I’ve got a bunch of miscellaneous tutorials stacking up (making jam! And tablecloths! And doing a facial!) but I just don’t have the time to get them done what with all the parties and end-of-the-school-year shenanigans going on. Let’s just say that I have probably been to more choir/band/piano recitals and concerts than you have. And hey, how about that teacher appreciation week? That was fun. And let’s not forget Field Day. And the 100 water balloons they asked me to donate. What I’m trying to say is that I’m busy. So get off my back, OK?

But I have made some room in my schedule for movies. Because Mister and I do love the picture show.  We saw three good films this last month. I love when that happens!

Salmon Fishing in The Yemen.  It will take you half of the movie to wrap your brain around the idea that the country is not called Yemen but The Yemen. Once you’ve moved past that you will be rewarded with a great little romantic comedy. Well, a little more highbrow and thoughtful than your typical Rom Com. But it’s a super date movie. Ewan McGregor sounds all Scottish and dreamy and Emily Blunt is adorable too. Mister and I were both pleasantly surprised. In our town it’s only playing at the artsy-fartsy theatre. I have no idea why. Everyone would like this movie.

The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. Loved this! But I have to tell you that we were the youngest people in the theatre by far. The cast is so phenomenal. Maggie Smith and Judy Dench have been two of my favorites since A Room With A View and here they are together again. Also the hilarious and super underrated Bill Nighy. Cousin Isabel from Downton Abbey is here too. Mostly this film was shot in India–MARVELOUS (obviously I’m a big fan of India since I named my daughter after it). Marigold Hotel is really funny and poignant and thought-provoking. It’s a gem.

Bernie.  This one stars Matthew Maccaughnehey (too tired to google the correct spelling of his name) and Jack Black (who is really superb and not an over-the-top goofball as he usually is). This movie might not be too popular around the country yet but keep your eyes out because I think it’s going to get a lot of noteriety. It was filmed right here in Central Texas and is perhaps the most Texas-y movie ever made.  The characters in it are hilarious and I laughed through the entire thing. But the movie gets kind of serious at the end and by the time the credits roll I was going “no way!”  I don’t want to spoil anything so I won’t tell you more. It’s better just to go into this movie not knowing anything. I give it my highest praise by saying that I just can’t stop thinking about it.

All these movies are PG-13. There are some swears so consider yourself forewarned.

I’m up to my eyeballs in birthday preparations. And we have a big church party tonight as well. In other words, I’m raw-ther busy. But here’s something for you to think about: one of my very favorite foods ever.

You probably have heard of Biscoff. It tastes like cookies but is smooth like nutella.  It’s really fantastic even though it sounds pretty weird. There is also Biscoff Crunchy. Just when you thought Biscoff couldn’t get better! There are thousands of tiny bits of cookie mixed in.  It’s like regular Biscoff is the Terrestrial Kingdom and Crunchy is the Celestial. You can and should buy it at World Market.

Theoretically you can put this on toast and bread or whatever. But I eat it straight out of the jar with a spoon. I’m what you might call a purist.

It’s time we sat down and had a chat. You know you’re not getting any younger, right? Even if you’re 22, you know your lovely, wrinkle-free skin won’t last forever.  The older you get, the more important nice skin becomes. So here’s what you need to do: Stay out of the sun. I know, I know; you look gross and pasty if you don’t have a tan. I get it. But this is the thing: a tan lasts for what– a few days? But the damage of being out in the sun lasts forever. Forever. You can’t undo the damage. It’s not like a pair of lungs that somehow regenerate themselves once a person stops smoking. Forget what the ads say, you can’t turn back the clock. If you could everyone would look 28.

It’s sad to consider all the damage we girls of the 80′s did in the quest for bronze-goddess status. But nowadays pale skin is where it’s at. You can be pale and still be accepted socially!  Look at all the actresses! They are pale. So accept your future; it’s either tan and wrinkly or pale and less wrinkly. There is no possibility of being tan and having gorgeous skin until you’re fifty. It is simply impossible. Impossible.

Most of the skin products I use are homemade, but my daytime moisturizer is something I don’t mess around with. Why? I need serious SPF and so do you. Adding SPF to handmade products is a tricky business and I don’t want to end up making a product that hurts, rather than helps, my skin.

There are a jillion creams and lotions out there for you to chose from. I stick to the drugstore products because they are cheap and work perfectly well. If buying something that costs $50 makes you feel better about yourself, be my guest.  But there are lots of cheapo products that work really nicely.  This is my favorite. It’s by Garnier and moisturizes my dry skin without making it greasy, and it looks nice under my makeup. It has a nice fat SPF of 28.  You shouldn’t be putting anything on your face with an SPF less than 25.

Garnier Skin Renew costs about $12 and can be purchased at any drug store/Target, etc.

Again, my skin is dry and not at all sensitive. If your skin is oily or easy irritated, you might need to try some other options. Garnier Skin Renew might work for you or it might not. Either way make sure you get something with a nice high SPF. Promise?

I was not paid by anybody to hype this product. I just like it.

Mother’s Day is a difficult day for a lot of people: there are the people who want to be mothers but can’t; the people who have lost their mothers; people who are estranged from their mothers/daughters; mothers who mourn the death of a child; and mothers who feel like they have totally failed at their job. I swear that half the women at church don’t show up on this day. It’s just too raw. Not even to get the plant/cookie/candy bar that the men hand out after church.

Here is my humble suggestion: remember the blessings that you do have. Because there are blessings in your life. Despite some heartbreaks that seems especially bleak on Mother’s Day, there is still reason to be glad. Even if it’s just because there is a new episode of Sherlock on PBS.

In either General Conference or Oprah (pretty much the same thing) the point was made that you can’t feel both depression and gratitude at the same time. The two are mutually exclusive. So let’s all choose gratitude today. Sit down and actively think of the wonderful things in your life.

Or you can do what I do: treat this as a day to make people cater to my whims. It is the day when I can use my female-ness to get people to do my bidding. I have asked York to scrub my very dirty stovetop, had my family to make me brownies, Pecan Honeypots and buy me my favorite ice cream; and had the playroom cleaned. All with a simple, “it’s Mother’s Day; you have to do as I say.”

When you look at it that way, there’s no reason not to adore this holiday!

I probably don’t know you at all. But I know you well enough to tell you this: you don’t want a dog.  The desire to get a dog is kind of weird; like a biological clock in a way. One day you wake up and think, “I kind of want a dog.”  And then you start looking around and very shortly your mind thinks of nothing else but how badly you want a dog. No, not want; how you simply must have a dog immediately.

It doesn’t make sense. It’s not like the urge to have a baby. Actually it pretty much is. For most women a dog is the thing you get when the maternal urges are just waking up but the thought of taking care of an actual human are beyond frightening.We had a dog-baby the year before I got pregnant. I had zero experience with dogs and we got a chocolate lab. We named her Emma and she was the biggest spaz ever. We were such horrible pet owners because Mister and I were lazy, irresponsible twenty-somethings. When India was about six months old we gave Emma to some friends who lived on a farm. Hopefully she lived happily every after. Although I really don’t care because she drove me crazy and good riddance.

Sometimes a woman wants a dog when her kids are getting older and she realizes her baby days are history. But stupid women! Instead of rejoicing as we toss out the diapers, we feel like our lives must have more poop and mayhem. I know all about women like this because I am currently one of these. When Jasper turned six months old I realized that my newborn baby days were over. I didn’t intelligently think, “I have six children under age ten. It’s good that the newborn stage is over. I’ll still have my hands full.” Nope, pretty much the day that Jasper started sleeping through the night I began a frantic search for a dog.

And ended up with Margaret.

She is the sweetest dog ever but, you know, dogs bark.  And their poop is all over your backyard (or someone else’s yard). A lot of times they leave hair all over the place. And scratch marks. And they chew stuff up and cost a lot of money. (That heartworm medicine ain’t free, you know!)  Fortunately our dog isn’t a chewer or a digger but a lot of them are. Emma was. Emma ate everything she could get her mouth on (stupid Labs! Stupider us for owning one!). If you have a tall dog there’s a good chance your dog will eat something off of the kitchen counters. This isn’t just something that happens in those dumb Disney movies with the Golden Retriever puppies.

Also, let’s get down to the nitty gritty. Dogs eat their own vomit (which is a good thing really. I wish my kids ate their own vomit. Especially at three in the morning.) Dogs eat garbage.  Any garbage. Our dog eats any tissue or used bit of toilet paper she can get her grubby paws on. But it gets worse than that. Much worse. Like maxi-pad-worse. And poopy-diaper-worse. I don’t want you to faint so I’ll stop talking about this. But you really should know this stuff. Dogs are disgusting.

This is the worst part of having a dog: finding someone to take care of it when you’re on vacation. It’s either super expensive or a total pain (like when I took care of my friends dog and it ran away without us knowing and someone found the dog and called the number on it’s tag. So our friends who were vacationing in Florida had to call and tell us that the neighbor found their dog. Slightly embarrassing.) A lot of times it’s a pain and it’s expensive.

You also have to teach a dog to have good manners. We kind of forgot this. Which is funny because I’m super into children having good manners. But dogs? Meh, whatever. At some point, though, your dog will interact with society and it could very well be a debacle.

Yesterday I picked Maggie up from the groomers. Which is right by Hobby Lobby. Which I had to get something from. And it was 78°. Too hot to leave the dog in the car (just because I don’t like my dog doesn’t mean I’m heartless!), so Maggie came shopping with me. It went surprisingly well considering she is a weirdo. Except for the time she barked at some feathers. (Hobby Lobby can be very echo-ey. And having your smuggled-in dog bark inside of a store is mortifying.) Nobody blinked an eye. Even the cashier said nothing.

But I am not planning on taking my dog to the store again. Because my days of shopping with an unruly hanger-on are over. Unlike children, though, you can leave your dog at home in a cage. So I guess dogs aren’t all bad.

But I guess my conclusion is this: if you want a baby, have one. A dog is not the same. (No matter how many vets and groomers hand me my dog and say, “there’s your mom, Margaret!” and I have to point out that I bought her; she is a pet.)  Or don’t have a baby. Whatever. But don’t get a dog. Because, man, they are a pain.

May and June will be bringing us our last two birthdays of the Season (“the Season” spans from December-June with a birthday every month).

As bad luck and poor planning will have it, both children are due for a birthday party. Arabella (turning 11) hasn’t had one for three years and Jasper (turning six) has never had one. You will either think me very mean or very smart for that.

I took a couple of party planning classes at the Snap conference. Party planning, laundry and growing plants are really my weakest areas. Actually, I always throw really fun parties; it’s just that I’m a horrendous procrastinator and I end up stressed out and overspent (literally and figuratively).

So this year I’m planning ahead. Well, planning ahead is relative. I planned the themes and got the invitations three weeks in advance. I have also gotten my two children to agree to the same color scheme for both parties (turquoise and lime).  That means I can get all the same party stuff and just change the accents. Good thinking, me!

This year the parties will be at home. I cannot afford all the Chuck E. Cheese/Bouncy House/Bowling Alley nonsense. We are going to leave the decorations up for a whole month to cover both parties. Not even joking. Who hasn’t wanted to leave dozens of tissue paper flowers hanging from their ceiling for weeks at a time? Its fun and festive! And they kind of match my decor.

I got the new Amy Atlas party planning book from Amazon last week (it focuses mainly on the tablescape and food items)

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It is so fantastic. It’s full of pictures, DIY options, recipes and party planning secrets that are brilliant and I’d never heard of before (You can and should buy the book here.) For the book I can thank the Fairy Hobmother. He is a man-fairy from Appliances Online who flits about the blogosphere bestowing Amazon gift cards on lucky readers. He was nice enough to shine his fairy wand on me. And with my gift card I bought my party planning book (and a marvelous set of mixing bowls).  If you leave me a comment, the Fairy Hobmother might visit you too! It’s totally legit. I have the mixing bowls to prove it.

Anyhoo, I’m off to buy tissue paper and color coordinating gum balls.

I was compensated for my Amazon gift card and will get oodles of money if you buy the Amy Atlas book through my link.

I nearly forgot that today is the official Star Wars Day. (The unofficial Star Wars Day for fans is the other 364 days of the year). I can’t believe I came this close to not reminding everyone. Fortunately I have Kacy who keeps me apprised of all the milestones in Science Fiction.

My son York is fifteen and Star Wars is pretty much the most important thing in his life (he has never had a girlfriend, strangely enough). I would like to think that I, his mother, am most important. I only gave him life and read Things That Go three thousand times to him.  You know, nothing special. Nothing like the things Darth Sidious has done for him. But he doesn’t have a corner of his room dedicated to me.

Nor does he have an assortment of posters with my face on them (you guys, this is only two of the Star Wars posters in his room.)

Nor does York have a clock featuring scenes from my life.

So I shall shrug my shoulders and make myself some cookies. Shortbread X-Wing fighter, anyone?

I’m over at Segullah today writing about the person everyone loves to hate: a hypocrite. Come on over and join in!

Last weekend was India’s first prom. Strangely this has never been a moment I’ve thought much about as I’ve raised my daughters. Probably because I never had a boyfriend (or a date for that matter) in high school so the Prom was always a source of anxiety and frustration rather than excitement.

But India is a 16 year-old sophomore so she could potentially go to three proms during her high school career. Guess who is not excited about that? (hint: me.) Not that I don’t want her to go to the prom. Just that it’s expensive coming up with a dress and shoes and all that. Not to mention the three hours it took to do her hair, nails and makeup.

Mormons in the metropolitan Austin area have their own prom. The regular high school proms feature skanky half-naked girls, lusty teenagers gyrating all over each other and lots of alcohol. There are many parents who are of the “if you let them drink at home at least they’ll do it more responsibly” school of thought*. So while there isn’t much alcohol at the prom itself (just a few hidden flasks and “water bottles”), before and afterwards are quite a different story. Yet again, our teenagers get to feel like oddballs when tell their friends that they are going to the prom and yet not going to the prom.

Trying to find a modest prom dress is a fool’s errand. Most high school girls these days are aiming for a look somewhere between stripper and prostitute. If you live in Utah finding something at least knee-length and covering the shoulders can be a little easier, but we Mormons in the wilds of Texas have to buy something on the internet or get out the old sewing machine.

After a fruitless trip to the prom dress store (would you like something strapless, strapless or maybe strapless?), we sat down with my mom to create something similar, minus the hoochie factor.

My mom put her mad sewing skillz to use and came up with something similar to the dress India liked most at the Prom dress shop. She loved it and she and her date looked so adorable. He’s a really sweet boy.

I had to give India a quick tutorial on looking gorgeous:

1. Shoulders back, boobs out, hips to the side, front knee bent, toe pointed forward.

2. Your smile is your best asset. (She and I both have a similar curse: ugly serious faces. We should be smiling always. That is a hard pill to swallow for an introverted, shy teenage girl.)

I think she worked it pretty well for an amateur!

*If you think that letting your kids drink alcohol in your own house is somehow a better alternative, you are wrong. So, so, so wrong. And you are also a coward about telling your kids that their behavior is not acceptable. It is the job of a parent to tell kids what is right and what is wrong, It doesn’t matter what you did as a teenager; give them rules! (I’ll get off of my soapbox now.)

I’ve been trying to do a book review but my heart just isn’t in it. Instead let me tell you about my new calling. For those who aren’t Mormon let me explain what a calling is:  In our church everything is run by volunteers. Even the pastor (called the Bishop) works for free in addition to having a regular job. We are expected to work hard because taking care of each other is what God wants. People are the Lord’s hands and we’d better help each other because that’s the whole point of life, for pete’s sake. So each job at church is called a calling. Mormons are huge fans of speaking to God and firmly believe that God speaks back. So when it’s time for a job to be filled (most callings are held for two or three years), the leaders pray about it and get an answer of who would be best for that job. It works pretty well for us.

My new calling is a doozy. I’m the Relief Society President.

I know. But I swear the church is still true!

Which means, according to Julie Beck who has been the Big Cheese in Salt Lake City for the last five years, I am responsible for every home in my ward. Repeat: every home in my ward.

Gulp.

All the needs of the women (hence their husbands and children too) are my job. Mormons have their own welfare system and the Bishop and I work together to make sure everyone is fed and clothed. And visited. I will be visiting all the women in the ward, as well as being in charge of visiting teaching (see that glossary over to the left if you don’t know what I’m talking about). Supervising/planning/executing visiting teaching is a full-time job in itself.

I’ve had this calling for not even two weeks and I spent half of that time out of state. I got home from the SNAP conference on Monday night and spent the ENTIRE Tuesday on the phone or visiting with people who needed something.

And then yesterday. Oh gosh. I won’t go into details as it’s not appropriate but our ward suffered a terrible tragedy. I called up the former Relief Society President who is on a much-needed vacation and just wailed, “helllllllppppp!” We talked for a while and she gave me a lot of good advice. And then ended with, “this is pretty much the worst thing that could happen. So from here on out things will only get better for you!”

Super.

Why am I telling you this? One, if you are a praying person please pray for me. I am not the sweet and huggy type of woman usually called to be the RS Pres. Please pray that I don’t screw this up too badly.

Secondly, I’m not sure how blogging is going to fit into all of this. My spare time will be a little iffy. Hopefully this will help me to squander my time less and I’ll actually be disciplined for once and blog more.  Maybe I’ll keep blogging and give up entirely on housecleaning. Now that’s a brilliant solution!

Either way, you can be sure I’m going to nag you a lot about being good! (Nah, I won’t. But since we’re at it, how is your 3-month supply coming along?)