16 Months: My Transformation

While I usually talk about writing and books and word nerdiness here, this post is going to be a bit different. I'm hoping it will be of some benefit to others in their journeys.

A photo that amazing photographer Erin Summerill took of me at the recent LDStorymakers annual conference inspired me to put this post together. Even with my goofy facial expression and hand waving (I can't teach without using my hands), I've got great before and after pictures.

The really short version: 
For some unknown (then) reason, I got fat, sank into a horrid depression, and otherwise was miserable. Now I'm, well, not all that. The end. Oh, and this is what I looked like. The picture was taken at the 2010 UVU Book Academy conference. I may have gained a few pounds more in the following three months.








The longer version:
For most of my adult life, not counting pregnancies, my has weight stayed in about a seven-pound range. Ideally, I would have liked to have been around 10 lbs lighter and at my marriage weight, but I was at a healthy weight and felt decent about myself.

Then, a few years ago, the pounds began creeping on. I wasn't doing anything different in my life, as far as I could tell. Okay, I could have exercised more than I was (although I didn't stop altogether). And sure, I ate chocolate here and there. But that wasn't a change. Nothing significant had changed in my lifestyle.

But hey, I knew how to lose weight, right? I began watching my diet carefully, cutting here and there and eating much healthier. I exercised more.

Result: More weight gain. The scale just crept up and up. I'll clarify here that my weight gain wasn't in the realm of anything you'd see on The Biggest Loser, but it was still way more than was healthy, and I hated feeling like a beached whale. I hated not fitting into my biggest clothes and having to go to the thrift store to find stuff to wear. I rarely wore anything that didn't stretch.

At first I was in denial. Sure, the scale was up, but I didn't look that bad . . . right? I inherited my mother's frame, so I really can carry a little extra weight without it showing up. When my chocolate cookbook first came out, I had people asking how I could write it and stay so thin. That was before the weight gain. So when those comments stopped altogether, I had a clue what it meant. I was fat. I cringed at every photo of me. My usable wardrobe shrank and shrank.

I started to suspect I had a thyroid problem, but I didn't want to be one of those people making excuses for being fat. ("Oh, it's glandular . . .") I brought it up to my doctor, who ran a blood panel. My TSH and T4 were normal, so I was told not to worry about it; I wasn't hypothyroid.

But the results didn't sit right with me. I had plenty of symptoms of hypothyroid beyond unexplained weight gain, including a low body temperature (97.1), brain "fog," fatigue, depression, headaches, brittle nails, and a bunch of other things.

After doing a bit more research, including talking with a good friend who has a thyroid condition, I was convinced that something wasn't right. My original doctor, while a great guy, was a GP and likely didn't know how complex hypothyroid issues are and which panels to run, or how to read them. Finding a doctor to take me seriously and who knew enough to run the right tests took awhile, but eventually I did, thanks to the referral of a friend.

And waddaya know, but my T3 (the one that really matters) was in the toilet. So was my progesterone (which helps with stress, sleep, and mood), and a few other things, including Vitamin D, which was also contributing to my depression. I was indeed hypothyroid, among other things. My body was whacked out.

Almost as soon as I began taking the supplements I needed, my life, and my body, began to change. While the weight didn't come off in a flash, it did come off, slowly and steadily.

Here's a key point: I still had to do the work. 

I had to exercise, stay hydrated, and watch what I ate. But at least losing weight became possible, where before, it wasn't.

Something to note here: It's a horrid myth that to exercise you have to find something you like to do. I hate exercising, but I love having exercised. If you're waiting to like huffing and puffing and sweating like a pig, and you're using your dislike of exercise for not doing it, then you'll never have success. I often go running even when I hurt all over and I feel like someone's taking an ice pick to the back of my head. I go because it's something I have to do. I force myself to do it. I don't go to the gym when I feel good. I go to the gym and work my tail off so I'll feel good.

Another aspect in my success was that I started reading blogs of people who'd managed to lose weight and keep it off to learn more about how to fuel my body properly for weight loss (which takes more than cutting calories, of course). I grew up in a nutritious home, but there was still a lot to learn.

I'm now within (count 'em!) 9 pounds of my marriage weight. I'm solidly in the healthy range for what my weight should be, and on the low end of my old range. (I think I can actually hit that old marriage weight yet!) I sleep better (didn't even know how messed up my sleep was until it was fixed). I can exercise more. My chronic headaches are still around, but they're more manageable. My depression isn't the dark sink hole it once was.

No, life isn't all unicorns and rainbows. I still have chronic headaches. Depression of some kind just runs in my family. But things are so much better.

Losing the weight hasn't been an easy road. Like I said, it's still work. But now I can fit back into my skinny clothes, and my fat clothes are a thing of the past.

In my before picture up there, I hated myself.

But now? Well, this next picture was taken just over a week ago, at the LDStorymakers conference. I feel and look like myself again. Huzzah!

Media and Young Women

Writer and bloggy friend Melanie Jacobson (hey, I spelled her name right!) recently linked to a page relating to a study at Dartmouth that I found both fascinating and disturbing.

The page had rows of photographs that had been touched up digitally. Above each row is a toggle button allowing the viewer to click between the original photo and the after, touched-up version.

I had several reactions. First, it's amazing what technology can do today.

Second, even though I already knew that photos we see of celebrities are enhanced, this was the first time I saw to what extent that's true. And, um, turns out that the stars don't look like themselves.

Third, the longer I clicked back and forth, the more uneasy I became. This is largely thanks to the fact that I have three daughters, and two of them are out of grade school and quickly turning into young women. The images of beauty and body images they see around them every day, everywhere, must have an impact on them.

The potential effects are frightening. Even if they don't end up with something as serious as anorexia or bulimia, it's hard to escape the pressure to meet society's vision of beauty: the hair, the makeup, the clothes, the body.

Recently our stake held a standards night where a BYU professor (apologies for not remembering her name; she was amazing) spoke about this very thing. She started out showing pictures of what's considered beautiful in other countries: neck stretching with rings, the old practice of foot binding in China, and so on.

Then she showed so-called "beautiful" women today, and charts showing that beauty pageant winners, over time, have ended up with lower and lower BMIs, to the point that they're now in the very unhealthy, almost starvation-level ranges.

Her point, which she made so well: Is our vision of beauty any less unhealthy than neck-stretching rings or foot binding? No. We see models with their collar bones sticking out, their ribs showing, so thin they're unhealthy. And our girls feel pressure to emulate that image.

While looking at the pictures at the link Melanie gave me, one thing made me particularly sad: several pictures were beautiful just the way they were. I'm not talking about getting rid of George Clooney's gray hair. Or giving a man teeth. I'm talking about "fixing" a sweet little boy's face so his skin had a perfectly even tone and no shine. Of "fixing" a male model who would probably make teen girls swoon . . . but whose mouth was slightly crooked, so he wasn't "perfect." Or of (seriously!) raising Angelina Jolie's left eye.

I quickly called my daughters in to look at the photos, hoping that they'd realize just how unreal they are. That they'd know how, when they see their favorite singers or actors in a photo, it's all pretend. No one really looks like that. And that's okay.

We also looked at the famous Dove commercial that shows digital retouching in action. I hope the message sank in.

The whole thing reminded me of the trip my husband and I took to Finland a few years back. The magazines at grocery store checkout lines looked different than what I was used to.

My initial reaction was that, man, those are really unprofessional photographs. But on second look, it dawned on me that no, the photos were professional.

They just weren't touched up.

One woman didn't have porcelain-smooth skin. Maybe a man had a shiny spot on his forehead. Or another model had crow's feet. They were real.

Every time I entered a grocery store after that, I eagerly looked at the photos and found them refreshing. Yes, the images were probably somewhat out there: makeup artists, fashion designers, lighting, and probably even blowing fans were still part of the photo shoots. But the people in the pictures were allowed to look like real human beings, blemishes and all.

I have a theory, although I have nothing to back it up: I wonder if the young women (or all women, for that matter) in Finland have slightly better self-images than those in the States. (That is, unless they're bombarded by US images, which is likely.)

If you're interested in looking at the pictures, here's where you can toggle between the before and after pictures on the Dartmouth site. As I said, it's fascinating and disturbing all at once. And if you're a parent, it's a great conversation starter.

Edited to add: Thanks to the comment from An Ordinary Mom, here's another video about this topic that's well worth your time to watch.

Random Thoughts on Disneyland

I've been absent from my blog of late. I meant to schedule some posts for while I was gone, but obviously that didn't happen. I can say that in the interim, my writer brain was all a-flurry, and I couldn't help but think of funny Facebook status updates or tweets, stuff I wouldn't be posting during the trip.

This was my kids' second time to Disneyland. The last was four and a half years ago, long enough for them to have forgotten a lot and for the youngest to grow so tall that there was only one ride she couldn't go on. (To her dismay; she really wanted to ride Screamer. She's maybe an inch too short and might have slipped through with her shoes on, but Mom is paranoid and wouldn't let her try.)

Much like I did after spending weeks doing Costco book signings, I couldn't help but observe Disneyland and find several amusing things about our time there. A sampling:

I Can't Turn off My "What If" Button

In one shop, the kids made Disney-themed stamped pennies, where the coin is stretched out and pressed with an image. Glass encases the machine so you can watch it happen. As the cylinder rolled across one penny, I couldn't help but picture what would happen if a finger got caught in there and the cracking, oozing damage that would ensue.

I made the mistake of mentioning it to the kids. "Ew, Mom! Stop it with the writer imagining stuff already!"

Sticker Shock Is Relative

When I first passed a churros stand and later a cotton candy stand, I about choked at the $3.50 price tag. And we won't even discuss actual meals, whether in the park or out of it. If I wasn't careful, I could blink and spend a week's worth of groceries on a basic meal for our family of six. But by the third day in the park, spending forty bucks on a few ice cream cones (and on a brand found in our local grocery store) no longer fazed us.

Families that Laugh Together Have the Most Fun

Sure, we had our moments of groaning, eye rolling, and siblings vying for their own space ("She stepped on my toes!"), but for the most part, we had fun. Somehow we hit the Grizzly water rapids ride in California Adventure at just the right time two days in a row, riding it a total of five times. We laughed harder as a family during that one ride than any other.

Mom's a Child at Heart (And Sometimes Has Good Ideas)

I haven't been to Disneyland nearly as often as some people, but in the few times I had been there, I'd never attended the parade. This trip, I insisted we go to one. The announcement elicited eye rolling from the older kid crowd. I persisted. We got a decent spot and waited.

And it was awesome.

My youngest was tickled over and over again when princesses and other characters waved at her (or at least looked like they did). Ariel in particular did notice her, stroked her own red hair, then pointed at my daughter's matching red hair, smiled and waved. Made my girl's day.

When it was over, all four kids agreed that the parade was totally worth seeing.

Souvenir Choices Improve with Age

Last time we went, I cringed when the kids chose lame souvenirs like an electronic toy that mimicked a cell phone and had a calculator, a photo album (never used), and a squeezy plastic thing that oozed worms from a brain. This time, each child wanted to take home something meaningful, and in every case, that ended up being something they'd actually use that would last and they'd have fun memories from.

Dorothy Was Right

As fun as the trip was, when it was time to go home, we were ready. I drove the leg that went through Death Valley and eventually to St. George. Entering the gorgeous landscape of southern Utah sent a sweet surge through me. Home.

Part of the feeling could have been the fact that Death Valley is so dang ugly, but I have to say, southern Utah is gorgeous. (Oh, and I got to see the St. George Temple, which always brings me warm fuzzies for obvious reasons.)

SO MUCH happened on the trip; I could write post after post about it, including all the inside jokes that developed, but I'll end with this, my favorite "what the crap?" moment:

The Masochistic Woman

By day three, my hips, knees, and feet were killing me. (Note to self: call the chiropractor ASAP.) As we boarded the Jungle Cruise, I noticed a woman behind us that didn't seem to fit in. She wore a flowing, plum-colored dress. That alone seemed odd. Who wears flowing gowns in an amusement park?

Worse, the dress was held up by nothing more than a strap around her neck. Hm. Few rides are conducive to dresses, let alone fancy ones like this. And the California sun isn't particularly forgiving on backs and shoulders that are totally exposed to UV rays, which they were thanks to both the dress and her fancy up-do hair.

Huh. I thought. Odd.

Then the kicker: She wore four-inch heels.

My feet were protesting the seemingly endless miles I'd traversed (and the hours I'd waited in lines) in my comfy shoes. Why in the name of Dr. Scholl's was she wearing torture devices on her feet at Disneyland?

It wasn't until I noticed who she was with and how she behaved that the likely reality dawned on me. She and her daughter were with a man and his daughter. Both girls were about the same age. They looked so different from one another, it was clear whose child was whose. Based on body language, the couple didn't know one another that well. She flirted and cooed and at times looked unsure of what to say or do. And both had bare ring fingers.

Eureka.

I'm betting it was a date, and she was trying to impress the guy by looking hot. I'm curious: Did he buy into it? Or did he realize that she's a few Mickey ears short by wearing a get-up she could have attended a wedding in?

People-watching is research. It's a writer's excuse to spy, wonder, and, at times, walk away totally bewildered. It's fun to think of motivations and personalities and wonder why someone does what they're doing.

So I had to think: What if the location of the date was a surprise? Maybe the guy just told her a time, and she got gussied up, only to find out they were heading to the Magic Kingdom. Then the guy was the idiot for not telling her how to dress. So many options.

I was on the verge of blisters and tears with my good shoes. So her poor, poor feet! I'm wishing I could find her and ask if she was hobbling an hour later.

And, more importantly, whose brilliant idea it was to wear such a ridiculous get-up when it was bound to make her one of the most miserable people in the happiest place on earth.

I'm a writer . . . I'm sure I can use that somewhere.

A Happy List

At times, a list just feels good.

Some things that made me happy today:

1) Making quite a bit of progress at digging the house out from under some serious messes.

2) Getting a freelance check in the mail (which was a bit larger than expected, so double smiles).

3) Husband taking the day off work and saying, "This afternoon, if there's housework you want help with, let me know." (SERIOUSLY? WOOOOOOT!)

4) Meeting Emily M of Segullah for the first time. Even though we've corresponded a lot via e-mail, this was our first in-person meeting; we swapped some Whitney finalists to read. It was like chatting with an old friend. She reminds me of one of my cousins. (Emily, that's a compliment!)

5) Seeing Emily's post over at Segullah. Kinda made my day.

6) Wearing pants that make me look smaller than I really am (pants that hide those extra pounds that recently sneaked onto my waist . . . grrrrr).

7) Getting my Band of Sisters pass-along cards in the mail. They turned out gorgeous . . . and seeing them made the upcoming release feel more real! (It's coming! It's coming! We're only two weeks out!)

8) NOT being on deadline. (Which allowed me to, oh, do some housecleaning.) I enjoyed the fact that there wasn't work and a due date looming over me like a cloud . . . because I'll have another deadline soon, self-imposed or otherwise.

9) I was about to say kids not fighting, but then two of them rushed into my office . . . fighting. So, yeah. Forget that one.

10) I won't be cooking dinner tonight. Always cause for celebration.

Up tomorrow: Word Nerd Wednesday, my day at Writing on the Wall, and my AML post for the month. (What was that about no deadlines?)

Today: A List

1) Five Whitney nominees to go. Three are THICK. I'm hoping to finish one of the thinner ones today. We shall see if I succeed . . .

2) I'm being loud and opinionated again over on the AML Blog.

3) Tonight my parents are coming over for FHE. Yay!

4) I'll be leaving in a few for lunch with Luisa, my favorite New Yorker and my first close bloggy friend. There will be much enjoyment of food and plenty of great conversation, I'm sure.

5) My chocolate cookbook has a title, but I can't reveal it yet. I've already mentioned this elsewhere (Twitter, FB), but for those who haven't heard, it'll be officially out in October. Frankly, I was a bit relieved they decided against May. Having TWO books released within two months of each other would have had me in a panic.

6) In theory, I should get a bunch done on a PEG edit today. Not sure if that's going to happen. Maybe if I stay up late.

7) I bought a new garbage can for the kitchen. This may not seem notable unless you know that our previous one was purchased right after the wedding . . . which was nearly 16 years ago. The poor thing lived a good, long life, but it's time to retire the poor (disgusting) thing. My kids were THRILLED to see it, which I found odd. Forget toys; I should buy new household products more often just to see their reactions. Maybe Santa will bring Windex for Christmas next year.

I'm Taking It as a Compliment

Last night after dinner, I ended up sitting around the table chatting with my two older girls. (I love that they're old enough for that!)

Their dad walked in and stopped. "Girl talk, huh?"

"Something like that," I said, enjoying myself.

Actually, we weren't talking girl stuff. (Fortunately! They're a little young for that stuff. I hope "girl talk" is a few years off yet.)

We got into talking about a series of books, and they were asking me something about the topic of the series, so I explained quite a bit about it. Suddenly my 10-year-old grunted.

With a roll of her eyes and a shake of her head she said, "I swear, Mom, you know everything. Or if you don't know something, you go look it up."

I grinned and said, "And you know where I got that from? The part about looking stuff up?"

They both knew and answered in unison. "From Grandma."

"And that was before Google existed."

They mock-gasped at that and began making jokes about my growing up in prehistoric times.

But the reality is that I grew up with a mother who taught me to find out about something if I didn't know it.

If one of us kids asked a question at dinner and she or Dad didn't know the answer, she'd literally hop up from her chair, race downstairs to the encyclopedia (remember those things?) and come back ten minutes later with five cross-referenced volumes.

Then she'd read all the entries aloud as we ate. When she was satisfied that we all knew the answer to the question whoever had posed, she'd close the books with a nod, stack them up, and return to her now-cold dinner.

This was not an unusual event.

At one point, we suggested getting a bookshelf of reference books installed in the kitchen.

Is it any wonder that people regularly assumed my mother had several doctorate degrees?

My daughter may have been rolling her eyes and joking around, but she couldn't have given me a higher compliment than to compare me to my mother.

(Four days. Not that I'm counting.)

Six Bits of Monday Randomness

Random Bit #1

I've been out of town and computer-less since Thursday, spending some much-needed (and enjoyed!) time away with my husband. It. Was. Awesome.

As a result, however, today I opened my Google Reader to find 254 unread posts. Did you get the full impact of that number? Let's spell it out:

TWO HUNDRED FIFTY-FOUR.

Holy schmoly, you people are prolific!

Um . . . I don't think I'll be getting to all those posts. Just a tiny little guess. Don't take it personally or anything. I'm just not Super Woman.

Random Bit #2

Yesterday the lesson I got to teach the Sunday School class for the older teens was about . . . get this . . . the Salt Lake Temple and its foundation. I'm so not kidding. Ya think that's a topic I know a tiny bit about?

The point of the lesson was about the importance of building your spiritual foundation on Christ, and it compared the Salt Lake Temple foundation to that, including the original sandstone foundation that cracked and needed to be replaced with something stronger so it could hold such a large and magnificent building.

I knew so much more about the story than what was in the lesson because of my research, so I basically tossed the manual aside and had a ball. I don't think I've ever enjoyed teaching that class quite so much.

Random Bit #3

The only down side was that one of my students skipped out of Sunday School after sacrament meeting. He was one of the youth speakers and did a phenomenal job, and I wanted to give him some praise.

He was also one of the band members coming home when the bus crashed last week, and he told some of his personal experiences related to that and connected them to his faith. I won't share the stories here, because they're his and rather private, but I had tears rolling down my cheeks. Let's just say he's a remarkable young man.

Stinker for not coming to class so I could tell him so.

Random Bit #4

My kids are getting really good at teasing their mother and enjoying it. Last night at dinner, one of the girls said a real zinger (I don't remember exactly what it was now), and I about busted a gut. It was so on target that I laughed to the point I couldn't breathe.

The whole family was laughing, and when we calmed down, Dad said to her, "You do realize that I could never have said that and gotten away with it."

#3 then goes, "Of course not. You're the husband. But I'm a kid. Kids are cute. We can say all kinds of things and can get away with them."

They're awfully perceptive, those little people. I warned her that it won't last forever. She's 10. In 5 years, such a comment won't be so cute. (But holy cow, it was hysterical yesterday.)

Random Bit #5

As dinner ended, I was informed that I would be playing Monopoly with the younguns, mostly because #4, the baby of the family (now 7), had never played it. I braced myself, knowing just how long that game can run, and told them that it's going to end at 8:00 when it's time to get ready for bed, regardless of whether it's really over. (They tried to hide the clock from me during the game. The fact that I was wearing a watch somehow slipped their notice.)

It was the most bizarre game of Monopoly I've ever played. I went around the board twice, literally landing on every space my youngest had right after she did, and therefore owing her rent on every single turn and never getting to buy my own property. So bizarre. It took three times around the board before I managed to buy the one piece of property I ever bought. I ended up bartering for another, and I got that only because #3 (who'd mocked me so well two hours prior) took pity on me.

Who won? By 8:00, the 7-year-old had the most assets by a landslide. She was so excited about it (and not exactly a good sport, apparently) that she walked downstairs to get ready for bed, chanting, "Burn, burn, burn!"

Aw . . . what a sweetheart.

Random Bit #6

Mom and Dad come home from Helsinki in eleven days. (Squeeeee!)

My kids have this little habit now. Anytime someone mentions how many more days until Grandma and Grandpa come home, it's followed by them all saying in sync, "Not that we're counting," and then lots of giggles.

We all know full well that we are counting . . . and have been for several months.

In fact, today for family night, we're making a paper chain. I know they're coming home, but I don't really know it, if that makes sense. They've been gone on missions since right before my second book came out, since my baby was 2 years old. To think that they'll be home, just twenty minutes away . . .

Okay, I better stop, because I'm getting weepy again.

Reminder: Win a Book!

Today is the last day to make your guesses on my WNW quiz for a chance to win a book.

UPDATE: I've decided to have TWO winners instead of just one!

1) The person with the most correct answers

AND

2) One randomly drawn name.

So it's worth taking a shot at the questions even if you have no clue what the answers are.

Rule reminders:

• Answers are accepted through today only, Tuesday, August 18.
• Either leave your answers in the comments or e-mail them to me: annette at annettelyon dot com
• Both winners will be posted tomorrow, Wednesday, August 19th.

Up for me today: an early-morning soccer practice, final school shopping (yes, I still have some to finish up, if you can believe it--cutting it very close), a grocery store trip, an orthodontist appointment, two school open houses, a soccer game, and two possible youth activities, one hinging on whether we make it to the soccer game and find the field in some obscure park in another city.

If my family eats, has clean dishes to eat off of or clothes to wear, it'll be a miracle.

But they'll have clean underwear. So that's something, right?

Dinner Discussion and Ratings

When the young 'uns were tiny, having dinner table conversation didn't really happen. I often felt like the mom in The Christmas Story who never got a warm bite to eat because she was constantly helping all the little people with their dinner.

And let's face it: infants and toddlers really don't have much to discuss.

Now that the kids are older, things are a-changin', and dinner table discussion is one of them. I'm enjoying it. One of the more interesting discussions to crop up of late: movie and video game ratings.

It started because one of my daughters had been planning her birthday party for about, oh, two months. (I had to hold her back from delivering the invitations two weeks early. She'd been that obsessed.) Part of the event included a video. Originally she wanted something "scary," which in her vocabulary meant Hitchcock (I'm so proud).

But then she realized that not all her 10-year-old friends would appreciate Hitchcock. (Wise girl.) So she started researching online. (Scary how good she is at it.) She loves Robin Williams from things like Flubber. So she found another movie he's in and asked if it would be okay for them to watch: License to Wed. Immediately, I nixed it. No, I told her, that would not be appropriate for the party.

(What I thought was, With all the adult content in that movie, if I were stupid enough to let you watch it, your friends' parents would all flog me, and for good reason.)

She found a site that rates movies based on content and appropriateness for age ranges (how she found it, I'll never know; I'll have to ask her what it was, because it sounded really awesome), and discovered a cute little movie that was a great fit: clean and perfect for her age range.

So at dinner we got talking about movies and ratings. She mentioned that some of her friends' parents won't let them see PG-13 movies until they're actually 13. That's fine, I said. That's their rule. But I did wonder silently if the rule also meant that they're allowed to see any PG-13 movie at that age.

Which wouldn't be okay in my book.

My kids (only one of which is older than 13) have seen a few PG-13 movies. Each one is hand-picked by Mom and Dad. There are PG-13 movies I don't want them to EVER see (but when they're adults, that's their choice, and it'll be out of my hands.) And there are some that I'll let them see when they're a little younger than 13 but can handle the suspense or the content or whatever.

But the point of our discussion is that the ratings are a suggested guideline, that they're someone's opinion, and that we shouldn't take them as our only source to make a decision.

We talked about my son's video games as another example. He has the entire Zelda series. I've lost track, but I think there are four games. The first three have the typical kiddie rating. The last one is rated T ("Teen," basically, the equivalent of PG-13). Zelda is very much a fairytale fantasy game. You're a little elf-like creature, using your sword to hit open stones for gems to use as money. You fight evil monsters and the like. Good fairies help you along the way. Good and evil are very differentiated, and good wins.

It didn't worry me that the last one was rated T. Just like certain elements automatically give a film a PG-13 or R-rating, any blood automatically gives a video game a T-rating. My son has won the game twice and still hasn't found the blood. But apparently, it's in there somewhere. Hence, the T rating.

But then there's the game Medal of Honor, based on WWII, and directed like a movie by Steven Spielberg. (Which frankly blows my mind. What was he thinking, especially after making Schindler's List?). The graphics are intensely realistic. You're a soldier with a gun, killing other real-looking people. You shoot someone's limb off, and then they bleed and fall down and groan as they die. It's like a real-life movie you're in, blowing up people.

You're not in there rescuing prisoners from concentration camps or taking back cities. It's battles and rampant destruction. It's a far cry from the pretend, light-hearted world of Zelda.

And here's the other big thing: players of Medal of Honor don't (and frankly, can't) have the same mindset as real WWII soldiers did, knowing that they're fighting Hitler's regime and possibly trying to save the world, that they're fighting for home and family and freedom and their very lives.

That's what World War II was about. This game is about randomly killing people in a very realistic setting. And that's not okay with me.

Yet both the last Zelda game and this one have the same rating.

Explain that to me, because it makes no sense.

Medal of Honor will never, ever, enter my house. Yet if I based all my decisions purely on ratings, either both games or neither would be under my roof.

Two final thoughts:

While living in Finland, we (obviously) used the Finnish rating system as our guideline for picking movies.

Since non-sexual nudity is really a non-issue in Europe, we ended up renting a couple of movies that had the equivalent of a G-rating there but an R-rating here. A couple of others might have been PG there but R here.

One of those G-rated videos was rented by my father for a Family Home Evening. I still giggle when I think of that: the mission president renting an R-rated movie for his family. Hahaha! (But it was G over there! It was! And the nudity was seriously like 1/4 of a second long and totally non-sexual.)

I learned quickly upon returning to the States to check a video's rating before mentioning that I'd seen the film so I wouldn't freak-out my friends. Ratings are very much in the eye of the beholder.

The final thing I'll mention I still find a bit disturbing: Disney's Pocahontas was rated, as were all Disney animated movies at one point, G. We'll not discuss the lameness of the movie and its historical inaccuracy.

What specifically bothered me rating-wise is that at one point, a white man shoots an American Indian at point-blank range with a rifle, and the Indian falls down and dies. Pocahontas falls to her knees, and all the characters, including the shooter, are upset by the incident. This isn't "fantasy violence" like you'd see on the Roadrunner cartoons or Bugs Bunny, you know, someone running off a cliff and staying in the air a moment before they fall, or getting whacked on the head with a hammer and we all laugh. This was an actual rifle shooting an actual man and killing him.

If it weren't animated, it would have gotten at least a PG rating. If should have gotten a PG rating. Why didn't it? Because it was Disney and it was animated. And let's not forget that John Smith nearly gets his head cracked open by a rock. Is that really G material?

Granted, that was back in 1995. I was thrilled the first time I saw an animated movie get a PG rating. (I'm not remembering what it was called right now . . . it was something about a junkyard robot . . . and it came out before Shrek.)

Seeing a PG rating on an animated movie told me that the ratings board was finally cluing in: just because something is drawn doesn't mean the content won't impact the audience.

The discussion with my kids was awesome. They were getting it. Let's just say that this dinner table talk thing is getting fun. As much as I freak out about my kids aging, they're sure at a fun stage right now.

Lessons from Random Stuff in My Head

Don't Be Judgmental, Because You REALLY Don't Know.

Today, my dear friend Brillig's post about put me into tears. Go read it. You'll be glad you did. (Her blog has had some techno-problems. I hope the link works.)

If Writing a Random Claims to Fame Post, Don't Forget Your Own Family.

Um, duh. Yeah, I'm feeling kinda stupid on this one.

If you live in Utah (or are LDS and shop in Seagull and Deseret Book), you have probably heard of the A Capella group VoiceMale.

Okay, so here's my giant claim to fame: The founder and vocal percussionist, John L. (there are 2 Johns in the group, so they really do use their last initials) is my dear cousin. He put the group together when they were at USU. They practiced in my uncle and aunt's home, and he often arranged (and still does arrange) some of their music.

And he's one of the most generous and sweet guys I've ever known, and that's counting all the years we had growing up together as cousins when he and my brother played Stratego in their basement.

(John's the one in the middle sitting on the couch arm. Can't you totally see the family resemblance? Kidding. Actually, he looks freakishly like my nephew. It's odd how genes jump around.)

So here's why I'm mentioning it right now: VoiceMale has an upcoming benefit concert for the Ulster Project, which has been going since 1974 to help sow the seeds of peace between the Catholic and Protestant sections of Northern Ireland. You can learn more at the Ulster Project site.

The benefit concert will be July 31 at Murray High school, and tickets are available at the Ulster website (see the link above). VoiceMale concerts are always a ball, and they're great for the entire family. And I'm not just saying that because John's my cousin or because the acrobatics he can do with his voice are mind-numbingly amazing.

Other random lessons I have learned recently:

Don't Be Overly Optimistic

I recently lost more than five (much needed) pounds. In Sunday's rush to get everyone ready for church, I grabbed a dress that used to be pretty tight on me and I haven't worn in awhile. But I've lost some weight, right? Surely it would fit now.

In the whopping 1.3 minutes I had to get it on, I discovered that I didn't quite fit into it. The buttons bulged a bit, and they ended in a place so I looked about 5 months pregnant. Ahem. No time to change into something else. I grabbed the requisite "church bag" and ran out the door.

Note to self: Do not even touch that dress until you've lost at least another ten pounds.

Six Isn't Enough, And Seven Might Not Be, Either. Because I Am a Masochist.

If you followed my Facebook whining, you'll know it took me a whopping six batches of chocolate cupcakes experiments to get ones that both tasted good and didn't sink in the middle.

(My kids kept telling me to just use the sunken ones in the cookbook and call them "chocolate ice cream bowls. Yeah . . . sure . . .)

This cookbook journey has been a massive learning curve in the chemistry of baking. (I feel like Dr. Seuss: "Oh, the things you can learn!") Recently I had an epiphany and realized two things that might make the cupcakes really great. So I jotted down two notes to try yet another batch.

Today I did batch #7 . . . but since I'm so tired lately and observant (Haha!) and lame, I noticed and applied only one of the two notes.

The cupcakes actually turned out pretty darn good. But there's that little part of me that wonders if they'd be even better if I tried one more time adding that other note, because ya know, what if it made all the difference and made them that much better . . .

But do I have it in me to make an EIGHTH batch when I'm not even halfway (and should be!) on the book? I mean really?

I need to wear make-up more often.

I've really let this one go this summer, something I've never done before. My daughter recently commented how much better I look with make-up, in her words, "not scary."

Thanks so much, cutie. I think.

In her defense, it's actually a little weird how different I look with and without makeup. Part of the difference is that my eyelashes are very long but totally blond, so without mascara, it's almost as if my face has disappeared. I've shocked people on more than one occasion with the difference. And then I have adult acne and a rather splotchy skin tone, and blue circles under my eyes. The list goes on. It doesn't take much to hide it all, but the result is very different than what we started out with.

Once I had to go to church for the first hour but was sick myself and had to leave after that to get home to a sick child. I deliberately wore very little makeup (but I did put on some mascara), because I knew people would assume simply by looking at me that I was sick (which I really was). If I wore the full face, they'd wonder why I left, and I'd end up having to answer more questions. I'd predicted exactly what happened. I had people telling me to go home because I looked so awful. All because I wasn't wearing the full eye shadow/liner/blush/lipstick combo.

Yet this summer I find myself going to the grocery store in the middle of the day having barely gotten out of my pajamas, taken a shower (If I'm lucky. I often have hair in a greasy pony tail or it's wet from the recent shower) and wearing no make-up to speak of. Not sure what my problem is. Maybe I just don't care anymore.

Regardless, I think I'm giving small children at the stores trauma. I mean, it's bad when your own kids start commenting on it. I hope I'm not embarrassing them, but I must be. Worse, they're at that age when they CAN be embarrassed by their mother.

Sometimes I Need Chocolate I Didn't Make

Like tonight. There are days I'm so sick of my "chocolate laboratory" that I just want some comfort chocolate that my hands had nothing to do with. So it was with great pleasure that I saw my husband walk in the door this evening with my favorite chocolate silk pie. I'm going to have a very large piece right now.

See you on the flip side!

Would You Take the Pretty Pill?

Pretty matters. It's a reality that's unfair, but it's real.

The first encounter with it that I recall was around eight years old while taking dance classes. One girl, Erin, I think her name was, was the teacher's pet. He treated her better than anyone else, always putting her on the front row and fawning over her, giving her far more compliments and attention than anyone else.

She was a good dancer, sure, but there were plenty of other great dancers in the class. I remember thinking how unfair it was that we didn't get anywhere near the same adulation, nowhere near the same encouragement or commentary. And even with the hindsight of almost thirty years, I can honestly say I was as good as she was. It made no sense.

I complained to my mother. I described Erin. Mom raised an eyebrow, having a clue as to what what going on.

See, Erin always arrived at class with really cute dance clothes, hair in curls and ribbons. I think she had earrings, and quite possibly a thin layer of lip gloss.

Mom's eyes narrowed as she came up with an experiment. For my next dance class, I wore a brand new leotard and tights. We put my hair in darling curls with bows. Mom even added a slight, natural-looking touch of blush on my cheeks, and maybe even a tiny bit of eye shadow.

Mr. Dance Teacher couldn't give me enough attention.

It felt good at the moment (Ha! Mom's experiment worked!), but afterward, I was hurt. The only thing that had changed was my appearance. I looked cute, so my teacher acted differently. Mom was irate but not at all surprised.

It was my first experience with the reality of the world we live in. There are times we all deal with it: we dress up for a job interview, we put on nicer clothes for church. But in day-to-day interactions, yes, we're also judged. And people treat us accordingly.

But here's the important thing: no matter how we change on the outside, we're still the same people inside.

Recently I came across a blog post that brought this issue center stage for me. It posed a question: If you could take a pill that made you physically thinner and prettier . . . but stupider . . . would you take it?

The comment section stunned me: the overwhelming response was yes, the readers (mostly female) would take such a pill in a heartbeat.

The responses made me want to cry. Yes, the Erins of our world may get treated a bit differently. But do these reader really think that being pretty and skinny in and of themselves make you happy?

REALLY?

They DON'T.

For someone seriously overweight, this may hard to swallow; they feel as if they'd do anything to be thin, and if they were, they'd finally be happy. But you know what? That's not how it works. I know plenty of people (many close to me) who have lost 40 or 50 or more pounds, have looked fantastic at reaching whatever size . . . but then gained it all back. Why? Because being skinny didn't change them on the inside.

Having a new dress size didn't change their mental and emotional thermostat, the way they respond to life events and stress, the way they see the world. The same things that made them sad and happy and stressed and overjoyed before still did.

A lower number on the scale didn't change those things.

Consider this: I know plenty of people (and I bet you do, too) who have never struggled with weight issues but who are still unhappy and possibly even clinically depressed. (If being skinny makes you happy, explain that one.)

Newsflash: Skinny does not equal happy.

I've lived through this pill experiment (inadvertently, but literally). You can read that whole post here, but here's the nutshell version:

I was on a preventative migraine medication that made me lose a lot of weight. I ended up very thin (nearly 10 pounds lighter than I was at high school graduation) and looking great.

However, I physically ill all. The. Time. I felt no joy in life.

On top of that, I became, literally, stupid. One side effect basically made my brain fall out of my head. I found myself trying to focus on what my kids were saying to me and asking them to repeat themselves several times.

Once (not making this up) I had to count 3 + 6 on my fingers.

I was skinny. I was stupid. I was miserable.

As I weaned off the medication, I decided to wear a dress I could finally fit into after a good 15 years or so of being too big for it, knowing that the minute I was off the medication I'd never fit into it again. Because yes, I did enjoy being thin.

But that size did NOT make me happy. There is a distinct difference.

That medication period was a very dark, miserable time.

I had exchanged a physical improvement for the loss of my mind and intelligence.

I couldn't write then. I had a hard time reading, because frankly, I wasn't smart enough (couldn't focus enough) to follow. I was stupid, skinny, and utterly depressed.

I doubt I'll ever again be as thin as I was during those few months. While it's a nice pipe dream to think I could be, I recognize that if I ever fit into that peach-colored dress again, it'll be a fun moment, but it won't be the greatest source of my joy in life. The greatest sources of joy in my life are a lot more significant than a stupid dress.

During that time (and even since), I cannot count how many people have said they'd love to try that pill for the weight loss, even if it made them stupid. I always want to shake some sense into them, make them understand that losing who you are while being thin doesn't bring happiness.

Really, it doesn't. Happiness comes from within, not from a number on a scale, and not from a dress size.

I try not to care about the Erins among us, although I admit to being intimidated by drop-dead gorgeous women who look like they just walked off a Vogue cover. But here's the catch: I doubt they're happier just because they're skinny and pretty. They surely have their own life challenges.

No one escapes this life unscathed, curls or ribbons notwithstanding.

I'm not sure what the point of this is, exactly. On the one hand, I'm very aware that appearance is significant and that how I look affects how people treat and view me. It's an odd line to walk.

So I'm always sure to wear something a bit businessy-dressy for author appearances and the like. I wear casual clothes (jeans, sweats, t-shirts, and [who am I kidding?] pajamas) around the house. I refuse to visit the salon every few weeks to color my hair and get my nails done or to follow fashion trends. While I know it's important to make a good impression, I don't want to be an Erin.

There's a part of me that whispers that trying to be one of them will only make me miserable, because I can't be perfect. I can't be the most pretty. I can't be the skinniest.

But I can be smart. And I can be me.

No stupid and skinny pill for me, thanks.

The trick now is trying to teach my three daughters that balance: value your appearance. Present yourself well, but don't chase after perfection, thinking it'll make you happy, because it won't.

Never, ever, give up part of who you are for someone else.

I'm currently a bit chubby, but I'll stick with that if it means I'm smart and happy. Yes, I'm trying to lose weight (mostly so I don't have to buy bigger clothes, plus it's a healthy thing to do, and because exercise keeps my mood more even).

But no way would I ever again exchange smart and happy for something as shallow as thin or pretty.

Kicked out of the Young Club

I'm not sure how it happened. One minute I was a mommy with a bunch of little tykes. I regularly read parenting magazines and books and could tell you exactly at what age each of my kids got every tooth, when they sat, scooted, crawled, and had their first tastes of different foods. I lived and breathed the baby years.

Those years are gone, yes, but I'm still a mommy, right?

Okay, fine. I do throw my head back and cackle with glee when I push my grocery cart past the diaper aisle. No more of those. Bwa-hahahaha!

But apparently, I'm not really a mom anymore.

See, I signed up at a site that links to giveaways and deals for moms. (Note that it's not for "mommies." MOMS.) Right up my alley, right? I'm a mom. (I've got the strewn backpacks, mountains of laundry, and stretch marks to prove it.)

But then I started getting their e-mails.

Um, I have no need for a stroller anymore, thanks. Same goes for hair bands (you know, the kind bald baby girls wear)? Last time I bought those was probably 8 years ago. Onesies? Rattles? Baby quilts? Baby girl dresses? Infant car seats?

Are you kidding me? Since when does "baby years" mean "mother"? Giveaways for moms should also include stuff like poster boards in bulk for last-minute school reports, a gas card for all the taxi driving we do and maybe even a gift certificate to buy shoes so I can get a pair that both fit my son's honkin feet and the clothing budget. And a spa certificate.

Then I got kicked out of another club.

In my continual efforts to be frugal, I signed up at yet another site that links to bargains every day. But then I noticed on the site in big, bold letters that they cater to women in their twenties.

I didn't care at first. After all, my twenties weren't that long ago . . . I didn't think.

But then I did think.

And, um, I'm leaning toward 40. The target audience of that site was being potty-trained when I graduated high school. Ahem.

It's getting downright depressing, this age thing. On some surveys I've had to fill out lately, I'm in the next age bracket. You know, if you're 18-23 check this box, 24-29, check this one 30-34, that one.

I'm in the NEXT BOX. The one that says 35-40. That sounds so much older than 30-34. Or is it just me?

I had no problem turning 30. I was actually quite happy about it, because it felt like I might get a bit of validation. I look so stinking young for my age (stupid, baby-fat face) that people don't always take me seriously. I thought that maybe have that 3 in front of my age would help.

But now . . . being on the other side of my thirties, where you round UP to 40? Hmm. Not enjoying that so much.

Especially when it means I don't belong in the mommy club on one site and most certainly don't belong on the 20-something site.

Another sign I'm getting old? I don't recognize half the popular band names that are out right now. The Today show's summer concert series? American Idol guest stars? I don't know more than half of them. (Gaga who?)

That's pretty much the touchstone right there: not knowing the current music. Yep. What can I say? I'm a member of Generation X. That used to be a hip term. Now that X means all the things I used to be.

What a truly odd sensation.

On the other hand, I'm at a great stage. My kids are more fun now than they've ever been, and I can do things now writing-wise I couldn't before simply because my life doesn't revolve around nap times, feeding times, and pooping times. Oh, and I get to sleep through the night on a regular basis.

There's also the fact that I can look back at all the things I've learned since I was 20.

And you know, I don't think I'd want to go back there. 20 wasn't as bad as junior high, granted (few things could be worse than 8th grade), but today I know more about who I am and what life's about than I did 15 years ago.

I guess this aging thing isn't so bad. I just hope I look as gorgeous at 65 as my mom does now.

Now that I could totally handle.

Today, A Tag

Meant to do this one from LisAway for ages now, and since I have a minute . . .



Where is your phone? In my purse.

Where is your significant other? One room over, watching TV.

Your hair color? Formerly blonde. Now boring blah-ish brownish.

Your mother? Gorgeous: looks like Meryl Streep. Seriously. Way smart. Gospel scholar.

Your father? My favorite Word Nerd in the world (surely where I get it from). Wisest and kindest man I know.

Your favorite thing? Um . . . could we be a bit more specific? That could be anything from chocolate to writing to my family to a hot bath.

Your dream last night? I don't remember it, but I woke up thinking, "Weird."

Your dream/goal? I have lots. One of the biggest is to raise four children who are happy, moral, well-adjusted adults.

Your hobby? What's a hobby? Okay, I suppose knitting, when I get around to it. Which is far less often than I'd like.

Room you're in? My office. Which I love. I'm hiding from the kids. It's not working very well.

Your fear? Claustrophobia. I've got a bunch of others, but trust me; you don't want to know.

Where do you want to be in six years? Still living in this house, doing what I love (writing and publishing, only more). Coping with my son being on a mission. (Bizarre thought, that.) Living with a better version of me.

Where were you last night? Playing Scrabble with my son. I totally won. (He trashes me in chess all the time, so we're even.)

One of your wish list items? A new dining set that actually matches our cupboard and doesn't have kid paint and stamp stains all over it.

What you're not? Male.

Where you grew up? Mostly in Utah, although those three years in Helsinki were pretty darn formative.

The last thing you did? Cleaned up dinner. Be impressed. I'm trying hard to get it cleaned up at night instead of waiting until morning like I often used to because at night I'm always so darned tired. I've done pretty well the last few weeks. Don't be horrified at my old habit, please.

Your TV? Rarely watched by me. Watched a lot by everyone else in the house.

Your pets? White Siamese mix with flame-tipped markings. A bit cross-eyed. Has serious mood issues. Is destroying my computer chair by climbing up it and sharpening her claws on it.

Your computer? New laptop. Woot!

Your mood? Worn out. A bit blue.

Missing someone? Mom and Dad. Very much.

Your car? 10-year-old Dodge Grand Caravan Sport. It served us faithfully until last summer when it decided to fall apart. Lots of repairs later, it's plugging along. For now. Cross your fingers. We need it to last awhile longer.

Something you're not wearing? Pajamas, but if I were typing this around, oh, noon, I'd have to say something else. I tend to wear PJs way too long every day. But, hey, they're comfy!

Your summer? Was hot. I guess. Whatever.

Love someone? What kind of lame question is that?

Your favorite color? Burgundy. And sage. But not together.

When was the last time you laughed? At dinner. The kids crack me up.

Last time you cried? At church. I tend to tear-up easily when others share emotional experiences.



I'm pulling a Lisa and saying that if you comment, you're tagged.

But only if you want to be.

So whatever. No pressure or anything. :)

Post-Christmas Stress

Because of the way weekends hit, this is the longest Christmas break the kids have ever experienced. They've been around each other all day, every day, for a long time already.

It was fine at first; they even spent hours in the snow making forts and snow houses and came in with rosy cheeks and grins. But now the Christmas cheer is wearing thin. I'm already getting, "I'm bored!" (What, did all your Christmas toys break already? Didn't think so.)

I'm also getting sibling fights that rival the WWF. Today, one child actually drew blood. "Accidentally."

Uh, huh. Sure.

I planned to get a bunch of stuff done during this week, including some housework stuff that's languished for months (my mending "pile" resembles Kilimanjaro, for starters). But I also feel pressure to make sure the kids have fun during their break.

Like how I promised to take them ice skating at some point. If they weren't so set on killing each other, I wouldn't dread that outing. Somehow I'm thinking that putting sharp metal edges on the feet of children already annoyed with one another isn't the wisest thing to do.

Today was a great start to the week: I had yet another appointment regarding my chronic headaches (I swear I live at the dentist's office), did a Costco run (not much food in the house after Christmas and a trip to Grandma's), and I managed to fold laundry, gather dirty clothes, and throw in a load. I don't have all the dirty ones collected yet, because I was too lazy to make the kids unpack properly when we got home yesterday.

I still have a few Christmas decorations up mocking me that I'm trying to ignore. Stupid, I know, because if I were to just put them away I'd be much happier and the place would be less cluttered. But that would make too much sense.

The kitchen looks like a cyclone swept through it. I can't seem to get the kids practicing piano again after a week off. The little one refuses to do her daily chore, although she's been pretending to do it for two hours now (a chore that would take a motivated 6-year-old oh, five minutes). She's gonna be so ticked when I tell her she can't have a friend over this afternoon because she ran out of time to play.

We have another week until school starts again. Heaven help me.

On a happier note, apparently being a Word Nerd is genetic. A few days ago, I overheard the following from my tween:

"Oh, cool, guys. Check it out. I found a typo on Club Penguin!"

My kids might be trying to kill each other, but at least I've passed on something useful.

On the Bright Side

A head cold

+A sick little girl crying a good chunk of the night

+Almost no sleep

= I'd hoped that today I'd get to sit around in jammies, wrapped in a blanket, sipping hot cocoa as I read a book and blew my nose all day and tried to recuperate.

Alas, it was not to be. Instead I ended up with two doctor appointments, a pharmacy trip, plus a very much needed grocery run. On slick, icy roads. (I like to look at snow, not drive in it.)

But . . . I came home with $185 worth of groceries for $83.11.

So, you know, that felt pretty good.

Now pardon me while I sneeze my head off . . .

1 Tree, 2 Sick Girls, 3 Winners, 4 Adorable Kidlets

1 Tree
It didn't occur to me to post pictures of our Finnish decorations until commenters mentioned it. So here we are: some close-ups of the straw decorations, including various kinds of stars and snowflakes, pine cones, angels, and even straw garland.

You can see the tree in all its splendor as well as the goats (on the mantel) at the bottom of this post.

I've always been a white light girl myself, but hubby likes multicolored. We tend to trade off from one year to the other to keep us both happy. But this year, I insisted on white. To me, multicolored just wouldn't work with the straw ornaments. Last time we used all white, some of the strands died, so yesterday I went to buy more before we got the tree.

Do you know how stinkin' hard it is to find plain old white lights?!

There were oodles of multicolored ones, but almost the only plain white I could find were icicles. Not what I needed. I ended up buying several boxes of the only other ones there: mini strands with of a paltry 20 lights on each . . . argh! But hey. It worked.

Our tree looks pretty good. At least, it looks good save for the bottom foot or two, which are pretty bare so the cat doesn't destroy my cool ornaments. She's already decided she likes taking flying leaps into the tree and sleeping on one of the boughs.

2 Sick Girls

In the middle of her piano lesson yesterday, #3 came down with a pretty nasty head cold. She was miserable for much of the evening, but with the help of some Advil managed to put a smile on her face enough to go get the tree with the family and take a picture (below). She's staying home from school today.

Then last night I was up for three hours with #4, who woke up in horrible pain with a UTI. She, too, is home from school.

Yeah. I had a ton of things on my to-do list for today. A doctor's visit and lots of cuddling with two little girls is pretty much going to replace most of that. Hope the fam isn't too hung up on having things like clean underwear.

3 Winners

As promised, I'm announcing the Pay It Forward winners today:

Marcia

Redhoodoos

Sher

Congratulations, ladies! Remember to let me know which book you want and where to send it. And be sure to Pay It Forward on your own blogs.

4 Adorable Kidlets

With the tree up, we (finally!) took a picture to use on our Christmas cards. The kids look so grown up to me, it's sort of freaking me out. I swear, they were just babies. Babies, I tell you!

Note the Scandinavian sweater #2 is wearing . . . I wore that very sweater myself at that age.

The picture uploaded really little even though I picked "large" (no idea why . . . dumb Blogger), but you can sorta see the straw goats on the mantel above my son's head (one big goat, two little ones).

Merry Christmas!

Dissing Dora

Thanks to a tip from a friend, I found out that today author Lynne Truss is speaking at the BYU Devotional.

Woo! Yes! Snoopy happy dance! News like that is akin to Word Nerd Crack.

Alas . . . I can't make it. (I know. That fact is about killing me.)

No worries: I've already set my TiVo to record the devotional. The one they broadcast on KBYU had better be the live one. (If not, I'll still dig around and find the video to watch. I just GOTTA. It's Lynne Truss, people!)

Last night when I set the TiVo up to record, I got the warning that Dora the Explorer and The Wonder Pets! overlap with the devotional and wouldn't be recorded if I proceeded.

I had to choose: A speech by a writer I think is hilarious and witty on one hand, and my sweet little kindergartner who loves Dora and Tuck and all the little Wonder Pets on the other.

Simple answer, really. I'm hoping to keep #4 distracted from the TV today. She'll forgive me, right?

Yes, It's Brown. No, I Didn't Mean To.

It was an accident, and as soon as I can be sure that I won't fry my hair off, I'll be fixing it. (How is still somewhat up in the air . . .)

Until a couple of years ago, I'd never, ever colored my hair. Then I finally decided to join the rest of the adult female world and try to lighten up my darkening, used-to-be-blonde hair. I liked it, but I couldn't afford to keep it up at the salon, even at Fantastic Sam's prices.

Over the last while, I've been using a bottle at home. My first attempt went fine for the most part, but the color turned out slightly too reddish and light for my taste. I have nothing against natural red hair (I gave birth to three of the most adorable red heads EVER!), but dyed red hair doesn't usually look natural. And it didn't look that good; it looked kinda brassy on top of being too light.

Not wanting to risk a total disaster, I stuck with the color for awhile, but eventually tried another one. I went with a "neutral" version of the same color, having learned that on my hair, "warmer" translates to "brassy," "too light," and "funky reddish."

It still turned out too red/brassy and too blonde. (Neutral? Riiiiiiight . . .)

At this point, I was seriously annoyed, because the model's hair color on the front of the boxes and the sample colors on the back were always, always, way darker than my hair ever turned out.

Fine, I figured. I'll go "cooler" and a single shade darker than before. That should get rid of the red, brassy look, and get me a little less hyper blonde.

For once, the box told the truth, and my hair is now the exact brown on the box.

Crap and oops. People, ONE shade darker doesn't equal ten shades. Right? One would think.

#3 has been rubbing it in. "It's brown! It's brown! It's brown!" she cries. I've had neighbors give me funny looks, tilt their heads, and go, "I thought it was the light, but . . ."

Yes, I know I look weird. I know it's brown. Enough of the commentary. Please?

(No, I won't be posting a picture, in case you were wondering. I'm not that masochistic.)

I Heart Heat

Very early Sunday morning (or, rather, really late Saturday night), we woke up to the delightful smell of burning plastic wafting through the heat vents. As an added bonus, the house was freezing.

Yep. Our furnace is on the fritz.

I'm trying to put a good spin on the situation:

• It's November, not January.
• Getting it fixed might not cost an arm and a leg. It'll still probably cost a few toes or fingers, and that stinks, since the furnace is all of 4 1/2 years old, but hey, I'm all for paying less. Even if I'm getting used to paying for broken stuff (like our transmission that died in August. That was fun.)
• Our gas fireplace pumps out heat pretty well.
• Baking rolls when your furnace is out helps heat up the kitchen.
• I have that nifty mini fireplace for my office that I'm blaring all day long.
• Recently, hubby got a space heater for the master bedroom (which is always the coldest place in the house even when the furnace is functioning). It, too, runs all the time now.

I never thought I'd be so grateful for three little heater thingys.

But they aren't quite enough. The basement feels remarkably like the arctic tundra right now. You walk down the stairs, and the change in temperature hits you like a wall.

Problem: That's where all the kids sleep.

So last night we threw an impromptu slumber party for them in the great room by the fireplace. With the noise and necessary light on for the girls, my son couldn't sleep and headed to his frigid cave of a room anyway. Somehow he survived the night without frostbite.

It was lovely, truly, when he had to get up to practice piano extra early because he has his lesson on Monday mornings. Yeah. The girls loved waking up to that.

In other news, I'm toying with the idea of doing a word nerd-type post on some semi-regular basis, something along the lines of the whole luff-tenant thing I went over recently. I've even thought of calling it, "Word Nerd Wednesday" or something like that.

I've gotten other questions here and there (like, "Why is Dick a nickname for Richard?") that would make for some interesting (to me, anyway) posts. But I won't inflict them on my readers if those posts would bore the rest of blogdom to tears. Vote in the poll at the right! (Be honest.)

Also, don't forget to visit (and bid at!) the Whitney Auction. New items are up all the time. Click on the Whitney Auction button at the top of this page and you'll go to the store front (where you can put some items into your cart and just buy them) or use the handy-dandy link below that to view all of the auction items at eBay at the same time.