A long time ago (but not in a galaxy far, far away), the Father of Five asked me to come up with a Six Word Memoir. I have not forgotten. In fact, my mind has been churning it over and over, my subconscious messing around with different things (sort of the 1000 monkeys typing idea; eventually something coherent is bound to come out, right?) and I have now (trumpet fanfare) completed my task. It isn't funny or witty or Mark Twain clever, but it is truly what I believe about my life. I have had amazing experiences and met incredible people. That hasn't stopped. So, without more ado, here's my Six Word Memoir:
Everything that's important I already have.
And now, I 'm going to borrow another idea from the Father of Five. It's a meme he was sent, but I won't tag anyone (mostly because I haven't progressed to the point of even knowing how yet), so if you also use this idea, leave me a comment and I will read your blog. C'mon, it'll be fun. It's called
Finish These Five
1. Ten years ago...
2. Five things on today's "to do" list
3. Five snacks I enjoy
4. Five things I would do if I were a millionaire
5. Five places I have lived
1. Ten years ago I was expecting my third child. We had been living in Utah for about a year and Husband was working as a physical therapy assistant. I was working part-time for a bookstore -- mostly for fun as I didn't make much. We lived in a small apartment with no yard for the older two girls to play.
2. Five things on today's "to do" list: laundry (incompleted. The washer isn't spinning for some mysterious reason), clean something (completed. We went and bought a thrift store shelf to put all the kitchen appliances on, and now I have COUNTER SPACE!!!), clean something else (incompleted, unless Children Five and Six count), come up with something for dinner (completed. I really have started hating cooking. After 14 years it seems to have lost some of its charm. But, tonight, the kids and Husband got a little treat: nouilles et fromage en casserole. Okay, it's just macaroni and cheese, but they got fed, didn't they? And I cooked it from scratch.), and finish my book (completed. It was A Day In The Life of Ivan Denisovich, by Alexander Solzhenitsyn. And it's good.)
3. Five snacks I enjoy: Haagen-Dazs has this incredible ice-cream out right now. It's called "Fleur de Sel Caramel" and it's described thusly: "Fleur de Sel caramels covered in a chocolaty coating blended into caramel ice cream with caramel ribbons and French sea salt accents;" corn chips and cottage cheese; Cock and Bull brand ginger beer; blueberries with cream and sugar (anytime, anywhere, every day, for any meal. I LOOOOOVE blueberries.); leftover pizza (again, anytime, anywhere, every day for any meal. I love pizza).
4. Five things I would do if I was a millionaire: pay off the mortgage, pay off the student loan, invest some, set my parents up for retirement (I'm assuming I have multiple millions, not just one), anonymous charitable donations.
5. Five places I have lived: California, Idaho, Minnesota, Wisconsin and England.
My brain is not working tonight (probably the French food, ha ha) but I still managed to spit out quite long answers to these simple five questions. Answer them for yourself and let me know. I'll be interested to see what you have to say.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Hair by Patrick
Well, I am fabulous.
Why? I just had my hair cut by Patrick, possibly the best hair stylist in the city. My mother gave me a gift card for Christmas and I put off using it for months and months because I was waiting for my hair to grow long enough to give him something to work with. The time came when I could not stand my grown-out cut one more day and I made the call. I have yet to find out what Husband thinks. If he really likes it then I will justify spending $40 a pop for a style.
After I came home I played with my makeup (I may be 36 but I'm still a girl) and gave myself some Rockstar eyes just for fun (really, really dark shadow all around) and tried some light pink gloss. I didn't have time to wash it off before the house erupted in its normal chaos, so I did the dishes looking glamorous. Well, I thought I was glamourous. The girls each came in and told me I was wearing too much makeup. We rockstars always wear too much makeup. It's the music in us.
Husband just came home and declared the hair cut a success. He also said I looked like I'd been punched in both eyes. I guess the Rockstar eyes are only for clubbing nights.
Husband and I both completely forgot our 14th wedding anniversary yesterday. We were sitting around in the evening and he looked over at me and said, "Happy anniversary," and I gasped with horror. Isn't it usually the wife who's supposed to be all upset when her husband forgets? I honestly hadn't even thought of it up to that point. At least Husband had remembered a few times throughout the day; he'd just forgotten to mention it when I was around. We ended up doing nothing. Oldest is at camp and she's our designated babysitter (lucky her), and we usually have to book my parents as babysitters. Maybe we'll get out this Friday and see a movie in a theater, something we haven't done in months. That would be fun.
For the record, I don't go clubbing. I'm waaaaay too tired in the evenings for that. The thought of going into a hot, crowded room and having my ears assaulted by deafening, bass-heavy music while lights flash on and off is no longer my idea of fun. That's how old I am. Now my idea of a night out is dinner and a movie, unaccompanied by children. We're home by 11.
Why? I just had my hair cut by Patrick, possibly the best hair stylist in the city. My mother gave me a gift card for Christmas and I put off using it for months and months because I was waiting for my hair to grow long enough to give him something to work with. The time came when I could not stand my grown-out cut one more day and I made the call. I have yet to find out what Husband thinks. If he really likes it then I will justify spending $40 a pop for a style.
After I came home I played with my makeup (I may be 36 but I'm still a girl) and gave myself some Rockstar eyes just for fun (really, really dark shadow all around) and tried some light pink gloss. I didn't have time to wash it off before the house erupted in its normal chaos, so I did the dishes looking glamorous. Well, I thought I was glamourous. The girls each came in and told me I was wearing too much makeup. We rockstars always wear too much makeup. It's the music in us.
Husband just came home and declared the hair cut a success. He also said I looked like I'd been punched in both eyes. I guess the Rockstar eyes are only for clubbing nights.
Husband and I both completely forgot our 14th wedding anniversary yesterday. We were sitting around in the evening and he looked over at me and said, "Happy anniversary," and I gasped with horror. Isn't it usually the wife who's supposed to be all upset when her husband forgets? I honestly hadn't even thought of it up to that point. At least Husband had remembered a few times throughout the day; he'd just forgotten to mention it when I was around. We ended up doing nothing. Oldest is at camp and she's our designated babysitter (lucky her), and we usually have to book my parents as babysitters. Maybe we'll get out this Friday and see a movie in a theater, something we haven't done in months. That would be fun.
For the record, I don't go clubbing. I'm waaaaay too tired in the evenings for that. The thought of going into a hot, crowded room and having my ears assaulted by deafening, bass-heavy music while lights flash on and off is no longer my idea of fun. That's how old I am. Now my idea of a night out is dinner and a movie, unaccompanied by children. We're home by 11.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Restaurant Style Fries
Here's the secret to restaurant-style fries you can make at home: fry them twice.
You heard me.
Cook them once in 340 deg. F (170 deg. C) oil for about four to six minutes, depending on thickness. Take them out and heat the oil to 370 deg. F (190 deg. C) and fry them again until golden brown.
Salt them and make your own fry sauce with some mayonnaise or sour cream, ketchup or barbeque sauce, and pepper.
I just thought I'd share that as dinner tonight is meat pie and "chips," which are, of course, fries. Also zucchini, which deserves its very own post. Mmmmm.
You heard me.
Cook them once in 340 deg. F (170 deg. C) oil for about four to six minutes, depending on thickness. Take them out and heat the oil to 370 deg. F (190 deg. C) and fry them again until golden brown.
Salt them and make your own fry sauce with some mayonnaise or sour cream, ketchup or barbeque sauce, and pepper.
I just thought I'd share that as dinner tonight is meat pie and "chips," which are, of course, fries. Also zucchini, which deserves its very own post. Mmmmm.
Yada, yada, yada
In my experiment in self-editing, I thought about the use of the phrase "yada, yada, yada." I know it's not an acceptable literary device, except in Seinfeld books, but it is a useful tool when you don't want to write the whole story and know your listener or reader will get the gist of the missing story element.
For instance, if I write "I opened the deliciously new Asimov's Science Fiction magazine, and -- yada, yada, yada -- my room only got 75% cleaned," anyone who knows me (and most of those who don't) would understand what happened in the yada'd part of the sentence.
The key is, of course, not to use "yada, yada, yada" for too much information, or information that is not a logical segue into the ending part of the sentence. In this sentence, "I was cooking dinner and -- yada, yada, yada -- I think my toe is definitely broken," there is no logical connection between cooking dinner and breaking toes; the yadas become either comical or frustrating, depending on what other information you can glean from the rest of the writing. I'm still trying to decide which will be the case here.
Please do not comment on the fact that my experiment in self-editing has taken up four paragraphs. I am painfully aware. When one has been in the habit of writing long, detailed entries in one's journal for most of her life, writing short, descriptive yet compact stories is a problem. It is one I hope to overcome for my writing career's sake.
And the answer to the yadas in paragraph three is that Child Six pulled all the stacked glass casserole dishes out of the bottom cupboard, where they were on the second shelf, directly onto my little toe. I haven't yelled that loud since I found my nephew and my daughter standing in the kitchen surrounded by a dozen or so thrown and broken eggs. What are you gonna do, though? I taped it. It's painful but endurable.
For instance, if I write "I opened the deliciously new Asimov's Science Fiction magazine, and -- yada, yada, yada -- my room only got 75% cleaned," anyone who knows me (and most of those who don't) would understand what happened in the yada'd part of the sentence.
The key is, of course, not to use "yada, yada, yada" for too much information, or information that is not a logical segue into the ending part of the sentence. In this sentence, "I was cooking dinner and -- yada, yada, yada -- I think my toe is definitely broken," there is no logical connection between cooking dinner and breaking toes; the yadas become either comical or frustrating, depending on what other information you can glean from the rest of the writing. I'm still trying to decide which will be the case here.
Please do not comment on the fact that my experiment in self-editing has taken up four paragraphs. I am painfully aware. When one has been in the habit of writing long, detailed entries in one's journal for most of her life, writing short, descriptive yet compact stories is a problem. It is one I hope to overcome for my writing career's sake.
And the answer to the yadas in paragraph three is that Child Six pulled all the stacked glass casserole dishes out of the bottom cupboard, where they were on the second shelf, directly onto my little toe. I haven't yelled that loud since I found my nephew and my daughter standing in the kitchen surrounded by a dozen or so thrown and broken eggs. What are you gonna do, though? I taped it. It's painful but endurable.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Clever Title #4
I checked out the latest issue of Asimov's Science Fiction magazine from the library, so between that and cleaning my room (one mess among many), my day is packed.
DeToqueville who?
DeToqueville who?
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Pioneer of Blogging
Child Five, who just turned four, came to me and very seriously said, "Mom, could we get a guitar so I can play the song that's in my heart?"
I realized that none of my family has a blog. I am a pioneer. Wow. Sadly, I am a pioneer in a vacuum, as none of my family ever read this blog. Oh, they may have checked in here and there but the only one who ever left a comment is Husband, and that's only because I wanted to know if it actually worked. So if you are a member of my family and you're reading this, COMMENT already. Husband included.
For those of you who read and comment, thank you. I love getting those. You bloggers know that we need validation. Why else are we exposing our fragile psyches to the world except to get that elusive rush, that self-confirming knowledge that we ARE?
I blog, therefore I am?
Maybe it doesn't start out that way. Maybe we (and by "we" I mean "me") innocently start blogging as a way to inform friends and family (family who don't even read this. Huh.) about what is going on in our lives; but little by little these become a way of creatively expressing ourselves, of exposing a little of ourselves to the world at large. After all, anyone could read this. What will they think? Is this blog too boring, too long, too... whatever?
I was chasing some links in friends' blogs and found a couple more blogs to add to my list of Blogs I Love to Read. I will add them if and when I get permission. (I have asked. I'm just waiting for the answer.) There are as many ways to write a blog as there are people. I have quit trying to think of ways to make my blog more like someone else's. Besides, Shanna assured me that she likes my long essays. You did, Shanna. I heard you say it. No going back now.
In daily news, I had to play the piano for Primary today, as my dad, who is the regular piano player, is out of town with my mom at an Isagenix convention in Las Vegas (the idea is that out of a desperate need for air conditioning, no one will try to wander off and sight-see outdoors during the hottest possible month to be in Las Vegas. No, I kid. I'm sure the convention is enough to keep people voluntarily in their seats. I've heard good things, though I couldn't go.). I had to take Child Six with me, but he bumped his head really hard during "Do As I'm Doing" and I had to take him out while he cried until he turned purple. Fortunately, someone else was able to take over for the second half. Six and I wandered the halls, as usual, and I had to keep a constant vigilance lest Six wander into the clerk's office and mess around with the computer mouse and keyboard. I'm sure he couldn't do any good there and probably much damage.
Husband had to take Five to the bathroom while I was otherwise occupied. Ha! I told him all the time the girls were little and I was constantly having to accompany them to public bathrooms at every single store we went to that when we have the next five kids (we won't. Don't worry) they are all going to be boys and he can take them to the bathroom constantly.
Oldest Child came back from Oakcrest camp and immediately went on a sleepover to her best friend's house. She came back late last night, still unshowered, and collapsed into her own bed. I made sure she had a shower this morning (no arguments from her), and when she came out of the hot and steamy bathroom45 minutes later, she sighed in satisfaction at being clean. Next week she goes off to Rough Camp.
I realized that none of my family has a blog. I am a pioneer. Wow. Sadly, I am a pioneer in a vacuum, as none of my family ever read this blog. Oh, they may have checked in here and there but the only one who ever left a comment is Husband, and that's only because I wanted to know if it actually worked. So if you are a member of my family and you're reading this, COMMENT already. Husband included.
For those of you who read and comment, thank you. I love getting those. You bloggers know that we need validation. Why else are we exposing our fragile psyches to the world except to get that elusive rush, that self-confirming knowledge that we ARE?
I blog, therefore I am?
Maybe it doesn't start out that way. Maybe we (and by "we" I mean "me") innocently start blogging as a way to inform friends and family (family who don't even read this. Huh.) about what is going on in our lives; but little by little these become a way of creatively expressing ourselves, of exposing a little of ourselves to the world at large. After all, anyone could read this. What will they think? Is this blog too boring, too long, too... whatever?
I was chasing some links in friends' blogs and found a couple more blogs to add to my list of Blogs I Love to Read. I will add them if and when I get permission. (I have asked. I'm just waiting for the answer.) There are as many ways to write a blog as there are people. I have quit trying to think of ways to make my blog more like someone else's. Besides, Shanna assured me that she likes my long essays. You did, Shanna. I heard you say it. No going back now.
In daily news, I had to play the piano for Primary today, as my dad, who is the regular piano player, is out of town with my mom at an Isagenix convention in Las Vegas (the idea is that out of a desperate need for air conditioning, no one will try to wander off and sight-see outdoors during the hottest possible month to be in Las Vegas. No, I kid. I'm sure the convention is enough to keep people voluntarily in their seats. I've heard good things, though I couldn't go.). I had to take Child Six with me, but he bumped his head really hard during "Do As I'm Doing" and I had to take him out while he cried until he turned purple. Fortunately, someone else was able to take over for the second half. Six and I wandered the halls, as usual, and I had to keep a constant vigilance lest Six wander into the clerk's office and mess around with the computer mouse and keyboard. I'm sure he couldn't do any good there and probably much damage.
Husband had to take Five to the bathroom while I was otherwise occupied. Ha! I told him all the time the girls were little and I was constantly having to accompany them to public bathrooms at every single store we went to that when we have the next five kids (we won't. Don't worry) they are all going to be boys and he can take them to the bathroom constantly.
Oldest Child came back from Oakcrest camp and immediately went on a sleepover to her best friend's house. She came back late last night, still unshowered, and collapsed into her own bed. I made sure she had a shower this morning (no arguments from her), and when she came out of the hot and steamy bathroom45 minutes later, she sighed in satisfaction at being clean. Next week she goes off to Rough Camp.
Friday, August 1, 2008
If guys ruled the world...oh wait, they do
I have a massive zit right smack dab in the middle of my chin. It's looking close to eruption, but since I'm not a zit-picker, I'm sure there are people I pass whose fingers just itch to pop it. Why have I not left that particular teenage angst behind? I use Clearasil, for goodness' sake.
I told my friend, Shanna, that I'm outing her on her use of Club Penguin for relaxation purposes. She borrows her daughter's penguin and then plays all the games. Apparently, she's really good at the sliding hill -- so good that other penguins get frustrated when they can't keep up. Those are the boy penguins. Even in the virtual world boys are competitive. I keep telling Husband that if enough guys find something interesting, eventually it will turn into a competition. Take Iron Chef, for example: a guy came up with that concept. It's not like women are stupid or anything, we just wouldn't normally equate cooking with a cut-throat, sweat-inducing, to-the-death duel.
What if guys suddenly became interested in things that normally attract women? Would we have X-treme Scrapbooking World Classics to watch on TV? We'd gather around with friends and family, snacks and appetizers spread across the table, and yell encouragement and abuse at the competitors. "Way to use the embosser!" "No! NO! NO! Why are you using the double-wave edge scissors on a geometrical design??? You idiot!"
And, of course, the crowd chant: "Crop it! Crop it!"
One of the refs would call on an off-sides glittering.
Yellow flag would be for overuse of glue.
Anyway, back to relaxing games you can secretly play, try Club Penguin or (Husband's favorite) Magic Pen. Or Monkey Kick-off will keep you mindlessly occupied for hours. Kids, too.
I told my friend, Shanna, that I'm outing her on her use of Club Penguin for relaxation purposes. She borrows her daughter's penguin and then plays all the games. Apparently, she's really good at the sliding hill -- so good that other penguins get frustrated when they can't keep up. Those are the boy penguins. Even in the virtual world boys are competitive. I keep telling Husband that if enough guys find something interesting, eventually it will turn into a competition. Take Iron Chef, for example: a guy came up with that concept. It's not like women are stupid or anything, we just wouldn't normally equate cooking with a cut-throat, sweat-inducing, to-the-death duel.
What if guys suddenly became interested in things that normally attract women? Would we have X-treme Scrapbooking World Classics to watch on TV? We'd gather around with friends and family, snacks and appetizers spread across the table, and yell encouragement and abuse at the competitors. "Way to use the embosser!" "No! NO! NO! Why are you using the double-wave edge scissors on a geometrical design??? You idiot!"
And, of course, the crowd chant: "Crop it! Crop it!"
One of the refs would call on an off-sides glittering.
Yellow flag would be for overuse of glue.
Anyway, back to relaxing games you can secretly play, try Club Penguin or (Husband's favorite) Magic Pen. Or Monkey Kick-off will keep you mindlessly occupied for hours. Kids, too.
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