tears. I was desolate. Beyond sad. Beyond lonely.

The hole this family would leave behind, both in the community and at church, is crater-sized in its proportions. While the thought of the gash their children leaving makes to our youth program and primary, as well as her and her husband's leadership roles as seminary teacher and bishopric member being sadly vacated is depressing, I mostly mourned my own personal loss. A fun friend gone. A source of advice and comfort in this little town too expensive and isolated to keep anyone for long...taken. I didn't want to live here anymore. I know that sounds dramatic but it just seemed that if this person, who I thought was going to be here forever, was moving then no current or future friendship was safe.  For years, it was us leaving our friends as medical school, residency and fellowship ended but, now, for the rest of my life, friends will move and leave me.

What made my grief seem ridiculously overdramatic and undeserving was that it had been probably close to a year since I had done anything social with this friend.  We had chatted at a few ward functions and a sent a few texts here and there that kept us from saying we hadn't heard from each other but I had made very little effort to be a friend to my friend.  Now, with plans for her to move in less than a month, we quickly scheduled a breakfast in which to meet and chat and it was delightful.  Easy.  Well...not so easy.  Daniel did tip over my water onto my lap and I had that uncomfortable upper thigh and crotch soak to show off as I left the restaurant but that kind of thing isn't what keeps me home.  It's me...not making any effort.  It's me....figuring people have better things to do.  It's me...not knowing or realizing the stress others are having and helping.  It's not hard for me to list all the reasons why I'm so unsocial these days.  I'm married to a private and socially unmotivated person.  I live on 25 acres in the freaking countryside.  I have a baby who prevents me from being a lady who lunches and older kids with busy evenings that make my daylight hours feel too precious to spend frivolously with other moms of young kids at things like MOPS.  All those realities make the excuses easier to give but the sad reality is this: I am not a good friend.

I think I make an excellent acquaintance.  I tend to be friendly and funny and genuinely interested in others. I'm such a good acquaintance that some are duped or lured into thinking I'd make a good friend.  This attention and effort on their part flatters and excites me for awhile but then something happens.  I'm not sure what.  Sometimes it's my own insecurity that I seem too desperate or needy so I back off.  Sometimes, I overshare, get embarrassed and back off.  Sometimes, someone else seems too desperate or needy and that scares me so I...back off.  See a pattern here?  Sometimes, distance and time just shift the friendship back to acquaintance mode and it seems weird to get all loud and eager again.  Whatever the reason I know that I am the common denominator in all of my current and former lackluster friendships.

A few days ago, this friend told me they are no longer moving.  Relief and joy replaced the gloom and I feel determined to show this friend that I really am her friend!  Even with this resolve and our own jokes that it shouldn't take the threat of a move to get us to hang out, I find myself managing my motivation.  My head says, "O.K.  She's staying but this is a really busy time of year and you just had breakfast two weeks ago. Don't annoy her and plan something else right away."  I'm obnoxious!

To anyone I have disappointed as a friend - I'm so sorry.  I'm sorry if I seemed disinterested.  I'm sorry if I let you down or left you alone when you needed support.  I'm sorry I seem to lack the skills to stay friends - real friends.  I promise you...it's not you.  It's me.  I'd like to be better.

Friends and Facebook

I think I hate Facebook.

I waffle because it’s not altogether an evil site.  It’s been a good place to reconnect with some people.  It gave me quicker access to people than blogs and was certainly a faster way to express myself than writing on my blog but those status updates have never given me satisfaction for very long.

You see...I’m all about the details.  Even when they were too difficult to write.

Now that I’m feeling better and much, much more interested in others, I’m finding that I....hesitate...to even log onto my Facebook page.  As I examined the reasons for the hesitation I came to realize something.

I think I hate Facebook.

Today’s current count of Facebook friends for me is 276.  That seems like a lot, although I know people who have a much higher number than that.  I have no idea how often that number changes but what I do know is that I do not have 276 friends.

I rarely go seeking after more “friends” but I do usually accept friend requests, unless I don’t know the person or have already defended them once (No.  I STILL don’t want to see semi-nude pictures of you in a drunken state, thank you very much).    I suppose I’ve been defriended or blocked or whatever by others but I don’t know by whom as I may have hidden them anyway.  I have discovered that if Facebook were an actual party or reunion or whatever it’s trying to be, I would be a very rude guest/attendee.  Your daily workout routine?  I don’t care.  My eyes are glazing over.  Your forwarded/copy/pasted/generic declaration of loving God/family/country?  Tacky.  Can’t contain my eye roll.  I think these things deserve sincere individual thought.  Your never ending promotion of whatever it is you’re selling?  I’m going to walk away.  I know everyone’s got to eek out a living but it feels much like the vendors that perturb my chill on the beach in Mexico by asking me to buy their woven bracelets with my name personalized on it every ten seconds.  I’m here to relax, not buy stuff!

In my defense, it’s not that I wouldn’t be interested in any of those things should we be having a conversation or should I know the reasons or background story as to why any of those things matter to you.    If it’s a part of your life and, if we’re actually friends, I would probably be interested because I’m interested in you.  It’s the coldness of Facebook, its endless Groundhog Day-esque insipid and meaningless conversations with acquaintances - NOT friends, that’s got me heading towards retreat.  I miss connecting with people.  I miss caring about people.

That’s just on the receiving end.  I’m SURE I’m equally annoying on Facebook because if you’re active at all on there (and what’s the point if you’re not active?) your status updates are going to appear tedious to others who don’t know you well and don’t care that much.  I’ve been posting a lot about pregnancy and baby stuff lately and one of my high school friends jokingly (maybe) threatened to hide me because of it.  Not enough pictures of me holding bottles of alcohol with random people he wouldn't know to keep him entertained, I guess (Look at me being petty.  He’s a really good guy but, man, does he drink with friends a lot!  Or at least that’s what his life looks like on Facebook).  Mostly, I miss having the chance to express myself with more than one paragraph.

The other day, my best friend from high school and college sent me a package with a cute outfit for Daniel apologizing for not knowing I was pregnant until two weeks previously from one of my Facebook posts.  I felt shame.  I was her maid of honor.  She was mine.  I have 276 friends on Facebook and that number, that totally false and inflated number of friends, is partly to blame for my neglect.  Why in the world do I spend any time at all reading about someone who was in my married ward at BYU for one semester and not spend the time to call or write a girl who helped me become a grown up?  Shame!

I’m going to try harder.  I’m going to express myself more.  Be it through blogging or emailing or letter writing or even calling, which is not my go-to means of communicating, I’m going to be a better friend.  There are lots of good things about Facebook but it’s not a good place to be friends.  Acquaintances...yes.  Friends....no.  And I need friends.

Fantasy Friends

Feeling completely justified in taking a break after managing to clean my entire kitchen and dining room, vacuum three rooms, clean the main floor bathroom, fold one of the eight loads of clean laundry needing to be folded (taking bids to fold the other seven!) AND shower, I decided if I'm going to sit, I might as well blog.  Perhaps my less than energetic current state will actually be good for the blog.  

While I might get a self-congratulatory pat on the back today (actually, the entire family has been impressed by my surprising motion), I admit last night was a completely different story.  Jay was exhausted from his preparation and presentation of cancer statistics to a local womens conference and his afternoon fifteen-mile trail run and the boys were glued to the Rockies game playing in the living room and so it was up to me to put on dinner.  I felt sick and very put upon and grouchily called everyone to the gourmet feast sitting upon the table: Hebrew National grilled hot dogs (hey...we're fancy and I don't do mixed meat wieners.  They must be all beef), an assortment of chips, strawberries with their stems still attached and a jar of pickles.  Once my showy feat of domesticity was over, I left the table and headed to my bedroom where I got lost in Tina Fey's new memoir, Bossypants.

I finished the entire thing and laughed out loud more than I have in awhile.  I decided when I closed it that Tina Fey and I could be good friends if we ever had the chance.  O.K.  Probably not since she seems to be more infatuated with the Alec Baldwin/Amy Poehler crowd but I think maybe pre-fame/pre-millions, we could have shared some great laughs.  I love funny people.  Not hyper funny people, mind you, who actually drive me a little nuts, but witty, sarcastic, self-depreciating, non-mean people.  And it's not like it would be all one sided. I could throw a  joke in there on occasion and supply some store-bought refreshments during our funny night pow-wows.

That thought led me to wonder who my other fantasy friends might be.   It gets tricky because lots of famous people, who are sort of the only ones in the running since I don't know about the other non-famous people, aren't very down to earth which is an absolute essential ingredient for friendship.  No high-flutin' girly girls for me!  That weeds out a lot but I think Adele for karaoke nights, Peggy Noonan for intellectual discussions over hot cocoa, CJane for all things regarding mormon momminess (although her infatuation with Provo might get on my nerves), and Katherine Heigl for the Hollywood scene.  She doesn't seem to try too hard and I loved her in Twenty-Seven dresses.  I should say Victoria Beckham since, you know, we're practically the same family (I swear I wasn't trying to copy her with this whole pregnant thing) but she scares me and doesn't eat enough.  Any friend of mine would need to enjoy food.

Interestingly, I constantly tease Jay about his fantasy friends.  He is not a very social creature but any tiny need he might have is filled by Dan Patrick and the Dannettes and Tony Kornheiser.  He passes on their funny stories to me just like he would had an actual friend from school/work/church or the neighborhood shared them.  He feels...close to them.  After reading Tina's book, I know how he feels and that's just after one book.  After years of listening to their daily podcasts, no wonder he feels as if he's friends with these men even though they have absolutely no idea who he is.

Who are your fantasy friends?

Time With The Ladies

Whenever I do anything with friends, Jay refers to it as my time with the ladies. As in, "Are you skiing with the ladies today?" Or, "I won't disturb you. You're with the ladies." It's a quirk of his to completely disappear if there are ladies around, as if all our concentrated estrogen makes him uncomfortable somehow. Funny man.

But, I do enjoy my time with the ladies. On Wednesday, I skied with my fab friends Lori, Lanae and Michelle. The entire morning was spent laughing and catching some sweet air. Actually, the laughing was usually a direct result of not catching that sweet air. Watch for Michelle, aka SuperG, at the next Olympics. Probably competing in the aerials, but maybe even in her namesake. Thanks to her, I have these pictures to share:

This is where I live.  When I really think about this, it's almost inconceivable to think that I could ever be grumpy.  This is what Beautiful looks like for me.  

Lori, Lanae, me and Michelle.  

Yesterday, I hosted bookgroup at my house.   Ours is set up so that whoever hosts picks the book and provides dinner.  I served Jay's Chile Verde (NOT quick to make) Dominican beans and chipotle lime rice.  It was a nice evening.  Each month I feel more and more comfortable with these fine ladies.

Back row:  Me, Sue, Lisa
Front row:  Peggy, Janine, Laurie and Beth

Of course, Jay left with the boys for basketball practice and was comfortably gone for most of their visit, but he was asked to take this picture and was thus forced to be in the same room for a small period of time.  It's my little of way of making sure he gets time with the ladies too.

A Gift

We'd been seriously dating for about 2 months when Jay's 22nd birthday arrived. He'd already wooed me with several impressive gifts, including a plane ticket back to Provo from his hometown after visiting during the annual family cattle drive (which is only a six hour drive. But, he didn't want me driving the treacherous roads all by myself. If he only knew then about my inner truck driver, he could have saved himself some cool cash. Still...it was pretty protective and sweet, just what a starry-eyed 20 year-old wants), but this was my gift-giving debut as his girlfriend.

I knew just what to get him.

He unwrapped his present with no idea what was hidden beneath the fancy paper. I hadn't given him any hints and he hadn't given me any ideas, so it was truly the blind giving to the blind. He reacted well considering.

It was a belt.

Hindsight and experience has made me well aware that this was (and is) a strange gift. But, at the time, I was desperate for one thing about my almost perfect boyfriend to change.

The braided belt had to go.

To bring him up to what I considered acceptible college-aged attire, I purchased a really expensive, thick, brown Lucky Brand belt with a heavy silver buckle. This was not your average belt. I remember going to store after store in Univeristy Mall to find the perfect one. Not too skater. Not anything cowboy. No embelishments. The buckle had to be big but not ostentatious. This was the perfect belt.

In a classic case of not being able to see the forest for the trees, I forgot some of the essential rule to gift giving (according to Divine Caroline):

Understanding the purpose gifts in general is essential to picking the Good Gift. With a few exceptions, gift giving has evolved as a form of symbolic communication. It actually says something about the relationship between the giver and recipient and is a reflection on the emotional bond they share.

Here are three rules to getting the Good Gift:

Tailor the gift to the receiver’s interests—Getting something in their sphere of interest demonstrates that you know them in a personal way that gives you access to their likes and dislikes


Make sure it’s something they’ll actually use—Getting something useful means that the person will come back to it often, giving them a chance to re-experience the warm feeling associated with the giver.

Look for something they would never get for themselves —I don’t mean that you should buy Aunt Millie the latest The Streets album. Rather, try to find something that they would consider a “luxury.” It doesn’t even have to be expensive, just something they normally wouldn’t treat themselves to. This shows knowledge of their personality, which reaffirms your connection.

In theory, I followed the rules. He is a firm believer in never going without a belt, so I included a belt as an area of interest. It was definitely something I was hoping he'd get a lot of use out of (and soon!) and he never would have gotten himself a nice belt. That was, and is, a fact.

But.

I got my brand new boyfriend a belt! For his birthday! As my first gift to him ever!

Lame!

I've made up for it over the years. If he's into camping, then I get him camping stuff. If he's into running, I get him running stuff. If he's into playing his trombone, I get him trombone stuff. I've mastered matching my gifts to his current mood. This takes attention. But not intuition.

Some people seem to have a knack for artful gift giving. They are able to give those perfect gifts without directions and without relying solely on the obvious and the easy for ideas. In other words, they manage to give belt-like gifts without ever giving actual belts. Or, in even more words, they find that perfect something someone wants or needs without the recipient even knowing they wanted or needed it.

One such person presented me with one such gift on my birthday. Before I single out this gift, let me preface by saying I had a delightful birthday. My family's gifts included a perfect day on the lake, a laptop computer I'm enjoying right now, and a lovely dinner with loved ones. I received several usable and appreciated gift cards to bookstores from my sister, Jen, and Vaughn and Patty. My in-laws and parents bestowed cash which helped me get a better laptop, my relief society president gave me a delightful Mary Ellen Edmunds book, my sister-in-law, Bekki, sent me tootsie rolls in all its flavors and my friend, Sue, took me out for a yummy Asian food lunch. Everything was perfect. I felt like a star.

One thing I was not expecting came via my friend, Michelle. She and her husband seemed really excited for me to open their gift, which made me nervous. You see, I am not normally paticularly moved by gifts. This can be a good thing, because I rarely feel bad or disappointed by the gifts I do get. But, it can also be a bad thing because I have disappointed a few gift givers in the past with my less-than-hysterical reactions. So, I hoped that my reaction would match their obvious enthusiasm.

My jaw dropped as I peeled away the tissue paper covering a first printing, first edition copy of Mrs. Mike. I felt flabbergasted because I was actually....flabbergasted. What in the world? How did this relatively new friend of mine know how beloved this book was to me? Was I somene who wanted first edition copies of books? Apparently, I am. Because I loved it!





I love its hard binding and yellow pages. I love the uneven edges and decorative chapter headings. But, mostly, I just really love this story. And Michelle figured that out.

She's got the gift.

It's Torture

Last Friday, our neighbors and friends, Erin and Dave, invited us over for an 80's party. Our instructions were to bring five of our favorite 80s song on a CD with the title, artist and album names removed so that they could play the game too. I wasn't exactly sure what the game was, but figured if a disguise was necessary, then it must be something like Name That Tune.

Sort of, but it also included name the artist and who we thought brought that particular song. The crowd was quite eclectic and most present were people I hadn't had much chance to socialize with so who brought what song was definitely the biggest challenge. For instance, When "Who's Johnny" from El Debarge started playing, I knew it was a Jay song, because...well...we both like that song, but who else would know that? It's not like he drives around the neighborhood with his windows down blaring the Short Circuit soundtrack.

Because guessing who brought what music was too hard, the game was reduced to simply calling out titles and artists. The titles were fairly easy but there were plenty of one-hit wonders to stump us. "867-5309"? We could all sing along, but only one person came up with "Tommy Two Tone." All the rest of us could do was shout, "Tommy Two Tone! Oh yeah!" a second later.

There were some other great stumpers: Wang Chung, Kim Wilde, and some of Survivor's lesser known hits (do you know any Survivor songs besides Eye of the Tiger? Apparently, one guest was a big fan) to name a few. I had one ace-in-my-hole on my disc, however, and I knew it would be a challenge. I sat there with a stupid smile on face waiting for this long-lost gem to be randomly selected by the itunes playlist.

As soon as the key-tar started, I looked around for other faces to show their delight at being reminded of this oft overlooked hit. It was all I could do to stop myself from singing along and shout out the answer before anyone else guessed it, but as soon as the vocals started, I understood that the song might not have been the hit I thought it was.

It didn't help that Tito, Germaine, Jackie or Marlon sung the first verse. Seriously...no one knows this song? O.K...they'll get it at the chorus.

No! Completely unfamiliar! By now, everyone knew this was one of my five, and Jay leaned over (because I had kept it a secret from him too) and whispered, "What is this?"

I told everyone to wait - that it would come - but even with Michael singing the second verse, the song's 1984 release was clearly not noticed by anybody else in that room.

"It's Torture! From Jackson Victory!"

Still....nothing.

"Remember the video? They were all caught in a big web and wearing Michael-esque costumes but Michael wasn't in it because he was huge then and on tour and it was quite the scandal? But, they show a lot of Germaine and he was...kind of a big deal too...then."

Nothing!

itunes selected the next song and everyone's creased foreheads smoothed as the familiar sounds of Peter Gabriel, Thompson Twins and even Night Ranger blasted through the speakers.

My disappointment over being the only one who apparently bought and loved the Jackson Victory tape subsided after getting a copy of both a George Michael and Journey CD (although the Journey was the "new" Journey with a Steve Perry sound-alike. Close, but my ears can tell a difference).



Excellent use of the body wave, Marlon.

Have you heard this song???

Powers of Observation

Last night, while introducing myself to a group of women at a bookclub I've been invited to join, I answered a question about in which part of town I lived.

After hearing the name of my neighborhood, one of the women commented that I must know Melissa, who also happens to live in the same neighborhood.

Still unfamiliar with most names, I pursed my brow and asked, "Who is Melissa again?"

She pointed to a pretty woman in a black turtleneck sweater, currently hugging the hostess and talking to several other women surrounding her.

"No. I haven't had a chance to meet her yet. But, that's fun that someone else so close to me is in the same bookgroup!" I enthusiastically added.

Unfortunately for my reputation of having a good memory, Melissa walked over to me and said, "Hey, neighbor!"

Apparently we are neighbors.

Next door neighbors.

As in, our bedroom windows face each other and my kids have made all sorts of skid marks on her steep driveway as they've raced down.

It's bad, but it's not quite as bad as having no recollection of the first time I met Jay!

We'd Almost Forgotten How

There are several contributing factors for our recent social hiatus. Jay's health, the art of moving and plenty of family nearby all influenced the lack of invitations sent out from our home after leaving Spokane almost a year and a half ago. In other words, we didn't have non-bloods over very often. O.K. Ever.

Oh sure, I hosted book group twice which involved people not related to either Jay or myself coming over for food and fun, but it didn't involve Jay, and it didn't involve families.

I've felt bad that we've been here for four months now and still haven't hosted anyone but family as of yet. Jay's health makes it almost impossible for him to eat, drink AND be merry in front of people, so I try and respect that. But yesterday, I woke up feeling social.

After asking what he could do for me that day, I requested having friends over for dinner. Not only did he acquiesce, he offered up his rapidly-approaching-famous Chile Verde for the menu.

It may surprise most that I feel all fidgety and nervous when hostessing. Referring back to my lack of organizational skills, the day almost always finds me running around to find things I am suddenly convinced are absolutely essential. Add the element of food, which is always temperamental when aiming to impress, and my children, whose hyperactivity is always heightened around guests, and I fret.

Thankfully, the evening went off without a hitch, mostly due to our cool guests. John and Michelle and four of their children came, ate, played and generally solidified our good impressions of them.

One angle. The adults, Seth, Elise and Seth (I know! It was kind of confusing but also fun) played The Great Dalmuti. Guess who reigned almost the entire night? (Moi!)

A better angle of the good-looking crowd.

So, here's to being social. I really hope we don't wait a year and a half to do it again.

Just My Type

After several crushes in high school, a few of my close friends noticed that I seemed to always go for the same kind of guy.

It had nothing to do with how smart he was.

It had nothing to do with religion.

It had nothing to do with money or his groups of friends or even his particular talents.

Apparently, I tended to fall for guys that had long necks and small heads.

At least that is how they were described to me. I still don't acknowledge this particular preference as I married Jay based largely on attraction and he resembles neither a giraffe nor has a particularly petite noggin.

If I seem to prefer elongated necks and smaller heads on guys, based on who I am drawn to, then I must admit that it seems I have a type when it comes to girls as well.

During medical school, one of my dear friends was Christi. She is model tall. Long legs, super slim, and chalk full of talent (baking, quilting, typing).

During residency, one of my dear friends was KariAnn. She is model tall. Long legs, super slim and chalk full of talent (photography, furniture making, decorating).

During fellowship last year, I became great friends with Amy. She is model tall. Long legs, super slim and chalk full of talent (photography, art, scrapbooking, design).

I've met a lot of very awesome people here already, but ever since we have known that we were going to live here, I have wanted to become good friends with Michelle. Since Jay and I have been married and made trips here for Christmases and summer vacations etc., I have seen Michelle and her husband John at church and just knew that we'd be great friends if we ever had the chance to be.

A couple of weeks ago, Michelle invited us over to her home for Sunday dinner. It also happened to be her birthday, which made it a lot more festive, and we met several other families as well. Last night, she called and invited me over to make raspberry/peach jam with her today. When I got off the phone and told Jay what our plans were, he laughed and said, "You always seem to find friends with more domestic skills than you." Well...he didn't say that exactly, but that's what I heard.

Constantly stirring for fifteen minutes!

I spent the majority of the day over at Michelle's making jam, talking, thoroughly enjoying myself and realizing she's every bit as great as I imagined. I don't know why I need to have a model within my circle of friendship, but I'm glad each model I've known has also been genuinely kind, beautiful and happy to share their talents with me.

As for my non tall or non model-thin friends, I love you too. Remember the parable of Jay. And thank you for not describing my body type when describing our friendship. I appreciate that.

How cute are those little jars? Almost as cute as us. Thanks, Michelle!

For The Love Of Hunter

Believe me. Pete has nothing on Hunter.

On Monday, Seth and Sam were outside in the backyard playing with their light sabers. At some point, a neighbor boy who shares our Backyardigan-like common area came over to where they were playing, introduced himself, and then played with both of the boys for awhile. When it was time for dinner, Seth and Sam dominated the conversation gushing over their new friend, Hunter.

At around 7:00 that evening, the doorbell rang. When I opened the door, I found myself staring at a cute, curly-haired boy with dimples.

"Hi. I'm Hunter. I met Seth and Sam outside today. I just wanted to come over and introduce myself."

Every mother's dream, right? I was completely impressed with this very polite boy.

Hunter is in fifth grade so there isn't many opportunities for friendship except in the backyard, after school. Still, that didn't stop Seth and Sam from attempting to scope out their new hero at school. When I picked them up from school on Tuesday, I could only listen as they excitedly told each other about their independent Hunter sightings.

Seth: "I think I saw him in line outside."

Sam: "I saw him! I yelled, "Hunter!" but he didn't notice me. I think I'm too tiny."

In unison: "MOM? CAN WE PLAY WITH HUNTER WHEN WE GET HOME?!"

Of course, homework came first, but I was surprised that as soon as they were done (which was fast as lightning...I've got some sweet motivational tools now), Hunter was outside waiting to play with them as well.

I admit to eavesdropping. Seth is a very enthusiastic friend, and I worry that he'll exhaust this older boy with his eagerness. He clearly has a crush on his new friend. Although, so far, Hunter doesn't seem to mind. He even happily includes Sam (who, by the way, refers to Hunter as his new best friend).

Now, everything comes down to playing with Hunter. Cub scouts on Friday...Seth's former favorite extracurricular activity? "Awww. Do I have to go? I wanted to go home to play with Hunter!"

College football games on Saturday? No...BYU football on Saturday? "I'm going outside to see if Hunter is home from soccer yet." It's amazing. Hours go by without any requests for snacks, watching a Transformer episode, or playing the Wii (which, now that school has started, is only an option on Saturdays). Every minute of their free time has been spent in either hopeful or actual play with our new neighbor friend. In fact, as I'm typing this, I'm listening to my favorite sound in the word - my boys giggling and being genuinely happy while they play. With Hunter, of course. (Written on Saturday evening).

It all began with light sabers - which is still the game of the day.

Truth be told...I think even I have a crush on Hunter!

Blast From The Past

This last weekend, an old friend of mine got married in Seattle. I've known about Lisa's wedding for a long time and as soon as she made her announcement, I knew I wanted to be there for it...even though it was scheduled soon after our move and even though attending meant a very lengthy road trip to justify the expense of travelling to Washington State for two separate events only weeks apart.

Lisa has always been a special friend to me. My earliest friend memory with her was performing in the school talent show in second grade. She and I and two other girls performed a little dance on the sidelines to the song Eye Of The Tiger while four boys pretended to box ( Yes...I was cool even back then;). Growing up in the same neighborhood meant lots and lots of sleepovers on her lush waterbed, after school coffee cake, rocking out to Bon Jovi in her basement, figuring out what we both of us actually knew after watching "the film" in fifth grade during our walk home, goofing off in French class, going to the lake, camping and posing and dancing and dressing up....all the memories any girl should have in her life.

Because it was her wedding, I didn't get much of a chance to talk or spend time with Lisa. Watching her glow with her new husband at her side and talking to her parents, her sister and being surrounded by a room full of people who loved her too was compensation enough. As an added perk, some other old friends who I haven't seen since our high school reunion were there as well. Although I never once hesitated in thought or deed when deciding to attend the wedding alone, it was very nice to have a group of familiar faces to sit and laugh with during the reception.

Lisa and Kent repeat their vows.

Lisa's father, Bob, sings a sweet folksy-type song to his daughter and new son-in-law.


Their cake. It was delicious.

A candy bar. Brilliant!

I didn't have a great time at my ten-year high school reunion. I was, very unfortunately, in charge of planning the whole thing (who really thinks of that when deciding to run for senior class president? I just had a great speech idea (I sat at a piano in a sky blue tuxedo and did a night club act - you know, talking and singing intermittently. It was a hit) and though it'd look good on a college resume. I was NOT thinking ten years down the road). It was not fun planning get together for a couple hundred people I had lost track of from long distance, all the while taking care of my newborn. As a result, I didn't have much time or brain capacity to carry on meaningful conversations with some of my favorite former classmates.

However, I have great, great memories with this entire group. It's so easy....too easy....to lose touch with old friends. Truthfully, I feel like all I've done so far in life is create of trail of long-distance friendships and my old school friends are, sadly, that much further in my past and the memories with them that much more faded.


I probably won't see any of them again until our twenty-year high school reunion, but spending one evening with them, laughing, remembering and introducing our adult selves to each other was worth every effort.

Me and Becky. We had some dang good times in volleyball and other random gatherings. The best part of talking to an old friend is getting to hear their memories. I had forgotten some great stories.


Emily, Kasey, Lisa, MaryPat, Me and Becky.

Love you, Lisa! Congratulations to you and Kent.

Like A Russian Spy

A year ago, when I was on my way to this lovely deseret, I jokingly(semi) told people that my mission in Utah was to infiltrate Amy M.'s world, become her BFF, and conspire to have the most beautiful pictures taken of my children and family...because isn't that what a best friend who is also a fabulous photographer does? Take pictures for other person and generously share all digital rights and ownership of the photos??

You see, in my non-talented-photo-taking-world, I see you, the talented, as something of a superstar. Photos document our lives which, when interpreted, means those with the best photos must have the best life. Right?

I admit there were many of you to choose from. Moms with gigantic lenses and fancy cameras once used exclusively at weddings seem to crawl out of the woodwork these days and like the skinny con in prison who needs to find the bulky bodyguard to survive, I like to have someone with a trained eye in my corner. Otherwise, my options are reduced to Kiddie Kandid portraits (oh wait...) and expensive and un-proven professional photographers who charge exorbitant fees for dark, unflattering outdoor family pictures (uhhhh......looks like I'm two for two folks).

Soon after I began blogging and during the click-on-every-possible-sidebar-link phase, I first noticed and admired Amy's unique eye for photography. No doubt there are better photographers out there (she assures me there are), and maybe my untrained eye doesn't know what is what, but there is a softness with color, an attention to detail, and altogether poetic quality about her pictures. I distinctly remember a particular picture she took of her husband that was a close up, and you could see her entire silhouette reflected in his eye. I loved it! I wanted to reflect in someone's eye (because I'm pretty sure with my dark browns - no one was going to be reflecting in mine).

I first met Amy at last year's blog party. Mission in mind, I found the evening ending without ever meeting her and forced myself to introduce myself on my way out. She was nice, humble and extremely normal for someone so talented. Shouldn't she have a magic third eye or giant brain or at least an obnoxious personality?

Not much happened for the next six months. During the fall, I sort of invited myself to a group called the blogger bookclub, which happened to have been organized by Lori, Amy's sister-in-law. I'd see Amy on those evenings, comfortable among the people she already knew, but never felt the moment was right to strike up a conversation. My cover was deep and I knew if I came on too strong, she'd guess my picture seeking motive and the possibility for glow-y, soft, breathtakingly beautiful pictures of my children would cease to exist.

Then in January, it happened. Amy and I ended up sitting next to each other at bookgroup and by the end of the night, the conversation wasn't wanting to end and a group of four of us (Amy, Amie, Chloe and myself) made additional plans for a girls-night-out type dinner.

Almost immediately, I figured out that there is far more to Amy than her aptitude behind a camera. She is funny. She is kind. She is sincere, thoughtful and never, ever dull. In a nutshell, through some late, late night chats, emails, a few lunch dates, playdates with our kids, more bookgroup evenings and the always entertaining evenings with Amie and Chloe, this undercover agent fell for her new friend.

Photo taken by Amy on her iphone after a lunch date. in early March. How sad is it that this picture quality is probably better than my own real camera?

I may have defected from my original plans, but I have gained something far, far greater. I have gained a friend. A true friend. And that is a mission worth accomplishing.

"True friends are hard to find, difficult to leave, and impossible to forget."
Amanda Kunkle

Reason #4,821 Why I Love Blogging

The last two evenings have been spent in the company of bloggers. Wednesday evening, I drove to Utah County for Blogger Bookclub. In fact, the location was the very location of my first attendance. Way back in September, I believe. What a difference six (or seven) months makes.

First of all, for probably the first time, I knew everyone in the groups' names right away. I didn't have to mentally commit to memory for the evening that Amy was the one in Blue and Anne was the one in the sweatshirt to remember who was who. It was so refreshing.

Secondly, it was just a fun night. No more, "Hi, I'm Lucy" conversations or sticking to subject matter usually reserved for first dates. Discussing the book, and other topics, left me feeling content and a part of something. It's a bit of an eclectic group, to be sure, but I enjoy it all the same.

We discussed Franny and Zooey, a book by J.D. Salinger that Marjorie picked out that there is little doubt I would have ever picked out on my own to read. And yet, it's a delightful little book that provided an ample amount of topics for a lively discussion. We debated the curse, or blessing, of intellectualism. Wisdom vs. knowledge. Logic vs. faith. Ego vs. pride. Buddism, Christianity, the hierarchy of needs and stream of consciousness. Yes...this was a legitimate bookclub. I'll have no more barbs sent my way about how women's bookclubs are merely a night of gossip and treats. (those are simply icing on the cake).

Yesterday, Jay was home most of the day, which made me forget to go to Musicmakers, a class another friend I really met through blogging, puts on each week. As I looked at the clock at 1:30, I realized I had missed it and felt sad that I wouldn't have my weekly visit with Melanie and Becky. I have come to really enjoy my friendship with them. They are both smart and honest and a delight to be around.

I met Jill and Stefanie downtown for dinner last night. I've met Jill several times this year, which has always been a treat (she's funny, but subtle about it...a quality I find attractive) but I really didn't know Stefanie very well. The plan was to meet her at her hotel, the downtown Marriott, but apparently there are two downtown Marriotts. Only one is called the city center Marriott. Jill and I were at the downtown one and poor Stefanie was waiting at the city center. Jill took the reins and graciously drove us all around since I had parked a ways away and city blocks in Salt Lake City aren't anything you want to toy around with. It's best if you know exactly where you're going!

Self portrait by Jill. It is a well known fact that the least flattering position to be in is the one holding the camera. For obvious reasons, I like the picture Jill took better so included it here. But...to be fair...

here's the one I took. Point made.

We drove over to Red Rock Brewing Company for dinner and just had great time talking and laughing. It is so easy to meet new people when you already have a common interest and common people you both know. Of course, it helps when personalities mesh as well, which they thankfully did. As Stephanie was in SLC for business, she had enough allowance to pay for all our meals. That was an unexpected and generous bonus. Thank you corporate uniform selling company!

After dinner, we drove to Temple Square and watched the Mormon Tabernacle Choir rehearse. My sister, Maureen, who is in the choir, has been telling me to come all year and I don't know why I haven't. The sound is incredible. We were in the balcony section, facing the choir, and it sounded like there were speakers directly above me.

Again, I stole this picture from jill's blog. I have a very similar one albeit more blurry. And why should I make you suffer like that?

We left a little bit early (Jill got hot and from reading her blog, I knew that couldn't bode well), and made our way to the correct hotel to get some hot chocolate. Starbucks was closed, so we opted for dessert instead. Mine was fancy, a key lime concoction which definitely bordered the frou frou side of things, but it was delicious. After the waiter came and picked up our black, still paymentless check...twice (each time he meekly returned it to the table until we finally and equally meekly paid him), we called it a night. I am so glad that Stefanie came to visit and that I was able to meet her.

I took a gamble and tried eating the shard looking accessory. Indeed, it was edible. I did remove the flower, however. It was not.

Lately, I've been feeling extremely fortunate to participate in this blogging arena. While there have been some frustrations along the way, and unhappy decisions made at times (like this whole private business....which I still know is ultimately the correct decision for me but does not jive with my own personal philosophies) I would be shallow and ungrateful if I didn't acknowledge the opportunities for friendship it has provided this year. I have met and been welcomed with open arms by some incredible people. A little over 50 people. 50 people that I have no real reason to know, but I do because they blog. And I blog. And worlds collided.

Now, I will not pretend that all 50 have become close, bosom-y friends. But a couple have. I think that's pretty incredible.

I'll spare you the other 4,820 reasons. For now.

Don't Feed Us... We'll Feed You

A few weeks ago, we got our very first intraward dinner invitation. After more than seven months of All's Quiet On the Wasatch Front, I admit that my response in the affirmative could fall within the range of obnoxiously chipper.

"Sure! Sounds fun! What time? Can we bring anything? Thanks for asking!"...all said a tad too loud with a big broad smile on my face. Really, all that was missing was me putting my arms up in the air, throwing in a few chest thrusts and shouting, "Cuchi! Cuchi!"

I mean, who doesn't like to be asked over for dinner? It's how adult couples court each other. And, I don't know about you, but I usually appreciate a good courting. An invitation to eat dinner with someone from your ward, whom you barely know, can only mean one of two things:

1. They're intrigued enough by your passing-in-the-hallway-charm to want to find out more. or....
2. They feel the need to extend a hand of fellowship. In other, less flattering words....they feel sorry for you.
   

Not knowing which reason motivated our courters, but always assuming the first, I happily told Jay about our invite when he came home from work.

The grimace on his face clued me in that all was not well. However, it could have appeared for a variety of reasons. Let's just say I've gotten into hot water before when I plan Jay's social calendar without first asking. For example, I made him a set of homemade coupons as an anniversary gift one year where one of the coupons read, "Get out of plans that Lucy made guilt free." Happily, most of the others were much more anniversary appropriate.

Following the grimace came the reason for the grimace that I should have already thought about.

"I can't eat at other people's houses. They most likely don't understand what food is o.k. and what's not, I don't know how it was prepared and because they aren't used to cooking that way, the food will probably be contaminated. I'll just bring my own food. I'm sorry, but going over to someone's house for dinner isn't easy for me."

Oh yeah. There's this little disease that you've had that I've been living with and planning meals around for over a year now. You think I would have thought about it too. But I was too busy being wooed.

Long story short (which is really hard for me to do), my Prom turned into Morp and we had them over for dinner instead. Which involved cleaning my house. And cooking for eleven. And cleaning up my house again.

They felt bad and brought dessert (fruit) and were really nice and friendly people, but the whole experience opened my eyes to our future.

We can't go over to people's houses for dinner anymore.

Well, we can, but with a whole heckuva lot more thought, effort and communication than before. It's got to be planned now. And, ultimately, it's just easier to have dinner at our place.

We realized it again when Jay's brother, Clark, called last weekend wondering if we wanted to go out with him and Stephanie. Yes! Sounds fun!. Oh...but you know what would be better? Why don't you guys come over to our house for dinner? No, we don't mind.

I really don't. Sure, it's more work for me, but it's much, much easier for Jay to eat at home than at a restaurant or someone else's house. He's happier all night, which makes my night a lot more enjoyable. I know there are other people out there with Celiac Disease, and some are much more willing to cheat or take risks, but Jay is not. He doesn't feel well when he eats gluten, and I don't enjoy paying for food that might make him sick.

Before I make myself sound like a saint, which is only sort of my point, I admit to crying a few bitter tears over the grocery-free, cook-free, cleanup-free nights of yesteryear, when we'd eat out most weekends (and throw in a few weeknights for good measure). The thought of always being the hostess makes me a little weary. Although, before you get to feeling all bad and sorry for me, know there are perks.

We eat together as a family all the time now. I joke with Jay that I'm sorry it took his pain to get me to cook more, but our family dynamics have really changed as our kids now expect and look forward to our family meals. Whereas I used to feel like superwife if I cooked four nights a week, I'd say I cook most nights now. There might be a night of Wendy's or Pei Wei thrown in occasionally, but for the most part, I plan dinner every night. We eat better and we spend a lot less eating out. By force, I'm finally doing something that I've always said I wanted/needed to do. Some days I'm not quite so jolly about it, and wish I could simply pick up a pizza, but I'd say for the most part, I like our new evening ritual. It's almost like a little mini party every day.

Alas, our days of being courted are over. I've always envied men, and the control they have over their lives (different topic, different day), and now I get to act like one. Our social calendar no longer depends on if we receive an invitation. I'm wearing the pants now. I get to make the call.

Life After the Diaper Bag and TGIF

I don't remember when it happened, but some time ago, we stopped using a diaper bag. Henry doesn't ever play with books or cute little toys, or...I should say, if he does, his primary play involves throwing them. He only wants to drink what his brothers are drinking, but if I need a sippy cup, I bring one and stow it in my purse. And I always have several diapers in the car. Just in case.

While not having to heft a diaper bag around definitely has its perks, there are times when I long for the days of shouldering a tote with all sorts of nooks and crannies that contain the mysteries of the universe. Take...today, for instance.

Yesterday, to top off an already fabulous week, I noticed a grinding sound when my car made left turns at slow speeds. I mentioned it to my sister-in-law who told me that they had a problem like that a while back, and it was something rubbing against their tire (I think) and it cost them $80 to fix. She hoped....I hoped....but deep down I knew. That was not it.

I took my van in this morning to the service station right after I dropped Seth off at school. We were there nice and early but, like all car repair places, the place was already packed. They had a defunct Lego table, with no actual Legos to play with, and one of those push-the-beads-along-the-colored-wires toys. Because that is sure to entertain the kiddos.

Immediately after I check in, I see a coffee/hot chocolate service area. I make myself a hot chocolate, because a cup of cocoa almost always soothes, and make my way over to the "lounge". The lounge has about eight chairs set up around a big screen TV. Unfortunately for anyone with small kids (or taste, for that matter), the TV is tuned to FOX. Have you seen their morning show? Clearly, they are not fighting for the same demographic as the other networks. No, the folks at FOX decided riveting morning television should include the likes of Geraldo, Larry the Cable Guy and a group of teens that operate a teen s3x internet site...because it's good to have information and it gets people talking. Whatever. All super appropriate for my five year old, who is learning quickly that TV offers all sorts of information that Mom and Dad don't seem to share.

Sam sees my cocoa, and because he is already bored by the non-lego table and baby toy, wants some of his own. Which means Henry must have some too. I knew it couldn't turn out well...and it didn't. I figured cleaning up a mess would be easier than dealing with a tantrum but I was wrong. My pants have too much spandex (must check the percentage...and not buy again) and bending over created all kinds of new stress on my life.

While I was cleaning, I smelled Henry. Even though I had changed a messy diaper this morning, he had more to move. Normally, I carry a diaper with me in my purse when we are going to be away from the car, but I hadn't grabbed one and at this point, the van was already up on one of those pneumatic lifts. I knew I couldn't force everyone to smell his stink for who knows how long, so I dug deep for my inner Emily (who cloth diapered) and took his diaper off in the bathroom, shook it out into the toilet, wiped off as much as I could with paper towels and....yes....put it back on him. He actually didn't smell after this and was completely fine. However, I was slightly traumatized.

Fighting the clock and at least eight vending machines displaying all the candy and drinks that Henry and Sam must have, I spent the next two hours keeping Henry out of the new, shiny cars in the showroom and away from the TV, which was now showing Law and Order, Criminal Intent (which is a bizarre, freaky and perverted show). End result? New brakes, two gumballs (kept them busy for quite awhile) and a package of sour patch kids...$250.00.

Yesterday, I had no idea that my Friday morning would be tragically ruined like this. But here's the beautiful ending. When I returned home from my hellish morning, Amy M. and Amie had sent some emails offering to bring me lunch and girl talk. They came over, with kids, and I spent several hours burning off steam to these new, lovely friends, which....yesterday, I didn't really know I had. Not the kind that would drive a hefty distance to visit a girl who couldn't promise to be great company.

Not a bad ending to a pretty bad week. My kids had a much needed play date and apparently, so did I. Thanks girls.

Dear Friends,

It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: "What! You, too? Thought I was the only one."
C.S. Lewis

“A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart and can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words."

“Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Don't walk behind me: I may not lead. Just walk beside me and be my friend."

Albert Camus

"Life is partly what we make it, and partly what it is made by the friends we choose."
Tennessee Williams

I could leave it at that and say, "Yeah, what the quotes say" but then it's just a card(although a digital card published for the world to see that didn't even cost me a stamp) with someone else's words (although those words are well placed and meaningful. You'll not be so lucky with mine).

Oh...you friends. You friends that like me despite knowing me. How I adore you. You like me even though I forget your birthdays. If, by chance, you're lucky enough to have your birthday remembered, you know your present is going out to lunch with me (a win/win, if you will). You like me even though all I ever bring to a potluck is a bag of chips or package of cookies (or else something that didn't turn out like I hoped). You like me even though I rarely call, because the phone just isn't my thing. Thank you for liking me in spite of me.

I love you because you have stuck with me through the days of choreographing a dance to "Eye of The Tiger" for the talent show, writing fake book reports, inviting me for sleepovers in your waterbed (glorious!) and showing up for school dressed like Pauly Shore (gross).


I love you because you didn't think spending the day on a floatie at the lake was a waste of time AND you usually brought some tunes....or at least some baby oil to share (I have you to thank for my moles), because you were always willing to dance with me at the lame stake dance (or wherever, really. Just give us a beat and watch us shimmy!), and because you didn't care if I made fun of your cheesy boyfriend (although...looking back, that was kind of rude of me. I think you must have been putting on a brave face. But, I really hope that you can now agree that him serenading you with a Janet Jackson song was hilarious. Because it was.)


I love you because you didn't freak out about your food when we shared a refrigerator (like some of our other roommates. My mozzarella cheese was your mozzarella cheese), because you were game to go to Ladies Night at The Edge every...single....Wednesday and because you knew I was a much better person than the one I acted like.


I love you because you let me hang out with you when my life sucked, because you actually considered me part of your gang and invited me along to sit in the front row of all those kung-fu movies and because you liked me still the same when my life stopped sucking.

I love you because you hung out with me even though I was a neurotic mother of ONE child and felt the world would end if he didn't get to bed by 7:00, because you taught me how to play pinochle and because you invited me to your cooking club (even though we both knew I didn't really belong there).


I love you because you loved Chipotle, The Outback and Fergie's Frozen Custard as much as I did, because you kept our joint laundry room sparkling and because you waited for me at the top of that killer hill... the one I never ran to the top of first.


I love you because you walked across the street from the park to introduce yourself, because you brought me a steak dinner after Sammy was born, and because you love my son so much you want him to marry your daughter (I take that as a huge compliment).

I love you because you went through my house and showed me what would be cuter, because you parted with a cute old door to support the cause(and hung it on my wall!) and because you always, always, always shared your creative talent with me.


I love you because you invited me to can peaches with you before realizing how out-of-my league that sort of activity was for me, because hanging out with you is the best and easiest time I've ever had and because you invited me along, more times than I can count, when Jay was working, out of town or busy...even though that couldn't have been your ideal way to spend your own date night. Or vacation. Or lake outing.


I love you for loving bookgroup and making it a necessary part of your month. Even if you didn't read the book, you came because it was that much fun. And it was only that much fun because we were are all convinced it would be.


I love you for being a stalker and wearing me down with witty and helpful emails until I realized that we were one soul in two bodies (that was a quote I didn't include...so I can't take credit for it). I love you for sending a gluten-free present when Jay finished his boards, even though you had never met either of us in person and because you love Pat Benetar's We Belong as much as I do (o.k...you love it more).

I love you for getting me into blogging, for keeping in touch without blogs for many, many years, and for hanging out with me after a day of skiing, even though it meant you had to fetch a blow dryer to get rid of your hat hair.


I love you for reading my blog....because you care about what I think, how I feel and what I have to say and you like me.

In spite of me.

“It is by chance that we met, by choice that we became friends."

Your friend forever,

Lucy