oh, judy!

2009

2009-12-29T19:19:00.000-08:00

I will always remember 2009 as a period of rest. Not physical rest, but emotional rest. No more new babies. No more adjusting to having five children. No more adjusting to having Christopher frequently gone teaching, writing, directing, or acting. No more expecting help from "someone." No more expectations that this was all temporary and that life would eventually settle down. Those difficult adjustments had been made, in all their blaze and glory, in 2008. 2009 was about no new shocks, no new projects, no more satisfying the pride in my heart that I could do and be it all to everyone. 2009 had no frills, few expectations, a lot of time at home, and a quiet resolve to be and, it seems in my mind anyway, to recover.

Despite my desire to cut out the deadwood and nonessential, 2009 was still very busy, but strangely calm. The days blend by, and things came my way: murals to paint, ideas to write about, lessons to grade, quick lunches with friends, late night dates with Topher, rooms to be picked up, lessons to prepare, children to listen to, meals to make, Target trips to stock up the house, shoes and socks to buy and buy, swimming, soccer, piano, and other lessons to coordinate, children to read to, to organize, to frame their day, to pick up books for, to teach the gospel to, to teach everything to, at different times, at the same time. Plenty to do, all at once and usually several at a time. I found that trying to control my schedule on what I wanted always left me frustrated, and giving myself generous timeframes in which to accomplish a few things left me feeling more productive.

This is the year that I will remember trying to see the world as an improvised play: to accept everything that comes at the moment it comes, and add to it. Add to not have preconceived notions of what I will do or say, but simply be over prepared with purpose and intent, with an open mind and an open heart and be brave enough to play a supporting role. I learned that the most rewarding, satisfying roles are the character roles we all play, not that boring leading lady or ingenue. This proved to be more difficult than I originally thought it was going to be, and I am now resolved that it will take longer to really improve this theory.

This is the year I discovered how important good manners, simple acts of kindness, and generosity in listening are to me.

This year marks the year I have consciously resolved not to take my children growing up as a tragedy or personal insult directed toward me, but rather as an opportunity to grow, personally, and to have more fun with my growing kids.

2009 will be the year that Miles started babysitting and, as a result, gave me a great gift of feeling like there was a little more room to breathe, and a little less cause to feel so helpless and overwhelmed. A new stage in our family. A stage that involves me going to Days Market without little ones, and a few more movies with Topher at night. Which, apparently, is all I needed to feel more like myself.

Season's Change

2009-12-10T15:51:00.000-08:00

It was Fall. . .

. . . and now it's Winter.

What You Will

2009-04-09T11:34:00.000-07:00

March was a little crazy, but when is it not? Topher is busy directing, but when is he not? Everyone's crazy and busy, so just add the Clark's to that list. There's nothing that bothers me (and Topher especially) more than people complaining about how busy they are because everyone's definition of that is different, but everyone is. . . or not but think they are. Who cares?! Some days I think I'm not so busy, I just want a good excuse to just sit down and watch tv with a big bowl of ice cream. So, I guess I just contradicted myself. I'm so complex and intriguing!

I used to be so good at writing down the funny and interesting things my kids would say and do, but as expected, that has drifted away a little, so I will try and update here. Miles and Owen love to read about the funny things they used to say and do and I don't want little Margaret, the youngest, to turn out like "8 Is Enough!" 's little brother, Nicholas, who as the youngest of eight didn't even have a baby book! Oh, the horror! Here's my attempt to add a little something interesting for the history books. You know, the one about the Clarks.

Phoebe has an interest in fashion. In particular, she wants to experiment with fashion. On this particular day she wanted to wear all blue. She has tried all pink, and is sensitive about not dressing too much like "a baby" because she is, after all, six years old. If I had to anticipate where her fashion trends will take her, I would put my money on a little 70's punk mixed with a 20's flapper chic. But, then again, it's too early to put this baby in a (fashion) corner.

Owen's cool. Everything about him is cool. He recently told "Mom, I'm an extreme kid. I'm extreme." He likes to do crazy stunts on his scooter which all end in him flying through the air and crashing in a new way. Miles wants to film these stunts and put them on kidtube.

Christopher has won some awards this year. His brothers Jesse and Matt came to one of his award luncheons when he received UVU's Faculty Scholar of the Year. He was also a finalist for the Wolverine Talent Award and the Wolverine Faculty of the Year. And won the Dean's Award of Excellence. I'm really proud of him. He works so hard to give the students a positive experience and it's nice that he's been recognized for that. We don't want him to get too out of control, though, so I'll remind him here, publicly, that he still needs to finish that dissertation. Heaven help us all.

Margaret's awesome, thanks for asking. She's in a new phase of life. She has a new set of teeth, she sings (which, honestly, is the cutest thing in the whole world--better than bunnies and baby chicks holding hands and sliding down a rainbow, hands down), and she climbs everywhere: stairs, chairs, etc. After 15 months of Hugh being, literally, in her face 100 times a day, yesterday she clocked him on the head with a spoon and made him cry. Ladies and Gentlemen, we are entering a new phase of rule. The tyranny of Hugh of Demands-a-Lot is nearing its end.

Miles and his bff Nick earned their Webelos. I don't fully understand Scouts, but I read the manual and try to figure it out (thank goodness for that English degree!). My boys both really like it so it's great that they have good leaders to get them through it all in a fun way. I admit it: I don't "get" scouts. I think it's a great thing, but, much like sewing and accounting, I admire people who can do it, but I have not even a little bit of desire to do it. Miles and Nick might go to Space Camp again this year together, so, look forward to pictures of that!

Hugh turned four and got "Spider-Pup" who now goes everywhere with us. I made him some cupcakes that were yellow for the Wizard of Oz's yellow brick road. I won't post pictures of the cupcakes, they were just good enough for the four year olds. Hugh continues to subsist on air and cereal, and manages to still have the energy to go all day. (seriously, don't all kids like chicken nuggets. . .or pizza. . . or pb and j sandwiches, mac and cheese? Not Hugh.) He really should be studied by Science. Or scientific minds. Or something.

This is me looking carefree. "Whatever" you guys!

Dear Auntie Pandy,

2009-03-12T12:16:00.000-07:00

Aunty Pandy, here's what we've been doing:

Margaret has bangs. We hope that now that she can see, she'll be interested in learning to walk. So far, she's just interested in puppies and opening cabinet doors. These are her passions.

Hugh is the same. He knows who he is and what he wants. He is funny and wants plain tortilla chips.

We are still very religious and enjoy fake live wax museums, as you would expect. Owen chose "Joseph Smith" as his "Great American" project. He got his first choice. He wrote the speech and made the poster himself. Then he made a button on his hand and stood perfectly still until you pressed it, then he recited his memorized speech and when he was done, froze again. Owen is still really good looking. . .

. . . and so is Topher. Hugh and Margaret are getting used to going to Edgemont for this and that.

We saw James at a corporate gig and made up alternative lyrics back stage in true Valentine fashion. Speaking of Valentine fashion, we missed you.

I wasn't kidding about going over to Edgemont a lot. Here we are at the science fair. Miles determined that everyone has a blind spot (except octopuses--and don't say octupie, I already made that mistake.) I don't think Batman is convinced, do you?

Sometimes to wind down we all play the piano. Margaret isn't very good (but it's okay because she's pretty.)

These are my little Valentine's at (shocker) the Edgemont Valentine's Party. Hugh ate his weight in conversation hearts.

Love you! Write Back! You're cute and sweet!
xo Lisa

Nine is great--it brings us Lego cake!

2009-02-03T18:46:00.000-08:00

Remember how this is becoming my Thrillionaire photo blog? To capture the memories, people, to capture the moments. . .

During these long winter months I have to have concrete things to look forward to. One of those things is performing with the Thrillionaires, and the other is mixin' it up with the family. Ah, yah.

Hailey and me dressed for our "Oscar Wilde-style" show with Kirby Heyborne.

Maclain

Brett

Kirby and Matt (Jake wasn't at the show because his baby was busy being born! Yeah Franklin!)

My attempt, at Owen's request, at "Lego cake." Scattered around the cake is Lego candy you can buy in bulk at Macey's. You can really build stuff with them, it's cool. And this is also a picture of what Hugh ate for dinner on Sunday night.

Owen turned 9 this past weekend. I still remember his birth vividly (ironically my most reverent and calm birth) and so we celebrated with all things Legos. Hugh kept stealing them from the birthday boy, and magically disappear. Owen would find him moments later hiding under his bed with a sweaty palm full of lego-guys, and grab them back, and they'd both cry. We played that game several times this past weekend. For the record, somewhere in my house are over 40 Lego guys.

Mormon Artist

2009-01-19T13:02:00.001-08:00

My talented husband, Mr. Christopher Clark, is featured in this month's Mormon Artist magazine! In fact, HE'S ON THE COVER! (I've always wanted to be married to a man whose on the cover of a magazine, I guess I can cross that off my bucket list now. . .) Among the topics: What projects he has worked on, What he's learned, What it's like being so awesome. . .

Read all about it HERE!

Post Holiday Festivities

2009-01-09T20:19:00.000-08:00

I wanted to start off the year by going back in time to recap what the post-holiday weeks have been like. As soon as we take down our tree, I'm busy putting up "Happy Birthday" banners and making cake. And blogging.

Owen's third grade class displayed their art at a local gallery. I will from now on refer to it as his debut gallery opening. His subject? "The jaguar: king of the underworld." (I know, right?)

I lunched with incredibly smart, funny, caring friends (who all blog--imagine that!)

What says "the holidays" better than a dance off, or two?

My little sister and brother came into town which is always a treat. We rarely see them, which makes us all sad. When we do see them, we are reminded of how thin and tan they are, which makes us feel so pasty and pudgy--but in a middle-America kind of way.

There were balloons.

Phoebe had a birthday and Auntie Pandy and my mom bedazzled tote bags (saying "tote" is spritely) for little girls.

Margaret had a birthday. She's one now. I'm dealing with it, but I'm still not "in favor" of my kids getting older. It's something I have to deal with. I get it. Get off my back (Gina).

WINNER!

2008-12-06T14:19:00.000-08:00

Thank you for your bids for the Alan Lee signed print!

CONGRATULATIONS, SILUS GROK! Please send me a copy of your paypal receipt to the NieNie Recovery Fund and your address and I'll mail your picture off to you! And THANK YOU!

Thank you, Jennie, as well xo! I hope we can meet in Dawlish soon for some clotted cream ice cream and an onion and an cheese pasty! Cheers!

AUCTION IN TIME FOR CHRISTMAS!

2008-12-01T19:53:00.000-08:00

My dear friend Jennie sent me this artist's print entitled "Merlin" by Alan Lee, her brother. Jennie and I moved to a small English town on the same day, we both have famous brothers. . . she taught me about squash and Tescos, and I taught her about American Halloween traditions, so we'll be friends forever! Her brother created the illustrations for the Lord of the Rings novels and won an Oscar for his artistic work on the films. Pretty big stuff. Happy bidding! I hope you get it!

Details: Total Print Size: 14 3/4" X 22 1/2" and Picture size: 10 3/4" X 18" An "Artist's Proof" signed by Alan Lee copyright 1995 ALAN LEE PUBLISHED BY GLIMMER GRAPHICS

Please bid in the comments section in whole-dollar increments. The auction will close on Friday, December 5th, 2008, at 10:00 pm Mountain Standard Time.

Upon auction's close, the winning bidder will be announced. The winner will then donate to the Nie Recovery Fund, after which a receipt will be emailed to the winner. The winner will then forward the receipt to me (lisavalentineclark AT gmail DOT COM) as proof of payment, after which I will mail the print to the winner!

You've Got to See This for Halloween!

2008-10-23T13:56:00.000-07:00

I know this blog is just turning into one big advertisement for play after performance, but I'm okay with that!

THIS opens tonight!

From Topher's blog: Another show. This one for Halloween. All of the info is on the poster - click it and it expands. And all your nightmares will COME TRUE!!!!

Just kidding, it's not that scary. Unless you think rats, living death, and hellish elixirs of blood are scary!!!

The show is mixed media, meaning it's half film and half theater. I promise that - love it or hate it - it will be unlike anything you have ever seen. Easily the most difficult thing I've ever directed and possibly the most rewarding. Please come. It will make your Halloween season just that extra spooky.

2008-10-17T22:45:00.000-07:00

The Thrillionaires Halloween Show with Guest Alex Boye

Here's what you MUST see this weekend:

The Thrillionaires’ October 18 performance will feature special guest artist and musician, Alex Boyé. After winning a singing competition in 1996, Boye gained success singing in an internationally acclaimed group called “Awesome.” Since then, Boye’s voice has accompanied superstars such as the Backstreet Boys, N’SYNC, Mary J. Blige and George Michael. Local audiences may remember him for his roles in “Smokey Joe's Cafe," "Big River," "The Civil War," and the film “David and Goliath."

Buy your tickets online for only $7 at www.coveycenter.org! It's sure to be a spooky good time!

The Thrillionaires!

2008-09-23T11:54:00.000-07:00

The Thrillionaires plan the new fall season!

Oh, they just never turn it off, do they?!

We're having so much fun. . .

OH, still more fun!

Continuing my dedication to embarrass all my children, no matter how young.

You see, we're all jocks, and princesses, and freaks. . .

We kicked off our new season with an 80's show. An totally rad play about some awesome stereotypical teens in the first half, and then followed the rise and fall and rise again of the fictional band "Hot Sugar" for the second half's rock musical. I've said it a time or two, but I'll say it again: theater as improv is the best outlet around for me (right Hailey? and thanks for letting me steal your photos!)

Congratulations, Winners!!!

2008-09-04T21:39:00.000-07:00

Congratulations to:

1. SHELLY TOBLER who won the signed Maroon5 guitar for $826!

2. DOMESTIC BLISS who won tickets to the September 10th Maroon5 concert for $300!

3. MICHAEL BARBER who won tickets to the September 10th Maroon5 concert for $300!

Winners, please send me a receipt from the pay pal donation (go here to find the paypal account) AND your name, email address, and phone number to lisavalentineclark AT gmail DOT com.

Thank you for everyone who bid! ROCK ON!

(and thanks again, James!)

AUCTION CLOSES SOON!

2008-09-03T13:17:00.000-07:00

FINAL CALL: MY AUCTION WILL CLOSE THIS THURSDAY AT 10 P.M. MST!

So far:

1. the autographed Maroon5 guitar is at $800 (nick greer)
2. the September 10th Phoenix, AZ Maroon5/Counting Crows (2) tickets is at: $300 (domestic bliss)
3. the second set of (2) tickets for the same concert is at: $300 (michael barber)

My husband's auction--an awesome blog that will make someone awesome went for $825, so, you know, keep that in mind. It's not that we're competing against each other or anything. His success is my success and all, but we still have one more day of bidding. . . just a thought.

AUCTION

2008-08-27T20:32:00.001-07:00

Here's my offering for Nie Nie Day.*** (I'm shameless. I'm cashing in on my little brother's success. But at least it's for a great cause, right?!) I'm opening the bid right now, and I will close it on Thursday September 4th 10 pm MST. 100% of the money from these auctions will go directly to the Nie Nie Recovery Fund.

AUCTION #1: A GUITAR (NEW) SIGNED BY MAROON5 Bidding starts at: $300

AUCTION #2: 2 TICKETS TO THE SEPTEMBER 10TH MAROON5 & COUNTING CROWS CONCERT IN PHOENIX, ARIZONA AT THE CRICKET WIRELESS PAVILLION Bidding starts at: $150

AUCTION #3: 2 TICKETS TO THE SEPTEMBER 10TH MAROON5 & COUNTING CROWS CONCERT IN PHOENIX, ARIZONA AT THE CRICET WIRELESS PAVILLION Bidding starts at: $150

*Thanks Jimmy V! I love you!* (and not in a creepy stalker way, but with awesome sisterly love)

How to Bid: Leave a comment in the comment section below with your bid amount. Bid increments must be no less than $1.00. The winner will submit payment to the Stephanie Nielson Fund Paypal Account and send the receipt to me to receive their prize.

***Design Mom, my dear friend, Gabby Blair, has made today "Nie Nie Day." There are auctions all over the blog world today, and all of the proceeds for all various items will go to Stephanie and Christian and their dear little family.

Here's what Gabby has to say about it:

NIE NIE DAY
When tragedy strikes someone we love, our hearts swell, and the urge to take action is almost relentless. I know many of us are feeling that way about Stephanie and Christian. We want to take action. To do something. Some of us know them personally. Some of us know them through Nie Nie Dialogues. Some of us just heard about them and can't seem to think of anything else.

Well. I am still feeling that urge to take action. So here I go. I'm officially declaring next Thursday, August 28th, Nie Nie Day. The plan: instead of my usual Giveaway, I'll be hosting a silent auction at Design Mom. With all proceeds going directly to the Stephanie & Christian Paypal fund. What's the prize? Well Ms. Impatient. You'll just have to wait until Thursday to find out. Although I promise it will be great. And something that Stephanie would love.

For other AWESOME AUCTIONS check out:

Design Mom and Nie Nie's Benefit Blog for lists and lists of other auctions to check out today.

Good Friends

2008-08-23T08:36:00.000-07:00

It is really amazing how kind and supportive everyone has been concerning Stephanie and Christian. Topher and I feel really grateful for such an incredible support system, receiving so much love and support in the form of calls, visits, and treats. We will use this support to help take care of each other in the Clark family, and there is something really beautiful about that. So, thank you.

My friend Gabby has written a beautiful tribute to Stephanie, and has a great call to action as well. Go to her site to see for yourself: www.designmom.com.

Something You Can Do

2008-08-19T21:03:00.000-07:00

A lot of dear friends have expressed a willingness to do something--to help in any way. Here's the information our family came up with, knowing that their recovery costs will go into the millions. . .

Two donation accounts have been set up.

1. Visiting a Bank of America and donating to the "Christian and Stephanie Nielson Rehab Fund."

Or,

2. Visiting a Wells Fargo and donating to the "Stephanie Nielson Fund."

Although, visiting is highly restricted right now (only family members) we can post cards, pictures and well-wishes in their rooms (two separate rooms). Of course, they are heavily sedated at this time, but will make these hospital rooms Nie worthy regardless!

Send cards, pictures, etc. to:

c/o Stephanie and Christian Nielson
Maricopa County Hospital
2601 East Roosevelt Street
Phoenix, AZ 85008

Thank you again for all your emails and calls. Its overwhelmingly comforting.

pray and fast

2008-08-17T21:48:00.000-07:00

It's a small blogging world, so maybe you've already heard the horrible news that my sister in-law, Stephanie and her husband Christian and a flight instructor were in a plane crash. I don't want to go into the details here, but they are in critical condition. We are told to expect months of recovery.

Go here for consistent updates from her sister, cjane.

I believe strongly in the power of prayer, so will you please include them in yours, also remembering their four small children? We are also having a fast for them tomorrow. You are invited to join as well.

2008-08-05T20:00:00.000-07:00

Doesn't this shot look like I used one of those fake nature backgrounds from JC Penny?

And isn't it funny that my 7 month old baby can wear pigtails?

Don't you love how I just post photos all the time, and don't write many words?

Words are hard.

Summertime Update

2008-08-01T23:11:00.000-07:00

I take the kids swimming, but strategically keep Margaret out of the water. Everybody wins!

My dad built us a fence and my mom takes us to Taco Bell! It is needless to say that my parents have given me the keys to good parenting.

Everybody's happy.

Don't Feel Sorry For Me (unless it means bringing me treats)

2008-07-25T13:58:00.000-07:00

As some of you know, Topher's out of town being awesome with his mistress, Lady London. He loves that town and wishes we lived there. I compromised and now he travels there, hosting awesome UVU students, one month out of the year and I stay home where all my stuff is (At first, he kept telling me it was 3 1/2 weeks, but then when I saw the dates I figured it was one day short of 4 weeks and then and there insisted we just go ahead and call that four weeks, but whatever). That is our compromise. Honestly, I'm fine with it because its just too cool of an opportunity to pass up, but I will pull out my glossy martyr card now and again, like any good wife should.

Topher keeps a wonderful account of his travels on his London Blog: mind the gap. Its full of beautiful photos and great insights on traveling there. So if you're thinking about going: Go. If you ever have the opportunity (make it) to go, hosted by one Christopher Clark, you'd be crazy not to go.

Its only been a week, but I've made some observations this last week that have been solidified in my mind over the last three years of doing this (the first year he was gone for 7 weeks--too long!) Let me share a few of them:

1. You can immediately tell the kind a relationship someone has with their spouse by their reaction and line of questioning when they find out where Topher is and what he's doing. (I'm not judging, it's just interesting)

2. Topher apparently gets up with Hugh in the night. A lot.

3. You find out who your real friends are when your husband is out of town for a long time. Even far away friends. (now I'm judging. . . a little--but it's a good judgment)

4. Hiring a regular babysitter so I get expected breaks makes everyone happy. So do new shoes. And eating out.

5. My dad always goes above and beyond helping me when Topher's gone. (Maybe its because he traveled a lot when I was young and no one helped my mom.) It's really touching, and it makes me want to cry (well, there's a big surprise), in a good--that's so meaningful--way.

But if you speak/email/facebook Topher, tell him that "She seems to be holding up. . . " or "well, she's hangin' in there. . .sigh. . with all those kids. . ." and casually remind him that I might love a selection of European dark chocolate and some trinkets from H&M, or whatever.

This is why I can't stop crying

2008-05-29T21:53:00.000-07:00

My darling friend, Haley took these pictures, isn't she talented? You should book her for your next photo need: family portraits, bridals, head shots, or just a Wednesday afternoon photo shoot. We all need one of those! Check her out: www.haywusup.blogspot.com. You should book her way in advance. . . seriously, she's good and in demand!

AS IF I COULD STARE AT THIS BABY ANY MORE!

WELCOME

2008-05-21T08:45:00.000-07:00

Go over to this blog for a little something to start your Wednesday. Apparently I want as many blogs as I have children. I'm sure there's some symbolism there.

A fun new thing

2008-05-16T20:40:00.001-07:00

A few months ago, bloated and pregnant with Margaret, I was asked to write a blog with some other women for Deseret Book. I was really excited, but explained that I might be "a little sad" after the birth of my baby (I love that I said "might," oh, always the optimist!), so I didn't think much of it when months passed and I didn't hear anything. Maybe I had said. too. much.

Well, about a month ago I got the go-ahead that the other women had joined on, and that the site would be up and running May 19th! I have been writing several posts over the last two weeks, and even had a real-life business meeting in "the city". I wore a skirt and everything. I felt very professional, even though I nursed through the agenda and changed Margaret on the floor under the business table when she pooped up her back. I had a back-up outfit for her and everything. Yes, the stars aligned that day.

Excel Entertainment functions under Deseret Book, and they're the ones who approached me. I've been thinking how it's funny how one thing leads to another: Garren's Comedy Troupe in college connects me to voice over and commercial work and connections which leads to the Junior's Giants cartoon series which jumps to Stalking Santa and Excel and now this. Who knows where this will lead. Maybe I'll finally get that pony!

The other women I'm blogging about are incredible: very talented, smart, and funny! I hope I can keep up with them. I'll let you hop over to the site to meet them. I don't want to ruin your surprise of discovery. As soon as the site is up and running, I'll post the link. Please check back, and then go over and read it!

10 Years

2008-04-28T15:39:00.000-07:00

Miles, my oldest, just turned 10 years old which means that I've been a mother for 10 years now. It seems like a pretty big deal to me, and it brought up a lot of emotions in me that I found really surprising, but, really, I shouldn't have been so surprised. I always feel anxious when older women tell me to enjoy these kids while they're young because it goes by so fast. It's like telling someone who is hanging off a cliff, hanging on for dear life, to "hang on!" Of course I will, and telling me reminds me of the desperateness of it all.

As most of you know, I just had a baby, which, not surprisingly, has also brought up a lot of emotions for me. Basically, I'm an emotional person (wreck). A real BLUE (The Color Code Personality Test? Anyone?), which makes teacher and motherhood perfect careers for me, but also ones that torture me because they are wrought with emotional charge and change.

So now, a decade later, I have a child in various ages of development: a newborn baby, a demanding toddler, a bright-eyed 5 year-old, an accountable up 8 year-old, and now a 10 year-old. On Miles' birthday, all day, each child reminded me of Miles at each developmental stage. I could see his fat round face as a newborn and all the questions I had as a new mom about what he would be like and what kind of mother I would really turn out to be. I saw him as a temperamental toddler asserting his new-found independence and I remembered the day he discovered the wind at 18 months and how he put out his hands to touch it and how it literally took his breath away. I remember how he would sit in his room, quiet, before he could read, and look at books for hours, and how he could name the planets, in order, and dreamed of sitting in a control room, blasting off his more adventurous brother into space, explaining that he would be too scared to fly into space, but Owen wouldn't! I remember his first day of kindergarten and how small he looked next to the other kids, and how I ran out of the school so that no one would see me cry, and then I called my mom and we both cried some more. I can see the soccer games, where he was more interested in waving to us than in kicking the ball, and the birthday parties, and most importantly, the quiet days. I remember everything, that's the blessing and the curse, isn't it?

The day before Miles' birthday, he had a late-night cast party for the school play, Much Ado About Nothing, at the school across the street. The kids were all in bed and Miles insisted he could walk home by himself, AT NINE THIRTY! I was so nervous and walked out to the corner to meet him. He didn't see me watching him, dressed in a Maroon 5 t-shirt, walking without a care in the world, humming something to himself, and in the moonlight I thought, "This is my little boy. What will the next 10 years bring him?" As I started to think of the dating, and driving and graduating from high school . . . it was too much for me to take in. I just wanted him to be ten forever. Or at least crack a corny joke and describe to me (in painful detail) all of the parts he liked in the movie version of Much Ado, which he did, then adding that he started global warming by farting in the ocean.

(Margaret on her blessing day)

Kacy Tagged Me--Oh, the Pressure!

2008-04-10T14:02:00.000-07:00

If you're not reading everydayiwritethebook (www.kasm.blogspot.com), you're missing out! You're welcome.

10 Years Ago. . .
I was 9 months pregnant with Miles and lugging 60 pounds of pregnancy weight while teaching 10th and 11th graders the parts of speech (thank you Schoolhouse Rock!), how to write a 5 paragraph essay, and how to think and reason logically. That last one's not a joke, bytheway. I remember lots of free-writing exercises, saltine crackers in my desk, and that one of my students was pregnant at the same time! I couldn't wear regular shoes and had to stuff my bloated feet into my Birkenstocks, and we were so poor back then I had to wear the same 3 maternity dresses my mom made for me over and over (Topher, no jokes about the fish dress--it's still too soon), which was fine because high school students are totally understanding when it comes to fashion and appearance.

5 Things On My To-Do List:
1. Clean behind the boys' dressers.
2. Make grocery list, get groceries, put groceries away. Order pizza for dinner.
3. Write thank you note to my mom for gorgeous blessing outfit she made Margaret.
4. Learn to sew.
5. Put on my Birkenstocks and note to myself that they are loose and comfortable.

5 Snacks I Enjoy:
1. dark chocolate covered almonds
2. cheese--exotic cheeses, cheese dips (hot or cold), cheese flavoring
3. popcorn with a handful of m&ms thrown in, slightly melted
4. bruchetta
5. fresh pineapple

5 Foods I Love:
1. Pollo Rosa Maria at Carraba's
2. Authentic Margarita Pizza
3. Green Chili Chicken Salad at Bajio's
4. Citrus Grill Salads/Sandwiches
5. Medium Fillet with Garlic Mashed Potatoes

What I Would Do If I Were Suddenly a Billionaire:
Get that Nel-Net off our back. Pay off everything. Travel a lot. Save a lot. Give away some. Doesn't everyone answer this question pretty much the same?

5 Places I Have Lived:

1. Lincoln, Nebraska
2. Provo, Utah (seven different apartments, and a cute home)
3. Dawlish, England
4. Orem, Utah (but Topher told everyone we lived in Lindon)
5. in my head, in my own reality

Favorite Quote:

"The world is full of crazy people. Our job is to not let the crazy people take over." Robert Valentine

Mom Blog

2008-03-31T15:18:00.000-07:00

"Oh Margaret! You're so cute! What a cute baby-boo-boo! Look at those kissy lips!"

"No, look at ME!"

"I can do awesome stuff Margot can't do. . ."

"Good one, Hugh! Hilarious! I'll have to remember that! Wait--what's a marker again?"

Scene.

They're not all my kids, but they all look alike.

2008-03-24T10:02:00.000-07:00

On Easter we got all of the Valentine cousins together for a big Easter egg hunt and dinner. Aren't they cute?! That's all I have to say because although I'm trying to post more, it's not going very well. I'm just so tired from mothering five children. Oh, and I've decided to use the term "mothering" more, in order to encapsulate what it is I do all day and night. It sounds so refined, don't you think? (Did you also notice how I'm making a conscience effort to mention how many children I have whenever I can? I mention it as an aside because I'm still trying to appear more mysterious which is NOT going very well, thanks for asking.)

Making Plans for St. Patrick's Day

2008-03-13T13:47:00.000-07:00

There Will Be Poop

2008-02-26T10:59:00.000-08:00

Potty-training (toilet-training?) is always an interesting combination of parental optimism, manifested in high-pitched praise, clapping, and marshmallows and that depressing realism manifested in grinding teeth, muffled swearing, and the admission you really can't MAKE anyone do anything. Let alone an almost three year-old.

This juxtaposition confuses both parent and child. It's like the best of intentions get slapped in the face by a stinky reality you chose to ignore. The really stinky, messy, you-Clorox-but-you-still-know-it's-there reality. I'm really not that impressed that my almost three year-old can "tinkle in the potty" because I think he should already be doing it by now, but I'm pretending in order to trick him into doing it in order to gain my approval. I'm bribing him with a loud fire-truck I wouldn't normally buy. Isn't that weird? Blatantly manipulative? But what's the alternative?

This is the part of the blog where you think about it, offer silent suggestions in your head about what you've done, what your sister does, what that one neighbor did, and what Dr. Brazzleberry told you to do, and then, ultimately, agree with me. As the saying goes, you can lead a child to the toilet, but you can't make him care about how much you have to clean up.

This trial of bodily functions has me thinking about how much calculated manipulation is needed in successfully raising children. How do I get my kids to pick up after themselves? To "just say no" and everything else I want them to do or not do to be responsible adults? Before I had children I thought that my excellent reasoning skills would guide them through life, but now I know it's just extra video game time, and treats. He will not potty-train himself because he's uncomfortable sitting in his own filth. He's quite content to do that. He will not potty-train himself because he smells bad or because he's spreading germs that will make us all sick all over the house. He's perfectly content to do those things as well. I know that in order to potty-train my son I will need to use bribery. I've been around the toddler block before. I tried to hide vegetables in their food, but just as the purees were silently chilling in the freezer, I read an article in Bon Appetit! that referenced the cookbook Deceptively Delicious (and, on a side note, apparently not the brain child of Jessica Seinfeld--but that's another scandal for another time) saying, ultimately, what does eating mac and cheese with cauliflower and beans snuck in teach kids? It teaches them to eat mac and cheese, it doesn't each them to eat their veggies. Touche, Jessica. (That'll teach me from a. taking advice from privileged celebrities, b. taking advice from a mother whose children are still little, and c. doing extra work)

I take comfort in the fact that I have successfully potty-trained three other children and they all did it for different reasons, using a different technique. The intricate recipe involves a lot of praise and some stern warnings sprinkled with M&M's over about a week's time. So, despite my superior reasoning skills, I know what the next few days will be like-- frustrating and messy. There's no way around it. What I have changed this time is using bribery for myself. Yesterday I got french fries, today a soda and a fancy salad. I will use, despite what all the diet gurus tell me, food as a reward. Because it WORKS.

Deception

2008-02-19T20:32:00.000-08:00

I'm trying to deceive my family with good intentions and lots of sweet potatoes. I'm so mysterious.

You've probably heard about the book "Deceptively Delicious," a cookbook written by Jessica Seinfeld, wife of Jerry Seinfeld that tells you how to mash up fruits and vegetables and bake them into your children's favorite recipes. WITHOUT THEM KNOWING IT. I know, I know, it sounds too good to be true, but. . . if. . it. . . is true. . . just think of the possibilities. It's really hot with with the SAHM's now, which is a fact that would usually turn me off to it--"Oh, you think I should read "Eclipse" or host a "Pampered Chef" party? Thank you, no." But I'm hooked. I love the idea of sneaking vitamins and minerals into my children's food and getting the last laugh. But it seems too easy. Other than the preparing vegetables, mashing them, storing and freezing and rotating them. But Jessica reassures me that it will become part of my weekly habit, and I want to believe her. After all, we have a lot in common. Don't we?

One of my friends (is it you?) bought the book for the primary reason of getting an inside look into the Seinfeld household. Think about it: what is Jerry really like? What is his wife like? What are their habits? What do they value? These questions intrigue me, too, and as I read the recipes, I kept thinking if her little tips are real or not. Does she REALLY roast and blend vegetable purees every Sunday night as she and Jerry go over their schedules for the next week? Does Jerry ever say, "Oh, just let the maid do it! Lets go watch Lost!" Do her kids ever beg her to go to McDonalds? I bet Jerry takes them.

So I mixed in pureed sweet potato with cheese and blended up chicken and cauliflower with sour cream and made quesadillas. Topher and I like them. The children weren't too crazy about them because I traded regular quesadillas with wheat ones and it was just one step TOO FAR. I learned my lesson: baby steps.

I haven't given up completely. I made a batch of "pink pancakes" for tomorrow's breakfast that has cottage cheese (protein) and beets (seriously, I know--crazy enough to work?), so we'll see how it goes. I figure that I'll try it for a few days, get it out of my system, and then have a freezer full of ready-to-eat baby food, worst case scenario. After all, I've only used my sewing machine once and I've had it for a year. I've really got to rotate my homemaking skills--this week it's spinach brownies, tomorrow a baby blanket! See, my life is full of mystery and intrigue!

I think if I had one gazillion dollars like the Seinfelds that, as much as I enjoy cooking, I would eat out. A lot. And I also think I would buy pre-made purees and health food and all of that. And I don't think I would market a cookbook because what, I need the money? Is it that what I'd want to do with my time and connections? She's come up with a lot of recipes that you can sneak vegetables in, but mostly butternut squash and sweet potatoes. (Apparently those are the staple veggies because you can put them in anything from french toast to meat loaf. And now I will know this. Forever. It's a lot of pressure.) Did she come up with them on her own? I can't shake the feeling that she's judging me a little, because she thinks I need this cookbook. She admits in it that she sends her kids on playdates with their own snacks, so she obviously doesn't trust her friends' food habits, which is a little excessive, don't you think? What would she say about my stash of peanut butter Twix? I wonder if Jerry has to hide food.

I realize Jessica's got a lot of pressure--being the wife of JERRY. She probably wants something of her own. Her own legacy. And that legacy has me roasting a lot of sweet potatoes, so I guess she's done her job. This week anyway.

Happy Valentine's Day

2008-02-14T11:41:00.000-08:00

This picture may make several people uncomfortable, but I don't care!

Happy Valentine's Day! If you want to know why I heart Christopher Clark, read all about him at www.thejollyporter.blogspot.com!

Train of Thought; choo-choo, I'm not crazy.

2008-02-07T15:02:00.000-08:00

I think I'm ready to share.

I've had time to reflect a lot lately, but not sleep much, so take that for what it's worth. I'm not trying to get sympathy (or rather, I don't want to appear be asking for it), but I do have a lot on my mind. Here's what I think about as I'm nursing at 11pm, 1am, 3am, and 5am when YOU are asleep and it's considered "bad form" to call and tell you. (Don't worry, I won't include the "why do I love my new baby so much?" "how did my children get so old so fast?" "where does the time go?" "my innocent baby has to be introduced to a world full of pain and evil" post-pardum blubbering I excel at. . .)

1. I am in the anger stage of grief over the writer's strike. I sympathize with the writers. I'm on "their side." I'm not mad at THEM, I'm just mad at the situation I find myself in: stuck inside this Winter. In my desperation, I googled a couple of sites about grief, and one site told me not to analyze my grief, but to express it.

2. It is amazingly difficult to find a heavy-duty (ladies, you know what I mean) nursing bra in Provo, Utah, which has the highest birthrate per capta in the world. Why is that? Also, why don't we have parking in Utah for pregnant women and women with small children like they do in Lincoln, Nebraska? Of course they would always be used, so isn't that more reason to get them?

3. Why do I love any drink MORE with pebble ice, in a styrofoam cup? What is the power in that?

4. Who will I vote for next year? Is it just my twisted perception, or do most Southerners distrust Mormons? Does Obama really generate hope or do we just want him to? How do you "create hope?" Why does the idea of Bush-Clinton-Bush-Clinton not sit well with me? Why are celebrities so quick to "create awareness"? Why does that seem silly to me? What is the recipe for creating hope, awareness, change. . . ? That would make an interesting article.

5. Why is it not fashionable to be a SAHM, but it is fashionable to be an interior designer, chef, home organizer, big brother/big sister to children, etc etc? Why do people always ask "What ELSE are you doing. . .?" when you say you're a SAHM? Is it our fault for not sticking up for ourselves, or is it the general assumption because we always add to it? Why do I care?

6. How is it that Margaret is SO CUTE and so sweet? Is it crazy to believe that she may be comedically gifted because she's already smiling at 4.5 weeks?

Thanks for letting me share. And thanks to our dear friends for making the transition home from the hospital, back to the hospital, and then home again, go a little more smoothly. I really am overwhelmed by all of it, but I won't go on because this post is already a little too serious. A little too "February."

congratulations, lisa!

2008-01-04T11:42:00.000-08:00

Here is Lisa holding Margaret Valentine Clark, who was born yesterday Jan. 3rd, at 1:03 p.m.. She's 7.7 lbs (our smallest baby!) and is very healthy and pink. She's a very good baby. Very quiet. We are thrilled!

Lisa can blog later about the delivery, but she did an amazing job. It was a fantastic delivery and Lisa feels great.

If you would like to leave her a message, please do so here. Even if you don't really know her. She would love that!

No More Pee-Wee's Christmas Special For You

2007-12-19T17:45:00.000-08:00

Scene: Wednesday afternoon at home. Topher is putting together a crib. In walks Phoebe, a curly-haired almost five year-old. She has ratted her hair to gigantic proportions. There is a sparkly hair accessory carefully placed on the side.

Phoebe: Hey dad, do you like my hair?

Topher: WOW. Yeah. . . it's. . . really big.

Phoebe: Does it remind you of someone?

Topher: Um, should it. . . ?

Phoebe: You know, someone we know? Someone who's REALLY PRETTY?

Topher: Uh. . .I don't know?

Phoebe: SOMEONE REALLY PRETTY. . .

Topher: I give up. Who are you trying to look like?

Phoebe: CHARO! You know, from Pee-Wee's Christmas Special. She's so pretty.

Topher: Wow. Yeah, your hair looks just like hers.

Phoebe: Thanks!

Scene.

Parent-Teacher Conferences; A Study in Genetics

2007-11-16T11:04:00.001-08:00

I freely admit that I'm an over-achiever. I am one of those individuals who will tell you my GPA, play "high school/college trading cards" with anyone (I'll SEE your editor of the school paper and raise you one with Student Council PRESIDENT), and I won't even pretend I don't want to tell you. It's not something I'm proud of, but, rather, something I'm reassessing--mulling over--studying, if you will, and have been for a long time. Ever since I became a mother.

In all my zest and zeal to raise children the very best I can, I, and every other mother is slapped in the face, sometimes literally, with the fact that none of that ambition matters when it comes to raising children. I have humbly come to the conclusion, several times over the last 10 years now, that the pace of motherhood is slow, there are no awards (and don't give me "endless kisses and hugs," because we all know that's not what I'm talking about), and really confusing, conflicting standards of judgment in even assessing if someone's a "good" (let alone better, or best) mother. And even if you were, in some parallel universe, offered the title of "world's best mom," it wouldn't come with a cash prize and nobody would really care. I mean, what would it give you--a better job? increased benefits? Bragging rights at best, and then you wouldn't have any friends.

All that said, over the last 10 years I've tried to become a recovering over-achiever. I work hard to be the best mom I can be, but so do most (but not all) moms I know. All in all, I think that most (but not all) moms are too hard on themselves. And I think society is increasingly demanding of what mothers should and should not do.

None of that helps, however, when I walk into a parent-teacher conference. All I want to hear is how wonderful and smart, and funny-in-an-appropriate-way my children are. Leave out all that "needs work on" or "at level for." Because even though it's not meant to be a judgment on my mothering, it's the closest thing I've got.

When my oldest son was 2 1/2, he could name the planets in our solar system in order. This was not due to my diligent drilling or insistence by any means. Nor was the fact that he was reading by 3 1/2 all my doing (but if you want to think that, I'll let you), it was just this quirky thing. So, early on, in my mind, he was, naturally, going to be a gifted astronaut who would lead the first expedition to Mars in the near future. Now, at nearly 10, he has absolutely no interest in being an astronaut, and wants more than anything in the world, to be a stand-up comedian. Now, just so there's no confusion, being an astronaut is BETTER than being a stand-up comedian. Yes, I'm putting a value on it--and don't pretend like you aren't either. So now my always brilliant at math kid, doesn't like math, and is, I'm told by his teacher, contributing to classroom discussions, "but not always in an appropriate way." Miles goes red when he hears this out-loud and apologizes, giving me absolutely no time to make excuses in my mind. No time for a single "not MY kid" thought. . . " he just muttles out a timid "I just. . .want. . to be. . . funny."

So this is where I find myself. Not only doesn't he know his audience, but his timing's off. Now I find myself in the precarious situation of judging his comedic talent. I go so far as to suggest that Miles go to a family friend and comedic writer, Eric, for new material. "Or, maybe I could give HIM some new material," Miles retorts. Well, I guess we've got self-esteem down pretty well. That's something.

I'll confess I was nervous when Miles announced he had auditioned for the school talent show. "With what?!" I said, with a little panic in my voice. "Stand up comedy, OF COURSE!" was the reply. It's not my proudest mothering moment, but more of an instinct, really--mothers are wired to protect their children. His stand-up routine, which consisted of a commercial for powdered water seemed to be lost on me, and also suspiciously familiar. But when the neighborhood boys, ages 7-10 came over, Miles had them in the the palm of his hand. There was literal laughing so completely they were falling over on the floor. I guess he had them at "powdered water."

Both of my boys, bright and doing well in school, can work on (read: "needs improvement") "focusing," and "paying attention." The line "absent-minded professor" was thrown around by one teacher, in particular, and I had to laugh because their father is, quite literally, a professor who, just the week before had lost his cell phone charger, then his cell phone, and then all his keys. It's like destiny had its voice. It's silly, silly voice. So, "Yes," I replied to both teachers, ". . . we're working on that."

And I'm working on what it actually means to lower the bar and be awesome for my children's sake and my mental health. I mean, my husband is a successful, talented actor, director, teacher, husband, and father. . .and I bet he never cried in his bed as a 9 year-old because he suddenly realized his library books were overdue. (have I revealed too much?)

Vegas: Concert, Cougars, and Stalkers!

2007-11-14T18:22:00.000-08:00

The Valentine clan, Utah chapter, went to Vegas this weekend to see Maroon 5's final show of this leg of the tour. My father, mother, brother, Chris and his wife, Marilyn, and Topher and I drove down together in a mini-van. There was a lot of dark chocolate, talk of what our next meal would be, and making fun of each other. I totally win at that game. More on that later.

We took off and less than 15 minutes later my father takes out his own can of spray glass cleaner and begins spraying the windows, leaving a nice coat of film over Topher's Egg McMuffin and telling everyone how you can buy cans of this stuff at Costco (apparently for a reasonable price--in packs of 4, fyi), and instructing my mom and brother how they're not wiping it off correctly (not vigorous enough--rookie mistake). So, yeah, we were totally off to a wild start!

As soon as we got to Vegas, we met James, went to dinner, then off to the sound-check at The Pearl. The sound check is really a study in fan etiquette. Someday I'll have to do a study of the Maroon 5 fan base, but that's not for here. On this particular night, Topher and I noticed an unusually large population of "Cougars: 40-somethings with a lot of make-up, a lot of plastic surgery, dressed like lap-dancers with money and time to burn!" (re: totally awesome). I'm not judging, I'm just painting an ugly, desperate picture with words.

At the "meet and greet," fans who won or bought special time with the band get to take pictures with the boys, have stuff signed, and listen to the sound check. It's cool to hear the guys play some different stuff. They played a version of "Purple Rain" that was amazing. It's also a good time to watch my mom and dad. My dad has a special technique where he'll casually introduce himself to people by saying something like "Wow. They sound pretty good, huh? Well, I'm James Valentine's father. . ." or "Do you like Maroon 5? I'm the lead guitarist's father. . . " He loves the reaction, and I can't say I blame him. If anyone says anything good about one of my children, I smile and beg for more too. It's payback for when they were little and hit you in the head with Matchbox cars. But I get the feeling my father just wants to be part of the excitement. More than once, he offered to take a picture for the fans, all goofy over Maroon 5, and that's a special surprise because my father is meticulously talented with things like that. You can be guaranteed he got their feet in the shot.

The concert was truly amazing. I know, now I sound like a sister, not your regular concert-goer, which I'm not because I'm a big, fat pregnant lady who has a hard time staying up past 8 p.m., (and a constant reminder to everyone who saw me that what happens in Vegas doesn't always stay in Vegas, if you know what I mean), but it was a really great concert. They are all at the top of their game. They are all so talented and so tight together. I got a big kick out of seeing James sing back-up, too. It was very, very cool and there were cool lights. I'm impressed by big productions like that, especially when the music is so on.

I think the audience liked it, too, because a woman behind us was clapping so hard the sapphire from her ring flew out. We helped her look for it, but she was more annoyed than frantic. She told us it was over 2 carats, and less than 10 hours old! And her stupid husband (her words, not mine) paid cash for it, dummy, instead of putting it on the American Express so it would be insured. She walked out (Cougar), and the woman next to me found it minutes later. It was obviously fake because there was a big glob of glue on the back of it. So, I'm intrigued: why the detailed lies? Will I ever understand the mysterious Cougar?

After the concert, there were talks of cool parties, getting dinner (big surprise for the Valentine family), and hanging out. We were waiting outside a celebrity-filled party and I clearly hear my sister, Gina. Deep breath. Gina was wearing leggings AND high heels, so she was in full-force. I hear her yelling, "Oh my gosh--We LOVE your show! You guys are so AWESOME! Seriously, we really watch your show! And I'm James Valentine's sister, so I'm not, like, A STALKER!" Red light, red light. . . I feel this maternal-like instinct to save the cast of "Chuck," so I run over there and give Gina the look like, "That's enough, calm down," and she recognizes said look and says, "No, Lisa, you don't understand--we totally love this show!" I nod in a "No Gina, I totally understand" way. After a couple of pictures, I apologize for taking up their time and come to find out that "Chuck" and "Morgan" are a. gracious and very kind b. really good-looking in person. Seriously, "Chuck" is breathtakingly handsome in person. I love the picture at the bottom of this post because you can see the earnestness in "Chuck's" eyes, and Gina's conversation. Acting, ladies and gentlemen, is a craft. Later James and I try to explain to Gina that stating you're NOT a stalker is not a way to convince someone you're not. It seems logical, but smells like crazy.

Then we had an elaborate room-service spread and realized that I had never had room-service in my life before. How fun for me! Might I recommend the Godiva chocolate mousse? And then Gina and her husband went back to the party to look for "Chuck." But remember: she's James Valentine's sister, so it's alright.

(In the spirit of equal opportunity reporting, check out Gina's version of the story at the compelling and controversial blog: www.thesewingfriend.blogspot.com)

Don't Count Me Out: A Study in Good Intentions

2007-11-12T12:40:00.000-08:00

Its been a while since I've last blogged, and I think it's time I got serious about it. Why now? Because I'm about to have 5 small children, and so, of course, I'm anticipating having a lot of time on my hands.

What have I been up to lately? Well, being awesome, of course. There's been a lot of picking-things-up-off-the-floor, which, at 8 months pregnant is probably the height of my awesomeness. I've also been really busy getting things for a demanding 2 year-old. Lots of sippy cups and fishy crackers, rice krispies, and whatever tickles his fancy at the moment. I think his demanding nature and penchant for screaming will serve him well in life in a number of lucrative fields. Right now I'm thinking a career in politics or organized crime. It also reminds me that not only am I not the center of the universe, and that I can't even remember the names and order of the planets in my actual universe. But I do remember that I'm still mad that the scientific community no longer formally recognizes Pluto. At least I remember that. It's something. Information that I used to know--information that I once thought was useful--has now been replaced by how many clicks it takes on my remote control to get through the commercials to a new episode of Diego. (three)

I've been meaning to get a lot of things done before the baby comes. At the top of my list is reminding people that this is my FIFTH child and that I'm REALLY UNCOMFORTABLE. I used to pride myself in "sucking it up" and "putting on a brave face," but I realize now that that is a waste of both time and resources. It's much easier to complain (who knew!). So far complaining has gotten me nowhere, and I still have to cook and clean and carry the laundry baskets up and down the stairs.

I have a lot of good intentions for blogging, and although a lot of them might be considered more "angry letters to the editor" than the "whimsical musings of a stay-at-home mom," I will try my best to keep things going and document this time in my life, and not be too angry (although I have some really great stories about Gina!). And doesn't the world need more "oh motherhood is SO crazy! But, shoot, we just love it!" blogs?

Opps, I Did It Again!

2007-09-26T08:53:00.000-07:00

Being pregnant with your fifth child is harder than being pregnant with any other number (1-4), mostly because you don't get any attention and nobody really cares. This is not a cry for help, just the way it is. Case in point: when I announced my pregnancy over dinner in a hip LA hot-spot in front of my family, everyone sighed an obligatory "Ohhh," like they had just seen an interesting looking caterpillar. I was expecting cheers, and maybe a little clapping. At LEAST an extra dessert. But you feel really comfortable around family, right? You can say anything you're thinking without fear of being misunderstood, right? Like when I ASKED, outrightly, "Aren't you guys so excited!?" and my brother said, "Well, I though it was about time for you. You know, how you've been going." Like I was announcing changing the sheets off the bed or getting my oil changed. I looked at my sisters for support who just looked at me apologetically, shrugged their shoulders and said "Well. . . " like you've-put-yourself-in-this-position-it's-who-you-are.

People sometimes tell me--like at church this very week--how they didn't know I was pregnant, which is funny because they're really admitting that I look fat. It's not like I haven't gained, gulp, any weight. It's noticible. (and a special shout-out to the "I'm only being honest" Gina for confirming my fears. I can always count on you and Dad!) So their response is more relief, like "oh THAT explains it," than congratulations. (But I must admit that my weight gain makes my impression of Brittney Spears on the MTV Music Awards that much funnier. Anything for my art.)

I also get the tilted head and squinted eyes response when I confirm their suspicions which I've learned is the "do you believe in birth control?" or "how many children are you going to HAVE?" look. That response is also not congratulations.

Contrary to what you might think, and what Gina WILL think, I'm not looking for emails and comments with any sort of attention or congratulations. YOU'RE TOO LATE. It is what it is and I'M excited, and TOPHER's excited, and most of my women friends who are in the fertility stage of their lives are genuinely excited.

I do plan on being one of the mysterious-women-with-older-children in the near future, whose ways are so foreign and intriguing to me, who says congratulations upon learning of an impending birth, but in their minds sigh a deep "good luck!" or "you have no idea. . . " But I WILL say congratulations, right after I go to a movie by myself.

Come see my movie!

2007-06-05T19:24:00.000-07:00

Come see my movie!

Wanna come see a good movie? The Utah Family Film Festival is showing "Stalking Santa" this weekend at the University Mall Cinemas.

My husband Topher and I filmed it when I was seven months pregnant with my son (now 2). We had a lot of fun improvising lines and making each other laugh. The director, Greg Kiefer has become a really good friend of ours and his work is amazing. As they say in the biz, he has a great eye. . . (yeah, I already know all the industry terms and stuff, like "strike" and "roll speed," etc.) This is his first feature, but you'd never know it. William Shatner narrates the movie, which really adds to it, because his voice is so distinct and commanding!

Its made it to many film festivals. Eric D. Snider reviewed it. Read about it here.

View the trailer here.

Come see it! Bring the whole family! I really like it and I'm proud of it! I wouldn't recommend it otherwise. Honestly. I've done a lot of stuff I wouldn't recommend.

The movie times are THIS Thurs. at 5, Friday at 7:10, and Saturday at 6:10.

I think I was cool once. . . okay, not really.

2007-05-31T16:12:00.000-07:00

There's nothing like seeing really cool people to remind you that you're not cool. This didn't come as a big shock to me on my whirlwind vacation to LA, but more of a gradual 10 year revelation. Actually, I have four little daily reminders. One, and I'm not naming names, told me on my birthday this past week that he thought I was 44. I'm 33. Another one, again, no names, poured juice all over the floor because he really wanted milk. Another one corrects my spelling. You get the idea. I'm constantly being reminded that it's just not about me, and that I have special powers that only I can do. Like unloading the dishwasher.

Recently Topher and I went away to Maroon5's CD launch party in L.A. It was such an incredible trip, and such a fun, fun time. It was a nice, short break from reality into an entirely different world that I suspected existed, but had convinced myself was an illusion. If you want to read about how cool the party was, or the cool people I met, visit my guest blog at www.designmom.com.

We were treated by my brother to an incredible getaway. He was really so nice and generous, quite sincerely. We stayed in a nice hotel, rented a brand-new car (300 miles on it, GPS system, etc), were treated to an incredible dinner at the Palm, backstage passes to the Tonight Show and Ellen, and introduced all around at the launch party itself to friends and celebrities. James treated us like rock-stars.

We grew up in Nebraska, a family of five kids close in age. When I was home from my freshman year at college, little James was 14. He and his best friend, Shane begged me to take them to Omaha for the Firehose concert at the Ranch Bowl. I reluctantly agreed, not wanting my little brother to cramp my style. Wearing my Doc Martins and flannel, I thought I was pretty cool. To this day, it was one of the best concerts I've ever been to: small and intimate, incredible music, and Mike Watt actually talked to me and called me "sister." It was awesome, and it was very, very cool.

I also remember bringing boyfriends home who would talk music with my little brother, which I thought was so cute. I brought home the lead singer from the YardApes and James tripped over the rug, he was so excited to talk with him. One boyfriend lent him his guitar to practice with. Although I haven't spoken to him in a decade, they're still friends and he crashes at James' home. (Notice how I said "crashes" instead of "stays over"? Yeah, I still got it.)

So when I see how James lives, with assistants and stylists and fans and all of that, and he shows me around his incredible mid-century modern home, I expect a little attitude or a little, "see, you should have been happy to take me to see Firehose!" But instead, he is so, so sweet and happy to see me and asks all about the kids.

Now you know which long-haired guitar player is my brother. Do you see the family resemblance? Hey, we have the same hair--layers, highlights and all!

Now go buy the album!

Voucher Myths and Facts

2007-04-23T15:00:00.000-07:00

I didn't write this, but I endorse it and I like it. It's clear and concise and research-based. It was compiled by a Utah group opposing vouchers, but you will see links for more detailed information/studies.

VOUCHER MYTHS AND FACTS

Myth #1: Taxpayers will save money under a voucher system.

FACT:

The claim that vouchers will save the state money rely crucially on the assumption that a large number of students will switch from public to private schools, easing overcrowding and reducing construction costs and fixed expenses. Is there any historical basis for this assumption? The dramatic shifts in student enrollment promised by voucher and tuition tax credit activists have never materialized when voucher or tax credit systems are put in place, and NO STATE HAS SAVED MONEY BY PROVIDING VOUCHERS OR TUITION TAX CREDITS.

A Utah State University study, "Estimating Demand and Supply Response to Tuition Tax Credits for Private School Tuition in Utah" (November 2004) estimated that fewer than one-half of the parents projected to use tuition tax credits would be "switchers" from public to private schools. In addition, the study states "Historically, the parent decisions to send their children to private schools in Utah has little, if anything, to do with price." In other words, a parent's decision to send a child to private school is unlikely to be changed by the availability of public subsidies.

Regardless of the number of students initially switching from public to private schools, each year more students who use vouchers will be those WHO NEVER ATTENDED PUBLIC SCHOOLS and who NEVER WOULD HAVE ATTENDED PUBLIC SCHOOLS. When the program is completely phased in, the state will be providing vouchers for every private school student in the state. With 96% of Utah students attending public schools-and enrollment projected to increase to 600, 000 by 2012-Utah taxpayers can expect to spend money on new schools AND on subsidizing private schools. Legislative fiscal analysts project no savings from the voucher program. By their estimates, vouchers will COST THE TAXPAYERS MORE THAN $450 MILLION OVER THE NEXT THIRTEEN YEARS.

Myth #2: Private school students perform better than their public school counterparts.

FACT:

All objective studies (such as the 2006 U.S. Department of Education study and the 2001 U.S. General Accounting Office study) find NO APPRECIABLE DIFFERENCES in the performance of public and private school students.

Myth #3: A healthy dose of competition will improve public schools.

FACT:

A number of studies funded by voucher advocates have PROJECTED improvements in public schools due to competition with voucher schools. However, such studies generally factor out any other reforms-and any other motivations for reforms-in comparable schools or districts.

In Milwaukee, for example, pro-voucher studies credit voucher competition for improvements in milwaukee Public Schools. THese claims ignore the state-supported Student Achievement Guarantee in education (SAGE) program, which provided resources to reduce class size and enhance professional development.

Two decades ago, Chicago's public school system was considered among the worst in the country. After investing in pre-school programs, after-school programs, and summer school, the city is now widely recognized as having made great strides in student achievement.

In short, it's research-based reforms, not competition, that make the difference.

Myth #4: Parental choice is the same as accountability.

FACT:

Despite the right and ability of parents to remove their children from private schools, many dysfunctional voucher schools have continued to operate year after year. Schools in Milwaukee, Cleveland, and Florida provide frightening examples of abuse, fraud, and academic inadequacy. For a look at some of the ways tax dollars have been squandered, see the National School Boards Association's report "Why Vouchers Are a Bad Idea." (Find the report on the web at http://www.nsba.org/site/page.asp?TRACKID=&SID=1&VID=1&CID=1490&DID=33735)

Utah's voucher program requires NO ACCOUNTABILITY from private schools for the public funds they receive. It provides fewer protections (for students and taxpayers) than the scandal-ridden programs in other states.

Vouchers not good for Utah schools, society

2007-04-20T13:08:00.000-07:00

I'm consistently unsure as to what this blog is supposed to "be." I came across an article that was first published in the Daily Herald that really has me thinking, so I thought I would put it here, for your information.

I am a huge advocate of public education, I have a degree in English Secondary Education, I have taught in different public schools, and I am the product of public schools. This is a hot topic. Enjoy!

Vouchers not good for Utah schools, society
by Richard Davis, Linda Shelton and Jim Hunter

Utah must seem funny to much of the rest of the United States.

We're not talking about polygamy or state liquor laws. Rather, it is the fact that the state will be paying people not to send their children to Utah's public schools.

Next year, the state will pay an estimated $9 million to parents not to send their children to a public school. And the cost will go up to an estimated $48 million a year by 2020.

Not only does that seem strange, but this is the state with the lowest per-pupil spending in the nation. Utah not only spends the least on public education per capita but spends more than $400 less per pupil than the next lowest state. Yet somehow the state has money to give to people not sending their children to public schools. Clearly, this policy makes no sense fiscally.

It also does not speak highly of Utah's commitment to its own public education system. This despite the fact that Utah students consistently rank highly on AP tests, Utah has a much higher-than-average high school graduation rate, and the state excels at the percentage of residents who are college graduates. Moreover, about 95 percent of Utah's school-age children attend public schools. Clearly, public education should be a Utah value.

Yet, various groups supporting vouchers routinely malign Utah's public schools. Some voucher proponents even hope the public education fails and the state turns to private education.

With all the criticism of public schools, it is easy to forget why we have public education in the first place. The United States invented public education; Horace Mann established the first public school in Massachusetts in 1839. Public schools spread quickly across the nation and dominate today. Universal access to education is a hallmark of America, one that Americans can be proud of. Our public education system is key to that universal access.

Unlike many other nations, Americans reject a caste system where rich people go to private schools and everybody else goes without an education or is left to a severely under-supported public education system. Such systems are the product of an intense selfishness where those who have the resources to help society as a whole instead choose to create their own private school system.

By contrast, America is a public-oriented society valuing the education of everybody's children. Public education brings together students from across the potential societal divides - rich and poor, black and white, Catholic or Protestant or LDS. It creates a common culture for our society. As children learn together in public schools, they later become adults who share common values, participate together in civic life and possess a sense of community. Public education is designed to bring us together, to enhance our sense of a united people.

But with vouchers, we are moving away from those traditional American values. And, sadly, Utah is leading the way backwards. Backwards to the two-tier system Horace Mann and many educators over the years sought to change. Backwards to the type of system that is prevalent in so many other nations. (It would be surprising for many in those countries who want to reform their systems and adopt the U.S. model to think that there are those in the United States who want to emulate their model.)

Proponents of vouchers will respond by saying the idea of choice is American, too. Indeed it is. But vouchers are not about choice. The choice to send children to a private school is not the issue. Choice already exists.

The issue is taxpayer money being taken form the many to support a few who don't want to send their children to public schools and want taxpayer money to do it. It is about a government subsidy, a handout if you will, to pay people not to attend public schools.

Opting out has always been, well, an option for anyone. No child is forced to attend public school. And those who want to form their own subculture certainly are allowed to do so in a free society. But, until now, the state didn't subsidize people who opted out. Vouchers, however, do just that.

A petition is circulating to place private school subsidies on the ballot. We urge residents to sign it. Let the voters decide whether our taxpayer money should be spent of public education or on private school vouchers.

________________________

Richard Davis teaches political science at BYU. Linda Shelton teaches English at UVSC. Jim Hunter is Associate Director of the Institute of Emergency Services

Happy Birthday O!

2007-01-31T13:33:00.000-08:00

O-dog: "Mom, my finger turned purple today in class."

Me: "Eww, why?"

O-dog: "I dunno."

Me: "Maybe it's that rubberband you have twisted around your finger."

O-dog: "Hmm-."

Me: "Hey, don't do that, it's dangerous. Don't wrap rubberbands around your fingers."

O-dog: "Why?"

Happy Birthday to my big seven year-old! My energetic, crazy bees in his head, lushious eyelashes and dreamy blue eyes, funny, bendy, smart, sweet, son number 2. You were eight days overdue, but worth the wait!

The Details

2007-01-18T16:26:00.000-08:00

Saturday, January 27th
3-5 PM
My house (email me if you need an address/directions)

PLEASE BRING:

1. Nice stuff you don't want/need any more.

2. Extra garbage bags/boxes for your stuff, and if anyone has a truck, bring it so we can load up the leftovers (or my minivan will have to do).

3. A treat to share (sweet or savory).

4. A good attitude, dude: no hoarding. Lets keep it fair (Tina).

Here's to cleaning out our houses, hidden closets, and drawers! Here's to thick chewy brownies with big chunks of chocolate in them! Whose bringing those?

Binge and Purge

2007-01-08T13:34:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year! I'm having a "Binge and Purge" Party and my sister (you know the one) told me to make sure and give everyone plenty of notice, because this is an event you need to prepare for!

Unfortunate name for a party, but a descriptive one nonetheless. It's time to get together and have treats (binge) and rid our homes of unneeded stuff (purge). Nothing feels quite like that feeling of getting rid of junk: stuff you don't need, stuff you think you'll someday need but never use, stuff you've been given and feel guilty about getting rid of, stuff that takes up space and reminds you it's "still there. . ", and stuff that you just don't like.

Bring the good junk, the stuff you feel guilty about giving away to "whoever," and give it a home to ease where it will be loved and have space to run around and play with junk just like it. If it doesn't find a home, we'll take it to the DI where it will be put out of its misery once and for all.

No money will exchange hands, no worry for even trades. Remember, you're just trying to get rid of the stuff. If it makes someone happy, then good fuzzy feelings for you.

Here are some helpful questions to go through your head as you go through your house, room by room, closet by closet, free of charge, to give you a jump-start (because I'm nothing, if not helpful):
1. When was the last time I wore this? (over a year, give it away--UNLESS you've been pregnant, in that case, 2 years)
2. When was the last time I used this?
3. Is this my style? (you might have a great antique or piece, but it doesn't "go" with anything in your house--get rid of it)
4. Do I NEED it?

When in DOUBT, might I suggest putting "it" in a box or trash-bag and leaving it in a corner/closet/garage for a week. Reevaluate. Also, think, well, if I really need "it," could I buy it or is it "irreplaceable?" When in doubt after that, get rid of it.

Is it contradictory to get rid of junk and then go to a party and bring more junk home? We'll talk about that conundrum while we eat treats.

If you are interested in going to an event like this (no hard feelings if this isn't your thing), email me.

2006

2007-01-01T14:05:00.000-08:00

Best Moments of 2006

Lowering the bar: quitting some "extra's"
Miles learning to play the piano.
Owen learning to read.

Phoebe learning to dance and her dance recital--classic!

Hughie learning to crawl, walk, run, and talk. The most expressive baby ever!

Miles' baptism by his dad. Buying him a suit with my mom. Eric D. driving down for it and playing the piano.
The grandpas putting up our playgym in just under 11 hours.
My dad mowing my lawn, fixing up the house, etc when Topher was gone for 7 weeks.

Summer's Wednesday Burgerstand Rating 2006.
Ordinary days at home with Phoebe and Hugh including trips to the library and Target.

Bike rides with the family with our new/used bikes and trailer.

Clark Family Gala at our house starring Ryan Simmons.

4th of July with Wendy Sue and family from Nebraska.
Getting to know Haley, Petie, and Reyna better this year.
Thrillionaire shows! Some people have book group, others Bunko. . . I found my thing.
Doing short/long form improv after the kids go to bed and then watching Lost with Haley, et all.
Brett and Amelia's wedding.

The best birthday celebration of my life: 32 in London with Topher and a day of surprises.

The best trip of my life: 10 days with Topher in London, Dawlish, Dartmoor, Newton Abbot.
Seeing Jennie and her new baby Frankie and kids after 4 years.

Watching Owen and do gymnastics.

Appreciating/Understanding the Old Testament more.
Topher getting "the job" which came with "the salary" and "the benefits."

Taking the kids to the dentist. (no cavities!)
Losing a dress size.
A fun night out with my brothers and sisters and inlaws where we ended up at Target.

Watching UVSC's The Tempest. (and having it win a spot at ACTF)

Watching PTC's Much Ado with incredible actors. What a show.

A fun night out to dinner and Footloose with friends.

Diet Coke and long talks with Erbecca to keep me sane.
Painting more and giving away paintings.
Best Christmas ever--watching the wonder on Hugh's face and the excitement of the unexpected on the kids' faces.
Watching good tv, eating a -surprise- Runza! and chocolate truffles with the house clean and quiet on Christmas day.

Worst Moments of 2006

Provo Theater Company going dark.
Phoebe's broken arm.
Owen's stitches.
Hughie's ability to scream unnaturally loud.

Topher's long days of work/rehearsal/work. Sigh. A lot of long, long days.
The week leading up to my trip to London.
Having to pay a nanny for my trip when surrounded by family (still bitter).
Lame Halloween Party.
Topher's dislike of Bindi (she's 8!).
Phoebe telling me I don't look pretty without make-up (but I'm still nice).

Owen telling me to get a job "like dad-- outside the house" so I would leave him alone!
Miles absentmindedly losing three jackets this year.
Friends who have moved away are still away.
Not reading enough good books.
Missing Pandy at Christmas.
Watching my vivacious 90 year-old Grandmother get old.

THE TEMPEST

2006-11-30T20:59:00.000-08:00

First of all, and apology to all who might have checked this blog, only to find pornography on the sidebar. No, it's not "What I'm Watching. . . " And a big thanks to Josh (www.singlepot.blogspot.com) for checking my blog (thanks for checking in!), finding the porn, and giving me the benefit of the doubt that yes, it was indeed an unintentional byproduct of using a public domain photo. As the kids would say, "my bad." But that's not what I want to talk about.

Those of you who know me are thinking, "Why is Lisa blogging on a Thursday night?! She has a lot of shows to watch Thursday night. . . " Well my friends, it is because I have something really important to say and Tracey Morgan, Zach Braff, and Steve Carell will have to wait.

I just got back from watching Shakespeare's "The Tempest" at UVSC, conceived and birthed anew by the talented Christopher Clark and it is INCREDIBLE, AMAZING, AND BRILLIANT. I know I'm biased. Don't care. I want everyone I know to see this. I really can't emphasize how much I enjoyed it. It's unlike anything I've ever seen, and I will remind you all very snootily that I've seen a lot of theater. It's a Chris Clark production, so you can understand the Shakespearean language, and it's silly and tender and beautiful and different.

I am going to bring my boys to it (8 1/2 and almost 7). I think they'll understand it and get a kick out of it (there's farting in it), so bring your age appropriate kids, too. Show them how to love Shakespeare before they see it done wrong and think it's supposed to be removed and boring.

In conclusion, go see "The Tempest" at UVSC: there's incredible movement, masks, stunning costumes, and surprises. Lots of surprises. You can get tickets at the door (in the Black Box Theater), or at Campus Connection.

The end! (now what's that McDreamy up to now. . . )

Momma's Stories

2006-11-04T22:08:00.000-08:00

Watching tv makes me a better mom.

I don't mean that watching tv makes me a better mom than YOU, I mean that it makes me the best mom I can be. It's the escape and peace I hope to gain from watching perfectly timed tv in the privacy of my own home that can get me through the terrible two's, which have started 6 months early, "queen bee" issues with the 3 year-old, and hours of pretending to be interested in Pokemon. And, no, in case you were wondering, I don't want to catch them all.

I'm getting pretty tired of everybody blaming all of society's ills on television. They talk about all the crap that's on tv, but they don't mention the societal benefits tv offers like INFORMATION and COMMUNITY and a pathway to WORLD PEACE. Man, it's like we're living in the dark ages. When I lived in England, everyone in the entire country watched "Pop Idol" and "Big Brother." We all, no matter our differences in religion, race, or education, had something to talk about. Together. It's really beautiful if you stop and think about it.

But I don't really feel like justifying my need for tv. Some things are just too personal to talk about. My good friend, Eric D. supports me in my habit, and has really encouraged it more than anyone over the years. I really owe some of my best tv-watching hours to him. He hates it when people who don't watch tv SAY they don't watch tv, because it's not like they ever say it matter-of-factly. It's always in a judgmental tone, like they don't watch tv because they're doing something infinitely more important. Like, while you are wasting your time watching some random show, they're busy curing cancer or reading to the blind. And I will add that there's nothing "random" about my tv viewing.

So imagine my HORROR when my sister GINA was chosen to be a part of the Nielsen Rating's Family! "THE FAMILY!" This was a big blow to me. It's no secret that I heart tv, but, more importantly, I'm really, really good at it. I know how to pick 'em, and I'm a loyal viewer. For example, lots of people have given up on ER--which used to be the hot show, you know--but I haven't. Yes, it's a little depressing and unrealistic, but I keep watching. I picked "Arrested Development," "24," "Lost," and "The Office," and stopped watching "Six Degrees" and "Brothers and Sisters." I know a winner when I see it. Why didn't they choose ME?

I've tried to influence Gina, and thereby influence the world, by telling her what to "watch," but being the straight line in a twin cardigan set that she is, she doesn't even want me to MENTION a show's name for fear of tampering her family's response. (Imagine me yelling "Watch Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip! IT"S ON THE SUNSET STRIP!!!" while Gina's plugging her ears and running away from me humming "God Bless America"). We both worked at Gallup Polls (like everyone who ever lived in Lincoln, Nebraska), so we will both carry the responsibility of knowing what tampers a survey. It's information we'd like to forget, but we know we can't, and Gina won't pretend to forget (if I had a nickel. . . ).

So, speaking of tv, might I recommend watching an upcoming VH1 special featuring Kiefer Sutherland's documentary about a band he's "managing" entitled "I Trust You to Kill Me." OF COURSE one of the band members is my sister, Amanda's ex-boyfriend (why can't one of MY ex-boyfriends show up on "E-Extra"?!). I'll let you guess which one. If you do watch, and you buy me dinner, I might be persuaded to tell you an interesting story or two about said documentary. And of course, I'll be doing it to get some MUCH NEEDED attention.

DESIGN MOM

2006-09-17T20:40:00.000-07:00

Hey: I'm a GUEST BLOGGER on a really cool site: www.designmom.blogspot.com this week so CHECK IT OUT!

Gabby is an incredibly talented designer and all-around cool chic I've known for over a decade now. I check her blog everyday. She's done some amazing design work, and she is a really great mom, too, so you can imagine what the marriage of the two talents does for this site. . . I'm honored she asked me to contribute, and I hope you like it.

What I did on my summer vacation

2006-06-09T17:44:00.000-07:00

I hadn't realized it had been so long since I've posted. A hot mama in a pink leather jacket on a Harley reminded me. I've got some excuses. Some of the lame ones include x'ing out numbers on my DT pool pass and making kool-aid for the neighborhood children. My really good excuses include my husband being gone for several weeks, a baby who refuses to walk and screams at me all day, and good intentions.

Most noteworthy, I've recently returned from a London extravaganza. It seems like a long time ago, though, now that "the routine" has been successfully re-mastered. I have all sorts of wonderful revelations spinning in my head-- life lessons, good intentions, and perspective. Trinkets I remember collecting before I was sleep deprived. But now they don't seem as applicable or interesting. Not as interesting as my new MEMORY FOAM! NASA Space Technology's greatest accomplishment. Space-shuttle? Old news. When has it cushioned me in a personalized cocoon of perfect comfort in temperature and form? I don't care if the United States Government spends 3 trillion dollars this year on the NASA program if it's coming up with results like this, it's money well spent.

So, instead of waxing philosophical, as I'm prone to ramble, I'll highlight a couple of things from my seven weeks alone and my ideal second honeymoon with Toph.

VIP/Champ/Came Through for Me When the Chips Were Down: Dear old DAD! While Topher was gone, for seven weeks, my Dad channeled his intense energy (read: type A) into fixing my house, the entire seven weeks. It's his way of de-stressing, which is a blog for another day. He fixed everything in my house from new shelves, fixed doors, and replaced my toilet seats with 12 inch cushiony soft seats (imagine Topher's surprise!). He was the real VIP of the trip. For the SEVEN weeks.

Status of the Children: As anticipated, the children were tired and over-sugared upon my return. And I did almost cry when I wrote out the check to the nanny (gulp--totally worth it, totally worth it, I'm going to go reread my journal, totally worth it). It was the first time I'd ever left my kids and it was really hard for me the two weeks before I left, but surprisingly refreshing while I was gone. Of course I missed them (especially being out of the country), but I'm so glad I went. Now I realize how much mothers judge each other on how often they leave their kids. It's not just the "working moms," but the shades of stay-at-home moms, too. I could tell a mother's attitude on "leaving your kids" in their one statement acknowledging my trip plans. VERY revealing. Insert your own personal experience with that bag of kittens -HERE-.

Highlights: Seeing Mary Poppins, Jane Eyre, Sunday in the Park. . ., Hayfever (starring Dame Judy!), seeing good, good friends like Adam, Lorraine, Jenny (and new baby!), Naomi, Claire, our Newton Abbot Ward family,. . . Sleeping in when I wanted, eating when I thought it was a good idea, going out everyday and every night. Seeing the sights, but not feeling rushed to fit "everything" in. Being with Topher uninterrupted.

What I ATE:
cucumber sandwiches
toasted scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam
orange slice cake
hot chocolate

butternut squash and pumpkin curry with cucumber salsa
organic lemon-aid (fizzy, of course)

cheese and onion pasty
watermelon and apple Tango

Chicken Korma
coconut rice
garlic nan bread

Wagamama's breaded chicken, rice, curry sauce delight

Real, European Coke ('a cola)

Three cheese, red onion, and pickle sandwich on harvest bread
cheese and onion crisps

assortment of delightful cheeses I can't spell, but shall not forget, and cream crackers

Mint areo bubbles
Galaxy minstrels
Chunky Kit Kat
Dark chocolate crisp medallions from Marks and Spencers
shortbread
java cakes
cherry tartlets

When I returned, I had a lot of tivo to catch up on, and it did play a little joke on me and recorded some "Blooper" show or two, you know, just to joke around and welcome me back. It's like that. We have that kind of relationship. But it did start recording every episode of "That's So Raven," (I kid you not, Josh) and then I had to get a little stern and set down some ground rules on playing around.

And now we're back to the regular Utah summer stuff. And I was being totally serious about making Kool-aid for the neighborhood. I've already gone through a big bag of sugar. My son had a Kool-Aid stand with his friend, and held up a white-board that said, " KOOL-AID Please help out two kids who don't get a good allowance 25 CENTS!" They made 9 dollars. I had some inner turmoil with that: am I embarrassed that my son is basically pan-handling, or am I proud of him that he made his own money? They blew it all on fireworks, of course (8 year-olds. . . SO predictable!). At least I didn't have to pay for it. I'm still recovering from that nanny! THANKS SO MUCH! I'LL BE HERE ALL WEEK!!!

Lemme just hop up here on that Bandwagon. . .

2006-05-31T15:42:00.000-07:00

7 Things I Want To Do Before I Die:

1. See all my kids in the temple.
2. Explore Italy with Topher.
3. Go on a cruise with a bunch of good friends.
4. Go to lots of plays with Topher.
5. Write a book.
6. Have my own exhibition in an art gallery.
7. Be a grandmother.

7 Things I Cannot Do:

1. The Presidential Fitness arm hang thing.
2. Hide my opinion when asked.
3. Stop Topher from snoring.
4. Not make fun of Gina when she says something funny.
5. Go into Target without buying something.
6. Not brag about what a good deal I got on something I bought on sale.
7. Sew.

7 Things That Attracted Me To My Spouse:

1. His sense of humor (never met anyone funnier)
2. His passion
3. His talent for writing
4. His talent (watching him act and play the piano)
5. His green Doc Martins
6. His spirituality/conviction/personal integrity
7. His eyes when he smiles and cute bum when he walks

7 Things I Say Often:

1. No Way!
2. Seriously? Seriously?
3. Shut. . .up. . .
4. I love you more!
5. Good Night!
6. Get out of town: Are you kidding me?!
7. Well, Mr. Kot--tear!

7 Books I Could Read Over and Over:
1. Fahrenheit 451
2. Franny and Zooey
3. I, Robot
4. Naked
5. Frankenstein
6. To Kill a Mockingbird
7. Simple Abundance

7 Movies I Could Watch Over and Over:

1. Elizabeth
2. Waiting for Guffman
3. Rushmore
4. Star Wars Trilogy
5. Better Off Dead
6. About a Boy
7. Sound of Music

7 People I Think Should Do "7":

1. cjanerun
2. realexecutive
3. realexecutive's wife
4. gina
5. auntie pandy
6. everydayiwritethebook
7. jollyporter

Cut to it

2006-03-14T19:41:00.000-08:00

A friend recently asked me if she should start a family and when she does, what can she expect--what will it BE LIKE. I gave her my honest response in between stuffing my face with chips and dips in an rare moment without any having to swat tiny hands away from my gaping mouth. Perhaps it was the guacamole talking, but I was positive and reassuring. I'm a big advocate of baby-making (that one's for you, Toph!), but I'm not big on sharing my deepest, innermost tender thoughts on my family and personal journey of motherhood in a loud party among mostly strangers while listening to my husband read palms. I should note here that he read palms for over two hours. That should be a significant part of the story. I'm not sure why, but it should be. Maybe to reiterate that I had some time on my hands seeing as the line to play Guitar Hero was too long. I mean, I want to be a rock star too, but not if I have to stand in line my friend.

So my grandma send me Ginzu knives this week. The real ones ya seen on the tv. She ordered them years ago and never opened them, so great for me. My grandma's clearing stuff out. She'll be 90 next month and she's been getting things in order for her death for years. She doesn't want us to have to go in and clean out a bunch of junk. It's the Valentine way. Why would you leave a mess? WHY?!? But back to the knives: they CUT! I cut my finger because I didn't know that with good knives (read: real), you can't cut fruit in your hand. And also, they make cuts in the linoleum countertops. Who knew? I guess that I was really more of bending my food than actually cutting it. I've seen a whole new world and it is magical.

There's no way I can explain what it is like to be a mother. It is so many things at the same time and most of them are inexplicable. At least for me. I'm sure there's some Family Circle cartoon or Chicken Soup for the MOTHER'S Soul that's really hit it on the head. Does it have anything to do with knives? Could there be a metaphor in my special knife experience? I think so, but I'm too busy BEING AWESOME IN 2006 to draw any conclusions for you. I'm sure you moms will understand.

Lobster Reality Bites

2006-02-10T14:32:00.000-08:00

Christopher and I have a new motto for 2006: Lowering the Bar. Our four kids and our four jobs and school and schedules have literally made us sick (which isn't so convenient on our awesome health plan). Writing this, I'm realizing I'm breaking one of my cardinal pet peeves which is complaining about how busy you are, but I don't care. We've decided to lower our standards so why shouldn't I start here? Anyway, who checks the closets to make sure the sheets are nicely folded, or cares is the toy-boxes are categorized by color or subject, or checks your grades from your Doctorate classes? Other than Robert Valentine, no one will know.

There's a great scene in the movie Love Actually where a stay-at-home mum, (played by Emma Thompson), whose brother is Prime Minister (played by Hugh Grant) laments that although she's incredibly satisfied with her chosen life, having such a famous and powerful brother puts her life into stark reality. Have I already written about this? She says something like "Today my brother ruled a country and I made a paper mache lobster head." That's kind of how I feel about having a famous brother, successful in the entertainment industry. A couple of days ago, I think to myself, James won his second Grammy, performed in front of millions, and I was feeling preeety good about getting the car vacuumed. But I stand by that clean car and all that goes with it. I've been riding on that for days (no pun intended, but I'll leave it, thank you)!

Don't I come from Generation X, anyway? I think that somewhere down the line I forgot my roots, where I came from. In the early 90's we didn't care about what those dumb Yuppies did. We had our music and our Doc Martins and our chokers (Melrose Place IS a really good show). We were flyin' the flannel and bein' awesome. Remember bein' awesome? These Gen Y-ers, or whatever these kids today are calling themselves (am I suddenly 70?), are all overachievers and they're boring! Christopher always complains about how grade greedy and uninteresting his students are at a certain university. They're so FO-cused that they're. . . FUN-less (that was bad, but I'll work on it later: I'm too busy BEING AWESOME!)

Join me in turning up FROM OHIO or Fishbone, dusting off those green Doc's and worn out flannel shirt, pulling out your Real Raisin, putting down that Jane Austen, picking up some Vonnegut or Kerouac, and lowering that bar. Seriously you guys, I'm not even going to fold the laundry when it's hot out of the dryer--I'm just going to let it sit there for a while: CRAZY!!!

I didn't mean to overhear, BUT. . .

2006-01-12T20:18:00.000-08:00

Topher and I went on a date the other night and found ourselves in line at the Magleby's Fresh. And yes, yes it was. Topher and I have very interesting things to say to each other, especially when the children aren't around to interrupt us with their selfish demands for food and attention, and so our discussion of Brad and Angelina--I mean third-world debt --was getting preeetty intense. We heard, "When I was on my mission, when we came to the door, people wanted to know one of two things. . . " and OF COURSE Topher and I lifted our eyebrows and leaned in to hear better. I'm not going to pretend we don't eavesdrop on a regular basis, but admit it and add that we do it with running commentary.

The guy, very tall, very clean shaven, and clearly had come straight from the airport, was giving the performance of his lifetime. And to give him some credit, he was doing a fabulous job. He'll get an A in that public speaking course for sure. Either that, or his pesticide business will go through the roof. Through THE ROOF! We followed them in line, sat down, within earshot of them. I could look out the reflective window and see their reflection even though they were sitting behind me, and give Toph a play-by-play description of how the date was going. Come to find out it was a first date. He's just home from his mission which he loved. He had a nice mix of "interesting things that happened on my mission that happen to everyone" stories intended to entertain and impress. The stories where you're able to slip in a little something about what an honest, hardworking person you are--you know, for the story's sake.

She's only 17, " a youngin," she calls herself. She has long golden brown hair that looks like its been brushed 100 times each night (just like Marsha). She's quick to laugh and vocally confirm that she's fully following the conversation. This pleases him and he gains more and more confidence. He's obviously rehearsed some of the topics, but doesn't forget to ask about her. She confirms his musings on why she doesn't date a lot: boys are intimidated by her (Topher spits up a little Pepsi at this point and has to go for more napkins). She follows his lead and gives a detailed resume that would impress anyone. We learn that she never dates. That boys NEVER ask her out. And all her friends and her mom have told her time and time again that it's because she's so intimidating. It's obvious she's not going to lower her achievements, but move on the best she can. There's some hair flipping and gentle head nodding. These two are made for each other and we are happy they've found each other.

When their food comes, he insists on a prayer, to which she replies (a little too loudly--a clue that she's obviously taken off guard) that "that's so cool!" But her body language is telling us that she's obviously NOT comfortable--she's curled up in a little ball, squeezing herself so hard I'm convinced it will leave a dent in her soft, cream sweater. After they're hunched over together for a GOOD 5 minutes (someone's showing off. . . ) Topher is DYING, he's so embarrassed for her because she looks so uncomfortable. (At this point, Topher has to turn away and goes for more ketchup). We know it's over when we hear -again, a little too loudly- "NO, no, I don't mind AT ALL! That is SO COOL! Yeah, that's. . . cool!"

Then we looked at our watches and knew it was time to leave to catch our movie, but I was a little sad to go. I hate not knowing how things would turn out for these crazy kids.

I hate the idea of that uncomfortable date. It physically pained Topher. Maybe that's why things turned out so well with us--because we never had to go through that ritual. A few I did go through come to mind from way back when. The blind date who later said I reminded him of an ex-girlfriend, so that's why he ignored me. The date who ate block of lasagna by stabbing it in the middle with a fork and chewing on the ends. The blind date who was in his 30's and told me he never read a book in his life. . . that's a fun trip down memory lane. Who has the best story, I wonder. . . .

(*In other news, Gina got a Serger for Christmas and she can't stop talking about it. She goes to a Serger class with other middle-aged women who own Sergers (remember how Gina's younger than me? Yeah.), and she can't stop talking about it EVEN when I tell her not to ruin the idea of that class in my mind with words. Today Gina said, "But I say it in fabric, not in words." [yes you do, Gina, yes you do] )

Reach for the Stars!

2006-01-06T10:51:00.000-08:00

Christopher is great at New Year's Resolutions. Me, not so much. He actually makes goals in each area of his life and accomplishes them. He's pretty out of control that way. He does more in one day than many do in a week. When people ask me what Topher "does for a living," I just say "stuff," because it's easier and most people who ask really don't want to know; they're just being polite. He has a real talent for Resolutions, you could say, much like his talent for reading palms and picking winners at the Oscars. They are magical gifts which he has magnified and used for the betterment of others.

My resolutions are less concrete and more ethereal like "Be the best I can be!" or "If I can dream it, I can do it!" or "Be more awesome!" (the general rule of thumb is they should look awesome on a t-shirt). The benefit of these resolutions is they're hard to pin down then it's easier to say they've been accomplished and they seem really important. In my defense, I'm concentrating on the needs of four other people. Our goals are basic (eat, poop, clean, repeat), but time consuming nonetheless.

My family, the Valentines, have extremely strong, loud opinions and I have certainly inherited that. We don't make New Year's Resolutions, but we SURE WISH OTHER PEOPLE WOULD! Here are topics that have been visited and revisited at our get togethers:

1. What you are reading.
2. What movies you've seen.
3. Where is the most painful place to get a zit and what lengths you've gone to to get rid of it.
4. Whose going to win at the Oscars.
5. What James should do with his fame/money.
6. What Amanda should do with her career.
7. What food we should eat.
8. Funny things Gina says/does.
9. Ways Lisa has exploited #8.
10. How unnaturally cute our kids are.
11. Hair removal.
12. Bicycling/running.
13. How soda is so bad for you but it SURE TASTES GREAT!

I realize that everyone is passionate about something. My problem is that I have a strong opinion about everything. I wish I could nod my head and say, "Hmmm, I don't know how I feel about that. . . " or be lukewarm and say, "Whatever! Is Lost a rerun tonight?" I'm not trying to say that I'm a brainiac or anything and read and watch the news all day. When I say I have an opinion about everything I mean EVERYTHING. Since this is a blog about me, here is a list of things that come to mind, in no particular order that pushes me up on my soapbox (I will withhold my ranting/chosen side/reasoning/research on the issue. We all love a little mystery, don't we?):

1. People who don't watch tv.
2. Big white houses on the hill.
3. Western Medicine and Doctors.
4. Gina's hair.
5. UVSC.
6. Milk.
7. Elements of a Good Marriage.
8. Decorating.
9. Measures of Success.
10. Air-freshener scents.

Of course this is a small, small sampling, which leads me to my New Year's Resolution: Be more discriminating. I am going to choose my battles better this year: what to get upset about and fight for, and what to let go. I may choose trivial matters (like acceptable forms of chocolate), I may choose a cause (like feline AIDS). . . but I'm sure this will make me MORE AWESOME IN 2006!

Good Karma

2005-12-19T20:30:00.001-08:00

Lorien tagged me. I'm it. And since I'm the neighbor who never does one of those special "make a copy of this note and give a treat to two neighbors. . . " game my part of town is so fond of, I thought I'd be a good sport this time. It's that time of year for it anyway. Maybe it's just the 10 year-old inside of me who worries that if I stop the chain letter, something bad will happen to me. Here are five things you might not know about me:

1. I got a perfect score on my sixth grade science fair entry "How Does Yeast Make Bread Dough Rise?" Ironically, after many different receipes and hearty attempts, I, to this day, cannot make a decent loaf of bread.

2. I was on the Mayor's Water Conservation Task Force in Lincoln, Nebraska. I dare anyone to beat me in a game of High School Trading Cards.

3. I've always wanted to pierce my nose. I think it looks pretty, I really do.

4. I was in three different swing choirs in jr and sr high and once, in an old folks' home during my big solo, a man collapsed right in front of me and I kept singing. The paramedics came.

5. When Christopher and I got engaged, we both had braces (for the second time).

I tag: Wendy Sue, Bek, and Topher (again).

Presents

2005-11-28T19:39:00.000-08:00

I get HUGE when I'm pregnant and my back hurts and I waddle. Christopher starts making fun of my outfits, specifically my Birkenstalks and black stretch pants which become my uniform, and I lose my sense of humor (that usually falls by the seventh month). When I was pregnant with Phoebe, expecting a baby the week before Christmas (she was born two days after Christmas), I decided to get all my Christmas shopping done by Halloween. That was the best Christmas ever. I wasn't distracted by all the shiny lights and mark-downs, ("Hey, what about THIS? No, THAT! No! THIS is BETTER!"). I've tried to keep the tradition ever since and I highly recommend it. But I guess it's too late for that now, slackers, because even Thanksgiving has come and gone.

The oddest present I ever got was a severed dreadlock from a boyfriend. He cut off a really long black dreadlock that resembled a fat caterpillar and put it in a zip-lock bag with a long letter. I'd like to say that at the time it was romantic, but even then it was a little bit creepy. I found it years later, among a trunk full of earnest journal entries. It scared me half to death at first, but then it brought back really funny memories. Christopher said it was disgusting and told me to throw it away. I like to think it was because he was jealous, but I'm sure it was more of a question of hygiene.

I haven't made my mind up about the whole giving a practical gift versus a frivolous one. It's hard enough to distinguish between wants and needs anyway and the holidays intensifies that dilemma for me. Sure, I'd love a food chopper, but will my heart leap when I open it Christmas 'morn? Maybe. (I melted my old one when I left it on a hot stove, so do I really deserve a new one? How will I learn?) Do I really need Star Wars Episodes I, II, and III? How often will I watch them? If I break it down per viewing will I earn it back after a year?

I also don't have a firm policy on neighborhood gifts. Do I give them to all the neighbors? How far down the street is appropriate? Do I give them to people who will give US treats? What about my First Nation neighbors? They haven't returned any of the items they've borrowed. . . so should we just call it even? I hate that awkward, "Oh, thanks for the treat! Merry Christmas! I've got YOUR treat. . .right. . .here. . . justaminute. . .lemme go. . .find . . .it. . ." It may be better to give than to receive, but sometimes it's just easier to not give and hope not to receive.

I do have strong feelings about some holiday gift-giving that might be of use to you:

1. No homemade coupons (20 minute back-rub, mow the lawn, etc). It's just a certificate that says "I forgot, and hopefully you will."
2. No Bratz dolls (Barbie's slutty cousin with low self-esteem).
3. No shopping on Black Friday (is that $20 you saved worth a piece of you that just died inside?)

Hope that helps! Merry Christmas everyone!

Thinking About it. . .

2005-11-10T09:16:00.000-08:00

When you hear that familiar gurgling and your son starts to throw up as you rush him to the bathroom, do you stop and let him throw up on the stairs, or do you continue to rush him into the bathroom, making a nice throw-up trail on the way? I really haven't made up my mind on this one. How many bites of "whatever" is the correct amount before your kids leave the table? We know they really aren't going to starve. Is it okay to wake up the baby? EVER? I've always liked the idea that you should know the answers to life's possible questions before you are faced with them so that, in the moment you need to make a decision, you won't hesitate. But some mysteries remain unanswered--much like the game sensation "What's Grosser than Gross." 'cause really, I can't make a decision in that game to save my life.
I went to pick up a check from BYU. A seemingly simple task, picking up a check, but BYU made it a really special journey for me. By special I don't mean endearing or touching. But I love BYU, I really do, and so I'm always willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. After receiving two phone calls in two days that I had a check WAITING for me (and my mind pictures some 19 year-old plain-looking coed dressed in an awesome black Chico's skirt sitting behind a sterile gray desk, holding my check and checking her watch every 30 seconds--the pressure!) and a quick glance at the checkbook, I decided to THINK ABOUT picking it up. It takes me a while to ease into these things. I know what they will entail. I know what kind of determination, patience and speed it will take. I know the kind of negotiating I must be prepared to do. For example, I know that Owen will run off. I know that he'll want to see and touch everything. He'll run and get as near to the water-fountain as he can until I yell "don't even think about it!" and he'll laugh and go try to climb a tree. I know that Phoebe will take her time walking and go in the opposite direction the rest of us are moving. I know she'll say hello to all the boys and flirt as she says "My name is PHOEBE! I'm a bean-er-ina!" and she'll pick flowers she's not supposed to and tell me she has to tinkle right when I'm trying to talk to an adult or worse, tell me that boys have a penis and she has a vagina. Hugh could be an angel and smile, instantly captivating every stranger within a three mile radius, or he'll scream at the top of his lungs like a tortured cat. I consider all the possibilities and my adventurous pioneer spirit sets it. Not all of those things will happen all at once, I know. It is a grab bag of sorts; which one will happen on this journey? Which magical combination. "So", I say to myself, "feelin' lucky?"
After being directed to five different departments in the Administration Building, I finally come to discover that I do not have a check waiting for me. It will be ready on Monday. Of course it will.
After I load the kids in the car (details of aforementioned "grab bag" not important) as two 20's something students watch (in horror? in delight? I wonder), I say, "Enjoy the show?" they laugh and I flip my hair back and laugh, too and it was at that moment that I realized that I, too, was enjoying the show: "the show" that is motherhood. NO, just kidding. They just looked uncomfortable and smiled and I got into the car and told the kids to "hang on--we've got one more stop."

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

2005-10-07T19:54:00.000-07:00

Well, the Clarks have been to Artic Circle to get a square pumpkin meal with spooky Halloween flashlight, an honor we reserve for Halloween only. The rest of the year the kids have to get the "value" kids meal, which is a treat in and of itself because sometimes it's just a bag of burgers and some fries to share with water--at home! (at least I'm not the mom who orders the bag of burgers and brings her own kool-aid from home and cuts the burgers in half to make them go along longer IN THE RESTAURANT. . . I'm just saying. . . that I have. . . some. . . of my pride) This marks the beginning of a very special spooky season, and I don't think you need me to type it out.

The lights have been strung: orange and green and white in-between glow in the dark skeletons, spiders and leaves, the decorations have been hung with care: pumpkin stands that didn't sell at that #@$! art market, spicy candles, and a new ghost rug from Target, and the children are watching Icabod and Charlie Brown Halloween as I write (what's up with Snoopy and the WWI flying ace? I never did get that-). The Clarks have a long, strong tradition of Halloween obsession. I married into the Clark family and although my mother hung wooden pumpkins with silly faces on our front porch, and other than trick-or-treating, that was all the Halloween tradition I was brought up with. The Clarks, however, start celebrating (or at least talking about it and planning it) the day after the 4th of July. All of my children have inherited this obsession. October is a long, long month culminating into a night that inevitably ends in vomit.

O-dog has thrown up every Halloween of his life with the exception of last year, although there was some dry heaving. Maybe a little wet, but we gave it to him. He gets too excited and it's the one day that I let him monitor himself. It sort of stands as a cautionary tale for the rest of the year: "Are you sure you want more than one cookie? Remember what happened on Halloween. . . ?" I've got to use what I've been given as a mother. Miles, on the other hand, will count his candy, save it, put it in order from most favorite to least, try to manipulate the other children into giving him his favorite, or trade a kit kat for a smartie or gross peanut chew (thanks grandma, but no thanks) or something like that. I really think the way you treat Halloween says a lot about your personality. Phoebe's still figuring it all out, but keeps changing her mind on what princess to be. As all mothers of young girls knows, Disney has made a pact with Satan and I think it's appropriate that we acknowledge that on All Hallow's Eve.

My favorite Halloween memory, however gross (but isn't that the point of Halloween?) is when we were living in England. Dawlish was the perfect setting for a spooky holiday night, but the English couldn't have been less excited about celebrating it. Which is so funny, because they're usually so excited about everything. . . humm. I decided to throw a Halloween party for some friends with little kids so that my little boys wouldn't miss out on this really important holiday (and so I could talk to some adults that week).

Some of the highlights:

Costumes: no one came in costumes but my boys dressed in Superman jammies, but one mum brought trash bags and made costumes for her three kids out of them there (impressive), because she thought that was the whole point of Halloween--you make your own costumes.

Treats: I made chocolate cupcakes with crushed up oreos on top and gummy worms. I told the kids that in America kids eat dirt and worms all the time and they believed me. One little girl, Rebecca, wouldn't touch it even after her mother assured her I was kidding. I introduced everyone to the magical confection that is candy corn.

Activities: I read spooky books which was fun, and then Rebecca, still suspicious of the American dirt-eater, asked me to put on her witch's make-up to match her (trash-bag) costume. I was so excited she asked me to do it, combining all my loves: make-up, Halloween, and small children. I did a great job, I really did. When she looked at her face in the mirror, she started to cry and made her mom wipe it off.

After everyone had left, I decided it was time for us to go get some of that good English chocolate! We went out into the night and saw an old lady across the road giving something to some kids so we thought, "Okay, they do this here, lets go!" As we approached the door the lady yelled, "I'm not doing this anymore!" and slammed the door (my babies were in the stroller--3 and 1.5, niiiice), so we went on. . . and on. . . and found NO ONE was offering candy. So we went to my friend's house (with each step I'm getting more and more determined that my children WILL TRICK OR TREAT!) and her kids, who came to our party, were asleep, but she gave us really great jam donuts and we called it a night.

I had bought three large sacks of individually wrapped Malteasters for our Halloween visitors and not one person came to our door that night. Owen found them, and the rest was a large sloppy mess on my kitchen floor. And every year since, we are confident he will carry on our family tradition. Artic Circle and throwing up. I guess I didn't realize how very white-trash our traditions are, but it really works for us.

In 'yo Face

2005-09-16T22:43:00.000-07:00

I've been wondering what to write about, which suddenly put pressure on the whole process, which paralyzed me, so I just avoided the whole process and read and read interesting blogs. Then I thought about what a hypocrite I was, thinking there was nothing really to write about, because when I taught English my students would say "I dunno what to write about!" everyday and I would turn around and tell them that there was always something to write about. . . I would list ideas on the board, yell them out loud, and even suggest, "Tell me how lame I am for making you write nonstop for 10 minutes everyday."

There are three rules for freewriting: 1. write nonstop; don't let your pen stop moving 2. don't edit yourself; don't go back and worry about punctuation, etc. 3. write about whatever you want. I should have included an inspirational #4 like "always believe in yourself" or "stay in school," but I didn't teach long enough to really get down a system. Reading the journals was always interesting, as you can imagine, but a little disappointing. I thought I would be reading stuff out of Dangerous MInds (starring stage and screen gem Michelle Pheiffer) which was actually required reading in one of my teaching classes at the BYU, can you imagine? It came in handy when dealing with gang warfare and drug dealing which is so prevalent in Spanish Fork, UT. Instead I read about boring stuff they thought I wanted to read, like impromptu critiques about what we were reading (boring), or what they might do after school (boring).

But there WAS this one journal (isn't there always one shining teaching moment, forever frozen in every teacher's career?) written by a seventh grader, which is classic. This kid wrote "Read THIS Mrs. Clark! Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, IN 'YO FACE!!! Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah blah blah. . . " (you get the idea). Apparently he hated me, so at least he was thinking, and hated writing, so at least he was honest. This journal pleased me to no end. I wrote "Thanks for writing the entire time! Great job!" and gave him full credit. Of course I did.

There's always something to write about: like how I'm doing "boot-camp: sleep through the night" for baby this weekend, how I'm painting and redecorating some rooms--I keep changing my mind, (can't make a decision), how I'm so excited for my tv show's to start (A.Development, Lost, Alias), the book I'm reading, the painting I can't seem to finish, things that annoy me to no end that I can't ignore, people who annoy me who I have imaginary conversations with when I vacuum, fun things I want to do like go to dinner with interesting people, topics I would talk about on my radio show, how I don't have a radio show, but should, first sentences to short stories that need to be written, desserts I like, in order, blah, blah, blah, blah. . .

Fireflies and Runzas

2005-09-05T20:10:00.000-07:00

About this time of year I get homesick for Nebraska. I grew up there. It was always about this time of year that my mother, raised in Midvale and Orem, UT would heave out an audible sigh and say it was just about time the leaves would be changing on the mountains and how beautiful it was and how she was missing it and--now she wouldn't SAY this next part, but I just KNEW she was thinking it--how awful it was to be in this flat, boring, hot, humid state. I'll give her flat, hot, and humid, but as much as I love Utah, there are many reasons I love Nebraska, and always will:

Nebraskans are all very proud to be from Nebraska. If you ask a Nebraskan where they're from, they say it loudly and proudly--no cowardess or apology, or explanation of how they were born somewhere else and just live in Nebraska for the time being. Utahans are famous for this: "Yeah, I'm originally from California, but I moved here when I was 4." Guess what? You're 30, You're from Utah now. My husband, who has lived in Utah since he was a young boy, gets caught doing this all the time. When asked where he lives, where he's from, etc he says something like, "I was born in Bozeman," or "I've lived all over," or "I've lived mostly here, but also in Finland and England for a few years." Not a Nebraskan. Like my famous brother James (stop skimming), he even wore his Nebraska t-shirt to shows and on his album. Of course he did.

Nebraskans are generally easy-going. They don't over-plan an event or worry about what their neighbors think. They don't buy huge houses they can't afford or buy huge RV's. They hang out. They don't make a big production out of everything. They go for walks, go to clubs and bars to listen to cool music. There's a great music scene in Nebraska. They love to talk and claim ownership of everyone who has ever lived in Nebraska. They have Nebraska reunions (seriously, what other state does that in Utah?!)--that's how my sister met up with her now husband.

Nebraskans dress a certain way. Topher says he can spot it, even though he's only been there a few times, but he has a talent for such things. There are many stereotypes, here are my favorites: "the mom": short, sporty hair-cut, sweatshirt with a rolled turtleneck under it, gold chain dangling out, short pleated shorts, tennis shoes with socks to match the color of the sweatshirt. Classic. These women are known to wear sleeveless dress shirts and lots of gold jewelry. "the fan": you'll usually spot these types in airports and while on vacation. They wear head to toe Nebraska "Big Red" football crap--t-shirts with the hat with the blazer with the backpack. They have the vision, and Tom Osborne is their guide. "the pseudo-intellectual": I'm not talking about the sorority girls or frat boys, they have their own category, but I'm talking about the fashion-forwards. The sit-in-smokey-coffe-houses-and-talk-about-politics-and-poetry-and-music crowd. My sister, Pandy, was their leader for a while and definitely the best dressed of all time. I always wanted to be in that fashion category, but always seem to miss it by a gap jean or Target knock-off jacket. You can't mass-market a look, Lisa! I'll never learn.

Nebraska is home of "the Runza," fireflies, and Big Red football. These are a few of my favorite things. A "Runza" is a delightful pocket of meat and seasonings and cheese rolled up in a pillow of soft home-made bread. It is the ultimate hotpocket. I desperately craved them during all my pregnancies, but everyone thought I was "kidding" when I asked them to ship them, frozen, to me. As if I would kid about something that important. In college my roommate Wendy, a fellow Nebraskan, and I tried to make them. Imagine a homesick freshman eating crackery breaded lumps of bland ground beef. Is there a more pathetic image? and fireflies--is there another bug out there that you are really excited to catch? Have you ever smeared on on the sidewalk to make your name in fluorescent splendor? Could there be anything more magical? And I don't even like football, or organized sports, really, but it's like a religion in Nebraska, and everyone's routing for the same team (no blue versus red--you know what I'm talking about)--everyone in the entire state wears red on game days whether they go to the game or not, whether they like football or not. I like that idea of unifying a state like that.

Sigh (audible), I miss Nebraska at this time of the year with the huge, gorgeous trees changing colors, canopying over the street off 27th and Park Avenue. I miss going downtown to hear a friend's band in a small venue--music deafeningly loud, with the smell of cigarette smoke and beer all around as I sip my coke. I miss the smell of heavy air and the sound of cicadas as I talk to friends on my wide, stone, wrap-around porch. I've lived in Utah for 12 years now, but, you guys, I totally grew up in Nebraska.

Reality Bites

2005-08-27T15:30:00.000-07:00

I always wonder if I see life the way it really is. Not just how other people see it, although that is certainly a part of it, but life as it really is. Like I wonder why my five year-old shaved his tongue with Topher's razor (yeah, it makes me cringe just to type it) and not only what was going through his head at the time, but for the moment afterwards as he was sucking on a cloth, looking up at me with his puppy-dog eyes as I struggled to see how it all fit in the grande scheme of things and what sort of reaction I should put out into the universe, what--yell at him? comfort him? I did both--you know, just to cover all the bases--and I wondered what would amount to all these little incidents in his life and mine. What would he remember about the incident? Would he remember it at all? Would he ever look at a razor in the same way? I won't.

I've been complaining so much this Summer about Provo City not fixing our basement after they were at fault for flooding it with 2 inches of rain water until yesterday when my neighbor discovered that she had 10 inches of sewage in her basement because of a block in the city's pipes. Turns out it was a dog. Some idiot had put a dog in the pipes (at first alive or dead? the world will never know) and I thought about the idiot who thought that was a good idea, or was it an accident? a dare? Turns out several homes had poo in their basements yesterday and the damages will be in the tens of thousands. Does that guy (and, yes, I'm being sexist, I'm just so sure it's a male aged 14-22) even know what happened? I wish I had a good poo-joke to insert here, for Eric's birthday, but I don't.

I left my baby (and other children) with my mom and dad while I saw Topher's musical (another blog for another day) and when I came back and asked how the baby did, my mom said "Oh, he was fine! An angel. . . what a beautiful. . ." and then my dad cut her off with an indignant "Thank goodness you're back! OH, he was AWFUL! Man he can scream! What's wrong with him?!" Now I know my dad didn't have anything to do with "watching children," because just as enthusiastically he yelled, "Now come and see your kitchen sink! It's never BEEN this clean!" He was really pleased with himself, and while I sat and nursed the baby he proceeded with his itemized list of household chores including pouring bleach down all my drains and removing that nasty glob of Gorilla glue (a present from him, I might add, and it is, undeniably, the best glue in the world, but, like all things, comes with a price) we couldn't get off our bathroom counter. Well, he was really proud of himself--he got it off. Of course I wasn't offended by my father, (but I did tell him my mini-van was a mess, "by the way"), he has his own way and I've grown to love it, but I thought the dramatic difference between the two reports interesting.

I'm not claiming to have a firm grasp of reality, but I do think a lot when vacuuming. And since you know what my father is like, you'll know I do it a lot. I think that the people who have the most interesting things to say about the way things really are unlikely sages. Like everyone assumes that my little brother who has fame and money would be out of touch with reality, which isn't true. Because he has this experience of celebrity, coming from totally different beginnings in the Midwest, he has a really unique perspective and, as a result, has really interesting insights about life as it is. (As a rule, I must note, I don't want to know what Brittany or Paris or Angelina [and her mohawk baby] have to say about life, politics, or exercise.) My friend Erbecca has gone through more craziness than anyone I know, enough to make someone like me roll into a ball under my bed with a box of Godiva and never come out, but she always says, "it is what it is" and "ignore the crazy" with a sense of humor. My friend from Dawlish, England who once sold donuts and, is this right?, braided hair on the beaches of Greece, and lived in the rough part of London with her little ones, has grand insight into the human condition. And she lives in a quiet, little sleepy-town full of waterfowl.

I love any movie about awesome young adults discovering awesome things about life and reality, as beautifully documented in the 90's cult classic, Reality Bites. Because they always come up with awesome new insights about following your dreams and being true to yourself. But what do they have to say about poo sludge in your basement and babies who scream like dinosaurs?

Roll Call

2005-08-19T21:52:00.000-07:00

They say it takes a village. No, I don't mean Hillary Clinton who used the term in a book she "wrote" about "community" or "family," or something. I didn't read it, but maybe I should, 'cause Hillary didn't sit around baking cookies and giving Chelsea velcro shoes, oh no, she was working the village. In any case, I mean the blogging village I have come to love so dear. I am glad to reconnect with old friends, find new ones, read funny stuff, write something and send it out into the world (it gives me the illusion of productivity). But it's not all roses and G-2 gel's, it has also brought out some insecurities that surprise me.

I'm such a busybody and I fully admit it: I want to know who's reading my blogs. Do they read one, or all of them? Why don't they comment? (not the "they" who know all about the village, lest I confuse, I mean the readers) The other day I heard someone I know had read my blog--I had no idea. . . this made me a little uncomfortable. I mean, anyone can read them, but it's somehow more comfortable if a stranger reads it than a person, who I actually know. . . I want to know how long they looked at my site--was it just for a second? What took their attention away? Why did they leave? I have horrible images in my mind of people reading my profile and laughing so that somehow I become their latest inside joke--"ohjudy" takes an ironic turn. . . I also want to know who's reading for organizational writing purposes: will this comment offend X ? Will Y appreciate that? It will bring the village closer together--I just know it.

I don't want to come off as a narcissist; I'm not asking for your empty, solicited feedback. People, this is not the time nor the place. I'm just suggesting a roll call. It seems like an appropriate time: Back to school season. So hopefully the smell of freshly sharpened pencils and white paste will inspire you silent anonymous writers and voyeurs to participate. You can post without anyone having to read anything about you. You don't have to have a blog. It's safe. Everyone is doing it. Only one time won't hurt. Just say something, anything. What's your favorite writing utensil? Lipstick color? Anyone?

Bueller...

........Bueller?

Workin' It

2005-08-09T18:24:00.001-07:00

I love pens. I love all school supplies, but I am especially in love with pens. I love the ultra fine point pilots, and my G-2's, and I have every color of Sharpie. I even have forest green, a color I loathe, but I have the Sharpie because I couldn't help myself. I think I became a teacher because I love pens so much and no one questions a teacher who has one million pens, but anyone else, well, this might raise some eyebrows ( I'm already self-conscious about the reaction I get when anyone discovers how many lipsticks/balms/gloss I carry at one time). The second reason I became a teacher was so I could draw on the chalkboard. Don't get me started on this business of replacing chalkboards with whiteboards. I have very strong feelings about this, but I'm determined not to get sidetracked, as is my nature, so back to pens. In conclusion: I love them--but not the 89 cents for a pack of 10 kind. The good ones. The reason I became a teacher. Oh yeah, I was a teacher once, which makes me think of all the jobs I've had. Did that flow nicely? Well, I ain't a teacher anymore. . . So here is my employment history.

Paper route: I delivered papers at 12 years old for the Lincoln Journal. I hated it, but I learned to fold papers really quickly and to hate old people (they were always trying to make my job harder--on purpose/deliberately/with disdain: I tried to get everyone to pay by mail so I wouldn't have to go to each one of their houses each month and the old people wouldn't because "it's part of the job!" grumble grumble). I decided to get the job because my older brother, Christopher, had had a route for years and when I complained about the inequality of housework among my brothers and sisters to my mother, her reasoning for giving him less chores was because he had a paper route. So how dumb did I feel when I had the same amount of household chores, but a paper route in addition. . . So I did what any other spurned preteen would, I split the route in two, paid my younger brother and sister a small fee to do it, ordered the rubberbands, and made a little profit.

Babysitting: This counts, right? I liked it, especially when the kids went to bed and I could help myself to a big bowl of sugar-cereal. You know what I"m talkin' about. It went smoothly, some better than others. I hated the family across the street with three kids because they'd say they'd be home at 11, and then they'd come home at 3 smelling of pot and pay me $1 an hour: with 3 kids, and even for the 80's that was cheap. There was a family I loved, though, because the boys were darling and made me Valentines and all sorts of sweet things, but I once had a really uncomfortable car ride home with the dad. He was really, really cute and he drove a cool corvette and I had a crush on him. I babysat for them starting in the 7th grade and the summer before 9th grade, lets see, how can I say this delicately? I went from a AA to a C and Mr. Corvette told me he noticed that I was "growing up," and "filling out" and something painfully awkward like that and there was this awful moment of silence I'll never forget and that was that. So imagine how confused I was when I found out, years later, that he left his wife. . . 'cause he was gay. Turns out he didn't love me or my filled-out sweater.

The Gallup Polls: "Hello, My name is Lisa and I'm calling from the National Gallup Organization. I assure you I'm not trying to sell you anything, we're just conduction a survey about (insert a variety of subjects: apples, tabacco, President Bush (the first one), insurance, the People's Choice Awards, etc)." I must have said that one million times. (no Miles, not exactly "one million," it's just an estimate). Gallup's Polling headquarters are in Omaha/Lincoln due to our "lack of an identifyable accent." Nebraskans are really proud of that. Working at Gallup was a prerequisite for high school graduation; everyone worked there at some point in time. It was a great place for showing up, talking-gossiping-flirting (point of interest: the office vixen went to the Catholic high school and her name was Chastity-how funny is that?), ordering food, leaving and then doing a half an hour of work. You were paid per quota so it could take you 15 minutes or 4 hours to get your surveys done. Sounds exciting? Well, it was. You had your finger on the pulse of the country. Do people like apples? Why yes, yes they do. Machintosh ones, in fact. Not everyone is privy to such information, but we were. I worked there all through high school and the summer I came back from my freshman year at college. I also verified calls. I'd have to call people, bugging them a second time and asking them if they REALLY completed a survey weeks ago. Basically I was questioning their integrity, and we both knew it. But I doodled a lot, played a lot of Peter Murphy and Fishbone.

Leon's Market: Featured in "Terms of Endearment," this little gourmet grocery store is within walking distance from my home. It's small and overpriced, but it has the best steaks in the city, and that's why it stays open. I needed a second job when I came back from my first year at BYU to kill the summer and interrupt the time inbetween sleeping and listening to the Indigo Girls in the dark. I did slave labor for the Deli women (two old ladies in their 70's who were going to teach me a thing or two about life), which I didn't mind because then the time would go by faster. Time stood still in that place. I did everything I could to keep busy. I offered to make signs for the deli, for the front counter, for the meat counter, for the . . . you get the picture. Some of those signs are still up today (not because they're so great, but because time stands still in that place--they still think it's 1991). I dusted the gum. EVERYDAY. Once I started wiping the windows and the manager told me, "we have someone who does that." I dusted the candybars. ANYTHING, I've never been so bored in my life. But it's here that I learned how to make watergate salad and learned the subtle, yet important distinction between swiss and baby swiss cheese, and my life's never been the same.

Hogi Yogi yogurt blender/hogi maker: I know, I know. Not the proudest moment in my life, but I'm not too proud to make an honest living. . . does your opinion change of me if I tell you I only worked there for 3 months? Yeah, I blended. Raspberry/cream cheese: try it. An old boyfriend introduced me to his fiance my first week on the job. One of my proudest moments. Even Topher, then just a friend, came in once to mock me (oreo-vanilla, yeah, I remember). I left when my then roomate, Rebecca (www.ignorethecrazy.blogspot), convinced her manager to hire me as a watress at a restaraunt if I helped clean up cockroaches after Saturday's bug bomb. That should have been a sign. . .

Waitress at The Underground: Certainly one of the more lucrative jobs. It was a great job for me: I worked with really cool people, there were plenty of "work drama" to keep me entertained, and as much Mr. Pibb as I could drink. I learned a lot, too. Apparently it's romantic to eat dinner in an old-fashioned car in a fake speak-easy, french fries you don't pay for ARE, in fact, better tasting, and always tip 20 percent. Some of the highlights include: Watching Keith, the cook, tease Marsha, an 80 year-old who got her hair done every Thursday and wore lots of dark blue eyeshadow (we were never sure what her job title was, but she made bleu cheese dressing and cheesecake, and wrote letters to everyone who had ever worked at the Underground) that when she died, since she had worked there for so long, they'd have her and her cats stuffed and placed on the mantle by the piano. Then she'd cry. But they were best friends so it's okay. That scene happened every Friday night. Rebecca and I would always get Keith to cook us up something: french toast, prime rib, etc. . . Keith was a really good cook, too and I've never eaten so well in my life!

Bombay Company: I sold overpriced, cheap fancy-looking furniture, but mostly I talked to the other employees because it was another "dusting" job. In a two years we had three different gay managers, all of whom were really funny and hated their job but LOVED "Pretzel Time" (what time is it?)! There was one exciting day: I was interviewed by company headquarters because apparently there'd be "a call" about someone stealing some stuff. Then the next day we had a new manager! I still, to this day, don't know who it was.

Sears and Western Watts: Both involved calling people, but not selling anything. Both were really boring, and I told them so.

Spanish Fork Middle School: 6th and 7th Grade: I will go to heaven just for having this job. Seriously, the deal's been made. I remember when I thought I was really getting to them--I mean, we were really having a deep discussion. I was really going somewhere and I thought they were with me, I remember saying, "Have you ever heard the expression 'the pen is mightier than the sword?' " and Thomas, who had a problem, physically, sitting still immediately raised his hand excitedly and said, "Oh yeah! I totally know what you mean!" I smiled, (this was what I knew teaching was all about--I had FINALLY gotten through to them) he continued, "That's totally true! 'Cause this one time, when that guy got out his pen, there was poison in it and then he stuck it in that other guy. . . " hmmm. .. where are we going with this. . . "and then it had a bomb in it and he TOTALLY killed him with the pen. It's so much better than a sword." Oh yeah. It occurs to me he's talking about a scene from "Mission Impossible", and that pretty much sums up that experience/job. That, or the time we were reading "The Devil's Arithmetic" and talking about the Holocaust and a student raises his hand in the middle of our discussion and asks where "the name bagel comes from?"

Springville High School: 10th and 11th Grade: see above description, but remove "students who can't physically keep to themselves," and add "can't physically look anything but bored."

Voice Overs: Ellis, Commercials, Peak Productions, BrainGarden, JuniorsGiants. What could be better than talking into a microphone and getting paid for it? It's the best gig ever, but I'm always afraid someone will find out it's not that hard and do it themself. But I could really use the money, so mum's the word.

Acting: Garrens Improv Comedy, which doesn't really count because I got paid, like fifty cents a show, and it was fun. But I did get paid for some away shows, so I'm totally going to count it. Don't let me deceive you, I don't consider myself "an actress." I usually get calls for audtions because they're calling Topher in and, well, I answer the phone. And how awkward is that? They kind of have to ask me then. I have done some Commercials, and I think I've always been "the mom," so does it really count as acting? If you're Cox cable and you're wondering if you should send the check, the answer's "yes." "Stalking Santa"--I'm "the pregnant mom" in that (really stretching it) and Topher's "wife," so as you can tell, I'm really choosing roles that will challenge me as an artist.

BYU Independent Study: Science Fiction Class: I wrote the original online class when Miles was a baby, and I'm revising it now. It seemed like a good idea at the time, then came the birth of child #4 and strep throat and a disk drive that won't work and now I'm wondering if it's worth all the work. Oh, you'll pay me three dollars? Yeah, it's worth it.

Thanks for reading my blog about pens. (I'm trying to wrap this up all nicely, is it working?) As you can see, I used a pen in ALL OF MY JOBS, so you can see how important they are to me. And lipstick. I've needed lipstick in every single one. Now you know what to get me for Christmas.

Our Lamanite Friends

2005-08-02T21:08:00.000-07:00

For the last week I've been in a strep-throat "special place" coma, coming in and out of rational thought. I like to think it's something like a peyote-induced hero's journey, where I've learned something significant about life and the journey of eternity. I know nothing of the peyote, which will surprise noone, but I once took a Native American literature class that I quite enjoyed, and we read a lot of books, although the only thing I clearly remember was that Star Wars is a classic example of the Native American hero's journey. That bit of information both impressed me (wow, we're we really are all connected. . .) and disappointed me (you mean it wasn't an entirely original. . . story. . .? George. . . ?) That, and we got to give ourselves our grade at the end of the semester. That was particularly difficult for an overachiever with serious issues with guilt. But that's a topic for another day. And one more important detail: my teacher had a white, round non-Native American face and wore plenty of turqouis and blue eye shadow. Come to think of it, I had TWO English professors who fit that description. . .

So you can see that I'm an expert in all things Native American.

I'd like to share my relationship with my neighbors who are, technically Native CANADIANS, not Americans, but have lived in Provo for almost 3 generations. They have different "teens" from their tribe come and stay with them to go to school in America, and they have "a band" which consists of several different kinds of drums and chanting. I know that some could accuse me of being overly dramatic to emphasize comedic elements in my life (Tina), but I want to assure you that the following are true, accurate accounts of the facts. I will try to dress them down in the dullest flesh-toned twin set I can find. Keep in mind that Topher and I have had face-to-face conversations with our neighbors on several occassions. Whenever we see them we say Hi and wave, and that their youngest children have been inside our home several, several times to play. These are most of my encounters with my next door neighbors, Ralph and Yvonne.

1. When we went to look at the house that we now live in, Ralph (older Native Canadian with long dark hair pulled back, stern expression on his face) came up to us, we said hello, introduced ourselves and said we were considering buying the place. His only response: "You guys aren't from California, are you?" I replied no, and he walked off. scene.

2. A few weeks after we moved in, I introduced myself to Yvonne, and asked "So, how are you?" she replied,"Yeah, so we need all sorts of stuff--anything you want to give--like laundry soap, dish soap, and soap."

3. Ralph goes on long walks down the middle of the road and when you say hi, he pretends not to hear, even if you say it really loudly (Topher has experimented on many different levels of volume).

4. Ralph came over to borrow some laundry detergent. When I returned with it he looked inside the cup and said, "liquid?" and walked off. This has actually happened twice.

5. Ralph came over at 10:30 pm in the pouring rain to borrow an umbrella.

6. Ralph came over to borrow a red pen in the middle of the day. I gave it to him, he crossed something off on a list he had in his hand and handed me back the pen. I told him to keep it.

7. One day Topher came home, got out of his car and tried to make small talk (yet again), he said, "Looks like you're moving someone out! Who's moving?" Ralph looked and stared at him, Topher repeated, Ralph stared, Then, after some time Ralph said, "You live there?" pointing to our house. "Yeah.. ." Topher replied and Ralph said,"Oh. .. I thought some young guy lived there." then turned around and walked inside his house. We had lived in the neighborhood for a year and a half. (That was the day Topher double-clapped Ralph.)

8. Ralph came to borrow the phone (one of 12 times) and turned back as he was leaving (wha-wha-wha-what? I thought) and said, "Your husband. . . is he into computers?" I told him, no and explained in two sentences what he "does," and he ended with, ". .. He's kinda . . . an . . . eccentric guy, isn't he?" I laughed and he walked off. (Christopher, upon hearing the story, yelled, "Since when is RALPH the barometer of eccentricity?!!?!?!")

9. For no "reason," Ralph came over and had some how found out my brother's band "did well," and told me his band was cutting a CD, too. I wished him well. (We actually don't mind hearing the drums. It's no so loud and it's got a good rhythm to it.) It occurs to me on this occassion that he always calls me, "neighbor," when I call him by his first name. He has no idea what my name is. Christopher considers going up to their front door and offering them one million dollars if they can name one of us, or one of our kids.

10. Yvonne has just started coming to our ward, and is incharge of Primary birthdays. Last Sunday she looked around and said, "Who's Bro. Clark?" I laughed out loud and told her he was gone. We've been next door neighbors for two years now.

I guess I'll end on #10 because it seems appropriate. They are actually good neighbors, all things considered. Right? You don't have to be best friends with everyone in your neighborhood, right? I don't have anymore clarity thanks to night after night of 10 hours of sleep, but I'm still on my meds so I suppose there's still time to have a vision of clarity to make sense of all this.

Just Enjoy It

2005-07-18T21:02:00.000-07:00

My husband, Topher, has been out of town for a while and the kids and I have been "hanging out." By "hanging out" I mean doing fun, physically exhausting things during the day, and then putting them to bed early. We go swimming, go to the park, ride bikes, go to the library (okay, maybe they're not ALL physically exhausting, but have you ever taken 4 kids to the library? 1. it isn't quiet 2. sometimes things get ugly) I think I handle it pretty well; I scream and yell rarely, but only when necessary--for dramatic effect. I'm not Mary Poppins, although I do break into song throughout the day, but I'm no Sherry Bobbins (Simpson's anyone? anyone?)

So on Sunday, as I took all four children to church solo, I had realistic expectations. I brought crayons and books and gave the children a sit-down lecture and warning before church. All in all they were "good" (about a 7.3 on a 10 point scale). It was hard carrying in the diaperbag, activity bag, and infant, all the while trying to grab Phoebe's hand as she ran up the aisle, missing our stopping point, and whisper loudly trying to get Owen off the floor after one of his dramatic "opps I fell on accident--or. . . did. .. I. . .?" performances. Miles was no help, he gets his gaze fixed on someone or something, ideas start swarming around in his head and he forgets where he is or what he's doing and bumps into one of the pews. As we get settled Hugh starts screaming and I have to make a break for it. I motion to one of my friends to sit with my kids (all her's are grown and gone) and I go feed Hugh. It's a great set-up: that mother's lounge. I sit back and nurse in a soft recliner, listen to the speakers uninterrupted and can even close my eyes with no fear of offending anyone. It's a great deal and I only feel a little guilty about sticking my friend with my kids. She's the Relief Society President so it's like her job, right? Besides, Hugh is the only baby under a year in our ward--so he's got that great novelty factor. Anyway, I come back a few blissful, quiet minutes later and sit with my kids. I even think I was smiling. No, I'm sure I was. This fact will become more important as this THRILLING story continues.

Sacrament Meeting is over and I'm gathering shredded pieces of the program, broken crayons, and various items from Owen's pocket off the floor, grabbing my bags with Hugh over my shoulder. As I'm writing this, I'm even a little impressed with the feat, when this well-groomed woman with grey-white mom hair, a conservative red dress that buttons in the front, comes up to me and says, "I just wanted to tell you that I had EIGHT children." She paused with a smirk on her face that suggested that it was now the appropriate time for me to compliment her with something like, "Oh WOW! That's a lot!" or "Oh, how DID you DO it?" or "Oh I am just in AWE!" but I was too busy for that and I hate telling people what they want to hear. I just raised my eyebrows which could be interpreted as, "OH. . . " or "And. . . " without sounding as rude as it would if I had said anything. As Topher can attest, I'm not so good at hiding the sarcasm in my voice. Cause where I come from, when you meet someone for the first time, you usually open with a. a greeting or b. an introduction. I thought that she was just really proud of herself and her birthing eight children that she just couldn't keep it in any longer, and that would be that. I was wrong. She was very earnest and leaned in and told me, "I was watching you during Sacrament Meeting, (interpret: CREEPY) and I just wanted to tell you, JUST ENJOY IT." and she walked away with satisfaction oozing out of her--as if she were going to run home and write in her journal about how she had helped this poor, young mother.

Here's why I hate her:

Okay, not her as a person, but as an idea/stereotype/situation, whatever--or like my mother taught me, "I don't hate her, just what she does." Here's why I loathe said thingy;

First of all, it's really, really presumptuous. She's assuming that I was really stressed out and hating motherhood. Like I was having one of those "what does it all mean" moments. Which I wasn't. She obviously doesn't know me, but worse than that she assumes that everyone is like her, or is like she was. But can I go up to her and say, "Just enjoy home without your kids. You didn't really appreciate it when you had it, but it's too late." Can you imagine if I said that? I will tell you I can.

Second of all, she really thought it was appropriate to serve me a hot plate of unsolicited advice with a generous dollop of judgement on top. Not only did I not ask for her advice, I don't even KNOW her, and she's assuming I'm a stressed out mom. Well if I wasn't feeling crappy, thanks for nudging me in that direction.

Third, I know all about enjoying every moment. I'm an extremely emotional person who cries on the first day of anything and everything and I constantly worry about capturing every moment and all of that so the last thing I need is a helpful, neighborly reminder. I'm out of control when it comes to all of that, and I do the double-guessing yourself, guilt thing really, really well.

Fourth (I'll stop after this one, I promise), I hate the idea by these women like Ms. Enjoy that doesn't suggest, but INSISTS that the more kids you have, the better mother you are. Cause, really? It was her first, and only, point of command: I have eight children so listen to my words of enlightenment. Obviously birthing does not equal raising. I've seen plenty of really good mothers and they don't have a number in common, but I won't go on because this is a blog about a crazy woman, not how to be a good mom.

This incident reminds me of a conversation that I had with a woman in my ward a few months ago when I was 8 months pregnant. I was bloated, fat, had a sharp pain in my back, I was tired,-- the whole glowing miracle that was me. This woman came up to me and said,

"I loved EVERY MINUTE of being pregnant. I never felt better or more beautiful."

"EVERY minute?" I replied.

"Oh yes! It was the best time of my life. I never felt better."

"Then you've forgotten." I don't hide my scepticism. The hormones have taken over and there's no filter.

"OH NO!" she insists.

"Then you're lying. I don't believe you for one minute."

(she shakes her head.)

"You're lying. You're a liar or you don't remember." I just called her a liar and I don't care. Topher runs out of the room.

"Oh, no, I felt so alive and grea. . ."

I cut her off. I have no time for this. I tell her: "You see, this information is no good to me now. I have pretty good pregnancies--I really do--I've heard horror stories and I'm grateful I have good pregnancies, but lets not turn it into something it's not. It's really, really hard and I'm really, really uncomfortable." I hope my honesty has touched her.

"Well. . ." I imagine she's considering my plea to tell the truth--to free me from the guilt that somehow I"m not graceful enough to enjoy every moment of the miracle of life, but instead I hear a deafening, ". . .no, it's not hard."

My friend, Katie, who is pregnant with her fifth, said I should really take her advice and "just enjoy it" : Your washing machine broke? Just enjoy washing your clothes by hand! Oh, you have cancer? just enjoy the chemo! Your husband's leaving you? Just enjoy the time you have for yourself now! You can see how this game can get a little out of control, can't you? (Katie and I did) It dawns on my that this "I love being pregnant" woman ALSO had eight children. (Katie promised me to have 7 OR 9) Coincidence? I'm chewing on the possibilities.

My sister

2005-07-05T12:47:00.000-07:00

One of my sisters commented that she had read my blog, that it was "alright. . . kinda funny," and with a glance that is both glaring and sinister--like she's dying to say something she KNOWS I won't like, but she wants me to ask for it first-- said, very nonchallantly and calmly, "But I didn't want to post a comment or say anything. . . " I waited, suspecting the inevitable, stared back, knowing she had something to say, but making a point not to ask for it, so I wait for it. . . wait. . . for . . . it. . . "but I'm SO GLAD you FINALLY got all that out and written down about Debra Norville because I'm SICK of hearing about it!" She exploded, her voice getting louder and her face getting increasingly animated, "You guys go on and on about her (when?) and how she's a man or something (did I say that?) and you talk about it all the time and now we can be DONE WITH IT! Cause you've got it WRITTEN DOWN. . ." she trails off, her wide eyes return to their suspicious slits and she quietly says, "What? I don't mean to be rude. . . " and she smiles her pearly whitestrips smile. The smile I've seen her practice in the mirror a hundred times for family photos.

I have a younger sister named "Tina" (names have been changed to protect identities) who is both my closest friend as well as my personal nemesis. When I told her I was going to write a blog about her just so she would post something, she was both flattered and suspicious.

It's not easy being Tina. As the literal middle child of 5 kids, Tina fought for her own identity, and has come out the stronger for it. She is by far the most confident, self-assured, physically strong member of our family. While the rest of us wear jeans and t-shirts and talk about concerts we've been to, Tina wears twin sets and trains for marathons. She self-admittedly started dressing like a 40 year-old mom by the time she was 12, and lettered in football in high school (she was the manager, but still. . .). She majored in Athletic Training in college, and in a family of all nonathletes, she is the true revolutionary. She also decided to get married at the tender age of 19. I know that's no big deal for a lot of Mormon families, but for our family this was a really big deal. Our parents had taught us to finish college first. We had grown up on lessons about how our parents had been engaged for years so that our mother could finish college first--this was part of our legacy. Then Tina goes and announces her engagement, sans talking to the parents about it first. Well, Tina says she did talk to them, but they wanted her to wait, but she didn't see that it was their decision. Are you catching the flavor of the situation? Tina does what Tina wants and when we, to this day, talk about her being the "teenage bride," she reminds us all that she did indeed finish college like she said she would AND cost my parents the least amount of money to raise than any of the other kids (I come in at a close second). That earns her big points in the Valentine household because we're all a bunch of cheap-os.

And lets talk about the announcement: Tina decided to announce her engagement at MY wedding reception. She and her boyfriend were to welcome the guests into MY reception, and instead Tina and her FIANCE welcomed everyone in with the flash of her ring. My dad egged me on and kept whispering to me with his sly smile, "Are you going to let her get away with that?" So on her wedding day when I ACCIDENTALLY pulled off her veil as we were taking a family picture outside the temple, everyone assumed I had been planning it for months. My dad yelled, "I knew you'd do something to get her back!" laughing as if he had orchestrated the entire plot. I stand by my original story: it was an accident. A fortunate, funny, accident.

Tina's great when you need to know the truth. DO my thighs really look big in these pants? SHOULD we really refinance our home? These are great questions to ask TIna. She will give you the truth on a platter. No frills, no dressing it up to look pretty. Just consise honesty. Everyone needs a close friend like Tina.

Nemesis: the Greek goddess of retributive justice. Tina doesn't forget anything. And while that's handy when you lose your car keys or can't remember when your Aunt's birthday is, it's inconvienient when you embarrass yourself. I have about 7 really, really good "Tina Stories" I like to retell to my 2 brothers and sister on holidays, and close friends who have grown up with Tina whenever the conversation gets dull. They involve names and lifting really heavy things. I won't publish these stories because Tina's got some really good stuff on me too and girlfriend, I don't wanna go there.

Tina's nothing if not resourceful. One day Tina decided to make a quilt. She didn't know how to. Nobody taught her. She just taught herself how to do it. And you should see these quilts. She makes one for each one of my babies--they are incredible. When people ask me if they could pay her to make her one she says, "No. I don't want to do that." None of the usual guilt or peer-pressure to do a favor for a friend, she just won't allow herself to play that game. On the third of July, while the rest of us are watching tv, Tina whipped up two incredible store-bought worthy skirts for her two little girls out of scraps of fabric she had lying around. "It's no big deal," she tells me, "it didn't take very long." This, she says, as she hands me a decorative fourth of july headband she's made for my daughter. She's always trying to get me to can applesauce. My family doesn't like applesause, I tell her. "So what! It's really good and you can save a lot of money. Well, not a lot of money once you figure everything in, but you can still get the apples for almost free." Who can argue with logic like that?

Tina loves Dr. Laura, running, quilting, eating ice cream and treats in enormous quantities, picking at stuff, shopping for a bargain, and reading. Sometimes I worry that Tina will loose her incredible independence and individuality living in a planned community with Stepfordian-like qualities, but she assures me that she'll never name her kid McKenzie, but a boat just 'cause, or get fake boobs. "They'd get in my way" she says nonchallantly. And I believe her, I mean, she DID finish college.

But the most interesting thing about Tina is that she's always wanted to be famous. "I don't care what for--quilting, a talk show, singing, whatever, I just want my 15 minutes! I would use if for good, too." And so I'm trying to make that dream come true for Tina, in my small way. Lets hear it for TINA!

"The News"

2005-06-26T21:59:00.000-07:00

Who doesn't love the news? I love the end of the day when Christopher and I cuddle up close, and watch Debra Norville report the day's happenings. It's always a little alarming to think of what I might have missed had I just stuck to FoxNews, MSNBC, CNN, or the Drudge Report. For those of you who miss Inside Edition, lemme give you the rundown.

First of all, Topher and I are always a little suspicious about Debbie's adam apple. I don't like going around starting internet rumors, but it has been a hot topic around the Clark Family. She's a beautiful gal, but we do see her bop-bop-boppin' along as she exposes the horrors of fast-food kitchens, plastic surgery gone wrong, or a good old-fashioned kitten stuck in a tree.

Which leads me to my next topic: Debbie's hard-hitting journalism. I don't know if any of you know this, but Debra's willing to do just about anything to get the scoop. My favorite story of all time is when Ms. Norville went inside a female prison for three whole days. We were with her as they confiscated her personal possessions and forced her (with her prior consent, of course) to wear an unflattering jumpsuit. We were there, with nightvision, as she tossed and turned on her lumpy mattress with NO PILLOW night after night. We were there with her as a guard told her she "missed a spot" while mopping; we felt her fear as she, too, jumped in fright at the comment. We were there when, seconds after the "prison mopping incident," she interviewed the guard as to why she made such a comment. We were there when the guard said, "Well, you missed a spot." And, finally, we were there when she saw the light of day and booked it on down to the nearest Wendy's. That's when I knew we were kindred spirits, because that's just what I did when I made it onto American soil after a year in England: I went right on over to Wendy's for a #1 with cheese, no pickle. Now we're connected for life.

Debbie used to be on the Today show, for like a week, and she got really bad ratings because everyone missed the old blonde reporting the news, so they kicked her off and Inside Edition's been her bread and butter ever since. I feel kind of sorry for her because that must have been embarrassing. I mean, how do they explain to you that you're not the right blonde to report the news because the American people liked the last blonde, who left of her own decision, more than you? It's a tough ratings-minded world out there and I just want to show my support to Debra EVEN THOUGH she messes up all the time and never reshoots. I'm always screaming at the tv, "It's not LIVE TV, Debra! Do another take! It won't kill you!" She messes up all the time, even on a 2 sentence intro, and she won't redo it. It kills me! I can just see her rolling her eyes between takes, taking a drag of her ciggy with the make-up lady, saying, "Well, it's not like it's the friggin' TODAY SHOW!" (Debbie wouldn't swear) Which makes me feel bad for the adam's apple remark. Just ignore that.

One thing Inside Edition does that bothers me and Topher to no end is that they recycle stories. They'll have a new story about a lip-gloss that makes you lose weight or a kangaroo who walks on stilts, and they'll try to sneak in a story we've already seen about a car who drove itself on a wild police chase. They must think we don't watch every night, or don't watch closely which goes to show that Debra is, once again, underestimating her audience.

So if you're up late at night and you've been out of touch with the world, click on over to Inside Edition, channel 4, 11:30ish/12 ish some nights (it's right after Access Hollywood), and watch Debra Norville, she could really use the support.

Who do you think you are?

2005-06-20T21:31:00.000-07:00

We've just returned from our much awaited, much anticipated family vacation. Let me first start out by saying, for the record, that I'm under no delusion that there is such thing as a "vacation," in the traditional sense, for parents who take their children on a trip. This was a vacation for the kids, I fully admit that. I have a dream that one day Topher and I will go back to New York for a proper vacation (which consists of sleeping for the first two days). But that's after babies have been weaned and the ban my children have from going to Grandma and Grandpa Valentine's house has been lifted (they're still on probation, time suspended for good behavior). I think Christopher, although a very good sport, still held on to a little bit of the dream, manifested in that novel he packed and the ipod he brought along. But it's good to have a dream.

Growing up, in Lincoln, Nebraska, our family "vacation" was coming to Utah. That 16 hour drive, interrupted by one luxurious night at the Cheyenne, Wyoming Holiday Inn, was the vacation we came to expect every year. Don't get me wrong, we loved coming to visit our cousins-complete with sleepovers and slurpees. And most importantly: no one had a trampoline in Nebraska. My brothers and sisters and I would hear about our friends' families going to Hawaii to surf or to Vail to ski, but that wasn't who we, the Valentine's, were. We ate carrot sticks and sandwiches in the wood-panel station wagon, and we took great pride in that. (As an adult, I"m not so sure why, but I still hang onto it.) We weren't deprived or anything, I mean, we went to Disneyworld once, when I was 12, but my mom made all seven of us matching shirts (in different colors--I was teal), so we learned there was a price for everything.

So growing up with my no-frills summer vacations, who do I think I am going to the front of the line at every ride at Disneyland? I loved it, don't get me wrong-- it was the only way to do Disneyland with small, small children, but I felt extremely guilty about it, darting my eyes down everytime we rushed ahead, following Golda, our VIP guide, to the front of the line while she explained boldly to the ride operator that she had an important guest with her and could we, please (she was extremely polite--I'm sure there's special training for that and Disneyland, but it creeps me out to think about it for very long), go on the ride this very minute? I was stung when audible whispers floated above us, because I imagined they were wondering which one of my children had cancer. But no, we went with my brother, the rock star, who said that fame is fleeting and we might as well use it while we can, because he won't always have it, and that made sense to me, so although I felt guilty about it, I fully took advantage of my brother's fame. I'm such a Gemini.

The universe is balanced, and we did blow a tire in Cedar City, and this somehow made me feel better about getting free stuff. We did have to buy a tire, afterall. We suffered. But then again, while we were lifted up on the bed of a tow-truck, kids still buckled in, Miles, our oldest, yelled, "This is the best vacation ever! We're taller than everyone!" and that was before the beach and Disneyland. I guess we could have packed the minivan with carrot sticks and driven three miles and called it good.

My First Blog

2005-06-09T22:06:00.000-07:00

It's my first blog, so you can understand my anxiety. It seemed like a simple task (setting up a blog), but right away my first three "clever" titles were taken (imagine my horror) and I quickly came to understand that this was serious business. I had mistakenly approached this creation with whimsical fancy, and I was punished for it. I can see that now. Apparently this "blogging" has been going on for a long time, and I am, once again, technologically in the dark ages. To illustrate this fact, I will reveal something personal and embarassing (it's the least I can do to reel you, the reader, in): I don't have a cell phone. But I don't want to bore my reader/s (hi honey!) with my apprehension and doubt. I will go forward and write with no more apologies or explanations of sleep deprivation (I have a newborn--doh, I just did it--oh, judy!)

I think it's important to first explain the above mentioned title, "oh, judy!" What were my other, more clever ideas, you ask? "My funny valentine"('cause my maiden name is Valentine--get it? I didn't say it was REALLY clever): taken, " sweet, comic valentine" (you get where I was going with this, huh?): taken, and "on any other day" (which is a police song): taken. I was just about to give up when "oh, judy!" popped into my head. It's an expression some friends and I use to refer to someone who does something so ridiculous, yet so tailored and predictable to their personality. Example: it's 11 p.m, Christmas Eve and you're buying batteries for your kids' toys. You bump into an old friend (Judy), who you haven't seen for over a year, buying milk. You small talk, each explaining why you haven't kept in touch, but have meant to. You end the interaction with "Merry Christmas!" and (Judy) replies, "Oh, Yeah. . . I guess it is Christmas. . . I completely forgot!" Oh, judy! An alternative expression on the same line: "that's so raven!" (a reference to the Disney hit show "That's So Raven!" starring the little girl from the Cosby Show. Apparently she has psychic powers and does OUTRAGEOUS things. Antics. When she does one of these things. . . say, falls into a vat of pudding JUST as her prom date arrives, you say, "That's SO Raven!")

So that's my first blog. I'm tempted to rewrite it, overanalyze it and deconstruct it in how it represents me, but I'll just do that in my head. . . oh, judy!