fall back

It's the moment you realize you can't stay in bed any longer because you have exhausted the snooze buffer and now you are approaching the late zone. In that moment, you really can't imagine anything more desirable than the warmth and softness of your own bed. It's no way to start the day; wanting something you can't have. And it happens day after day after day...

I've never been a morning person; and that's a nice way of saying it. If I can get out of bed and get myself reasonably presentable in the early morning, I've likely done the hardest thing I'll do all day long. And my day ain't no cakewalk.

So it's without hesitation that I would like to pay tribute to my favorite holiday, the best day of the year, Fall Daylight Savings Day. Hooray! There really ought to be a special song to sing as we bask in its glory. Words that would honor the day I finally get my daily wish: One extra hour!

My dreams come true on that day. But even better, it comes without decorations, shopping, or cooking a large meal. There are no expectations that will not be met or budgets that will be exceeded; no candy overload or firework overkill. It's my kind of holiday!

Happy Daylight Saving Day Everyone...enjoy...and think of me when you hear that alarm sound. I'll be the one with my eyes shut and a big smile on my face.

fresh paint

There's a brand new school standing next to where I spent my Junior High days. The halls are freshly tiled and sparkly clean. The foyers have innovative architectural design. And, even if you tried, you wouldn't find any dicey information in any of the bathrooms stalls. The only thing missing, is memories.

I went with my seventh grade son to check out where he'd be spending the next two years of his life. It's a beautiful new school with state-of-the-art science rooms and high-tech media centers. Funny thing is, it's hard for me to see past my own experience. My days in Junior High are as fresh as the paint in his new school.

His shiny new locker has never been decorated with streamers and candy for a birthday or had a lengthy note meticulously shoved through the ventilation holes. Or had somebody whacked up against it. Or had someone shut its door prematurely. Or had a really small student squished inside. But it won't take long for that locker to be burned into his recurrent I-forgot-my-combination nightmare for the rest of his life.

There are no designated group areas yet. Like the girls who have boyfriends and cool argyle socks sit at this lunch table and the boys you're seriously afraid will do serious harm to you hang out at that door. Or the girls who've been to second base claim on the spot in the foyer of the main bathrooms. Or the back row of your algebra class where that boy always sits who you can't stop thinking about while you're sitting on the front row because your teacher seats you according to your score on the most recent test. (and the front row ain't the As). But it won't take long for my son constantly think about that corner of the auditorium where he first laid eyes on "her".

The gym is prestine. It even smells nice. But before he knows it he'll have emotional scars from having to change in front of 20 other kids who surely don't have a distorted body image. He'll discover the true value of deodorant and cool-looking underwear. And take a few seconds longer to check his appearance in the mirror before he goes back out into the hallway scrutiny. He might even snap a few treasured pictures in that gym from his first school dance where he first experiences the full extent to which one can feel totally awkward and completely uncomfortable but, at the same time, wish the moment would never end.

Thankfully, it does.

Good Luck, son.

lost and found

So here's my theory: The brain has no new memories without a link. For fun, (I know I'm a complete nerd) I tried to sit down and think of something I hadn't remembered since the moment it happened. Try it. If you've thought about it since the time it happened it doesn't count. Can you come up with a completely new memory...cold?

It love new memories. Especially ones from a really long time ago. It's like discovering a hidden time capsule. All it takes is a link: a smell, a feeling, or a single word. And in a breath of fresh air, you've traveled back in time.

Facebook is a great place for finding lost memories. Out of the blue, an old friend might call and all the memories that go along with that person flood back. Or someone posts a great picture from so long ago you don't even remember taking the picture, or you remember every detail about taking the picture.

Luckily, I can just call Tiffany. My "permalink", she always jogs my memory. She'll say something like "remember at Youth Conference (Theme: Be Inmate at Utah State...seriously, who made that up?) when we went out with ____ and got back late and got in trouble because nobody knew where we were?..." and then I say something like "remember the black-sequined red sweatshirts we wore for our 'Uptown Girl' dance recital?"

Unfortunately, I only remember her memories about half of the time. I think her memory is on steroids while mine's had a generous dose of Novocaine. I wonder if those memories are lost or just inaccessible.

seagulls wanted

For the record, I can't stand most of my oldest son's friends. (And if you're one of them or one of their parents then it's not you/your son that I can't stand.) Here are the reasons why:

Reason #1: They have a combined IQ of 7. Let's say you have a couple of frozen burritos and you come over to my house to cook and eat them. A logical person would put them in the microwave or oven. MSF (My sons friends) crank up the flame on the barbecue and and torch them until the tortilla is black and the inside is still solid as a rock. Bon appetite!

Reason #2: They use ordinary household items for deviant purposes. Most people use deodorant under the arm to prevent odor. MSF used it to write his name on my son's bedroom wall. (And this goes back to reason #1, the IQ, if you're going to tag with deodorant somewhere, don't write your own name, duh!)

Reason #3: They take over the house. Gone are the days where I could send them down into the playroom and not hear from them for hours. Now their sheer size and number is the elephant in the room. They may not necessarily stay together: three on the BB court, two on the Wii, one on the computer, and a couple more in the kitchen eating my food. They descend like a swarm of locusts on my pantry and leave it barren.

Reason #4: They are loud. Testosterone must initially eradicate the "inside voice" or they're just so excited about the new lower register.

I do my best to keep them in line. And as much as I can't stand them, I know somebody's got to keep feeding and guiding them. One of them is my own flesh and blood and I'd like to keep him around for a while.

bait and switch

I'm sitting in the chair waiting for a minor filling reading about how we're all American socialists when the technician drops a loaded bomb in my lap. "The doctor would like to do the crown today instead..." I didn't hear the rest. I had just fallen victim to the old bait and switch and there was nothing I could do about it already reclining with a tidy napkin strapped to my neck.

Had I really evaded this needed personal upkeep to the point that my dentist found it prudent to swindle me? And is it really ethical to force people to take care of themselves?

Truth be told, I have a rich history of personal neglect. Throughout Junior High and High school I wore my contact lenses for six months to a year without ever taking them out. Seriously. And "extended wear" didn't exist. My orthodontist resorted to maxillofacial surgery after four years of me not wearing my rubber bands. And a 1999 kindergarten family illustration clearly depicts me, mother, wearing jeans with a distinct hole in the knee.

Let's make it clear my personal neglect does not stem from some noble sense of selflessness. I just prefer to do other things and I don't like to feel like I have to do something. In fact, I'll do just the opposite to show you I don't. How immature is that?

Which brings me to my hair stylist who I am also avoiding. When I took my daughter in for a cut, I was careful to keep my hair out of the recessed lighting hoping she wouldn't notice the neglect. Since it was snowing, I thought about just leaving my hood up the whole time in the salon but then decided that might be just a tad obvious since everybody else in there looks like they've spent the day at the spa. Is she, too, plotting an intervention? "No, Mrs., we're not actually going to cut your daughters' hair today, sit right down here in this chair..."

Are Stacy and Clinton lurking in the shadows?

Yeah...I'm getting a little paranoid. But an hour of drilling in your head can give your a serious case of post traumatic stress disorder.

and the winner is

I'm sick today, ceremoniously handing over the victory cup to the virus I've been staving off for days now and feeling totally defeated. Funny thing is if you keep smiling and pretend you're not getting sick the virus is not fooled into giving up. If you tell it you don't have time to get sick, chances are it won't care. Viruses are smart and they don't listen to a word you say...welcome to my life.

On a brighter note, if I can muster one, I heard a keynote address by Ann Cannon, my favorite feature writer for the Deseret News last night while trying not to get sick. As usual, she moved me. She advised, amid a number of endearing stories of her imperfect world to which I totally relate, to 1) find the humor 2) revise the ideal 3) cherish what you have, today and 4) just keep at it. I felt normal and it felt good.

She also suggested writer-wanna-bes like me who don't have time to write should spend 20 minutes a day writing and that many of her writer friends have finished entire books after a year of this exercise. I have no such aspirations; but I do like to write.

And my 20 minutes is up...

case sensitive

If you're reading this blog we're probably in the same boat as far as remembering dozens of passwords that continually change. I sign in with one to get on the internet, but once I'm there it doesn't end. It seems every site I go to requires another login and password.

Thinking i'd outsmart the madness, I initially tried using the same words for everything; then they all started demanding unique criteria...at least 8 characters...case sensitive...some alpha...some numeric...some both. And if that doesn't make you crazy, there are those that require you to change your passwords on a regular basis. The complexity continues.

Add to that a little paranoia that those other lizburts in the world might beat me to the username availability page of the next great website; or that my kids will figure out the best password that locks down iTunes or the parental controls (just hope they don't figure out its also the banking password) and I'll have to change everything around again. Its no wonder that I have found myself at the store checkout entering my student number rather than my bankcard pin; or that I can't answer the secret questions that will reveal the passwords I can't remember.

If you only knew the tangled intricacies I've spun to try to make memorable passwords only to lose my mind in the very labyrinth I have created. I thought these little tricks would help me remember them better, like Hansel and Grettle's crumbs, but they only make more things to forget...can't really explain it to you....'cause then I'd have to change my passwords all over again...

it's in the air

An assistant said to me today, "All your work is done." What she meant was that everything I had given her to do was done but the way I wanted to interpret it was much better. The phrase lingered in the air all day like the smell of baking cinnamon rolls. Wouldn't it be nice!

At the same time, I am grateful for work. There is work to do where ever I am. Work gives life a sense of purpose and order. There's nothing quite like the feeling of a job well done. To deeply savor relaxation and recreation you must be well acquainted with its opposite.

Good thing I feel this way about work today...'cause I've got a lot of it...

not my feet

Procrastination is my constant companion; sometimes my nemesis. I tell myself its because I work better under pressure...but that's a lie. I think the real reason is fear. Fear of starting something that will steal my time and freedom. I'm in a tug of war with whatever I need to do and procrastination is on my side...or is it?

Blogging is a great way to procrastinate. And searching the internet for some picture with a blue sky in it that might personify procrastination ranks up there with the likes of scrapbooking on the "meaningless activities" list.

So now I need to say just a word about scrapbooking; because I am an openly-anti-scrapbooking mother. This may give you pause to wonder just what kind of mother I am. Can a mother with this type of ideology really be a good one? You might ask... What kind of a mother does not spend hours cutting a pasting clever sayings and images to pictures of her life and the lives of her family in order to fully highlight the glory of said life? Doesn't she want look at the scrapbooks over and over and have her children look at them over and over knowing all the while that, indeed, it is the scrapbooks which fully recreate the glory of the memories?

Truth be told, that whole paragraph right there is really just a fabulous example of my nemesis...on so many levels.