My Life Herding Cats

One Last Good-bye

noreply@blogger.com (Brittany) — Tue, 14 May 2013 22:17:00 +0000

I got this puzzle for Christmas:

If I knew how to do that magic with pictures where you circle something important and draw an arrow to it, I would circle the place in the right hand corner that says 1000 Pieces. 1000 is a lot when it comes to puzzle pieces. Especially if you don't like puzzles.

But if someone you love has cancer and she gives you a puzzle, you do that puzzle. Because there's nothing else you can do. (In case you haven't heard, there's still no cure for cancer). And I figured if my aunt could survive a surgery wherein most of her insides were removed and then chemo on top of that, I could probably do a 1000 piece puzzle.

So I spent a few weeks (we'll call them January) sitting at my dining room table trying piece after piece until I fit two, then three, then four and the image of Christ came together. I thought a lot about Him as I built that puzzle, knowing He answers prayers, hoping He'd answer yes to mine, fearing He couldn't.

I got about 900 pieces in when my cousin's kids came over and this happened:

See those pieces on the outside? Those are the pieces I had left. See that pile in the middle? Those were all put together. See that half-finished border? That's what remained in tact when the three year old decided to play "waterfall." Can you believe I still love that kid? You would if you knew him.

I looked at that pile of pieces for a few days, not ready to put them back in the box, but also certain I couldn't start over.

It was about that time my aunt got the news her cancer was back. Not that it had ever really gone away, but we'd been fooled for a few weeks into thinking it had. I was with her that day. We hugged and we cried and then, we planned. "Let's make photo books for your grandbabies," I said. "It will give you something to do." Something to leave behind was left unsaid, but understood.

Then I went home and started sorting those pieces, ready to start over.

I finished the puzzle in February, working overtime to get it done before the cousins came over--just in case the little one wanted to play waterfall again.

If I could do that magic circle thing I'd point out the two empty spots. The two missing pieces never found. I suppose there's an analogy there--something about Christ being able to fill our missing pieces. I don't know. I do know you can't ever really finish a puzzle without all the pieces.

That didn't keep me from leaving it on my dining room table for months. Every time we had company my husband would ask if we could put it away, but I'd say no and so we fed our guests around it. I kept hoping to find the last two pieces, just like I kept hoping for a miracle, even though I could see the cancer winning.

I took the puzzle apart and put it back in its box two weeks ago after my aunt hugged me goodbye. The pieces weren't found and I didn't get the miracle I wanted.

But I'm grateful for all the unexpected blessings along the way.

In the end, the missing pieces weren't important. I could still see who's in the picture.

Careful What You Wish For...

noreply@blogger.com (Brittany) — Fri, 22 Mar 2013 02:40:00 +0000

Dear Me and Every Teacher Who Ever Said, "Put the Book Down, Girl 1,"

We did it! Hooray for us! My voracious reader has informed me that reading is boring, there's nothing to read anyway, and she doesn't want to do it anymore.

Hallelujah, right? It's not like reading could help her get into college or get a good job or expand her world view or anything. Glad we broke that terrible habit.

Know what she does want to do?

Sit in front of the computer googling and emailing. Her "grab and go" skills have also greatly improved when it comes to taking advantage of my unattended phone to text her friends or play Fruit Ninja.

That's when she's not begging me for her own phone and listing the endless reasons why I am the worst mother in the world for not letting her have one whilst reminding me that she is, literally, the only girl on the planet without some kind of device that starts with i.

So, you know, well done us...

With Sighs of Exasperation,

Me

Remember Me?

noreply@blogger.com (Brittany) — Wed, 06 Mar 2013 04:21:00 +0000

Dear Blog,

Remember how I used to write you? I'd sit down and tap, tap, tappity-tap away at least once a week and produce something for the masses (all 100 of them) to read. Most of my posts were okay, some were really good, and one or two were pretty awesome. Collectively they all gave me a sense of being connected to a worldwide community and they made me a better writer.

That was before Home School. Before my aunt's cancer. Before the call to be Young Women's President*.

That was back in the heady days of triathlons and novel writing, Tuesday breakfasts and people watching for blog material.

Back in the days before people got tired of writing more than 140 words at a time and having to wait hours--or even days--for comments. The Pretwitteristic Age.

I miss those days.

I think we should make an effort to get together more often.

Love,

Brittany

* Young Women's President, for those uninitiated in the ways of Mormon lay clergy, means that I was asked by my bishop (pastor) to be the president of our ward's (aka: congregation) organization for girls between the ages of twelve and eighteen. For me, this means planning weekly activities and Sunday lessons for roughly thirty girls and lots of other time consuming things that I don't get paid for. It is also the best church job ever, despite the fact I can't curse in this blog anymore because, you know, I'm an example now.

Top Ten Worst Christmas Songs Ever

noreply@blogger.com (Brittany) — Sat, 22 Dec 2012 18:56:00 +0000

I know. It's been a while. But I'm back with the definitive answer to the question that has been plaguing both of us since the day after Thanksgiving (perhaps longer for those of you who don't live with people who have very strict rules about when the playing of Christmas music can officially begin)...

What is the worst Christmas song ever?

Well, we'll get to number one, but first let's start with the nine preceding it in order of least worst to so terrifyingly bad plugging my ears with rusty nails would be less painful worst.

10. Christmastime in Hollis Queens. Sadly this song would have made the Best Of list until it was used to sell mini-vans to moms. I've only seen the Honda commercial once and I can't find it anywhere on the internets, but what's done is done. The image of moms who look like me rapping this song inside an Odyssey is burned in my brain. It's lost all of its cool cache. I do,however, have a hankering for a new Odyssey.

9. We Need a Little Christmas. I feel like I should like this song, but it's so pushy. There's so much pressure to get Christmas done IMMEDIATELY! I can't take a month or more to put the decorations up and get my shopping done because this guy's going to do something drastic if he doesn't get his Christmas fix NOW!

8. Little Drummer Boy by Bob Seger. It's Bob Seger singing. Enough said. Anything sung by Bob Seger could make a Worst Of list.

7. Do They Know It's Christmas by Band Aid. Anyone who knows my feelings about Band-aids should not question the position of this song on this list. You should only question why it's only at number seven and not closer to number one.

6. Jingle Bells by Barbara Streisand. The moment Babs sings "and then we got upsot. Upsot??" this version of Jingle Bells officially becomes a Hanukkah carol and no longer qualifies as a Christmas song.

5. Christmas Through Your Eyes by Gloria Estefan. I find Gloria Estefan one of the most annoying people in the entire world. I don't know why. She just is. And she should leave Christmas and its songs alone. Step away from the microphone, Gloria. Step. Away.

4 & 3. O Holy Night by Mariah Carey. Mariah Carey takes one of the most beautiful hymns EVER and adds synthesizers--synthesizers for Gosh sakes!--and then she does another version and adds Michel Bolton. For this reason she gets two spots. You will not be forgiven for your crimes against this song, Mariah.

2. What if Jesus Comes Back Like That by Colin Raye. Colin Raye should be punched in the face for ruining Christmas every time I hear this song.

And, finally, the very worst in what Christmas music has to offer. So bad I want to make myself barf every time I hear it just to get the treacle taste out of my mouth. You already know what it is, right? How could it be anything besides...

1. Christmas Shoes by Newsong. And Rob Lowe, how can you be so good in Parks & Rec and then be in this video? You disappoint me, sir.

I can't in good conscience share only terrible Christmas music with you, so I'll leave you with the best Christmas song ever. It was going to be Happy Christmas (I can't do Xmas, even though I think officially that's what it is) by John Lennon, but I'm feeling very grateful that I get to spend Christmas with my children and my heart aches for those who don't. So here it is, my favorite Christmas hymn and a truly beautiful version of it...

Merry Christmas!

An Impassioned Plea of "Can't We All Just Get Along?"

noreply@blogger.com (Brittany) — Thu, 08 Nov 2012 04:35:00 +0000

A few days ago I posted this article, Ending the Uncivil War, from BYU Magazine on my Facebook page that I begged my friends to read. Judging by all the apocalyptic posts using words like "stupid" "idiot" and "Hell" that have been filling up my feed, I'm guessing not very many people did. So let me do a little paraphrasing if you will. The words of the three authors who wrote the article; an Evangelical, the vice chair of the Utah Democratic Party, and a Democratic Senator,* can be summed up with a quote from President Dieter F. Uchtdorf from last conference:

When our hearts are filled with the love of God, we become “kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving [each other], even as God for Christ’s sake [forgave us].”¹¹

The pure love of Christ can remove the scales of resentment and wrath from our eyes, allowing us to see others the way our Heavenly Father sees us: as flawed and imperfect mortals who have potential and worth far beyond our capacity to imagine. Because God loves us so much, we too must love and forgive each other.

I know people feel passionately about politics; I get it. I understand being frustrated that things aren't going the way they'd like them to.

What I can't fathom is why people take one man who gives to charity, prays daily, attends church, and calls himself a Christian, put all of their faith in him to save America and keep the apocalypse at bay; then take another man who does the same things and make him the personification of evil.

You may not like Obama's vision for America and you may be right that the cost is too high, but I don't see how wanting people to have equal access to health care, education, and the American Dream is evil. You have every right not to like his ideas and methods, but let's be careful how we throw around a word like "evil," okay?

Hitler; evil. Bin Laden; evil. Dictators who execute whole swaths of people who disagree with them; evil.

Obama?

Well, he's our president, whether we like it or not. So how about we start showing him the respect he deserves--even if we don't agree with him--and usher in a return to civility? One man can't destroy our country just like one man can't save it. It will take all of us to do one or the other. My preference would be for saving.

To that end, I'm taking the pledge that Mark Demoss, the Evangelical author of this article, asked members of Congress and people everywhere to take as part of his civility project:

1. I will be civil in my public discourse and behavior

2. I will be respectful of others, whether or not I agree with them.

3. I will stand against incivility where and when I see it.

I haven't always been respectful of every president (sorry #43), but I'm going to do better now. Not just with presidents, but with people in general. I'm even going to try really hard not to yell at people when I drive. I may have to stop driving for a while. I'll do it though, if that's what it takes to make my corner of the world a little bit nicer (no cracks about my driving ability please).

I know there are many people out there who believe God is affiliated with one political party, but no matter how many scriptures are quoted (or more often paraphrased), I haven't heard any compelling evidence that God cares more about political parties than people. So can I ask that we stop accusing Obama of ushering in the end times? Faith and fear can not reside in the same place, so how about we let go of the fear.

Maybe this quote from another apostle at another of our general conferences will help:

There are some who feel that venting their personal anger or deeply held opinions is more important than conducting themselves as Jesus Christ lived and taught. I invite each one of us individually to recognize that how we disagree is a real measure of who we are and whether we truly follow the Savior. It is appropriate to disagree, but it is not appropriate to be disagreeable...If we show love and respect even in adverse circumstances, we become more like Christ (Quentin L. Cook, "We Follow Jesus Christ," Ensign, May 2010),

Oh, and by the way, I voted for the guy who lost too.

* That's right, the university that doesn't allow men to have hair below their collars, women to wear bikinis, or anyone to wear shorts above their knees--but does encourage people to report others' infractions--invited not one, but two Democrats to speak to its students. Their Conservative merit badge just may be revoked.

Heroic Deeds Performed by Me and Other Exciting Things...

noreply@blogger.com (Brittany) — Wed, 31 Oct 2012 23:38:00 +0000

Heroic Act #1

Last night I went to Target--again (third time this week and it was only Tuesday for crying out loud). I was in a hurry (because when am I not?) and some kind of population explosion had gone off and people were everywhere. I parked in Egypt, loaded up on provisions, and began my journey to the entrance.

By the time I reached the vast desert of the handicapped parking zone I had barely fifteen minutes to get all the things I'd forgotten on my two previous trips, before I had to retrieve Girl 2 early from gymnastics so she could spend the rest of the night doing a project she should have started four weeks ago.

It was then I saw a boy trying to pick up a flailing one year old off the street. Their mother was a few feet ahead, pushing a cart with another little boy in it who was trying his darnedest to escape while she made her way around an idling SUV/monster truck blocking her car. "Just pick him up," she said, obviously in a hurry and trying to keep her frustration at bay. I got it. It was dinnertime and she was at Target with a kajillion kids (though, in retrospect, I only counted three).

Something told me to go pick that baby up. So I did, ignoring my fear that I might be mistaken for one of those crazy, childless, baby-kidnapping ladies. Harried mom left her cart and rushed back to me.

"I'll help you to your car." I assured her. She still looked worried, but went back to her cart to wrangle her other potential escapee.The baby cried for his mom, but quit his flailing as I followed her the short distance to her car. She said thanks as I passed him off to her.

"No problem," I said, giving her a reassuring pat on the back. "It's so stressful taking kids shopping!"

Then I hurried on my way back around the still idling SUV ready to speed shop. Except when I came around the SUV a Mustang turned in front of it, the driver going fast enough as it passed little ol' me and the SUV that I had to jump out of the way to avoid being run over. He sped past me. right over the spot where thirty seconds before a little boy had been wrestling his baby brother. And I knew if I hadn't picked that baby up, those boys would have been hit. That speeding Mustang driver couldn't have seen them on the other side of that jacked up truck before he decided to turn and speed down that parking lot lane.

So I kind of saved three lives last night: those boys and that I-think-I'm-pretty-cool driver. Because imagine being that guy who was dumb enough to think speeding through a busy parking lot at dusk was a good idea.

Heroic Act #2

Remember Homeschooling Girl? Well, the other day I had to teach her how to solve this problem:
x + 2 = - 4.

And maybe you don't think that's such an act of heroism. But if a hero is defined as someone who shows courage in the face of adversity, then folks, I am a hero. Er, heroine.

Because if you could have seen me my senior year of college when I looked at my graduation requirements and read the part that said if I had scored below a certain number on the Math portion of the ACT then I would have to take, not only College Algebra, but also the no credit prerequisite Pre-Algebra for Math Dummies class--whether or not I had taken two years of Italian in order to avoid ever taking a math class again--and seen newlywed me, who now had to pay her own college tuition and therefore needed to graduate--and soon-- think back to that fateful ACT and remember how I had totally rocked the English and Science portion of it but the Math portion had significantly lowered my overall score, and then seen me cry. Every day. For the entire summer semester I took College Algebra, bravely/stupidly skipping Math for Dummies in order to graduate on time...you wouldn't argue whether or not I am a superheroine for solving a simple algebraic equation. I am.

I passed that class with flying colors. (If, you know, a C+ counts as flying and not just sputtering). Not only that, but my semester of Algebra has turned out to be far more useful than my four semesters of Italian. Though the Italian will come in handy as I prepare a nice marinara to eat with the words, "why do I need to know Algebra? I will never use it again after this semester."

Exciting Thing #1

Remember my book that got rejected for marketing reasons? My very good friend, writing partner, and talented author, Melanie Jacobson self-published my very own copy for me. Here's a picture:

cute, huh...

Then she told me to order more copies and come do a book signing with her (Smart Move give away soon, until then order here) and our other critique partner, Kristy Tate (Stealing Mercy free on Kindle here). So I did and it was fun. But I didn't order enough books because people keep asking me for one and I'm out. I'm going to order more, so if you want one let me know and if you don't, that's okay, I still like you. But please don't let me know if you don't want one.

It is $10 plus s&h and I'm only doing a small order. No Amazon or Kindle release. Also, it went through one really great, really fast, edit. That was not enough. You will find mistakes.

Exciting Thing #2

For the first time I am doing NaNoWriMo. It starts tomorrow and I am very excited. I am also doing Book Fair, Room Mom stuff, Regular Mom stuff, Home School Mom stuff, Thanksgiving, and lots of other stuff, so wish me luck. (I've already informed hubby I won't be doing cleaning stuff. Cleaned the bathrooms yesterday in preparation for NoCleanSoICanWriMo).

The best part though, is that Home School Girl is doing it with me because I found a whole middle school NaNoWriMo packet she can do. I did not, however, order it in time to start tomorrow. Which means I have to skim through over a hundred pages of said packet and decide how many of those pages I want to print out for her. That is not the best part.

Still... things are good.

Busy, but good.

Things I Miss For My Children...

noreply@blogger.com (Brittany) — Thu, 25 Oct 2012 20:59:00 +0000

1. Waking up to this...

my parents sent me this picture of their backyard on Tuesday

Even when it happens in October, the first snow is magical. To wake up to the first snow of the season is to wake up to the wonder of Mother Nature and her ever changing moods. It's a reminder that nothing stays the same. It's a day filled with the possibility of future "snow days."

2. Snow days. Few things are more exciting than an early morning call saying school has been cancelled. It's even better when Mother Nature thwarts the grown-ups and lets the sun shine. It's like a surprise Christmas.

3. Saturday morning cartoons. When the world isn't centered around you, anything that caters to your wants becomes special, no matter how crappy it is.

4. Opening the cover to a textbook on the first day of class to see who had it before you... and knowing that person.

5. Grandparents who live next door.

6. Long recesses and homework free week nights.

7. Being able to bike to the store to buyAtomic Fireballs and candy cigarettes. Okay, maybe not the candy cigarette part.

General Observations on a Variety of Topics...

noreply@blogger.com (Brittany) — Wed, 26 Sep 2012 14:26:00 +0000

1. Acoustic Songs: A song that can be used to sell fast food will not suck any less if "unplugged" (I'm looking at you, I'll Melt With You).

2. Short Shorts: These are the rules for wearing them... Don't. Odds are you look more like this:

Than this:

Because guess what...you're not airbrushed.

3. Little Boys: After three days of hand- on research that included an entire box of angel hair pasta strewn throughout my kitchen, family room, and dining room, I have come to the conclusion that two little boys between the ages of two and three are easier than one preteen girl.

4. Home School: Home schooling requires a lot of schooling at home. (Warning: If you're tempted to comment here about all the fun "field trips" home schoolers can go on, please review the rules for wearing short shorts. They apply here also).

5. Bra Etiquette: Missed my post on it? Read it, learn it, live it, and avoid becoming this woman:

Or, worse, this woman, who I'm pretty sure is an anorexic hooker even though I saw her eat pizza and did not see her engage in any illegal activity, although this bra infraction bordered on indecent exposure:

Let this be a warning that it's but a short descent from tacky bra strap exposure

to internet accusations by strangers concerning your.eating habits and chosen line of profession.

Because I'm THAT Mom Now...

noreply@blogger.com (Brittany) — Wed, 12 Sep 2012 05:06:00 +0000

I am not a home schooling mom.

I mean, aside from the fact I have a child currently attending school at home, I am not a home school mom.

Because you know who they are, right?

Those moms who are too afraid of what their children will/won't learn if they send them to public school. Those moms who think their children are so special no one could possibly know how to teach them better than their own mothers. Those moms who are always, ALWAYS with their kids because that's who they are. They're moms.

You know who their kids are too, right?

Those kids who try to horn in on adult conversations. Those kids who don't know how to raise their hands when they're in a regular educational setting. Those kids who are just a little off because they live in a bubble where they don't get teased or pushed or ignored by anyone other than their own siblings. Those kids who are always, ALWAYS called weird because that's what they are. They're weird.

We all have those stereotypes, right?

But guess what. If you're a mom with a kid, each of you has a little of that home school thing in you. So be careful how harshly you judge because it just might be you some day. And I know what you're thinking. I used to think "never" too.

Maybe this will help change your mind though. Here's what we did for Girl 1's first day of home school:

Because, you know, we've got to get those P.E. hours in.

Plus, after crying for three days straight* because every step I took left me on unsteady, unfamiliar ground, I got a rejection letter from my perspective publisher,** followed by some other bad news.*** At that point I couldn't even cry anymore. There was only one thing left to do:

I needed some time with my village.

So there was no way I was missing Bethany's Boogie Boarding Birthday Bash. Did it matter if it fell on the first official day of The Great Home Schooling Experiment? No, because I'm a problem solver. Home school books haven't arrived yet? P.E. hours and therapy needed? Take G1 along and Boom! Problem solved.

You know what other problem's been solved?

I found the smile that's been missing from G1's face for a while.

* Cross not a crier off my Who Am I? list, along with not a home school mom.
** That's right, I'm just going to slip that in there like it's no biggie. Because, at this point, it's not, but in lieu of flowers feel free to donate to Brittany's Retail Therapy Fund. Nordstrom gift cards will be accepted.
** Too personal to share, but nothing to worry about. Unless you're me of course.

Happy (sort of) New School Year...

noreply@blogger.com (Brittany) — Wed, 05 Sep 2012 16:05:00 +0000

So, my kids start school tomorrow.

Two-thirds of them, anyway.

Last year at the this time began The Year of Brittany and it was awesome. Maybe not so much for some (one) of my kids, but it was for me. My youngest started first grade which meant six hours a day (mostly) of me time. Six hours a day to heed the voice in my head whispering write, write, write! And swim, bike, run!

Sure that voice got annoying because sometimes I just wanted to sleep in or sit on the couch and watch a lot of bad TV. But it wouldn't shut up. It had been drowned out for a long time by kids and a husband and dirty floors and endless laundry. Then, suddenly, the three loudest voices were gone for much of the day and I could hear that little voice again.

And it sounded a lot like...

me.

I'd kind of forgotten who that person was. Or maybe I was really getting to know her for the first time. And, you know what? I liked her. A lot.

Don't get me wrong. The Year of Brittany wasn't all typing/swimming/biking/ running and smiles. There were no unicorns and rainbows. Just a lot of hard work.

And maybe some neglect of important things (i.e. not floors and laundry). But still a good year. For me.

Here's the thing though. When I turned in my finished manuscript to the publisher, I forgot about it. When I crossed the finish line of my triathlon, I felt only relief, not elation.

I'm proud of those two accomplishments, I really am. I don't regret the time and energy I put into writing and training, but the question I had to ask myself after I finished both was whether it was worth it. Did the cheers and congratulations make up for the time I'd taken away from my family?

I honestly don't know. But the voice is gone now. It's not driving me to finish that second manuscript I've started or to start training for another race.

And I don't miss it like I thought I would.

This school year is going to be a much different year. Girl 2 & 3 will return to their public school tomorrow while Girl 1 stays home.

On Monday Husband and I both step into the dark abyss of The Unknown (a place neither of us is super comfortable entering) as he opens his own law firm (hooray! in a scary way) and I start home schooling Girl 1 (I just heard a collective gasp from all those who know me and my lovely, headstrong daughter personally).

Add to that a favorite aunt, sick with cancer, who--fortunately for me--lives nearby, and this year is looking more like a Year of Others instead of another Year of Me.

And that's okay. My Year of Brittany taught me that I can do hard things, which is more important than a fleeting sense of accomplishment.

I'm going to need that education this year... but I think it's going to be a better year.

Bra Etiquette

noreply@blogger.com (Brittany) — Fri, 17 Aug 2012 17:20:00 +0000

Can we talk bras for a minute? And by talk I mean, will you listen (with your eyes, of course) while I rant?

Also, feel free to imagine my voice as old and judgmental because there's really no other way to hear it while you read this.

I'm old enough to remember when a peaking bra strap was akin to living in a van by the side of a river. My mother was always tucking straps back in for me or even pinning them when necessary and my friends and I did the same for each other when our mothers weren't around because none of us wanted to be known as "that" kind of girl. Because if a girl let the strap of her bra show in public, she was probably willing to let a lot more show in private.

Reputations were ruined by a disregard for proper bra etiquette.

Well, the times they have a-changed.

Famous people (and I use the term loosely here) feel comfortable not only going out in public, but also being photographed and viewed by millions of people like this:

You look like maybe you have something serious to say, but all I can think is:
"I know those are fake, so why do they look so saggy?"
You could be announcing that you've just found the cure for cancer and still, this is all I am going to think.

Really? Have we sunk so low that it's okay to match shoes and accessories to our underwear?
Isn't it bad enough that neon is back in that we shouldn't have to see your wrist, feet AND boobs encased in it?

I know this isn't a new trend. It's been fashionable for years to let a little sexy strap show. And if people would stop there I could get over it. I mean, the word "trashy" still flashes through my mind every time I see it, but that's my own issue, not the girls/women who follow the trend.

But yesterday things came to a head when I watched the lady parked next to me IN A BUSY PUBLIC PARKING LOT stand outside of her car, put her 3 hook, double D, nude bra on over her bikini top, take the bikini top off, THEN WALK AROUND IN HER BRA. FOR A LONG TIME.

And here's my problem with that:
1. We were at a lake with dressing rooms where she could have changed.
2. She was not on the catwalk at the Victoria's Secret fashion show where it's acceptable to wear a bra as apparel as opposed to underwear.
3. Sure her bra covered more than her bikini top, but does this make it a suitable substitute for a shirt?
4. SHE WAS WALKING AROUND IN HER BRA LIKE IT WAS TOTALLY NORMAL.

Clearly our society is in need of a little refresher course on UNDERwear and how to wear it. So, Crazy Bra Bearing Lake Lady, this is for you and all your cohorts (and also for my girlfriends who don't really need it but the bra lady told me to share it with you and I am nothing if not obedient when it comes to strangers in YouTube videos who want to make the world a little more classy).

Kids, Cows, and California Drivin'

noreply@blogger.com (Brittany) — Wed, 15 Aug 2012 01:08:00 +0000

I'm back (sigh) and I know you're dying to hear how the cattle round-up and calf showing went, so I'll tell you. In pictures. Because, you know, a picture's worth a thousand words and I'm really too tired to type that many.

Cattle Round-Up With Very Few Pics of Cows Because It's Hard to Be Both Herder and Photographer at the Same Time. Also, I Thought It Would be Impolite to Let Cows Get Away Since Our Hosts Depend on Them for Their Livelihood and Not Just Their Summer Entertainment...

Cache County Fair Calf Showing Wherein Girl 2 Wins the Show Stick. Cali Girls Represent!

See her scratching the heifer's belly?
That's what you do with a show stick

The stick is also used to get the cow to move
her feet to the right position.

There she is with her ribbon and her prize stick which she will have little use for in California.
I, however, will be using it as a Get-Out-of-Bed-Now/Keep-Your-Hands-Off-Your-Sister Stick.
Which you'll have to imagine because my attempt to Google a picture of such a thing failed.
As did this joke without the picture.

Girl 1 is more a cowgirl than a Cali girl.
Calves make her smile more than waves do.

You can only hear so much about how feminine and maternal

a cow's features are before you get a little bored.

On our drive home I seriously considered packing up and moving to Utah. Mostly so I would never have to do that drive again--because I would already be there.

I also saw a sign just outside of Barstow that said:

End

Lane

Control

And I felt kind of bad because I didn't even know that lanes were fighting for their autonomy. Then I wondered why-- as long as we're trying to end things--we don't put an end to Reckless California Driving. We could make public service announcements that say things like:

"Driving a BMW does not make you impervious to death. Not that I'd care if you died, but it also does not make you impervious to killing other people who are choosing not to weave in and out of lanes while driving 120 mph."

or:

"Do you really want to play chicken with Death right now? Because you're a pretty short distance from Hell when you're in Baker, California."

Ahhh, it's good to be home.

Refrigerator Jenga

noreply@blogger.com (Brittany) — Wed, 08 Aug 2012 21:20:00 +0000

Have I mentioned I've been hanging out in Utah with my parents for a while? Like about three weeks. And maybe you're wondering what I've been doing during all those weeks. Or maybe not. But either way, I'm going to tell you.

There have been some visits to some water parks. Like this one we went to after watching my nephew play baseball in Malad, Idaho (population: enough to have a dollar store and that's about it):

Downata Hot Springs in Downey, Idaho (population: seriously, does anyone even live here?) has a couple of water slides and a pool, but this is the only thing I took a picture of because Girl 3 asked me to and it was close to my lounge chair. All the water comes from a natural hot springs which means swimming in the pool felt like floating around in a giant bathtub and riding down the hydrotube felt like a claustrophobic trip through some one's intestines before being shot out into a toilet. So basically it was a little like being in a giant bathroom, but definitely worth $7.

We've eaten at Chuck-a-Rama, been on some picnics, done some fishing, gone on a monster hike

during which my nephew cried for most of the way up that he wanted to go home and then when we got to the top he said, "Wow! Look at the view! It's beautiful up here!" and Girl 3 said, "I feel like the most awesome mountain hiker ever!" Actually all the kids were pretty impressed with themselves for making it to the top and I was too.

We're going on a cattle round up tomorrow and Girls 1 and 2 will be showing calves at the Cache County Fair again this year while I head to Bear Lake for a writer's retreat before we head back to the Golden State (population: So, so many people. And they all seem to be tan and blond).

But a vacation at my parents' wouldn't be a vacation at my parents' without multiple rounds of Refrigerator Jenga every day.

This is their fridge, aka Where Condiment Hoarders Hide Their Shame:

And this is how you play Refrigerator Jenga:

1. Think to yourself, "I would like something to eat."

2. Open fridge slowly and be prepared to catch at least one jar of some condiment that will try to escape.

3. Move a giant tub of cottage cheese stacked on a small tub of sour cream, various sized containers with leftovers that nobody will ever eat, and a giant brick of cheese resting on a jar of mayonnaise, to find what it is you're looking for only to not find it.
4. Try one of the other condiment shelves. There are four of them.
5. Move 53 bottles of different flavored fruit salsa. Most of them are stacked precariously on small containers of yogurt, so they should be easy to find. Remove 75 half empty bottles of salad dressing, another giant tub of cottage cheese, and at least one bottle of some sort of ice cream topping. Wipe up whatever dressing has spilled because the lid wasn't on tight. Decide to try the next shelf.
6. Warning! Be careful not to move too quickly or you will knock over one of the open soda cans Mom keeps in the fridge waiting for it to go flat because it's the carbonation that's bad for you, not the high fructose corn syrup, food coloring or artificial flavoring.
7. Move the industrial sized Miracle Whip. You could throw it away, but there are two more just like it in the pantry, so what's the point? If you passed on the first container of mayo you found, there's another one here. You only have to rearrange the rest of ice cream toppings to get to it.
8. Clean up the soda you just spilled. I hate to say I told you so but, I told you so.
9. You wanted jelly? Sorry. I was sure there was some in there somewhere.
10. Try the garage fridge only to find that it is used solely to store twelve packs of soda, leftovers, and sour cream.

Seriously, the excitement never ends!

So Now What?

noreply@blogger.com (Brittany) — Fri, 03 Aug 2012 16:00:00 +0000

~~Survive Triathlon~~

Now that I've crossed that off my bucket list I need something to fill its spot. Especially since that was pretty much the only thing on my nonexistant bucket list. Plus, I've got a few extra hours to kill a day since I'm not running, biking and/or swimming.

So now what?

I thought about taking up crafting, but how can I top this:

So maybe I'll give parenting another go.

No Spudman is an Island

noreply@blogger.com (Brittany) — Mon, 30 Jul 2012 21:29:00 +0000

I did a triathlon and all I got was this mildly inappropriate t-shirt:

That's a potato or "spud."
It's resemblance to male genitalia--I assume--is unintentional.

And an ugly black eye:

The bruising will get better.
Sadly, the wrinkles can only get worse.

Oh, and a sense of accomplishment. I guess there's that too. Because swimming 1.5k, then biking 24 miles, then running 6 miles in 2 hours and 57 minutes is hard. Unless you're the 45 women in my division who did it faster than that. Then it's even harder.

But my sense of accomplishment doesn't come from finishing the race. It comes from all the training I did over the last nine months. That's right. Nine months. And most of that training was basically me trying to learn how to swim.

I think we've already established that it takes a village for me to not only raise my kids, but also find my stupid dog. Well, guess what? When I decide to do something hard, it also takes a village.

In this case it took my swim-instructor-extraordinaire friend Bethany to teach me how to blow bubbles out my nose so I could make it across a 25 meter pool and then back again. But I needed to be able to do that 32 times--at least--in order to do the Spudman. Which meant calling in someone much meaner than Bethany who would MAKE me do the impossible.

Enter Ironman extraordinaire Coach Belnap who for five months stood in the pool and shook his head with disappointment every time I attempted to swim. There were many motivational speeches with phrases like, "stop fighting the water!" and "you're not going to drown!" and "RELAX!" and "do another fifty!" (There may or may not have been much cursing on my part).

Until finally one day I heard the words I'd been working so hard to hear. "Now you look like a swimmer!" Coach Belnap smiled, nodded his head, then swam away into the sunset. His work was done; his only reward the satisfaction in having done the impossible. He had taught me how to swim.

Unfortunately, there was still the matter of my wetsuit anxiety. Not to mention my fear of touching squishy river bottoms. Because this was no swim-in-the-pool tri I was training for. This was an open water swim where, by all accounts, I would be getting kicked in the head and whacked all over as hundreds of swimmers tried to get ahead of me.

And sure it was a current assisted swim in a river I grew up on, so if nothing else I could float to the finish in somewhat familiar water. But this is also the same river that once made the whites of my eyes swell up. Not my eyes, THE WHITES OF MY EYES. Can you picture how gross that is? So you can understand that this is not a river I wanted to just hang out in.

Also, I live 1,000 miles away from that river now, so it's not like I could practice in it beforehand. Instead I took my wetsuit, goggles, swim cap and cheerleaders to the man-made lake four miles from my house where I mortified my eleven year old by wearing a swim cap in public and my cheerleader friends Paula and Heather swam beside me yelling at me to keep my head down and go just a little further. And I almost didn't freak out. For that we ate ice cream and french fries.

It took me a few more times of swimming in the wetsuit to get past the thought I was being swallowed by a boa constrictor, but I did it. And on the day of the race I did like Dory and told myself "just keep swimming." Over and over and over. Even when I got kicked in the eye. And sure I did a lot of side stroke and a pretty awesome backstroke that put me horizontal to the finish line, but I didn't stop and I didn't freak out. Mission accomplished.

Or part of my mission anyway. I still had to bike a pretty long distance. Which I couldn't have done without my friends Cheri and Tania who took me up and down giant hills in California so that a flat, twenty-four mile course in Idaho didn't seem so tough. The bike my awesome cousin Dixie loaned me also came in pretty handy for that part of the race.

I wish someone could have loaned me some legs for the run, because mine were pretty shot after the first three miles. I did more walking than I would have liked during mile 4, but I ran the last mile. My friend, Scott, who I hadn't seen in twenty years cheered me across the finish line where my husband waited for me cheering louder than anyone. And really I couldn't have done it without him either, since he's the one who signed me up.

I haven't even mentioned my younger brother Barrett who made me go on my longest bike ride EVER after I'd had only four hours of sleep and an eight hour drive. It may have been his slowest bike ride ever, but he kept telling me I was going pretty fast. Also, he let me stop at McDonald's to pee about ten minutes into the ride without too much ridicule.

Anyway, I'm feeling pretty good about doing the Spudman.

I'm feeling even better about my village.

Here's the thing with villages: they step up. I chose to do something hard and I couldn't have done it without help. But I am more impressed with people who have hard things thrust upon them than I am with myself. And I love hearing about their villages.

Like my aunt who just found out she has cancer and is in surgery right now. Her Mormon friends have her name on their temple prayer rolls. Her Baptist friends have her name on their prayer rolls. Her Sikh friends are praying to Allah for her and her atheist friends are sending good thoughts out to the Universe on her behalf.

Or my friends from high school whose son died a month ago from a rare disease. People across the country released balloons in his memory and have donated money in hopes of finding a cure for JM so other kids don't have to face the same hard thing.

Or the twelve year old girl in my city who rallied an entire community to donate items to go in Joy Jars that she gave away to kids suffering from cancer before she died of it herself. She's gone but her village is still giving away Joy Jars.

I think John Donne said it best. "No man is an island."

And why would we want to be?

Shawn, me and Barrett with our Spudman Cheer Squad

My Life in the Lab

noreply@blogger.com (Brittany) — Mon, 23 Jul 2012 20:14:00 +0000

I know I promised a Philosophy Phriday post and now it's Monday, but let me tell you one of my many philosophies: There's no shame in putting things off in favor of a nap. This is maybe why I don't get very much done.

Anyhow, instead of Philosophy Phriday how about a Meditation Monday? And then a nap. Because I'm feeling productive today and will put off nap time until after I blog.

So here's what I'm meditating about. I love my bedroom and I love my bathroom and I don't really like my kids to be in either of those places. Because kids make messes and sometimes I just want to get away from the messes. And maybe the kids.

So imagine my reaction one morning when I looked up from my shower to see this in my tub:

That's a Littlest Pet Shop floating in a jar that used to contain my soothing bath salts. And it kind of reminded me of this:

Which brought on the epiphany that I'm living in a lab. A big old science lab. And I'm the scientist. The mad scientist. (And I mean that in every sense of the word. Just ask my kids how often I yell).

I'm always trying some new experiment to get them to clean rooms/practice piano/do homework/stop fighting/make beds/go to bed/sit still/move faster. And as soon as I find some formula that works, they go and add some new variable that totally screws it up. That's where the mad scientist part comes in.

The latest experiment involves the following hypothesis:

How does a mother spend hours a day swimming, biking, and/or running in order to train for a triathlon and then spend more hours a day writing because she likes that too and convince her kids to do all the housework and enjoy the parental neglect they are suffering from, all without feeling guilty?

If you have the formula for that, please pass it along. In the meantime, I think I'll take a nap while the kids are entertaining themselves.

We Have A Winner!

noreply@blogger.com (Brittany) — Tue, 17 Jul 2012 17:29:00 +0000

The winner of the Summer Lovin' give away is....

Joana Arteaga! Thank you to everyone who participated and became followers of my blog. Look for some more give aways this fall. I know of a few more great, clean books coming out!!

In the meantime, look for the second installment of Philosophy Phridays this Friday!

Summer Lovin'

noreply@blogger.com (Brittany) — Wed, 11 Jul 2012 04:59:00 +0000

So you know how I've been ranting about porn for women?

No?

Well, I did it here AND here, just in case you missed it. But lest you think all I do is rant, I'm going to put my money where my mouth is and give away some non-porn for women.

That's right, non-porn. And by that I mean a book that, for what it lacks in graphic sex, makes up for it with good writing, romance, and actual story-telling. Pretty novel (get it? Novel. It's a play on words) idea, right?

So here's the book and the blurb:

An eastern wind carries more than dust and ashes; it uproots secrets and everyone knows that once one secret is told, no secret is safe. Laine’s haunting secrets--the estrangement from her husband—the unknown body laying in her grandfather’s coffin—the sudden and strange appearance of a difficult ghost—take her to the tiny town of Rose Arbor, her grandfather’s hometown and the place of her grandmother’s death.

As Laine unravels the mystery of her grandparents’ marriage she is forced to face one more question of the heart—Can love live even after it has died?

Sounds pretty good, right? I can verify that it is since I've already read it. And it's only the first in a series written by Kristy Tate set in the little town of Rose Arbor, Washington which is chock full of all kinds of interesting characters.

So, you want to read it? Well all you have to do is comment below to be entered into the drawing I'm having as part of the Summer Lovin' Giveaway Hop I'm part of starting July 11 and ending on July 17. If your name is chosen I will send you a signed copy of Kristy's book.

But if you don't win, you can go here to order Kristy's book on Kindle for only $3.99.

As an added bonus I've included a list of all the other blogs participating in the blog hop where you can go to find--and maybe win--more non-porn. It's a win-win for everyone! So get to commenting and hopping and ignore all the porn for women hype!

1. ~I Am A Reader, Not A Writer (Int)
2. Tifferz Book Review (Int)
3. ~Some Like It Paranormal (Int)
4. A Book Obsession. . (Int)
5. ~Christian Bookshelf Reviews (US)
6. Hardcover Feedback (US)
7. Bibliophilia, Please (INT)
8. Bibliosaurus Text (Int)
9. Nicki J Markus (Int)
10. The Solitary Bookworm (US)
11. ~Pandora Poikilos - Peace from Pieces (US)
12. ~Orangeberry Book Tours (US)
13. Mommy Adventures With Ravina (US)
14. The Teen Book Guru (int)
15. Lauries Thoughts and Reviews (Int)
16. Jennifer Lane Books (Int)
17. ~Krazy Book Lady (Int)
18. Heres the Story (US)
19. Live To Read ~Krystal (USA/CAN)
20. ~Bookittyblog (INTL)
21. ~Brinda Berry Blogs (Int)
22. JDP NEWS (US)
23. Books Beside My Bed (US)
24. Sparkles and Lightning (Int)
25. Mortality Bites (US)
26. ~Always YA at Heart (US/CAN)
27. Books4Learning (US)
28. Mug of Moxie(US)
29. Mary @ Sweeping Me (Int)
30. ~Why Not? Because I Said So! (US/Int)
31. Living, Learning, and Loving Life (US)
32. The Cozy Reading Corner (Int)
33. My Life Heding Cats (US)
34. Reading Lark (US & CA)
35. In The Name of Books (Intl)
36. Books, Books The Magical Fruit (US)
37. The reader lines (INT)
38. Bella Street Writes (US)
39. Book Cover Justice (INT)
40. Moon Shine Art Spot / reviews, cover art, illustration, (USA)
41. ~Walking on Bookshelves (US)
42. Sweeping The USA
43. BookStacksOnDeck (Int)
44. DanaSquare (US)
45. Scribbles on the Back of January (US)
46. Beckys Barmy Book Blog (Int)
47. Nikki Jefford (US)
48. The Starry-Eyed Revue (US)
49. ~Raechel @ Backwood Reviews (US)
50. My Inner Muse (Intl)
51. The Book Belles (US)
52. Bombarded With Books (US)
53. ~BookHounds (Int)
54. ~BookHounds YA (Int)
55. ~My Little Pocketbooks (INT)
56. Paranormal Urban Fantasy Reviews (INT)
57. ~Julia Crane YA Author (US)
58. A Sense of Fiction (Int)
59. Flying on Silver Wings (INT)
60. Read to My Hearts Content (US)
61. LOVE. WITHOUT YOU (INT)
62. ~Nereyda @ Mostly YA Book Obsessed (Int)
63. Peppermint PhD (INT)
64. Manga Maniac Cafe (US)
65. Book Sake (US)
66. Libby Blog (US) - Win a book of your choice!
67. Laurie Here - Contemporary Fiction and MORE - Book Reviews (INTL)
68. ~Popcorn Reads (US)
69. ~Nawanda Files (INT)
70. Jennifer Comeaux~Author (Int)
71. ~Read for your future (US)
72. Mystifying Paranormal Reviews (US)
73. Kaleidoscopic Reveries (Int)
74. Passion for Novels (INT)
75. ~Pen to Paper (INT)
76. The Book Monsters (INT)
77. ~The Secret Writer (Int)
78. Love of Books (Int)
79. Gobs and Gobs of Books (US)
80. Its A Hardcover Life (US)
81. A. D. Dulings Diddley Doodle Dandy Writings Giveaway (US)
82. Forbidden Passions Reviews (US)
83. Making the Grade: YA Lit Reviews (US)
84. Kimbers Life (US)
85. Sarah Ballance (INT)
86. Fantasy Book Addict (INT)
87. Gin @ Addicted to Words (Int)
88. Deco My Heart (US)
89. Give Me Today (US)
90. Clover Autrey~romance writer (US)
91. ~Ezmirelda @ PARAFANTASY (INTL)
92. Collettas Kitchen Sink (US)
93. Froze8s Blog (US)
94. Get Vinspired
95. Realm of Fiction (Int)
96. Much Ado About Books (US)
97. ~Citrus Reads (US)
98. Kayla @ Bengal Reads (US)
99. Books for Company (INT)
100. Book Flame (INT)
101. Into The Morning Reads (US)
102. Practical Frugality (US)
103. ~Chronicles of an Enamored Soul~ (US)
104. Lena Sledges Blog (INT)
105. BookSpark (INT)
106. Up in the Bibliosphere (US)

~I Am A Reader, Not A Writer (Int)

Tifferz Book Review (Int)

~Some Like It Paranormal (Int)

A Book Obsession. . (Int)

~Christian Bookshelf Reviews (US)

Hardcover Feedback (US)

Bibliophilia, Please (INT)

Bibliosaurus Text (Int)

Nicki J Markus (Int)

10.

The Solitary Bookworm (US)

11.

~Pandora Poikilos - Peace from Pieces (US)

12.

~Orangeberry Book Tours (US)

13.

Mommy Adventures With Ravina (US)

14.

The Teen Book Guru (int)

15.

Lauries Thoughts and Reviews (Int)

16.

Jennifer Lane Books (Int)

17.

~Krazy Book Lady (Int)

18.

Heres the Story (US)

19.

Live To Read ~Krystal (USA/CAN)

20.

~Bookittyblog (INTL)

21.

~Brinda Berry Blogs (Int)

22.

JDP NEWS (US)

23.

Books Beside My Bed (US)

24.

Sparkles and Lightning (Int)

25.

Mortality Bites (US)

26.

~Always YA at Heart (US/CAN)

27.

Books4Learning (US)

28.

Mug of Moxie(US)

29.

Mary @ Sweeping Me (Int)

30.

~Why Not? Because I Said So! (US/Int)

31.

Living, Learning, and Loving Life (US)

32.

The Cozy Reading Corner (Int)

33.

My Life Heding Cats (US)

34.

Reading Lark (US & CA)

35.

In The Name of Books (Intl)

36.

Books, Books The Magical Fruit (US)

37.

The reader lines (INT)

38.

Bella Street Writes (US)

39.

Book Cover Justice (INT)

40.

Moon Shine Art Spot / reviews, cover art, illustration, (USA)

41.

~Walking on Bookshelves (US)

42.

Sweeping The USA

43.

BookStacksOnDeck (Int)

44.

DanaSquare (US)

45.

Scribbles on the Back of January (US)

46.

Beckys Barmy Book Blog (Int)

47.

Nikki Jefford (US)

48.

The Starry-Eyed Revue (US)

49.

~Raechel @ Backwood Reviews (US)

50.

My Inner Muse (Intl)

51.

The Book Belles (US)

52.

Bombarded With Books (US)

53.

~BookHounds (Int)

54.

~BookHounds YA (Int)

55.

~My Little Pocketbooks (INT)

56.

Paranormal Urban Fantasy Reviews (INT)

57.

~Julia Crane YA Author (US)

58.

A Sense of Fiction (Int)

59.

Flying on Silver Wings (INT)

60.

Read to My Hearts Content (US)

61.

LOVE. WITHOUT YOU (INT)

62.

~Nereyda @ Mostly YA Book Obsessed (Int)

63.

Peppermint PhD (INT)

64.

Manga Maniac Cafe (US)

65.

Book Sake (US)

66.

Libby Blog (US) - Win a book of your choice!

67.

Laurie Here - Contemporary Fiction and MORE - Book Reviews (INTL)

68.

~Popcorn Reads (US)

69.

~Nawanda Files (INT)

70.

Jennifer Comeaux~Author (Int)

71.

~Read for your future (US)

72.

Mystifying Paranormal Reviews (US)

73.

Kaleidoscopic Reveries (Int)

74.

Passion for Novels (INT)

75.

~Pen to Paper (INT)

76.

The Book Monsters (INT)

77.

~The Secret Writer (Int)

78.

Love of Books (Int)

79.

Gobs and Gobs of Books (US)

80.

Its A Hardcover Life (US)

81.

A. D. Dulings Diddley Doodle Dandy Writings Giveaway (US)

82.

Forbidden Passions Reviews (US)

83.

Making the Grade: YA Lit Reviews (US)

84.

Kimbers Life (US)

85.

Sarah Ballance (INT)

86.

Fantasy Book Addict (INT)

87.

Gin @ Addicted to Words (Int)

88.

Deco My Heart (US)

89.

Give Me Today (US)

90.

Clover Autrey~romance writer (US)

91.

~Ezmirelda @ PARAFANTASY (INTL)

92.

Collettas Kitchen Sink (US)

93.

Froze8s Blog (US)

94.

Get Vinspired

95.

Realm of Fiction (Int)

96.

Much Ado About Books (US)

97.

~Citrus Reads (US)

98.

Kayla @ Bengal Reads (US)

99.

Books for Company (INT)

100.

Book Flame (INT)

101.

Into The Morning Reads (US)

102.

Practical Frugality (US)

103.

~Chronicles of an Enamored Soul~ (US)

104.

Lena Sledges Blog (INT)

105.

BookSpark (INT)

106.

Up in the Bibliosphere (US)

I App, Therefore I Am

noreply@blogger.com (Brittany) — Sat, 07 Jul 2012 01:00:00 +0000

Here's a new segment for you:

Philosophy Phriday

If a person goes on a 32 mile bike ride but forgets to start the app that tells everyone on Facebook how far she's gone, did the ride actually happen?

My legs tell me it did, but the fact people can't "like" my ride kinda lessens the thrill of accomplishment.

And if part of that ride included a really long, steep hill, but my Facebook peeps can't see how long or steep, was it really that long or that steep?

You'll just have to believe me that it was, even without the elevation posted.

And if I can't see how many calories I burned, did I actually burn any calories?

I'm going to assume yes and go ahead and eat half a jar of nacho cheese.

View from the top of the hill I biked.
No stats, but it's the only proof I've got.

A Rant for America

noreply@blogger.com (Brittany) — Tue, 03 Jul 2012 15:26:00 +0000

Okay, so I will be the first to admit I'm not openly patriotic. I mean, I do love America, but I don't find it necessary to cover my lawn with flags or station a giant blow-up elephant holding a Vote Republican sign in the middle of my yard. Mostly because I'd rather people didn't vote Republican and also because somebody else already did that and I draw the line at being unoriginal when it comes to tacky lawn decor.

I did wear red, white and blue to church on Sunday--on purpose--in honor of our country's birthday this week. So remember that before yelling "Brittany hates America!" after I tell you that I think we're in trouble here, folks. And not because of Obamacare. Nope. I don't think millions more Americans having access to health care is the thing that's going to bring down this great nation of ours.

No, that would be Katy Perry and porn for women.

Let's start with Katy Perry. I know, she's cute. And "weird" in the way only someone who has producers, handlers, promoters, costume designers, song writers, agents and changing hair colors can claim to be. Plus, I can't think of another performer "edgy" enough to include a line about PMS in one of her lyrics. P.M.S! Can you believe it?! And... AND! She's singing about a boy having PMS! That Katy Perry (shakes head and smiles), she's so crazy. No wonder millions of parents let their kids stay up past their bedtimes and go to the mid-night premier of her movie.

You know what else Katy Perry has been up to? If you got Parade magazine in your newspaper this past Sunday you do. She performed at New York's Fleet Week.

If you don't know what Fleet Week is (I'll admit, I didn't) you can look it up on Wikipedia. That's what Katy Perry did anyway. Here's a little excerpt from her interview:

Performing for the troops was special, Perry says. “It wasn’t just another show. It’s such a tradition, and it felt very vintagey,” she explains. “In the back of my mind, I was like, ‘Marilyn Monroe did this. Of course I want to be a part of that.’” Skilled as she is at working a crowd, she did her homework as well. “I Wikipediaed ‘Fleet Week’ because I wanted to know the history. I don’t want to look like a complete idiot.”

And that pretty much sums up why Katy Perry is emblematic of the decline of America. She can't take all the blame, of course. That falls on every person who thinks that doing his/her "homework" on a subject begins and ends with Wikipedia.

BECAUSE YOU KNOW IT GETS THINGS WRONG, RIGHT? AND THAT ANYBODY CAN ADD TO THOSE ENTRIES? NOT JUST PEOPLE WHO ACTUALLY KNOW THINGS.

Moving on...

You know what millions and millions of people--mostly the ones who give birth to and raise this nation's children--are reading?

If you guessed Pride and Prejudice, you're wrong. If you guessed Twilight, you're wrong again. If you guessed erotica or romantica, give yourself a pat on the back. Then wave good-bye to the dignity of women because ladies, we have sunk to the level of men when it comes to sex. (Not all men, just the ones who like porn. I know, there are a lot of those).

I've already ranted about this once, but it's an even bigger problem than I thought. According to Time magazine:

S & M has gone mainstream... [just] ask publishers of erotica and "romantica," which adds graphic, often S&M-tinged sex to traditional romance-novel formulas. These books have spiked sharply in popularity since Fifty Shades fever hit this spring, suggesting that for readers new to erotica, James' work isn't a one-off experiment but a gateway drug.

So basically, people are spending a lot of time reading for titillation as opposed to education. And that's my real problem with porn for women. There are SO many books with really beautiful words in them, but this is not what we're choosing to read. Millions of women in the world can't read because they're forbidden to or they couldn't afford or weren't allowed to go to school and never learned how to read. Yet in America women are choosing to read crap. Fellow American women listen...

FREEDOM DOES NOT COME FROM SAYING YES TO SOMETHING JUST BECAUSE WE HAVE THE RIGHT TO MAKE THAT CHOICE.

And if anyone can answer this for me, I'd appreciate it.

WHY WOULD ANYONE SPEND HOURS SLOGGING THROUGH BAD WRITING JUST TO FEEL ALL TINGLY DOWN THERE? WHY NOT JUST HAVE SEX? (If you 're married, of course. And only with your spouse). WOULDN'T THAT TAKE A LOT LESS TIME?

Just wondering. Sorry for yelling. I only do it because I think we can do better, America.

And if you think maybe I sound like an old prude, I did just celebrate my 39th birthday. So, I am, in fact, an old prude.

I only wish America was too. (But not in a burka wearing kind of way).

Happy (early) Birthday, America!

Love ya!

Because I Forgot to Send a Card for Father's Day...

noreply@blogger.com (Brittany) — Thu, 21 Jun 2012 06:11:00 +0000

The summer I turned thirteen I earned my first real paycheck. My dad worked at a small press that printed educational materials and marketed them to schools and when they needed some extra help, I'd go with him. My job was to shrink wrap the packets of materials, which was super fun for about the first five minutes until I burned myself. I also got to count things like toothpicks and safety pins that went with the packets and somehow taught important lessons about self-esteem and honesty.

Obviously child labor laws in Idaho are a little less lenient (at least 25 years ago they were) than in some other states. And clearly the job sucked. But, man, that paycheck did not. I think I got paid about $1.25 an hour and when the secretary handed me that first check for around $90.00 after I'd been working for two weeks straight, I asked her to make a copy of it so I could keep it forever.

The paycheck wasn't the only good thing about that job. I'd ride with my dad from Burley to Twin Falls every morning and he'd tell me what the different crops were as we drove past field after field. I remember being amazed that he knew so much, even though I was on the cusp of believing he didn't know anything. Once we got to work I didn't see much of him until lunch time. Then we'd go to the Arctic Circle where I tried a mushroom burger for the first time and the curly fries were to die for. Sometimes we'd eat there but most of the time we'd eat in the car and listen to Paul Harvey on AM radio. I fell in love with Paul Harvey that summer.

Usually I was the only kid at the office, but one day two other girls showed up. Their mom worked there too, but since they lived in the big city of Twin Falls and I lived a whole thirty minutes away, I didn't know them. That didn't stop us from becoming fast friends and comparing how different things were in our respective cities/towns and schools. We talked about Girls Camp, complained about the boredom of counting small objects and took turns at the shrink wrapper.

Then summer ended. I bought my own school clothes and felt very proud. My dad got a new job and my work friends were forgotten. I can't even remember their names now. And maybe I would have forgotten them all together if not for what happened a few years later.

One morning I opened the newspaper--because even in high school I enjoyed reading the paper--and there on the front page was a story about my two friends. To put things into perspective, this wasn't the front page of our local paper The South Idaho Press. This was the front page of the Boise paper, The Idaho Statesman, which my parents still took even though we hadn't lived in Boise for many years, but they, too, loved the newspaper.

The story went as follows:

The girls were home one day when they heard a gunshot. Their dad had shot their mother (the article made sure to point out he had been a Mormon bishop only a few years earlier). Then he came for them. One of the girls called 9-1-1 and as the operator listened to the girls pleas for help, he heard another shot. The pleas stopped.

When the paramedics arrived at the house they found the mother and two sisters dead. Their father was sitting in the bathtub with his wrists slit open. But not enough to kill himself. He survived.

I read the article in shock because I knew these girls. I pointed it out to my mom asking if she remembered them. "I know," was all she said. Until I asked her why their dad would do that to them. She knew that too. She knew the accusations he was too cowardly to face.

And then I remembered the day their dad came to the office. We had been laughing, but they stopped when he walked in. I didn't get why they wouldn't even look at him. He made silly jokes and looked goofy in his socks and sandals, so I chalked it up to embarrassment that he was their dad. I got that. But it still didn't explain the tightness in the air and their relief when he left.

The day I read that article was the first day I had any inkling that being embarrassed because my dad made me put on a life jacket in front of a bunch of older, popular boys before I could ride on my cousin's boat, wasn't the worst thing a dad could do.

No Fear

noreply@blogger.com (Brittany) — Thu, 14 Jun 2012 18:46:00 +0000

This post is a stop on the Virtual Book Tour for The Gift of Giving Life.

Remember a few weeks ago when I said my Girl 1 has been giving me hell since pre-conception? No? Well read up, then come back. Or just keep reading. Whatever.

So--as I was saying--Girl 1, not so easy. Our most recent flip flop "misunderstanding" was only the latest in a long line of Battles for Control. But I don't want to bore you, so let me see if I can sum up the past twelve years in a paragraph.

Miscarriage; clomid; miscarriage; clomid; raging hormones and much craziness from said clomid; ectopic pregnancy; clomid; pregnancy; progesterone; frequent blood-letting to track hormones; fainting from said blood-letting; puking, puking, puking, and more puking; pounds, pounds and more pounds despite the puking; worrying, worrying and more worrying; then swelling, really a lot of swelling; more worrying because of swelling; much crying and begging to be induced early; hospital check -in; cervical gel to induce labor before my body/baby was ready; baby-less check out to make room for mothers actually about to give birth; hospital check-in; pitocin; repeat of baby-less check-out this time with a shunt sticking out of my hand making it impossible for me to look at said hand until next hospital check-in; more pitocin; raging sinus infection but only mild contractions; more pitocin; another sleepless night; water breaking; contractions; epidural (ahhh); impatient doctor; move to operating room but not before nearly choking to death on anti-nausea medicine; c-section...

Perfect, beautiful, miracle that I have to wait too long to hold.

And most of those things took place over a period of nine months. But those nine months have affected how I parent this kid ever since. A parenting technique can be boiled down to one word:

FEAR.

I hate fear. I'm always trying to conquer it. I fear the ocean, so I learned to scuba dive. I fear getting in a car accident if I'm not driving, so I let my husband drive. I fear rejection, so I started writing.

But one fear--aside from my fear of snakes--I haven't been able to let go is all the fear surrounding Girl 1's conception and birth. First there was the fear we'd never have her, then the fear we'd lose her, and finally all the fear on the day(s) (four to be exact) of her birth.

I probably should have let go of my fear after everything turned out okay and I had a healthy baby. But I didn't. I've held onto it and it flares up whenever things get rough with #1.

It manifests itself in the What Ifs? that make me a crazy mom. What if she throws a fit if I say no? What if she throws fits because I yell too much? What if I'm the cause of all her insecurity? What if she never leaves home? What if she does leave home? What if she does all the bad things I can imagine a teenager doing? What if she does all the bad things I did as a teenager? What if something bad happens to her? What if I'm that something?

You see what I mean?

I don't have the same kind of fears with my other two. Maybe it's because they're not my oldest, but I also had much better births with both of them. And you can call me crazy, but I think our experiences giving birth can have a bigger impact on us than we realize.

Which is why I wish I had this book twelve years ago:

The Gift of Giving Life takes the fear out of childbirth and puts the focus back on the sacredness of it. So many women--like me-- get caught up in everything that can possibly go wrong or having everything perfectly prepared for baby, including the timing of his/her birth. Most of the books about childbirth (I'm looking at you What to Expect When You're Expecting) leave you looking for any and every sign that your body is not doing what it's meant to do rather than encouraging you to listen to and trust your body and your spirit.

The Gift of Giving Life fills that gap. And while it is very much LDS oriented, I think every woman can learn from the personal stories in it. You might think that since one of its authors is my friend Sheridan who I've told you about here and here, the stories would all be about natural childbirth involving hypnosis. But they're not.

There are stories about miscarriage, adoption, emergency C-sections, planned C-sections, water births, hospital births, headstand births. Okay maybe not that last one, but you get my point right? Pretty much every method of childbirth is covered in this book.

You might also think if, like me, you have no plans to EVER be pregnant again that you don't really need this book. Wrong. I have learned so much from reading through these stories. This book is an awesome reminder that Heavenly Father has not only blessed us with the ability and privilege of giving birth, but also to nurture and raise our children. All of it is pretty stinkin' hard most days, but if we'll put our trust in Him and ourselves, we can do it. We have no need to fear.

Visit The Gift of Giving Life site to sign up for their newsletter and to receive a free Meditation MP3 as well as tips to help increase spirituality in your pregnancy and birth.

For my readers I have a coupon code for 10% off a copy of The Gift of Giving Life. Click here and after you add the book to your cart use this coupon code. GWFWXR3F This code is good until Father’s Day 2012.

I Want to Hide All of My Eleven Year Old's Shoes

noreply@blogger.com (Brittany) — Wed, 13 Jun 2012 14:42:00 +0000

I want to hide all of my eleven year old's shoes. Every last pair.

I went out of town a few weekends ago, but as I drove away from my house on the way to the airport wearing my very favorite outfit I thought to myself (because who else would I think to?), "Really, Brittany? Is this what it's come to? You can't even put on real clothes to leave the state?"

To which I meekly replied, "I changed sweatshirts."

But I couldn't fool Myself. "That sweatshirt came with pajamas," she kindly pointed out. "So technically it is sleepwear. Which means you are about to cross the line to become one of those I-couldn't-bother-to-get-dressed-today-so-I'm-wearing-my-p.j.'s-in-public people. You need to step back, girlfriend."

And so I did. I turned the car around, went home, changed clothes, and left my flip flops--my favorite pair--at the bottom of the stairs.

I returned home three days later as excited to be reunited with my flip flops as I was to see my family again. And more excited to see them than I was to see the dog. I'd been going through some serious flip flop withdrawal (I'm sure Mitt can relate, except with a different kind of flip flop).* My pedi needed some air time and my soles longed for the feel of soft rubber beneath them. I'd missed their comforting whispers of thwak thwak when I slipped them on to walk across my dirty kitchen floor. They're more than a pair of sandals. They're a trusted friend and protector, always there for me in times of need.

Except now they were missing.

I searched for them, thinking maybe I was misremembering where I put them or perhaps dear husband had put them away somewhere for me.

"Has anyone seen my flip flops?" I asked.

"Not me," came the all too familiar reply from three little girls.

"Girl 1, did you wear my flip flops? The ones I asked you not to wear."

"No."

A very definitive answer, so surely it must be believed.

But as day passed into night with still no sign of my favored flip flops, I began to worry. Morning came and I asked again. "Girl 1, are you sure you haven't seen my flip flops?"

"Which ones," was her innocent reply.

"The black ones with the little jewel," I said, hoping my description would jog her memory.

She thought carefully, but her confused look left me little hope of recollection.

"The ones I told you not to wear ever again. Three times."

Now she remembered. "No, I haven't seen them."

Her answer seemed a little cagey, but I let it go. Even if she had worn them--and I was pretty sure she had--I had little doubt I could find them in one of the usual hiding spots.

But as one flip flopless day faded into the next, I lost my cool.

"Girl 1, do you know where my flip flops are?" I asked with significantly less patience than I had asked the previous one hundred times.

"I don't know! Okay?!" she yelled.

Which meant I know I should know where they are but I can't remember and I know you're going to be really mad at me so I'm going to go ahead and get mad at you first.

"Did you wear them?" I asked while debating whether to start with consequences or go straight to water boarding.

"I don't remember, okay!" she yelled.

No, not okay.

"Can't you just wear a different pair?" she asked, I'm sure, with every intention of being helpful. "Why do you have to have those flip flops? It's not like you don't have others!"

Well, she asked. So, of course, I had to tell her. "BECAUSE I LIKE THAT PAIR. AND I TOLD YOU NOT TO WEAR THEM. BUT YOU DID. AND NOW THEY ARE LOST. AND YOU DO NOT HAVE ANY PRIVILEGES AT ALL UNTIL THEY ARE FOUND. NONE! GOT IT?"

Maybe I could have told her a little less loudly, but I can't be held accountable for my actions when I'm in the midst of flip flop withdrawal.

"I think they're at BFF's, okay!" she responded in kind before grabbing her backpack and stomping to the door while muttering, "You are so unfair. Why do you care so much about a pair of stupid flip flops anyway?"

The door slammed shut and she stomped her way to school, but I could still see her eyes rolling.

And that's when I seriously considered ransacking the entire house until I had found every pair of her shoes so that I could hide them. Maybe at my BFF's house.

But I didn't. Because then she'd just wear my shoes and we'd be right back where we started. So instead I rolled my eyes and muttered, "When is eleven going to be over?"

Then I longed for the days that I thought would never end when I couldn't get her to wear matching clothes, let alone shoes.

*Seriously, it's a post about flip flops. You had to know there'd be a Romney jab somewhere, right?

Band-aids. Dislike.

noreply@blogger.com (Brittany) — Fri, 08 Jun 2012 23:02:00 +0000

Ten Reasons Why I am Not Stuck on Band-aids and Why They Don't Stick on Me. Ever.

1. They're gross.
2. That brownish color they come in is even grosser.
3. I know there are Band-aid options now. I don't have to buy the gross brown ones when there are neon, sparkly, Princess, and every other kind of Band-aid available. But that's kind of like putting lipstick on a pig. No matter how you dress it up, a Band-aid is still a Band-aid.
4. They're sticky. I know that's the point, but it doesn't change the fact I don't like sticky things. Not even stickers.
5. They leave behind that gross, sticky, black residue that you have to scrape off.
6. They're hiding something and I don't like secrets. I can handle the truth. I can't guarantee I won't pass out if there's lots of blood involved, but that's preferable to looking at or wearing a Band-aid. And by "lots" I mean not very much.
7. The only way a Band-aid will come off is if you go swimming. The only thing grosser than a working Band-aid is a floating one. I don't think any one wearing a Band-aid should be allowed within ten feet of a swimming pool.
8. The only thing grosser than a floating Band-aid is used Band-aids stuck to the wall so the bloody part shows. I had a friend in high school whose little brother did this with all of his old Band-aids. I never saw the room, but every time I see a Band-aid I imagine what those walls looked like and it makes me gag. I avoid the possibility of my children ever doing this by never buying Band-aids nor allowing them to bleed.
9. Band-aids never get thrown away. They just end up sticking to something else and then you find them and you have to unstick them from whatever they're stuck to and then they're stuck to you and eww. I'm feeling nauseous thinking about it.
10. Did I mention Band-aids are disgusting? No? Well, they are.

My Million Dollar Idea: UnPinterest

noreply@blogger.com (Brittany) — Wed, 06 Jun 2012 06:29:00 +0000

The problem with taking time off from blogging is that it's hard to get back into it. I can't think of a darn thing to write now that I've got the time to do it again. Plus, I'm getting the feeling either no one wants to blog anymore or every one's on vacation.

So where are you fellow bloggers? Have we all run out of things to say? Or are we too busy finding pictures to pin? Is this what we have been reduced to? Looking at pictures of what people like instead of reading the words they write?

The thing is, I kind of like knowing what people don't like. And how do you pin that? Is there something called UnPinterest for our dislikes? Or are we all just trying to create a perfect space with recipes we'd whip up if we weren't so tired, home decor we'd buy if we weren't too poor, crafty projects we'd make if we weren't so uncrafty, birthday parties we'd throw for our kids if we actually threw birthday parties for our kids.

Or maybe that's just me.

Actually, I hardly ever go on Pinterest. Mostly because I can't remember my password, but also because it's very intimidating. There's just so much to look at, I don't even know where to start.

I do know where I'd start on UnPinterest though: Shades of Gray.

Have you heard of it? If not, you're lucky. It's the latest thing for the modern housewife. Every one's got to have it. It'll spice things up in the bedroom. Turn up the heat. Re-ignite a dwindling flame.
It's Porn for Women.

Finally. Because apparently we've been missing out, ladies.

The thing is, everyone who is reading it can't put it done. They're staying up all night to read it because they have to know what is going to happen and then they have to move on to the next book. They all say the writing is terrible, but they can't stop reading it.

So my question is, when exactly are they "spicing things up"? Because it kinda sounds like they're just doing a lot of reading. Reading they don't really even enjoy because it kind of sucks. Except for the sex scenes, of course. Which they describe as ridiculous.

I guess I don't understand the appeal, so feel free to explain it to me. Maybe I don't get it because I know it started out as Twilight fan fiction. Since I'm not a Twilight fan to begin with, that's strike one. Strike two comes from the fact that every thing I've read or heard about the book says the writing is truly terrible. I barely have time to read good writing, so I don't want to throw that time away on something that stinks. And finally, it really irritates me that there are so many excellent writers not making any money while someone who doesn't know how to write anything beyond a titillating sex scene is making millions. So, strike three.

And there's my unpin for the day. Go ahead and consider this my Facebook dislike of the day also. But stay tuned, I think I've found a new blog topic. There are a lot of things I don't like.

Next up: Band-aids.