The Weekend That Broke The Camel’s Back

June 19, 2013 · 2 comments

in Bad Things, Baking, Birthdays (everyone else's), Church, Craziness (hildie's), Feeling Sorry for Myself, I'm Not So Great, Mister, Relief Society Pres., Why Hildie's tired

You guys! Last weekend was one of those times when everything stacks up and crushes me near to death. It’s all I could do to keep breathing til last night.

First of all, it was my anniversary. Nice, pretty mellow. But still it’s a whole evening when I had lots of other things to do. What other things, you might ask? Well, at church the men are given a little gift on father’s day. A lot of times the teenage girls are in charge of it (actually, the leaders are in charge. The girls just hand them out). But this year the women were in charge. I was thinking of something store-bought but I realized how much I hate to receive store-bought stuff so I decided to make some monster cookies. In case you have lived a sheltered, pitiful life and don’t know what they are: kind of a half-peanut butter, half-oatmeal cookie with M&Ms and chocolate chips. Only I don’t have a good recipe. So I had to search the interwebs to find something worthy. Which required me making a whole ton of Monster Cookies to try out. The grand winner was this recipe by Sally’s Baking Addiction. It’s a keeper because it’s not too heavy on the oatmeal; too much oatmeal makes a cookie taste blah. So my anniversary cut into my baking time.

On my way home from working out on Friday I stopped to buy all the M&Ms and chocolate chips. Nothing like being absolutely soaked with sweat holding 15 bags of candy. I’m sure people suspected bulimia. And the stores here don’t provide grocery bags (of course I had forgotten mine in the car, as always) so I was dropping bags of M&Ms left and right. Those suckers are slippery! But I made it home with all my chocolate and began to bake.

I spent some of Friday and most of Saturday making 90 giant Monster Cookies. I have a gigantic mixer that does three or four batches at a time, so it really wasn’t as much trouble as it sounds. My counselors did all the wrapping and labelling and i think the cookies were a big hit.

But you know that wasn’t all I had to do, right? Mister dragged me to a movie on Friday night. I can’t remember what it was called but it was Danish and I liked it very much. It put me behind schedule. As did the wedding we had to go to in San Antonio on Saturday morning. Two hours each way for a 40-minute ceremony. Oy. But we discovered a new (and delicious!) BBQ place halfway between San Antonio and Austin and that made everything all better (the brisket melted in my mouth. Divine!)

Also this weekend: Arabella had to give a talk in church. Mormons don’t have a clergyman that speaks in church every week. Instead, members of the congregation are asked to speak about a given topic. Everybody gets a turn, aren’t we so lucky? Once kids turn twelve they’re fair game for speaking, too. This was Arabella’s first talk and it was about fathers so that meant that I had to help her with it instead of pawning it off on Mister. Much encouragement and proofreading ensued.

This wasn’t our only “first” at church either. India got asked to play the prelude music in church for the first time (piano not organ). Meaning I had to nag her to practice several times (“Mom, nobody even listens to the prelude music!”). She did a really good job and I’m guessing she’ll get asked again. Our house was filled with hymns all weekend, which seems nice in theory but really just put me on edge.

Then there were the teenagers nagging me to sign up for summer church camps right this second, requiring me to decide exactly what our itinerary is going to be as camp is four states away and will require travel of 10-12 days total. There is nothing that I despise as much as planning things in advance and I’ve been avoiding the details of our big summer trip. But there I was trying to get the kids all signed up for camps, knowing that there were only four slots left at the session they wanted to go to (“what do you mean you can’t remember your camp password from last year? Well, then they can email it to you. You forgot your email password too???” ) It took over an hour but we finally got it squared away.

There were Father’s Day presents to wrap, cards to nag the kids to make, and the Father’s Day meals to prepare. And a whole bunch of church busywork that takes a million years and is no fun at all but had to be done for Sunday.

It’s really a wonder that I only burned one tray of cookies. As much multi-tasking as I was doing, there should have been a few dozen burned.

And then there was Jasper. Poor, poor Jasper. It was his birthday on Sunday too. But I felt sorry for him having to share his day with Mister, and that it was on a Sunday (no eating out or having much fun being the Sabbath Day and all), so we lied and told him that we hadn’t looked at the calendar properly and that his birthday was actually Monday. Thank goodness he bought it! Having his birthday yesterday instead of Sunday was so much better. We went swimming with friends and he didn’t have to share his special day with his dad. It ended up being a great idea. I’ll have to remember to lie to my kids a lot more often.

OK, this is officially the most boring blog post I’ve ever written. But I just wanted you to know what I’ve been up to. I’ve had good reasons to slack on blogging and I’ve got the dark circles under my eyes to to prove it.

 

How I Met Mister

June 13, 2013 · 5 comments

in Good Things, Mister, Serious

Today is my twenty-first wedding anniversary. I am 42 years old which means I have been married as long as I’ve been single. That is a weird thought. In honor of such a special occasion I thought it would be nice to tell you  how Mister and I met. He doesn’t really like when I talk about him, but it’s a cute story.

We met when I was nineteen. Good heavens, I was young. But like all nineteen-year-olds, I thought I was as mature and experienced as the hills. I was going to BYU, majoring in Art History and having a grand old time.  I spent my spare time waiting tables at a Chinese restaurant owned by an incredibly superstitious man from Shanghai named Randy. I have always been a fan of things Chinese so the restaurant seemed a good fit for me even though I only made $2/hr (plus tips! Which in a college town are pitiful.)  Randy made the best Sesame Beef I have had to this day.

One Friday night, the girl who normally hostessed called in sick. I covered her shift and did my usual friendly banter and smiling at the customers as they paid their checks. One table of four guys came in, had dinner and then left without taking their leftovers. Here’s another thing about waiting tables in a cheap-o college town: people always come back for their leftovers, being hungry students and all that. So I was waiting by the door, Chinese take-out boxes in hand when one of the boys from the table came running back in. I smiled and handed him his food. That was Mister. Sadly, I have no recollection of this at all.  I must have had other things on my mind but he can still describe the outfit I was wearing (Mister likes to say, “you had a big smile and big boobs. I was hooked.”)

Mister, normally very shy with the ladies, was tranfixed by my beauty (or something) and after much egging on by his roommates, decided to call the restaurant and ask me out. Only I had gone home by that time. Randy informed Mister that while he couldn’t give him my phone number, he could tell him my name and that I was a BYU student. Now at that point I was going by Jennie. And my maiden name was Davis. You can imagine what a common name that was. Mister decided to call every Jennie/Jennifer Davis at BYU (there were around 10) to find me. The funny thing is that it’s so unlike Mister’s personality to do anything like that. But apparently I looked really good when he saw me at the restaurant.

Wouldn’t you know that I was the one Jennie Davis with an unlisted phone number. So Mister decided to expand his calling area to Provo in general and got another half dozen phone numbers to try. None of them were me, either. There were a lot of Jennies who thought what he was doing was so sweet and volunteered to go out with Mister should I never be found.

Mister called Randy at the restaurant late that evening and told him that he couldn’t find me. Randy informed him that I’d be working the next night and that he should come in because [say this is very broken English] “she no have boyfriend. You have good chance!”

When I showed up for my shift the next day Randy was so excited he could barely talk. “You boyfriend come in tonight!” he said over and over. It took a lot of explaining before I got the story that some guy had been trying to find me and was planning to return that evening to ask me out. I was slightly weirded out but flattered. The other waitresses were on high alert for this mystery man and finally he showed up just before the end of my shift. Shelly, a fellow waitress, came running up to me announcing that he was here! And he wanted to know if I’d like to go to a play next week! I relayed a reply (Yes! any guy who didn’t suggest dinner and a movie at the dollar cinema was definitely on the right track!)

I didn’t actually meet Mister until he he was on his way out. We both felt bashful and awkward. It was even more awkward when he picked me up. It was almost like a blind date. I had been in no mood to go on a date with a complete stranger so I had tried to pay my roommate Tiffany $10 to go instead. Tiffany looks a little like a blonde version of me so I figured it wouldn’t be that big of a deal. She refused, of course. Mister and I double dated with another waitress from work and one of Mister’s friends so it didn’t feel as much like a set-up for a date rape scenario.

The play was good, although neither of us can remember what play it was anymore. We spent to hours talking afterwards at Frontier Pies (oh man, do you remember the scones and cornbread and honey butter??? That’s pretty much my happiest college memory right there.) I was writing a paper about Pre-Raphaelite painters at the time and not only did Mister know what I was talking about, he told me which Pre-Rapahelite paintings he’d seen in London when he was there the year before. Any man who can speak intelligently about art gets an A+ in my book. He was also a returned missionary (Mormon girls are groomed to assume that any guy who didn’t go on a mission when he had the opportunity is a loser. There is more truth to that than you might think.)

When Mister dropped me off afterwards (a polite goodnight. No kissing on the first date!) I was incredibly surprised that I had had such a nice time. A really nice time.

What I came to find out over the next eighteen months that we were dating/engaged was that he is the kindest and most thoughtful person I’ve ever met. He has a silly and outlandish sense of humor that still makes me laugh every single day. He loves God and tries so hard to do what’s right. He is more patient with me than I deserve, even when I called off the wedding half a dozen times. He’s very passionate and opinionated (sometimes to the point of being infuriating) and has taught me how to have an open, unselfish heart (well, he’s trying, at least). I’m grateful every most every day that Mister had the tenacity to keep looking until he found me. He has made me a better person in a hundred different ways.

 

BlogHer Food Conference

June 12, 2013 · 1 comment

in Blogging

I spent all day Friday and Saturday at The BlogHerFood conference. This year it was in Austin and I had to take advantage of that. Once upon a time I was a food blogger, you know. Here’s the real reason I don’t do more food and recipe tutorials: I’m the worst photographer. You probably know that. I took a bunch of photography classes at BlogHer and I’m super excited to improve my shots. It would help if I knew how to properly work my camera; I’ve got to start somewhere.

As far as the conference in general, it was great getting to meet a bunch of new people. Women are so awesome, and that’s really all I could think looking around the room. I have no idea why anyone would want to be a man, not that you really have that choice, although I guess you do, sort of.  Some of the classes were very good, and some were only so-so. The really great thing about the conference was all the swag. It was like Christmas!  So many great sponsors and everyone had piles of delicious food at their booths. Food blogging is the best! The surprising winner for the tastiest booth? The Canadian Lentil association. I’m not even making that name up, although it sounds like I am. I got an ipad sleeve to prove it.

How about my new mug courtesy of Kozy-Shack, the makers of the best rice pudding next to my mom’s? I thought my kids would be fighting over this but it turns out Mister wants it all to himself.*

I ended up with a bunch of gadgets too. My favorite is the avacado saver. Look! It’s already saving an avocado! I’ve never seen one in the store, but the Mexican Avacado Council was handing them out left and right. The cheese slicer from the Wisconsin Cheese board is pretty nifty too. While I’m not the biggest fan of cheese, my kids eat it every single day.

 

While BlogHer Food certainly wasn’t the best conference I’ve been to (Most of our meals were pretty mediocre hotel food and the extra-curriculars were lame), it was very fun and I’m glad I went. Hopefully I’ll be able to improve my photography and do some video stuff more often too.

 

*OK, I know this picture is crap. I’m going to start taking better pictures tomorrow. Today I spent all day with the kids at the pool and I simply cannot walk into the kitchen again to retake this shot.

Silent Movie Madness

June 9, 2013 · 3 comments

in Entertainment, Family, Kids, Videos

School just ended for us on Friday and this last week was a killer. I barely had time to catch my breath. My favorite part of the end-of-the-year festivities was going to see the silent movies made by Ada’s second grade Theatre Arts class. They learned about silent films and got to make several  of their own. Since I know you’re dying to see Adelaide’s, here it is in all it’s old-timey glory. (It’s the story of Jack and the Beanstalk. Ada plays Jack’s mother.) It’s a whole lot more creative than just acting out a silly old play.

 

 

Should You Make Your Kids Keep Taking Piano Lessons?

June 6, 2013 · 7 comments

in Bad Things, Family, Good Things, I'm Not So Great, IMO, Kids, Other People

This subject comes up again and again every time I’m together with a bunch of moms; do you force your child to keep taking piano lessons even when he starts to hate it and complains endlessly?  Most parents were allowed to quit and always bemoan the fact that their parents didn’t make them keep with it. I come from the opposite side: my mother wouldn’t allow me to quit. “You’ll thank me one day!” she loved to say.

I never liked playing the piano. Never. It was not the instrument that spoke to me. I wanted to play the harp. “That’s much too expensive!” my mother informed me on more than one occasion; expensive unlike, say . . . a piano? Because pianos are dirt cheap, don’t you know.  Anyway, playing the piano–and eventually the organ–was my mother’s dream. The woman loves an audience and the thought of playing in front of the church congregation every week was her fondest wish. But she had nine siblings and her mom let her quit when she complained, blahblahblah. We all know where she was coming from. So my mother decided that she would force her children to play the piano until they graduated from high school no matter what. They would praise her name for it one day!

When I started piano lessons at age 8 it wasn’t too bad, but within a year I grew to hate it. I hated the lessons, I hated the piano in general and I especially hated my mother for forcing me to play. By the time I was ten I would get terrible stress headaches every lesson day and I would cry most of the way to my teacher’s house. My mother refused to budge. “Just think how wonderful it will be when you can play the organ in front of everyone,” she would sigh. Not being the kind of person who likes to perform at all, this was the most horrible scenario I could imagine. “You’ll thank me one day,” she would shout from the car as I dragged myself to the piano teacher’s sliding glass door. One day I snapped. I narrowed my eyes and said in a very even, cold tone, “once I turn eighteen I will never touch the piano again.”

I don’t think it ever occurred to my mother that her daughter would be more stubborn than she was. Even after a go at organ lessons, which my mother thought would be “exhilarating” (“wait, now I have to play with not only my hands but my feet too? Forget it!”), I continued to hate all of it.

Fate smiled on me when I was sixteen. I was in a car accident and my arm was badly broken. Not only did I have a cast but because my arm had broken backwards (The bruising was horrifying), the muscles and tendons were a complete mess and I needed physical therapy for months.

I finally got to quit piano lessons.

Once my arm recovered and I probably could have resumed playing, I never did. I was as good as my word; I never played the piano again. And as a side benefit I grew to hate my mother for disregarding my feelings by forcing me to do something I so clearly hated.  Now if I sit down at the piano I can kind of pick out a tune with one hand; I barely remember anything.  Am I sad about this? Not at all. I hated playing the piano. It was my mother’s dream, not mine. There is no regret at all.

So now I have children of my own. And the idea of music lessons eventually came up when they were little. I do believe that learning music is very important; I believe that learning to play an instrument can teach discipline and responsibility. But so can lots of other things. In the Mormon culture especially, learning an instrument is very important. So this is what I have done with my children: they have all had to take music lessons, usually on the piano.  The minimum for lessons is one year; that is non-negotiable. Every human being should learn how to read music; even if it’s just to sing an unfamiliar hymn in church. It’s just a life skill like learning to make your bed.

After one year we reassess. If the child wants to continue to play the piano, that’s great. If they want to go on to another instrument that’s fine too. Finn went on to play the trumpet, York quit completely (he is just not the kind of person who is drawn to playing an instrument. It is not where his talents lie and even at the age of eight I realized that about him and I was OK with that.) India continued playing the piano for a few years and then we had a couple of years off because we could not find a teacher that she gelled with. She continued to play on her own nearly every day and finally we found her a great piano teacher last year. She’s doing well and still enjoys it.  Arabella has finished her second year of lessons (we got a late start with her), rarely needs to be reminded to practice and has never mentioned quitting. Maybe she’ll stick with the piano, maybe she won’t. She’s shown some interest in the hammered dulcimer than I have sitting around and if she wants to take lesson in that instead I have no problem with that.

My musical story has a happy ending (besides the fact that I don’t hate my mother anymore). When I was about 32 I decided to finally take harp lessons. I had loved the harp all these years and realized that it wasn’t too late to learn something new (why have we decided that childhood is the only time you can learn anything new???). I found a wonderful teacher and rented a harp. Let me tell you something, it is a million times easier to learn an instrument as an adult! All that music theory my piano teachers tried to explain over and over and over? It finally made perfect sense. I loved the harp and was mature enough to practice every day. I progressed a jillion times faster than I had as a child. When we moved to Texas I turned my harp back in and with six kids under age 11, I just didn’t have the time to start it up again down here.

I have missed playing the harp. Mister knows that. So my sweet husband tried to buy me a harp for my birthday. But it’s rather hard buying an instrument when you know nothing about it. So he had to spoil his surprise and tell me his plan. I was more than thrilled to help him find the perfect harp. We picked it up yesterday and I am over the moon.

I am too crazy busy with end-of-school stuff and a huge church party tonight and a Blog Her conference tomorrow and Friday to spend more than a few minutes here and there playing. But come Sunday, I’ll dust off my old harp books and go to town.

To answer my original question: should you make your kids keep taking music lessons when they complain about hating it? Please don’t make a blanket statement, yes or no. Think about your child; think about her personality. Ask if there’s another instrument she would rather play. My cousin really wanted to play the saxophone but her dad said no because saxophones aren’t in an orchestra which means it’s not a “real instrument”. She had to settle for the trumpet which she didn’t like much at all. Would your child be better suited for some other pursuit? York has the brain of an engineer that likes to invent and solve problems; playing music felt very dull and stifling to him. We accepted that facet of his personality and moved on. Not everyone in the world is suited to music.

Also ask yourself why you want your child to play so badly. What does it say about your hopes and desires? If you always dreamed of playing on the stage, don’t try to live out your fantasies through your kids; it’s going to backfire at some point. Why don’t you take lessons? You may be too old to become the next Van Cliburn, but you can still get pretty good and you’ll feel much so much prouder of yourself than you would of your child. It really isn’t too late to start your own musical training!

Believe it or not, your job as a parent isn’t to gild your child with hobbies and talents and trophies. Your job is to help your child find her interests (not to decide what they are for her), learn discipline and love herself. If music is a part of that, great. If not, that’s OK too. Be prepared to let it go. If your child is a prodigy, you’ll know early on. Be sensitive to what your child really needs. Not everyone wants to play in the high school marching band or accompany the church choir. Every child does need to be listened to and validated.

Awesome Groceries!

June 3, 2013 · 3 comments

in Good Things, Hildie Likes, IMO, Other People, Texas, Yum

HEB (the best grocery store in Texas, hence the World) sent me some new Primo Picks to try out. Primo Picks are interesting/cool/extra awesome products that they feature at the store. Since I am always game to try new things, I was pretty jazzed.

I waited until the kids got home from school before I tried anything. I wanted to have more than one opinion than just my own. The clear favorites for them were these yummy things:

photo 3b0a1196-0b8a-4be1-a584-68f92fd91541_zpsea24c907.jpg

The Lacey’s cookies are halfway between candy and a cookie. They’re two of toffee-esque cookies with a slather of dark chocolate in-between. I’ve seen them around before but never tried them. Ohhhh man, I wish I had never tried them. They’re now what I fantasize about when I have my cheat day. Since you can’t really send your kids to school with such sugar bombs (save those for Mommy, please), This Snacklemouth Salty Chocolate Clusters is a little more appropriate for every day. The kids snarfed down this stuff which is kind of like moist, chocolatey granola. It’s gluten-free and not very high in sugar. A perfect addition to the lunch boxes. Or at least it would have been if we hadn’t promptly eaten it all. Plus, don’t you dig the funky box? The guys has chocolate dripping from his mustache and eyeballs! Sweeeet!

The chips were also a big hit. As much as I love sweets, I love a nice salty potato chip as well (with a coke, naturally). I like the big crunch of Kettle Chips and these don’t disappoint. They have a really pronounced potato flavor which I appreciate when I eat chips; I don’t want to taste a bunch of chemicals, thankyouverymuch. Plus the bag is cute. I like the fonts. Yes, fonts matter!

I really appreciated the coconut oil and coconut water. Despite appearances to the contrary, I’m actually trying to make healthier choices for my family. Lately when I’ve cooked stuff in the frying pan I’ve been using olive oil. I’ve heard amazing things about coconut oil, so I was very happy to give HEB’s virgin Coconut Oil a try. I cooked up some Basa fish (have you heard of it? It’s some new kind of fish and it’s superyum) in the coconut oil and slathered it with guacamole (you don’t eat guacamole on your fish? What’s the matter with you?) The coconut oil gave it a subtle tropical-ish flavor. I like it. And it’s fantastically healthy (for a fat, I mean. It’s not healthier than a handful of fresh carrots.)

 

My whole family was very excited to try the three flavors of BBQ sauce. Let me give you a little background, though. We used to always buy grocery store BBQ sauce and it’s always tasted fine. That’s because we didn’t live in Texas. Now we live in Texas where BBQ is taken terribly seriously. We usually buy a bottle of sauce at our favorite restaurants (I prefer the sauce at Southside in Elgin, TX and Mister Prefers the sauce at Rudy’s.) One time we ran out of restaurant sauce and I bought the same old BBQ sauce at the store like we used to buy. Only this time it was inedible. It tasted all wrong. It was weirdly sweet and had nasty chemical overtones. (I complain about food tasting like chemicals a lot. That’s because I’m spoiled and like homemade-tasting food. Unless it’s Funyons.) We scraped the sauce off and ate our dry meat without. So I was intrigued by the trio of sauces that HEB provided. If nothing else, it gave us an excuse to buy a heaping lot of brisket. The verdict? All three sauces were mighty good. No chemical flavors whatsoever.  Finn, Arabella and I preferred the Better Than Good Traditional Texas sauce. Mister and India like Mama’s Original sauce the best. York Preferred the Better Than Good Texas Moppin’ Sauce, and Ada doesn’t like meat at all so she just had a salad.  The Texas Moppin’ Sauce has a definite mustard overtone. I think mustard is simply the most disgusting condiment in the world so I didn’t care for it at all.  I was more than happy to find some grocery store sauces that I can be happy about using. Now I don’t have to buy spendy bottles at restaurants any more.

I’ve been thoroughly impressed with the Primo Picks at HEB. Pick up a few next time you’re at HEB. And if you don’t live in Texas, poor you.

 

 

I was compensated by HEB but, trust me, the opinions are all mine. You can’t buy my taste buds.

The Man Who Sneaked Into My Bed

June 1, 2013 · 3 comments

in Bad Things, Embarrassing, Funny, I'm Not So Great

I have always been a deep, sound sleeper. It’s pretty much one of my talents, to be able to fall asleep anytime I’m horizontal. And I don’t wake up until the next morning. Normally.

Once when I was a teenager I fell fast asleep as usual. I woke up in the middle of the night, though, when I rolled over and felt someone’s arm under my pillow. I gingerly touched the arm; yes, there were fingers and everything.  There is no scenario in which anyone I knew would have gotten in bed with me. Why would a stranger be in my bed??? I had no idea but it certainly was not good. Not good at all. My heart started to beat faster and I tried to think of various ways of escape without completely panicking. Due to the fact that I have enormous teeth, I have always resorted to biting as a means of self defense. This would be my tactic: bite the person’s arm and run like crazy.

I calmed myself down enough to chomp on the arm as hard as I could. Only the person didn’t flinch. He didn’t even stir. He certainly should have at least shouted out with that big of a bite. What was going on?

I threw back the pillow only to find that there certainly was an arm there. Only . . . . it was my arm. Completely fallen asleep. I stood up and my limp arm came along, pins and needles shooting through it. I shook my arm until I got the blood flowing again, the bite mark turning bright red.

I don’t know whether it was the adrenaline or humiliation that kept me awake for the rest of the night. But here are some lessons that you should learn from my experience:

1. Things always seem very alarming in the middle of the night. Never trust any judgement made at 3 am.

2. Never bite an intruder without seeing the whites of his eyes.

3. Don’t ever sneak into my bed. You will most certainly regret it.

 

Preppy Pedi

May 29, 2013 · 6 comments

in Good Things, Hildie Likes, Nails, Photos of Hildie

Oh, it’s summer all right. How do I know? We’ve spent four of the last seven days at the neighborhood pool and the sweat is at a constant trickle down my back. And I can tell by my toenails. It’s time to bust out the crazy pedicures. All the better for sandals, my dear.

You Can Keep Your Smart Kids

May 29, 2013 · 1 comment

in Bad Things, IMO, Kids

Tonight we had some time to kill after dinner so I took my kids to the neighborhood pool. SInce it was close to bedtime there were only a couple of families there. A lot of times if you go to the pool in the evenings, dads are on kid-duty and the moms are at home (or are they??). Tonight I sat and eavesdropped (one of my favorite pool activities) on two dads having a really in-depth discussion on how to get a charter or magnet school for gifted kids to open nearby. It was a pretty interesting discussion, I have to say. After discussing the need to provide our brilliant children with better educational opportunities, both of the dads left. Or rather, one dad left and the other dad attempted to leave. The second dad had a little boy about 6 or 7 years old who had been splashing jasper and trying to jump on his inner tube the entire time we’d been at the pool.

The dad kept threatening his son who blissfully ignored him while attempting to terrorize/drown Jasper. Eventually the dad got fed up and went and got in the car. This was after begging his son for over ten minutes to get out of the pool because it’s time to go or I’m going to leave you do you hear me Im serious I’m not going to ask you again.

When the dad started actually driving away the kid finally realized his dad was serious and went tearing out of the pool.

This is what I wanted to tell the dad: you might want to forget about a fancy education and spend a little more time getting your son to obey. Who cares how smart and well-educated someone is if he won’t do what he’s asked? Seriously parents, smarts aren’t nearly as important as obedience. You might want to paste that on every mirror in your house.

My Three Worst Traits

May 26, 2013 · 4 comments

in Bad Things, Craziness (hildie's), Feeling Sorry for Myself, I'm Not So Great

Yes, I’m brilliant, witty, charming and all things wonderful. But I do have a few flaws which I try to disguise as much as possible. But here they are in all their glory:

1. I am a horrible, terrible procrastinator. If it’s possible to do something later, I will. Even if it’s not possible to do something later, I’ll still try. It’s the hardest the struggle in my life, to do something long before it’s supposed to be done. I end up stressing out and panicking but I never learn my lesson. Never. I guess I was born this way. I’m going to try to start a movement informing everyone that we procrastinators can’t help being the way we are, and that we need societal recognition and acceptance. One day I’m hoping to live in a world where people who put things off til that last minute are celebrated for the passionate, brilliant, easily-distractable people we are.

2. Opinionated. This is not really a bad trait in and of itself. I am the child of a very opinionated person, and all of us children ended up equally opinionated. But I can be a smidge judgmental about the way other people do things (inferior to my way, obviously). Fortunately for everyone, I usually keep my judgments to myself (hey parents who let their kids sleep in their beds, I’m talking to you!) but my opinions on most everything else is fair game for discussion. I’ve never been shy about sharing my ideas about everything. I am totally fine if someone else has a differing opinion; as a matter of fact I relish a good discussion. But I’m not a shy little violet who doesn’t say what’s on her mind. I’ve really had to learn to scale back my opinions since I became the Relief Society President. I don’t want to go around offending all the women at church. While I like a nice, strong personality, many people can’t handle it. And I’m trying to be lovely and supportive to everyone while trying to be true to who I am and that’s a little though sometimes.

3. I hate cleaning. And most housework in general. I have learned to stay somewhat on top of it because with six kids things can go downhill terribly fast. But you throw in that procrastination and there is nothing I wouldn’t rather do to distract myself from mopping/sorting laundry/scrubbing the sink. I would absolutely consider polygamy if I could pick a wife with cleanliness OCD who would do all the crappy household cleaning.

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