Neurosis 2011

The new year is fast approaching. I am starting early with my resolutions.  Feel free to emulate my goals.  I've spent a good deal of time precisely whittling them down to the following:

2011 New Year's Resolutions

1. Become preoccupied with the body, and make a long list of symptoms. Make them sound very clinical and professional...

2. BLAME your boss, your spouse, your partner, your neighbor, your kid. THEY are responsible for your miseries.

3. Feel trapped. You couldn't possibly declare your own independence without hurting someone's feelings.

4. Overeat. Rationalize and eat! Eat an insulated wall around yourself. Diet for a few days and say it doesn't work for you.

5. Self-pity. No matter what, feel sorry for yourself. Agonize over things about which no one cares.

6. Don't ever try. That way nobody can really accuse you of failure. You can always say, "But I could have done it."

7. Stress how shy you are. Insist that the world must come to you. You're special.

8. Your aggression is now sanctioned by the best authorities; Menninger, English, Cantor, and a host of others.

9. Never listen to anyone. Kiss off all valid advice. When you need anyone's opinion, you'll ask for it. Escape into negativism.

10. Never forgive. Look for the mistakes of others. If you can't find enough, manufacture some.

11. Hyper-acidity is popular for immediate attention. Nothing is better! Develop your own set of symptoms and worries - into an ulcer. Cheerfully explain that half a gut is better than none.

12. Nobody has the same reasons for drinking/ingesting chemicals that you have. Your motivations are UNIQUE. Escape in liquor.

13. Never be satisfied. Tell yourself you can always do better...and better...and better. Apologize for everything, no matter how well done it is. Keep knocking yourself out. You HAVE to work yourself to death to be worthy of being loved.

14. Be a martyr. Sigh a lot. Martyrs must always sigh because of their suffering. Everyone takes advantage of you, so elicit sympathy.

There it is! Print it out, laminate it and memorize each step. Neurosis is an art. The best neurotics have been honing their skills for years.

Or give up now and never try. You'll never be a good enough neurotic. Feel free to blame others for your own neurotic shortcomings in the comments section.

A Day in the Life of Ginger, the Cat

2:00 a.m. - Meow until someone lets her outside.

5:30 a.m. - Come back inside.  Meow until someone reminds her where the food has been kept for the past 9 years.

6:00 a.m. Go to sleep.

2:00 p.m. Stretch.  Go back to sleep.

6:15 p.m. Rub against the lady's and the red head's foot while they are eating.  Torment dog.

6:25 p.m. Sleep.

10:00 p.m. Find where lady is reading.  Lay on her book.  Sleep.

12:00 a.m. Meow until someone reminds here where the food has been kept for the past 9 years.

12:05 a.m. Sleep until 2:00 

When I get to pick my next life, I'll take Ginger's.

The Joy of Christmas Shopping

I just finished watching "The Middle" and the Christmas episode.  It completely cracks me up simply because I am so Frankie Heck.  How many times have I made a commitment to simplify Christmas and stop trying to make every present equal in size and number dispersed for children?  Can't have one child feeling like s/he is less loved because of the amount spent/size of present.  And yes, as a matter of fact, Virginia, I DO count the number of each color of Hershey Kisses I put into each stocking. 

I'd like to add a few more stresses to my long list of Christmas complaints.  One is occurring right this minute.  One of my children is hanging 6 inches from my face and not moving because she absolutely must have glue stick for a gift she is making for her brother.  I am expected to drop everything I am doing and run to the craft store and get them RIGHT NOW.  1) I am not leaving the comfort of my pajamas any earlier than I must (dinnertime) and 2) I spent an hour and a half at the craft store getting a present for her.  In fact, what you missed between this sentence and the one previous is an argument that ended with her stomping off in frustration because I am not helpful enough.

Next frustration is the child(ren) whose Christmas wish list changes with every commercial.  When the wish list actually has something on it twice in a row, I start thinking it may be something s/he actually wants.  I go buy it and the list changes again.  In fact, yesterday, after a particularly frustrating shopping day (read: trying to please all those little people that keep pulling me in one direction or another and can NOT GET that I am not at their beck and call simply because they are bored and I do NOT need to come home to entertain them), two of my children informed me what they really, really, really, really want.  Okay, I am seriously afraid for my safety out in the big, bad capitalistic world today.  Terrified, in fact.

Last night I dropped my girls off to have girl-time and shop.  I then took the boys out to lunch with my dad paying.  The girls called for me to pick them up.  Traffic was horrendous and it took me 18 minutes to drive the 3 miles to get them.  Way too many traffic lights.  By the time I got to the store where they were, I couldn't find any place to stop without halting traffic.  I pulled into a too small parking stall, making a mental note to not scrape the car beside me.  The girls got in and complained I took too long to get there and I noticed a car waiting for my parking spot.  While they are complaining and another child had to talk to me RIGHT NOW, the rain coming down, I carefully maneuvered the new Kia Sedona out of the parking stall, taking care to not scrape the other car, trying to hurry so the other person could take the stall.  That's when I heard the sickening crunch.

Oh, yeah.  I totally backed up into a Land Cruiser.  That's when the profanities began.  Although it's difficult to translate my single word into a swear word.  It was something like, "shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit..."  Meanwhile, the ungrateful children are yelling at me to watch my language while I'm trying to figure out how to get my van out of reverse and into drive.  And no, my mouth did not stop.  In fact, I think I may have included a little "shut up" in there.  I am a stellar example of parenting, you know.

60 seconds later, I had the van parked in a different stall, quickly evaluated my crushed tail light and cracked bumper, getting soaked in the rain while I am still saying that long, long word, I walked up to the Land Cruiser and picked a big piece of red plastic off the metal grill, knowing it was my tail light.  The owner had just entered her SUV and had no idea what had just happened.  She looked terrified as I knocked on her window, water now dripping into the neck of my sweater. We found a crack in her head light.  She called her husband who told her that was already there.  Damage to my van will equal more than I spent on Christmas this year.

Subdued, we pulled into the garage and I sat down on the couch.  Now the 10 year old played the guilt card.  I PROMISED I'd take him Christmas shopping, too.  He did not care one little, teeny, tiny bit that I'd crashed the van.  He was not letting me off the hook.  Back to the circus, ending up at Walmart where I looked for a sharp object to slash my wrists or poke in my eye.  No such luck.  Next to Seagull Book to finish it off and then he wanted a frozen yogurt on this drizzly, cold winter night. 

Back to the garage, I dropped the boy off and ventured out AGAIN.  There was a screaming sale on Cricut cutters at the craft store from 9 - 11 p.m.  I was dead on my feet but, in case you care, I got a personal Cricut for $69 plus $10 off coupon.  I know!  It ALMOST made it worth it.  Except for the $1000 - $1400 damage to my van.

Home at last for the night, I was assaulted with new Christmas gift ideas and I started for the kitchen, looking for that sharp object once again.  Scott stopped me before I jammed it into my eye and offered dinner.  Everybody went to bed and my wired body and mind finally turned off at 5:30 a.m. 

Now you go ahead and judge me for wearing my pajamas at noon.  Go ahead!  While you're at it, throw me some glue stick, will you.  I have no doubt I will feel guilt and go buy some as soon as I pull the auger from my eye.

Sins of Omission

I have serious concerns about my honesty.  Is it lying when I stay silent?  For instance, every year a friend sends a Christmas card addressed to Mr. and Dr. Scott Taylor.  The first year I thought it was a joke.  The second year I started to wonder.  The third year it would have been awkward to correct him.  I assume the last time I talked to him was when I was in my last semester of graduate school and getting ready to apply for the doctoral program.  I was rejected because of my lack of experience but I guess I haven't talked to him since then.  And so it's been going on for almost 20 years.

I thought my dishonesty by silence was an isolated incident, but no. Last night I finally quit my part-time job at Western Governor's University.  I gave my regrets but explained that I have too many priorities vying for my time.  (Like blogging).  Thanks for the memories and goodbye.  I got an email this morning from one of my friends from the office (by "office," I really mean she works high up in the stratosphere but still from home).  She said she was sorry to see me go but she understood that I must be very busy with it being December and dancing in the Nutcracker and all.

I don't want to insult her by correcting her.  Not only that but I like the idea that I'm dancing in the Nutcracker and she believes I've been doing it for years.

I kind of like the reality that some people have created about me.  I'm a doctor and a ballerina.

Please call me Dr. Dancer.

For your entertainment, please enjoy the amazing talent of Dr. Dancer (that's me, people), Irreverent Kristina, and the ever clever Lisa "Smacksy" Rosenberg (Bob's mom.  Duh.).

Click here for the AMAZING BLOGGING THREE!

Honestly, I can barely believe how good we are, either.

Phonetically Speaking

Letter to Santa:

Santa will you do a (u) favor and ...

Uh, not that I don't believe in Santa Claus because I do but I could sure use a little help here.

Anyone?  Anyone?

Total Eclipse of the Moon

This is called "SNOW."  Let's all say it together very slowly. S-N-O-W.  Very good.  Above the snow is what we refer to as CLOUDS.  Lunar eclipse was clearly really awesome.  

For people in other parts of the country.

At least I don't have to dream of a white Christmas.

A Day in the Life of Sunday, the Dog

5:30 a.m. Get off good sofa before the man finds she's been sleeping on it or
5:30 a.m. Come in from garage or outside and keep man company while he stretches.
5:55 a.m. Man leaves.  Get back on good sofa.
6:30 a.m. Hear tall girl getting breakfast.  Sneak off good sofa. Be inconspicuous. It's cold outside.
7:45 a.m. Drink from cereal bowls. 
7:45 - 8:05 a.m. Take every opportunity to attempt escape out front door.  Don't go out back door.  It's cold and fenced.
8:15 - 8:25 a.m. Torment cat until she gives up and hides under a bed.
9:15 a.m. Follow lady around the wherever she goes. Camp out in front of bathroom door while she showers.  Sit by her while she folds clothes.  Follow her into every room while she puts clothes away.
10:30 a.m. Lady realizes dog needs to be outside.  Puts dog outside.
10:31 a.m. Take care of business.
10:32 a.m. Inspect yard.  Every inch must sniff.
10:46 a.m. Run
11:15 a.m. Stop running.  Inspect again.
12:00 p.m. Bark at mail truck.
2:30 - 4:00 p.m. Greet each member of family by either barking or, if already in the house, attempt escape through front door.
Sometime in late afternoon - Complete escape.
Sometime later in afternoon - Wander back home. Sleep.
Bark whenever someone comes to door. Act ferocious.
6:00 - Hear man's car coming up street.  Wait attentively at door. Let man play with her.  Sleep.
6:15 p.m. Curl up under tall girl's chair.  Eat scraps when offered.  Nibble at cat.
7:00 p.m. Be little boy's pillow.

Spend rest of evening being inconspicuous in hopes family will forget she's in the house so she can return to the good sofa.

A Day in the Life

6:40 - 15 year old wakes me up to take her to early morning seminary.
6:42 - Driving to high school, realize I don't have on shoes.
6:44 - Check if I put on pants.
7:00 - Wake 13 year old up.
7:45 - Take 10 year old to school.
7:55 - Junior high carpool.
8:15 - Eat breakfast and lounge with 5 year old.
9:10 - Clean out 5 year old's backpack.  See calendar.  I'm scheduled to help in class today.  In a half hour.
9:15 - Drop off 5 year old at kindergarten.
9:17 - Jump in shower.
9:19 - Jump out of shower
9:39 - Run into school to volunteer.
9:41 - 5 year old kisses me.  This repeats every 3 minutes for the duration of my stay.
9:42 - Tape candy canes onto books.
9:45 - Listen while the teacher talks about the letter "q."
10:00 - Help children write the letter "q" along with words that start with "q." Explain to little boy that Christmas does not begin with "q" and isn't pronounced "Quistmas."
10:30 - Teacher asks me to do recess duty so she can finish testing children.
11:15 - Remember the potluck today at work.
11:20 - Make roll dough, rise (sort of), plop onto cookie sheet.
11:57 - Back at school, checking out 5 year old.  Santa Claus is coming to daycare.  At noon.
12:10 - Traffic stops on the freeway. Maneuver off exit to drive to scenic route.
12:20 - Usual scenic route is thwarted due to a bridge closure.
12:21 - 5 year old starts to cry.  He might miss Santa.
12:40 - Squeal minivan into parking lot, run inside, turn on oven, drag 5 year old around school looking for Santa. 
12:58 - Take out rolls.  Hockey pucks.
1:00 - Find Santa. Eat potluck.
1:30 - Leave work.
2:00 - Home.
2:30 - 10 year old comes home.  Give him a kiss, inform him he's in charge and return to work.
3:10 - Squeal into parking lot again.  Run into school.
3:15, 3:28, 3:45 - phone calls from home.
4:00 - Husband just got home.  End of calls.
5:15 - Colleague returns.  Boss calls me old (see previous post)
5:17 - Drive home.
6:00 - Orchestra concert at junior high.
7:00 - Young women at church.
8:30 - Start the process of getting kids to bed.
9:30 - Running low on Diet Coke. And milk. Go to grocery store.
9:44 - Run into condescending woman from childhood.  Catch her up on my life.  She pats my head and sagely says, "Enjoy them while they're young."
9:46 - Fantasize bit** slapping her.
10:00 - Read until midnight. Or later.

Repeat daily.

Christmas Gifts

Jill is the slice of home baked pie you long for. Her dad was a farmer. His dad was a farmer. On a hot summer day Jill would call me up to go floating down the canal or ride the slick rocks with the stream into a barely thawed pool of water. She's also the girl I called one day when I was bored and offered to drive two hours and try out this new thing called "Bungee Jumping." We did although I can't remember why.

The first year after my college graduation I found myself particularly low on pride.  First of all, I was a college graduate working as a sales clerk.  Too late I discovered that a bachelors degree in sociology is equal to a high school diploma and, in some cases, a G.E.D. and got you hired at JC Penney trying to upsale with a colorful scarf.  On top of it, I'd been dumped.  It wasn't that he was the love of my life.  In fact, it was quite the opposite.  He started planning the wedding aloud and I freaked out, pointing out that we'd only been dating four months; three of which were long distance.

Truth is, I didn't love him.  In fact, I didn't even really like him much but he'd pushed his way into my social life and shoved everybody else out and I let him.  My family didn't like him.  My friends didn't like him. I was flaky and vulnerable but at that wedding planning moment I finally protested loud and clear that I was not ready to marry him.  I didn't say it but I'm sure he heard it.  Ever.

He took the coward's way out.  He didn't call me.  Two weeks later he was engaged.  I tracked him down and made him tell me to my face and then I regrettably cried like I cared.  But I didn't really care about him.  I cared about how he made me feel.  Expendable, inconsequential, a check mark on a "to do" list.  My pride was completely gone.  I was a college educated sales associate without a boyfriend.  Loser.

That Christmas  Jill brought me 4 pigeons in a cage and told me she knew how to break into locked cars.  The thought of those pigeons in his car all night tickled my dormant funny bone and brought me out of my funk.

The next year I gave her a box of the perforated side paper torn from the old computer paper.  And a peanut butter sandwich.  With the crust cut off.

She gave me matching toothbrushes for my whole family. All the same color.

I gave her 37 store gift cards with no more than 25 cents on each one.

She gave me a bouquet of wildflowers (dead, prickly weeds) from her yard.

I gave her a half eaten sucker with bits of fuzz stuck to it.

She gave me a snowman made out of an old sock and stuffed with dryer lint that she'd collected for nearly a year.

I gave her slippers I made from sanitary napkins.

She gave me a huge box of socks.  None of them matched.

Knowing how hard the economy has hit this year, I decided to give a truly practical gift;

Food Storage

This one is particularly intriguing.  I couldn't bear to tear off the label.  The ingredients indicate it should not rattle like potato chips when I shake it.

My Boss Sucks

I stayed late Tuesday to cover for a colleague.  I had something to tell my boss and caught her just as she was closing her office door behind her. 

"Where are you going?"

"Temple Square to see the lights with the youth in my ward."

"Dress warm.  It's going to snow."

"My face aches after it gets really cold.  Is that an old age thing?"

"Are you seriously asking me?  Why would I know?"

Just to clarify, we are the same age.  Between you and me - I'm going to go ahead and schedule her first colonoscopy.  Because I care.

My Big Fat Orthodox Experience

Scott's brother, Steve, joined the Peace Corp once upon a time.  He committed 26 months to serve in whatever country they needed him.  He ended up going to the Republic of Georgia.  Not the southern state where you eat okra and grits but the country formerly included in the USSR.  I think there was some relief he didn't go to Siberia.

Steve taught English in a village school.  He did quite well for well over a year.  Then he got a hole in his lung.  Apparently, this is a bad thing and Steve came home for a painful surgery.  Once repaired, the Peace Corp wouldn't take him back.  Something about being a liability.  We all told Steve how sorry we were but his mother was secretly ecstatic.  Steve then informed us all that he needed to "tie up some loose ends," packed his suitcase and flew back to Georgia.  He then called his mother within the next 2 weeks.  She could hardly hear him through the background noise of a very loud, very Georgian party.  Toasts, laughter, vodka, and - what was that - ?  Oh.  It was just Steve's wedding.  Did he forget to tell us about Leila?  We did wonder why he packed his suit.

A month after leaving, Steve returned home with his real, live Georgian bride. Did she speak English?  Would we understand her?  Would she understand us?  Fortunately for us, Leila was very westernized.  Not only did she speak fluent English but she also spoke American Humor.  She was also a bombshell.  Steve did well for himself.  Smart and beautiful.

Five years later, Steve and Leila (finally) gave me a Georgian nephew.  I am quite smitten by him.  He bears a strong resemblance to a couple of my children only with darker coloring.  In Leila fashion, she had no problem with my odd sense of humor.  I walked into her hospital room after she gave birth to little Luka, took one look at her and spouted off, "Holy cow!  When did you get those hooters?"  Her retort was something like, "About two months ago they just popped out of nowhere and now you can call me Daisy (the cow)."  Ahh.  I like Leila.  Even if she has bigger boobs than I do.

 (My daughter, me, Leila, and Mia the godmother)


Leila's mother immediately booked her flight to see her first grandchild.  She doesn't speak a word of English.  I tried to teach her that my name is pronounced Her Royal Highness but it didn't fly.

Anywho, thanks to little Luka and our extended Georgian family, my homogeneous culture was extended.  Luka was baptized in the Christian Orthodox Church in Salt Lake City.  With all the chanting, singing, pomp and artistry, the priest gave explanations of each part of the ceremony for those of us who are not Orthodox and also those of us who grew up in a communist country where churches were converted to dairies.

Little Luka yelled angrily for much of the ceremony then suddenly stopped.  He'd gone to sleep.  Unfortunately, the actual baptism was about to occur.  I knew this because the priest explained it and then informed us that the Orthodox church practices baptism by immersion.  I suddenly remembered Nia from "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" and the scene where her fiance is baptized in a kiddie pool in the Greek Orthodox church.

Want to know how to piss off a two month old baby?

Later that night, my family met at my own church where the girls were in a special Christmas choir program.  We sat on the hard folding chairs for an hour and a half and enjoyed the Christmas music.  They were magnificent, by the way.

As I tucked my 5 year son into bed that night he informed me that "Today was a boring day."  I found it to be quite fascinating and then entertaining.  He clarified, "We spent so much time in church today!"

I didn't have the heart to tell him he'd be doing more time tomorrow.

How High Can You Count?

The five year old can read.  It's adorable to watch him sound out all the words in the "Bob" books.  He can also write.  He's been working hard on a letter to Santa.  We've been working hard to decipher it and read it phonetically.  We're almost there.  He can also count.  Mostly.  Usually up to ten.  Except he skips ten and goes to sixteen, back to fourteen, and then who knows from there.

During dinner my kids and I were sharing counting stories.  Apparently, my ten year old could count to 100 by the time he was three.  In fact, 3 was a banner year for him.  Most of his accomplishments (in retrospect) happened "when I was 3." 

My weirdly photographic memory places me outside with two older girls, sometime before I moved to the small, unincorporated town.  This places my age somewhere around 5 or 6.  The older girls were having a competition to see who could count the highest.  I wanted to join in, too.  I already knew how high I could count.  It was pretty high.  When it was my turn, I showed off my great and enviable skills. 

I counted all the way to 29.  I was so proud. 

At the end of my story, one of my children quipped, "Oh!  That's why you keep having birthdays and never get older than 29!  You still can't count any higher!"

Touché.

Kindle and Technology

Did I tell you I got a Kindle for my birthday?  I got a Kindle for my birthday.  I downloaded all kinds of books off NetGalley.com then wondered if I could download my scriptures, too.  I've seen a couple of Ipads at church as well as Ipods.  Although not user friendly, I was able to download my scriptures as well as LDS General Conference talks.  Then I went to church feeling pretty technologically inclined.  Turns out I'm way behind on the trends.

During Sunday school, I counted no less than 10 ipods where my fellow congregation were reading their assigned scriptures.  In fact, they were quickly finding their references while I was still fumbling with the different buttons, changing the font, format, and squinting like a little old man.

After church I stopped to talk to my friend, Courtney.  She was just typing into her ipod, "tithing settlement" and then, with a tap here and there, changed the day and time and typed in, "Jaxon's scouts."

"Do you keep your scriptures on there, too?"

"Sure.  I got the kind you can highlight and includes cross-references."  I slowly hid my Kindle behind my back.

At least I have novels to read when the speakers bore me or the Sunday school teacher gets dry.  Oh, wait.  That's my husband.

It's official, though.  I am a technotard.

Pop Quiz

What I really want to do while driving home from work/at work:
a. Referee a fight over the telephone
b. Try to understand a crying child over the telephone
c. Yell at a child for untuning another child's viola because she is angry at her
d. Get hung up on
e. Just drive and listen to the tunes.

What I really want to do for the first hour after coming home from work:
a. Teach myself how to tune a viola; an instrument I had never touched before 6 months ago.
b. Tune the viola without a tuned piano or metronome.
c. Chase a neighbor child out of house since children can not play.
d. Clean up the fort of chairs and blankets in living room and discover popcorn kernels in the carpet fibers.
e. Read a good book.

Things I never thought I'd hear myself say:
a. "Who do you think cleans it up, the tooth fairy?"
b. "Get off my head, please."
c. "What is that smell coming from your backpack?"
d. "Just use your shirt."
e. "Dear, tonight is 'Young Women in Excellence' at the church for the girls and parents.  NOT IT!"

Places I never thought I'd allow my boys to pee:
a. The side of the highway in a traffic jam
b. In a Coke bottle.
c. In a parking lot
d. Standing from the van, shooting to the weeds.
e. The backyard.

Things I didn't picture myself doing twenty years ago:
a. Donning a brown scout shirt and repeating the Law of the Pack
b. Canning spaghetti sauce
c. Wearing my nightgown to drive 15 year old to early morning seminary.
d. Clipping coupons
e. Counting heads instead of remembering names
f. Calling one of the children by the dog's name.

What I miss sometimes:
a. Watching t.v. - my choice of program
b. Intimacy with my husband without having to lock the door.
c. Intimacy with my husband without having to listen for feet outside the door.
d. Going to the bathroom alone and without the telephone ringing, the doorbell ringing, or someone knocking.
e. Finishing.  Anything.
f. Sitting down for dinner without hearing, "This is gross!" or "What else do we have?"

Television programs I gave up or DVR and watch late at night because of questionable content:
a. Seinfeld
b. Modern Family
c. Chuck (okay, we sometimes still watch that one)
d. The last few episodes in ever season of "So You Think You Can Dance."
e. Desperate Housewives.  Not a big sacrifice.
f. Cheers reruns


Television programs we watch now:
a. Mythbusters
b. American Idol
c. So You Think You Can Dance - until the choreographers get too raunchy
d. Clone Wars
e. The Middle
f. Some "Chuck."

What I think I will miss in 15 years:
a. Scouts
b. Spontaneous hugs
c. The third person in our bed
d. Clean smelling kids after a bath or shower
e. Conversation about stuff I take for granted
f. Parent Teacher Conferences