Trapped

California is a place full of good smells and bad, overly-fit and fat people in tiny clothes, and long, long lines.  At least in my experience.

Last week we took our kids to Legoland.  We’ve heard from numerous sources that Legoland is a fantastic place to take children twelve and under.  That’s about accurate, even if the adults accompanying those twelve-and-youngers are bored.  

The weather was perfect: warm sunshine and a cool breeze.  The whole park smelled of flowers and fried food.  We got there early enough that the lines weren’t outrageous for a couple of hours.  The cities made of Lego were interesting.  Most of the rides were small kid-friendly, and adult eye-rolling. 

Then our youngest child saw a roller coaster.  He had to go!  Please! Please! Please! By this time the lines had grown to four times their previous size.  While waiting and waiting for our turn on “The Dragon”, our youngest put his hand on the railing behind him while looking elsewhere.  As his hand was unattended, someone behind us in line sat on it.  The sitting man’s tush completely covered our son’s hand, and our son (being a more than usual ham) started trying theatrically to pull it out.  “Mom!  Mom!  Look!” he yelled.

I started laughing uncontrollably, tears running down my face, the other kids were looking around trying to figure out if this was funny or embarrassing.  My husband offered suggestions for freeing our son’s hand in between laughs.  Through all that, our youngest just kept tugging.

Either that man was deaf (which I doubt since he was talking the whole time), or he has a medical condition in his tush where he cannot feel it when he sits on something that moves.   Finally, our son freed his hand, and the man who sat on it continued on, oblivious that he had done anything out of the ordinary.

Along with all the other recommendations for Legoland you’ll find out there, let me put in this one: Look for a hispanic man in a pink tee-shirt and stonewash jeans.  If you find him, slap him on the behind for us.  Thanks.

I'm a Gold-Star Student

I found out today the grade I achieved in the BYU Independent Study course I was taking.  I was really nervous about the final because the professor seems to delight in trick questions, and I'm not good at riddles.  But I managed an A in the first college class I've taken in 14 years.  *Big sigh*   I'm just so relieved.

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Next:

This is what I saw on my jog.  Deer in a meadow surrounded by mountains.  I live in a beautiful place.  It's just hard to remember that sometimes because I'd rather live somewhere else, but I've got my happy face on today.  (If you've ever seen "Strictly Ballroom" you'll appreciate that reference. A big fake smile shiny with tears.  Love.)

I hope you all have on your happy faces.  Without the tears.

Big, Bigger, Biggest

My husband recently got an iPhone 6 plus.  For those of you out there who are unfamiliar with this phenomenon frequently known to engulf the whole side of a face, here's a picture:

The 6 plus is the biggest one; the one trying to eat the banana.  I can't even tell you the many, many times my husband has come home with a new gadget that was nearly microscopic, and he would go on about how much he loved its sleekness and design and tiny-ness.  So, when he brought home a phone the size of our couch, you'll understand that I was rightly surprised.  I imagined him putting it in his car in Fred Flintstone style and watching them tip to the side.

His reasoning was that he hardly ever uses his phone as a phone, but almost always uses it as a handheld computer.  In that way, a larger (huge) screen would come in handy.  I laughed and let his phone join the family as our biggest child.

He asked if I wanted his old phone because that would still be an upgrade for me.  I told him no, thank you.  I like my old, small phone that fits in my pocket without pulling down my pants.

Now, every time he has reason to use my phone he comments on how tiny it is in the same voice I usually reserve for babies, and the longing in his voice is heard by more than myself.

 

A Face Full Of Wo

You know how there are some women who give themselves facials, and mani-pedis, and exfoliate, and all those other things that make them beautiful?  I think the last time I did any of those things I was probably at a sleepover in high school when we put on mud masks and talked about the boys we liked.  

So, when my sister (Yes, Mary, I'm talking about you) bought all of us these face products that she discovered so we could discover them too, I thought I might as well give them a try.  After all, a girl can never be too beautiful, right?

I dove right into the moisturizers because I know how to use those.  Dip finger in pot,  dab on face, rub in, done.  But I had no idea what a facial peel was.  Doesn't it sound ominous?  Like something a super villain would threaten to do to the hero?

However, after talking to two of my sisters about it, I decided I could tackle it.

I washed my face and started rubbing the goo in circles on my cheeks like the box said.  It seemed to be working okay.  I mean, from the conversations I'd had about it, it was supposed to make the top layer of my skin come off.  What confused me, was that I couldn't seem to wash the goo off when I was done circling.  I rinsed, then scrubbed, then scraped, then scratched, then rinsed, and rinsed again.  

When I finally gave up, I had pills on my jaw.  You know, like you get on a sweater after washing it a few times.  Pills.  On my face.  And it took two days for them to go away completely.

I'm still not sure if that means I should never attempt something like this again, or if I should do it every day until my face is sufficiently peeled and I no longer resemble a wool garment. 

Carlsgood

Just back from a great weekend with my husband, my brothers and sisters with their spouses, and my parents.  We went to a beach house in Carlsbad, California.  The weather was chilly but perfect for wandering up and down the beach, and watching whales spout spray just offshore from the huge living room windows.

Here are a few of the places we visited:

All of these places were lots of fun, but the best part was being with my husband and the rest of my family.  We're hilarious.  Also, I feel like I learn a lot listening in on conversations between people who know a lot more than I do.

Bear for President!

The last time I went to the doctor, he said my test scores indicated that I had the same levels on certain things as a hibernating bear.  I guess that would explain why I never want to get out of bed and have overabundant love handles.

(FYI, this picture is from the movie "Ernest and Celestine".  It's one of the sweetest movies I've seen in a long, long time.  I recommend it to everyone, especially if you have children.  It also represents how I feel, except that I would probably have a book tucked under one arm.)

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On another topic, since we just celebrated President's Day, did you know that four American presidents have been assassinated in office?  We all know about JFK and Lincoln, because JFK left behind a lovely widow and was pretty much royalty, and Lincoln had the emancipation proclamation and "O Captain, My Captain", but did you know about McKinley and Garfield?  Both killed in office.  History is fascinating because in studying it, we realize that the people who have gone before us were people just like us.  They had their own loves, losses, deceits and joys and nothing was a simple as it seemed.  I enjoy having that connection.

Simple Pleasures

The last time it snowed at our house, (about 41 days ago, but who's counting?) my kids got together with the neighbors and shoveled and shoveled and shoveled until they built a snow hill.  At its peak the hill was about two and a half feet high.  I wish I had gotten a picture of it because it's all melted now.  

But it was so funny, and a little bit pathetic, to watch the kids slip their way to the top of their sledding hill and then zip down it.  Their joyful faces, pinked cheeks, and bright eyes made it hard not to enjoy their simple pleasures.

I think that's what motherhood is for me: a reminder of simple pleasures.

That, and laundry.

And dishes.