Light Refreshments Served

It’s not that I don’t want my kids to have goals. Just because I don’t have any doesn’t mean they should suffer. I mean that. Unless their having goals means that I have to suffer, then the rules change. Like about a month ago when we were in the car and Samantha said, “I think we should try to go a week without TV.” What the…? Quick, think of something supportive that doesn’t make you sound lazy. “That’s probably a good goal for other families who aren’t getting cable for the first time, but I don’t really think that’s necessary.” She went on to list all the negative bullet points of too much television and I listened politely before adding, “Good point honey. Let’s revisit the idea after everyone goes back to school.” Translation: See that 8-year-old boy over there? Yeah, that one. See, he and I are about to spend the next six weeks together. Six. Weeks. And there’s only so much SKIP-BO and Uno Attack we can engage in before Nickelodeon comes into play. So try to remember that I supported this idea at the onset and then let’s forget this little conversation ever happened, all right?

Did you ever see that commercial where the dad is always working and the kids keep bugging him to go camping? And every time they approach him he’s busy doing something else and he says, “Next week”. Finally, the kids trick him into getting in the back of the car and they lock him in, waving as if it’s all fun and games and the narrator says, “Remember when you told your kids you’d go camping next week? Well…it’s next week.” He laughs and goes along for the ride and everyone is happy. I’ve always thought that commercial needed a follow-up showing how happy the dad is when he’s trying to put up the tent while all the kids run in and out of it before it’s staked down and they’re dragging all the marshmallows on skewers in the dirt.  It would be like the 2nd half of “Into The Woods” where the “happily ever after” goes down the toilet.  Anyway, not the point.

So I went into Samantha’s room the other day and found the white board in her closet where she had written: “January – NO TV.”

Crap.  Is it “next week” already?

STEP ONE:

STEP TWO:

STEP THREE:

WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT?!

Why does nobody else in my house know how to do this?

You should have been at my house Christmas morning.  The kids made up a song the night before to sing to us as our wake up call, I got the first 2 seasons of “Remington Steele” on DVD, Cory lost a bet regarding a Neil Diamond song and had to do the dishes, and I danced to MC Hammer in the kitchen (because I looked up the meaning of “troll the ancient yuletide carol” and that’s what it said, “dance to MC Hammer” - the socks on the wood floors was optional) while my daughter called me a dork.  ‘Tis the season!

Part of my Christmas wish was to get out of town and visit some family, so when I found out that four out of my 6 siblings AND my parents would be in Utah we got in the car and blazed through I-70.  So here we are.  If you are one of my friends who lives here and you haven’t heard from me yet, could you pretend you didn’t know that?  Thanks.  Guilt is such a buzz kill.

I love visiting Utah, and not just because I’m going to meet with my fellow LRS comrades tomorrow at Training Table for cheese fries with ultimate dipping sauce, but because the billboards in Happy Valley are remarkably entertaining.  Cory and I like to read them out loud.  “New DVD coming out on the life of President Monson, Modest Clothing for Sister Missionaries, a new movie about Emma Smith, and what’s this one…Adult Videos?!  WHAT THE…?”  Silly Gentiles, always looking for more attention.  All I have to say about that is DON’T GO IN THERE.  And not just because it is a very, very bad place, but because the day you walk in there is the day you run into your former missionary companion and the definition of “awkward” gets finely tuned.

Also, when the scriptures talk about the “great and spacious building” I’m convinced they mean “Gold’s Gym”.  Tell me I’m wrong. 

Yesterday I attended church with my sister and her in-laws.  It’s been a while since I went to Relief Society, and while the lesson was quite nice, there were heart-shaped doilies involved and I never really got past that.  Not to mention that among the “good news” shared at the beginning one woman announced the healthy birth of a kidney stone on Saturday.  Now, I’ve never had a kidney stone, but if I did?  I really, REALLY don’t think I’d share my “delivery” news to a room full of women.  The internet, maybe, but definitely not a room full of women.

Finally, my nephew totally stinks at Nurts.  I’m so playing him again tomorrow.

There has been a slight uprising among Those Who Know Me Well in reference to one of my recent posts, wherein I make a joke about having a plaque with vinyl letters to display President Hinckley’s 7 “Be’s”. I’ve fielded more than a few phone calls since then from friends who called to say something along the lines of, “Liar, liar pants on fire” because they know better. Enough, that is, to know that I don’t even possess such a plaque. I’m here to tell you that this is true.

The deal is this. I get annoyed when people get up in church and tell me what to put up on my walls. Temples, prophets, the Family Proclamation - all essential parts of my life. But there’s a lot of pressure to display pictures of these items in our homes, and…*ducking while glancing upward looking for signs of lightning* I don’t want to. Don’t get me wrong, I love temples. I got married in the prettiest one! I just don’t want to decoupage pictures of them and put them around our engagement photo, shellac it and turn it into a clock for the family room. I love prophets. I’ve never met a prophet that I didn’t like. Does that mean I have to double mat their picture in mauve and navy and hang it over the doorway under a wood craft that says “Return With Honor” to be a member in good standing? I don’t think so. I mean, people can do whatever they want but as for me and my house, I prefer oil paintings of the Mediterranean. (The color palettes are more fitting for outer darkness, and I want to be prepared.)

I don’t remember how it happened exactly, but one day a couple of years ago in a moment of bravado I shared this opinion out loud with some friends, and they have used this information to openly mock me ever since. Show me a Relief Society lesson on missionary work where the instructor tells you to place spiritually themed artwork front and center “so that anyone who comes into your home knows what you’re about” and I’ll show you a friend of mine sitting across the room motioning for me to pay attention.

Last year around my birthday I had been invited over to a friend’s house to make soap. “It’s really messy,” she warned, “so wear your grubbies.” I obeyed, and showed up in sweats and an old t-shirt wearing no make up. I rang the doorbell, and she swung the door open to greet me. “Sister Davis!” she exclaimed in a mock, sweet tone. I gave her a onceover, noting her lace collared blouse and skirt and instantly knew I had been duped. “WHAT are you doing?” I said both inquisitively and accusingly at the same time, mildly resisting as she encouraged me inside. “I’m so happy to see you. Please, come in!” She handed me a printed program. The title read, “Kristy’s Birthday Fireside”, and she led me upstairs where all my other friends wearing church attire waited while playing the Mormon Tabernacle Choir on the CD player.

Game on.

A “lesson” was taught, complete with a wicker basket passed around with quotes for us to read. There were no sign-ups, but one friend played the violin and sang “Like A Lighthouse” for a special musical number before it was time for presents. I got a prophet calendar, framed Proclamations on the Family “for my walls”, and many other trinkets of attempts to spiritualize me. Lest your disappointment in me extend to the depths of Purgatory and back, I DO have this hanging in my hallway.

Granted, it’s back by the laundry room where nobody can see it but still. My kids know where it is, and we use it every week. That’s good, right? Worthy of Telestial status at least?

(Thanks Kettie!)

I can’t say exactly when it happened, but for the past several years I have had an incredibly difficult time enjoying Christmas. There’s always talk about “the true meaning” of the holiday and how we’re not supposed to lose sight of it. But even with all the sermons I feel like with each year that passes, Christmas comes and goes and I’m left sitting on the couch in the family room thinking, “That’s it? It’s over already? What was all the fuss about?” And I think that’s sort of what drives me crazy.

The fuss.

Perhaps you could practice the lecture on me, the one about how it’s not about the destination but the journey. “Enjoy the journey,” they say. But the journey of this holiday doesn’t ever calm me down or bring me peace. Most of the time the focus that I’m supposed to have on the Savior comes out in the form of thinking that I’m not sure he’s all that impressed. Is it just because I’m doing it wrong? Am I just not paying good enough attention? (maybe) Am I so shallow that when I fall short of the Pottery Barn looking festivities that I label myself a failure? (I really hope not.) I’ve had simple Christmases and I’ve had elaborate ones. I’ve sung the “Messiah” and watched live nativities. We make cookies and dress up like shepherds and give gifts to our neighbors. Shouldn’t I be enjoying that? But I don’t really. The fuss stresses me out, and leaves me feeling like, year after year, I am missing it.

Some friends of mine have been unemployed for a couple of months and have been feeling an acute stress that comes with being a casualty of a struggling economy. I recently attended church with them on Fast Sunday and their 12-year-old daughter stood up to share her testimony. She was quiet at first, seemingly gathering her thoughts, before she finally shared an experience that she and her family had while sitting together one evening. “I looked around,” she said, “and I realized that we have more than we don’t have.”

I was moved by her maturity and insight, and for the first time in a long time I received a piece (peace?) of real Christmas. Pure and unadulterated, it was a simple gift. A gift to her, I believe, to receive that personal revelation for herself. A gift to me to know that such a revelation was not only possible, but was executed. And a gift to everyone else in attendance who, like me, were able to receive the same message. “We have more than we don’t have”, said she. “Be grateful,” said Gordon B., and “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest,” said the one who knows us best. I’m trying really hard to get it this time.

…that somebody officially changes the words in “Deck The Halls” from “don we now our gay apparel” to…I don’t know, anything but that?  I don’t want people getting the wrong idea when I put on my red sweater.  And what does it mean to “troll the ancient yuletide carol”?  I’ve never known a “troll” to do anything positive.  

… that the guy on the radio who sings “Rudy” the red-nosed reindeer as if they are best buddies should be stopped?  Who does he think he is?

…that the chipmunks be banned from the airwaves?

…that those ridiculous dogs who bark “Jingle Bells” be fit with muzzles?

…that people stop running marathons and writing to me about it in their Christmas letters?  Come on man, you’re making me look bad.  Oh sorry, you didn’t know it was all about me?  Well, it is.

…that people stop using the phrase “an elephant in the room”?  Every time someone says that I’m like, “Hellllooooo, I’m RIGHT HERE.”

I’ve gotten to the point where I’m not friendly to phone solicitors.  Shocking, I know.  I’ve done what I can to avoid the situation altogether, and I swear I’ve called at least three different toll free numbers to have my name added to National “Don’t Call” lists.  They don’t care, they call me anyway.  Most of the time if I answer the phone and I hear that short pause before they can spit out their hello I see my window and hang up before any real harm is done.  If my husband happens to answer, this is when he has his fun – he hears that pause, then when the telemarketer says hello Cory says, “Oh hi there, is Jason Thompson home?”  And they’re all, “Uh, I called you.”  And he goes, “I’m sorry, I was looking for Jason Thompson.  Is he there?”  They go back and forth for a little until the telemarketer grows too confused and frustrated and finally hangs up.  Cory returns the phone to the receiver and smiles triumphantly.  It’s fun to watch, but too much work for me.  I prefer to get out more quickly.   

My favorite part about telemarketers is when they hurry up and try to say, “I’m not selling anything,” before they hear the click of the dial tone.  Translation:  I don’t want your money, I just need twenty minutes of your time to find out how you like your GE refrigerator, or whether you’re voting Republican or Democrat, or whether your vote could be swayed by giving you a GE refrigerator.  Or it might be the March of Dimes or Special Olympics calling for donations – after all, they DID send you your very own return address labels with thematic elements in the mail.  Did you get those?  Did you use them?  So you accepted the free gift but you’re still not going to donate?  The nerve.  You feel guilty, right?  It’s a very manipulative system. 

Let me introduce you to the President of Telemarketing Manipulation.  That is, if they haven’t already introduced themselves to you.  It was Friday night, the phone rang, and the caller ID didn’t register a name but it looked like a Utah number, which meant it could be one of various family members so I answered.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Mrs. Studly?”  Uh-oh.

“Yes.”

“This is Brandon from The Living Scriptures.”  Crap!  I look around, frantically searching for a crisis that might require me to hang up immediately, but all is well.  Double crap!

“H…hiii.”

“I see you live in Denver.  I have a brother that just moved there.  Do you know….”  For the love of Pete, SOMEBODY start bleeding!

 Here is my beef with the Living Scriptures people.

1. Even though I know I will be rejecting whatever it is they are offering me, it’s hard for me to adopt my traditional approach of simply hanging up because everyone knows that the guy on the other end is either saving for a mission or an engagement ring and I feel like a jerk unless I at least hear him out.
2. They use the gospel message to manipulate people.  “Don’t you want your kids to know the stories of Jesus?  Don’t you want them to know who Nephi was?”  The answer is “yes”, I just don’t want them to think that everybody’s nose is always that big.
3. $25 for a thirty minute video?  Or $479 for your boxed set?  Financing available?  Are you even kidding me? 

 Am I alone on this?

I think you have to be careful when you advertise something as being cheap and easy.  It can get a girl in trouble.  Still, to say “inexpensive and relatively straightforward to assemble” doesn’t quite have the same ring to it.  Anyway, I have a confession.  It’s disturbing, unsettling, disappointing, and hypocritical in all sorts of ways and should serve as a warning to anyone who knows me personally that it has finally happened.

I. have. lost it.

Sadly, those who know me personally have known this for years.  But for the rest of you, wanna know how you can tell?  First sign of total insanity: I made some Christmas presents.  As in, it required a glue gun and MIGHT BE CONSIDERED A CRAFT.  How did this happen?  Not too sure.  There’s a whole new planet of possibilities, I suppose.  The move?  The economy?  Hormonal imbalance?  Too long since I’ve been to counseling?  OLD AGE perhaps???  So many choices.  Regardless, I made something.  It’s perfect for those little gifts that always come in handy during the holidays, for people like those you visit teach, your kids’ teachers, or those who happen to give you something when you weren’t expecting it and you need a quick, “Oh here, and I MADE you something.”  It was cheap (inexpensive) and easy (relatively straightforward to assemble) and I took pictures (photographs) to share (it’s not funny anymore is it?)

Without further ado, [drumroll please...] my cheap and easy refrigerator magnets:

Instructions for those of you who are interested:

Supplies needed:  paper, clear stones, magnets, Mod Podge, glue.

All you do is cut out the paper, adhere it to the back of the stone with Mod Podge, let it dry, then glue a magnet on the back.  Supplies can be found in Wal Mart’s craft section or a craft store like Michael’s or Hobby Lobby.  If you want to go the extra mile on the packaging, I bought the plastic sleeves at a specialty paper store (like Xpedx - in Denver I went to Donahue paper).  Now if you’ll excuse me, it really has been a long time since I’ve seen my therapist.  I think I need to get this checked out.

Last night we kidnapped a friend for her birthday and took her to dinner and a movie.  Dinner totally hit the spot as we sat comfortably indoors and watched the snowstorm rage outside, then after a quick Drivers Ed refresher we managed to get our other friend to successfully parallel park in front of the movie theater.  And by successfully I mean the car was parallel, just three feet away from the curb – there may have been some mocking involved.  But the snow was quickly accumulating so she ignored our banter with, “By the time we get out of here there will be so much snow you won’t be able to tell.”  I think the Birthday Girl could tell when we came out and she had to step through it to get in the car.  Have you heard of snow drifts?  Happy Birthday!  Hope you enjoyed the show! 

We went to see Australia with Hugh Jackman and Nicole Kidman.  What I mean is we went to see the movie that Hugh and Nicole are starring in, not that they came with us.  Although that would have been awesome.  Here’s what I thought. 

On Nicole Kidman:  If the camera puts on ten pounds, what in heaven’s name is left of that woman’s waist when the cameras are off?  Seriously.  I was afraid to sneeze during the movie because I thought it might travel through the screen and blow her over.  What, you thought I was going to talk about her acting?  Fine, how about ”She’s come a long way since Bewitched.” 

On Hugh Jackman:  Right up there with Carter Oosterhouse in a tool belt is Hugh Jackman with a five o’clock shadow on a horse wearing a cowboy hat.  He hit the Australian accent SPOT ON, it was almost like he was a native or something.  (Yes, I know.)  The scene where he walks in wearing a tux was also a considerable bonus.  So much better than X-Men where they take all the beautiful people and either paint them blue or make them hairy.   

On the plot:  When walking out my friend said, “I liked the story.  Both of them.”  Translation:  We thought this movie ended about seven times before it actually did.  That’s why it’s 3 hours long.  At one point Birthday Girl said, “Did their editor forget to show up for work or something?”  She was a little tense though, having just received a call in the middle of the movie that her husband had accidentally shoplifted some milk and was receiving some threatening calls from Wal Mart about coming back to pay for it or else they were going to prosecute.  Everything’s okay now.   

More on the plot, since that last part didn’t actually end up being about the plot:  I couldn’t decide what I was supposed to care about most.  Cattle?  Aborigines?  World War II?  Mixed race children?  There was a lot going on, hence the 7 endings.  Mostly I ended up caring most about Hugh in that tux, (can you say “Poetry in motion” boys and girls?) although I think the Aborigines would be proud.  Too bad they’ll never see the movie. 

On the scenery:  No doubt about it, Australia is a beautiful place and the cinematography was impressive.  Nevertheless, I prefer the footage from “Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants” showcasing the rooftops in Greece along the Mediterranean.  I’m not applying for any cinematography jobs so I can say that. 

On nudity, profanity, and violence:  There’s a war going on, so there’s definitely some violence, but nothing that CSI hasn’t prepared you to handle.  Nudity finds itself briefly in a couple of places, though I have to say I prefer Jackman’s chest to the Aborigine’s crack.  I’m JUST saying.  As for profanity, there’s hardly any, (Unless “Crikey” is a bad word in Aussie terms.  Is it?)  There’s an out of nowhere f-bomb that Jackman drops when he really, really wants a beer.  I don’t think he meant to, he was just really tired of fighting racism and bad people so I forgive him.  

All in all, I wouldn’t call it a MUST see, but it was worth the price of the ticket.  Have I mentioned Hugh shows up in a tux?  ON THE BIG SCREEN?  Just. Saying.

For those of you who are married, remember when you were single and you thought marriage was going to be so fun because you would ALWAYS have a date on the weekend?  I can’t remember precisely when this particular fantasy shriveled up and died, all I know is that it’s a Friday night and I just finished watching the two hour Drake & Josh Christmas special.  It’s just Drew and I tonight, and lest ye think, “Oh how sweet, mother/son bonding” may I remind you that Drew is currently off track.  UNTIL JANUARY.  Bonding opportunities abound.  And I guess if those opportunities include fighting over who gets to use the computer (“Drew, I need to hurry and write something pithy for my blog,” “But Moooooom, I’ve only been playing this game for three hours and my eyes aren’t blurry yet!”) and lectures on why bathing at least every other day is not an irrational request then we are off to a rousing start.  [Translation:  Why don’t you do us all a favor and spike my eggnog when I’m not looking.] 

So, we can continue this discussion and dive into the pros and cons of Sponge Bob Square Pants overlapping with Design On A Dime and how my son and I plan to overcome this conflict over the next month, or we can talk about how I am a bad sport while playing games.  Which is it?  Quick, take a vote…. 

Bad sportsmanship it is.  Sorry, did you vote for Sponge Bob?  Too bad so sad.  LOSER!  Just kidding.  Do you see why we need to talk about this? 

Ready?  Okay, here’s the thing.  I really love to play games.  But it’s complicated, because I have learned over the past few years that I am a sore loser.  As in I say, “Hey, wanna play canasta?”  To which my friend replies, “That depends, are you going to throw the cards again just because you’re about to lose?”  Not even making that up.  How sad is that?  This is a rather conflicting discovery because I can’t stand people who are sore losers.  I still remember a friend of mine who had a bad temper and a love affair with basketball.  One day he met me in the parking lot as I was coming out of work and his shirt was covered in blood, the result of his bad temper overlapping with a highly charged game of ball that ended badly.  “Dude,” I would say while shaking my head, “why are you such a hothead?  IT’S ONLY A GAME.”  It drove me crazy that he couldn’t handle himself with better sportsmanship.  I’m pretty confident I would never draw blood, but I bet he wishes he was there the other night when I called my friend’s husband a very bad name when he blocked my path while playing Ticket To Ride.  “You kiss your kids goodnight with that mouth?!” he would probably say.  I hate poor sports, and yet I am one.  It’s not easy being me. 

Here’s what I can’t exactly figure out, though.  It’s not always about winning or losing, it’s about how the game is played.  If I’m constantly getting my butt kicked, heads are gonna roll.  Like Nurts.  (I went to google this for a definition so I could link it for all of you who may not know this game.  Guess what came up?  An old post of Kacy’s from her personal blog.  So, I’m linking that instead.  Because even though it’s only a little bit about Nurts, it’s a lot funny.)  This game is relatively new to me.  A friend taught me how to play this about 6 months ago and now we whip it out every time we get together.  You play several rounds until you reach a certain number of points, and it goes really fast.  I don’t care if I don’t win, but round after round if somebody is just killing me then I get tense.  One night last week I was playing Nurts with Cory and he was slaughtering me, time after bloody time.  His mom called so he stopped mid-game to talk to her, during which I decided to keep playing because at this point I didn’t care what I had to do to win a game.  He talked to her for over five minutes, hung up, resumed his playing and BEAT ME AGAIN!  That was ugly.  I’m kind of like those little aliens in Galaxy Quest.  At the beginning of a game I’m all like this:

 But if I start to lose?  BADLY?!  Watch out:

I’m not exactly sure where this is going.  Are you bored?  Me too.  Wanna play a game?