Praise to "Tha Man"!

This is Papaw, a.k.a the crazy old man from China. While we grandkids thought that title and accompanying song were fitting for him, he was actually a crazy old man from Amarillo. Something in the water there turned all his teeth brown when he was a boy, and this is one of the features I love and miss the most. That, and his enduring humor. He was always cracking jokes and wanting to make us laugh. Some of our laughs were courtesy laughs, but our smiles were always genuine. He was a great, great man. He was also the king of Thanksgiving! There were always helpful and willing hands nearby to do as he instructed (my mom) but he really did just about all of the cooking. He made a cornbread stuffing from scratch that is ri-dunk-ulous! His turkey was bought fresh every year from a fancy, shmancy downtown supermarket and he would brine it for 24 hours. There was never enough of that turkey! He made pies, potatoes, giblet gravy (he was the only one who would eat that!) and so much more. As the years wore on and we became adults we started to think about how our wonderful feast would be quite affected by his not being there. We would tell him our concerns! "Pap, what the heck are we gonna do on Thanksgiving when you're gone!" This would tickle him immensely. He would tell us that we were gonna be mighty hungry! So then a vote of sorts was taken (this means Boss Hogg spoke) and it was determined that I would learn the whole meal under Papaw's watchful eye. (They all know I relish this honor. Plus, my mom really could do the whole meal but she humors me.) So I began learning. He patiently taught me and made lots of not-that-funny jokes along the way. But the greatest lesson I learned from him was what took place after the whole meal was cooked and served. He would wait until everyone had a full plate and was eating and he would just sit and watch. He wouldn't even get his food for the first fifteen minutes! And as everyone enjoyed the fruits of his labor he sat there with the biggest, brown grin you ever saw! This will be our first Thanksgiving without him.
We'll miss you Pappy. I hope I do ya proud!

Ethan informed me yesterday that he is going through puberty. When pressed for info as to why he thinks this he said, "Because I keep craving cocoa puffs."

CONFESSIONS

1) I spent $250.00 last night at the new Wal-mart.

2) I haven't been to the dentist since I was 17. (And I'm thirty people!)

3) I took $3.00 in change from Faith's piggy bank to buy a hamburger.

4) I have no intention of paying it back. I figure somehow she owes me.

Anyone else? You can post anonymously!

Potty Talk

Okay, so most of what comes out of my mouth could be deemed "potty talk" but this isn't what I'm referring to. Neither am I referring to Jared's lifelong dream of having a wife who will sit and talk to him while he's doing his "business." I'm talking about the M.A.C.E. This is the 40 minute procedure we do each night where we fill Harris' gut with water (via catheter through a man-made hole in his belly) and...well... he poops. It all gets cleaned out, no pushing required. (Jared's other lifelong dream!) During this time of effortless colon cleansing Harris plays his Nintendo DS. Sounds pretty painless right? WRONG! Harris hates it! He absolutely hates the whole process! There is minor physical discomfort involved but mostly he just doesn't want to sit upstairs alone that long. So most nights he cries, he complains, he asks "am I done yet?" half a million times and he calls my name at least that much. So when I'm feeling merciful I'll go up there and sit on the edge of the tub and read him books or talk to him. So this is is tonight's "potty talk."

Harris: "Mom, remember when I was a dead robot?"

Me: (crickets chirping. I'm searching my brain.)

Harris: "Remember, grandma was there and I couldn't move and there were wires in me?"

Me: "Oh, yeah buddy! When you had your EKG! That's called an EKG."

Harris: "That totally sucked, Mom!"

Me: "Harris, please don't say sucked. That's not a nice--"

Harris: (not listening to a word I'm saying) "Mom, remember when they took my blood blister?"

Me: (Again, I'm searching my brain...searching...)

Harris: "Oh! I mean my blood pressure, with a needle?"

Me: (still searching...)"Oh! Yeah! They weren't taking your blood pressure, they were just drawing blood, they do that so---"

Harris: (interruping) "That totally sucked, Mom. That totally, totally sucked."

Me: "Harris, please do not say that word! I don't like that word at all--"

Harris: "Mom, I'm tired of talking. Can you hand me my DS?"

Seriously! HE'S tired of talking to ME?

I Love Junk!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay. I love junk. I don't keep alot of junk around, at least I don't think I do, but I love thrift stores. I love estate, rummage, yard and garage sales. (I think they are all the same thing) I can't even help it. What is the fun of going to a store where there is ten of everything and you just find your size/color and purchase it? Have you ever felt the joy of digging through mounds of dusty, stinky castoffs to find that perfect pair of shoes and you turn them over and there on the sole is the most beautiful sight you have ever seen? No, next to the wad of gum. It's that large but beautiful number 10 1/2! They're my size! And then, in magic marker is scribbled a 3-. Three dollars! Three dollars! These shoes are size 10 1/2 and they are three dollars! But wait, that isn't the best part. We're not even to the climax yet! Now, I take them to the counter. The grumpy old lady who never wants to negotiate is in a good mood today! I ask my standard question, "Is that the best you can do?" (Always at least ask. All they can say is no.) And she thinks. She furrows her brow and says in an annoyed voice, "Well, I guess I can give em' to ya for $2.50." Joy! Sheer thrill. It's like a high! Now, I add them to my three dollar shoe collection and on Sunday, when someone says, "I love your cute shoes, where did you get them?" I say, "At the thrift store for $2.50!" Now that is the climax. And Jared hates that whole scenario. He calls me a bag lady. He grew up with ten kids in his family and all clothes were from the D.I. So he's got "issues". Dream smasher.

A What in Tha?????????????

We were driving back from Sarah's house yesterday and we passed the new Stake center that our ward will be attending upon it's completion.

Faith: "Mom, when will the church be done?" (This is the 999th time she has asked me this.)

Me: "I dunno Faith---maybe February."

Faith: "Are they gonna move the bodies from the old church to the new one?"

Me: "What bodies?"

Faith: "The bodies of the dead prophets that are buried at the church."

This is me wearing Gabe's Saturn ring! This was all in an effort to get him to wear it for even a second so his mom could snap a picture. This is the ridiculous color my green hair has faded to and I loathe it! But my sisters say I'm addicted to changing my hair and that I never ever like it so there ya go--lost cause!
Halloween was super fun and I'll post pics of my kids as soon as my neighbor who took some gives them to me! (I'm a loser mom whose camera isn't working but truly, it's probably user-error because I'm clueless. I only graduated from the wind-up, disposable green cameras a few months ago!)
Sunday was a bittersweet day for me. I was released as Primary President after 2 years and 4 months of being served by those awesome little kids. I love em' all, even that grouchy red-head who will never sing the songs! I get to team teach the thirteen year-olds now with a smart, funny, fabulous girl that I visit teach so I'm super excited. I just hope I can talk to them like they're teenagers, not sunbeams. We'll see.
My new meds are really helping put a cap on my anxiety. The only downside is just that, they are down-ers and I'm used to being hopped up on anxiety or legal speed so I'm sleeping alot and feeling under-stimulated and under-whelmed. Maybe that aspect will just take some getting used to or maybe another drug should be added/subtracted/replaced. My drug dealer--I mean psychiatrist is getting his Christmas paid for by me!
And so I continue on the train ride of mental illness trying to get to my destination of mental wellness and trying to laugh at the crappy but oft times amusing parts along the way. Once I reach that destination I'm going to celebrate (and prove) my mental wellness by doing one thing from the following list of things that have always caused me extreme and I mean EX-TREME amounts of anxiety. I'm talking about the kind that sends me to the toilet! And I'm not talkin' about stuff comin' out the pretty end! So take a look at my list and cast a vote for the one you think I should do, if you feel so inclined! Thank you my home-skillets!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
1) Touching any animals, except most dogs and some cats. I dry-heave at the zoo! What's with wart hogs? What is their purpose?
2) Having people in my home. I always say I'd rather stand on a chair naked and let you examine me than have you into my house! That should tell you how invasive it feels to me!
3) Driving a stick shift. I got in a wreck when I was pregnant with Faith and had to have reconstructive surgery on what the ambulance driver called a "lip flap"! Yeah-not pretty!
4) Not washing my hands after touching anything greezy! Okay, this is probably an OCD, but when I cook bacon, I scrub my hands after every encounter with that oily nastiness! Greezey hands will somehow lead to more zits! I just know it!
5) Being home alone. I do it all day when my kids are at school (and still get scared!) but nighttime---fah-get about-it!!!
6) Dying my hair any color other than blonde! It has been part of my identity for so long and while I'd love to try brown or red hair I just don't think I can pull it off like I could and did as a teenager. Maybe I never did pull it off as a teenager but you couldn't have convinced me of that! Maybe I'm not even pulling off blonde hair! Oh-now I feel anxious!
7) Learning anything new! Anything at all. I feel the need to know every little fact about that subject and then start incorporating it into my life. I was much happier when I knew nothing at all about living green/kiegal exercises/behavior modification/shutterfly scrapbooks/blogging-okay, that one I'm working through!

J-Dawg!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, so here's Jared a.k.a J-Dawg. I needed to wait till' I was in just the right place to blog about him. Not too irritated (that would be mean) and not too in love (that would be annoying). He is not the guy I should have married. With the life I was livin' in 1997 I should be stuck with a chain-smokin', tatooed shmuck named Mo. But the Lord somehow saw fit to show me mercy (that would be due to my mother's prayers, I'm sure) and I happened to end up with a dirty little farm-boy from Rigby--a very nice one (but still very dirty).

When I decided I was going to marry him (two weeks.......okay days) after meeting him I wasn't quite sure why I was drawn to him. Most things about him were very strange to me. He took me on five dates before he ever drove the same car twice! (What is it with farm folk and their multiple hooptys?) His favorite radio station was scan. You heard me. He left the radio on the scan option and listened to 3 seconds of every station for all of the time spent in the car. He brought me a treat every time he came to see me. Half eaten boxes of milk duds, Andes mints he stole from his sister's stocking basically anything he found laying around his house before walking out the door to pick me up! Nothing about this guy was like anyone I'd ever met before! And strangely, I liked it!

Well, on the roller coaster of mental illness, the change that was Rick's college sent me down the part of the ride where you plummet at 90mph toward impending doom! Or so it felt. I was far from home and family, despised by my roommates (I'm sure they had good reason!) and sinking into a deep depression. I met him at the first dance of the year and we were inseparable ever since. A month after trying Ricks college on for size I wound up in the hospital extremely ill. And there at the hospital with a can of soup off his momma's pantry shelf and a poem he had written on a scrap piece of wood from work, was Jared. My spud-house worker in dusty hard hat. (That's a knight in shining armor Idaho-style!) The rest is history.