A letter to Papa Elf

Dear Santa,

I have a bone to pick with you. Here we are, Christmas Day -- the first Christmas spent away from our families due to Jacob's unfortunate work schedule -- and you have yet to visit our apartment. Our stockings are limp and lifeless; the only presents under the tree are from my parents and students.

Were you turned off by our lack of chimney? Surely you could have noticed the Welcome mat by our front door hidden under the snow. Did you sense that we didn't have any cookies or milk left out for you? If you had taken the time to look, you would've found a plate of cookies given to us by some neighbors on the kitchen table, buried under the mail. And of course the milk was in the fridge, lest it get warm sitting on the counter.

Did you refuse to come because we don't have any small children? Really, Santa, I didn't think you were an ageist.

You've let us down, but I've decided to extend you the benefit of the doubt. After all, you do have a lot of work to put in for just one night of the year. Stop by our apartment by this Saturday and I won't release the photos I have of you and Mommy another woman kissing under the mistletoe.

Love,
Your friend,
Bring us the presents and no one gets hurt,
Merry Christmas,

Jennifer

The ghost of Christmas (card) past.

Christmas cards have started to arrive in our mailbox, and that means a few things:

1. Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat! And I haven't done any Christmas shopping yet! (And forget holiday baking -- it just isn't going to happen this year. At least, not before Christmas.)

2. I'm feeling a little guilty for not sending Christmas cards. In fact, I have only sent Christmas cards myself twice in my lifetime. Allow me to share.

 This is the picture my next-door neighbors and I (also known as The Eternal Roommates) sent to our parents our freshman year of college. But I'm pretty sure that was when I was in my knockoff Photoshop phase and the picture we sent was actually entirely in orange and red hues, making us look like we were demons or on fire or something. Cheery, eh?

On the back of this Christmas card, we included braggy things about our first semester of college. It was printed on only the highest quality computer paper and mailed off to our parents. I think mine arrived after I had already come home for the break. But it was a big hit.

The following is a picture my sister and I sent out to our parents and I think a few select relatives and roommates.

When we printed it at the BYU Bookstore, we had the option of adding a festive "Merry Christmas!" border. Which we so did. It was basically the best Christmas card of all time, excluding the ones my cousin sends out.

Jacob and I haven't ever sent out Christmas cards. What would we include in our letter? Barring immediate family, who would want a picture of the two of us without any cute kids running around? Especially if the picture looked something like this:

Or this:

Or even this:

Because let's be real, we haven't taken any "normal" or "respectable" photos since our wedding day. Which was almost three years ago exactly (raise the roof for our upcoming anniversary!). So if we were to send out a photo card, those would be our options.

We are so classy.

C is for cookie

I hate grading math homework. Haaaaate it. Which means that I usually put it off until I have three or four day's worth and finally buckle down and check it in one fell swoop. Which takes forever and makes me vow I'll start having the students check their own, until the next day when we just don't have time to go over it in class. And the cycle continues.

Perhaps I'm a bad teacher. Especially as evidenced by my class's average on the math benchmark test they took today. Nothing like grading failed math tests to make me feel like an awesome teacher.

But I digress.

Every now and then I come across something in a student's math homework that makes me smile. Like the student who showed her work on the back of a piece of paper printed from lds.org.  And this multiplication word problem written by one of my students, for instance:

"Mrs. Erickson made cookies. Each batch has 99 cookies. She makes 99 batches. How many cookies did Mrs. Erickson bake in all? Answer: 9,801."

I hope I'm not planning on keeping all those cookies for myself! Also, can you imagine making that many cookies in one sitting? I think I might perish from exhaustion.

Here's a word problem of my own creation:

"Mrs. Erickson has 26 students in her class. She has 7 more math and language arts assignments to grade. Not all of her students have turned in their assignments on time. She also has a smattering of late work she needs to grade. How many assignments does she need to correct, and how long will it take?"

They grow up so fast.

When I was hired in September, one of the reasons I was relieved it was fourth grade and not fifth (not that fifth was even an option, but still), was that fifth grade students receive the "maturation" lessons. I thought I dodged a bullet on that one.

I thought wrong.

A few examples:

1. My class went to the library today and sat on the rug so the librarian could read a story to them. When she concluded, she excused the girls to get books, and then she excused the boys. Well, a few of my precious students stayed on the carpet, insisting that they were "men." This is not the first time they have done this. When I told them to get their shelf markers because, yes, they are still boys, one of them related the following to me: "My doctor said I'm going through puberty, so I'm becoming a man."

2. Perhaps the puberty thing shouldn't have been such a surprise, because I do notice a distinct, pungent odor in the classroom after recess or PE when the class has been running around. Would it be distasteful to recommend my students wear deodorant if they notice they have a funky smell emitting from their armpits? Yes? Darn.

3. Some notes passed between two students were brought to my attention today. They detailed, among other inappropriate-pet-names-for-fourth-grade, plans to secretly hold hands in science if they were watching slides and the lights were off. The female suspect in question has also written the story of her love life and all of the boys she has crushes on in the class. (I pinky promise I found this on accident. I wasn't snooping on purpose!)

Heaven help me.

I'm going to stare into your soul.

Eighty percent of the work week, I wear knee-high nylons to accompany my footwear. (The other 20 percent of the time is when we get to wear jeans on Friday and thus can wear socks with sneakers.)

Jacob never seems to know what to call these nylons. No, I take that back -- he calls them a variety of names.

For example, "those gross brown things." As in, "eww, take those gross brown things off of the couch - slash - out of my face." (I have no idea why he might have a problem with me leaving them on the couch or floor or anywhere besides my feet or the laundry hamper.)

My latest favorite moniker is "leeches." Over the weekend we did laundry, and Jacob helped put away his clothes. I meandered into the bedroom as he was doing so.

"You have too many leeches!" he accused.

"Leeches?" I queried.

"You had like 80 of them stuck to your pajamas, sucking the soul out of them."

Well, then. Apparently I have soul-sucking hosiery. Who knew?

Oh stuff and fluff

 Instead of grading or lesson planning or any number of other productive things I could have done, I spent part of my weekend making this not-quite-masterpiece:

I just hope I don't regret it tomorrow.

100 points to Gryffindor

Jacob was concerned that the post I wrote about him not wanting to get me a glass of water made him look like a jerk. (Which was not my intent.) So, in order to clear up any misconceptions, allow me to share the following:

This last week had been a fairly long one at school. I had to be evaluated by my principal for the first time on Wednesday, so I stressed about preparing and delivering that lesson. On Thursday, my students were acting up even more than usual, so I came home exhausted and discouraged. On top of that, I'm trying to get ready for report cards for Parent Teacher Conferences and have been a little overwhelmed about getting everything done for that.

So when I came home from work and running errands on Friday at 5 pm and still had the prospect of making chicken noodle soup for our family's traditional Halloween bag dinner, I felt like curling up in a ball and dying a little on the inside.

I trudged into our apartment, the very picture of gloom and despair, and found Jacob wearing his apron, the cookbook on the table, the vegetables peeled and chopped, the chicken cooked and shredded, and the dishes in the process of being washed.

This was the second day in a row that he had anticipated my stress levels and made dinner without any request on my part. Keep in mind that he probably works even harder than I do, commuting an hour each way to school 3 times a week on top of working the graveyard shift.

I married a good man, no doubt.

Going once, going twice

I had my first class auction today for those students who were able to pay their monthly rent. Quiz time! Ready, go:

1. The highest-selling item was:

a) A free pass to the Living Planet Aquarium
b) A free homework pass
c) A pass to eat lunch with the teacher
d) A package of glow stick bracelets

2. The amount of money spent on the highest-selling item was:

a) $800
b) $1,200
c) $1,600
d) $1,800








. . . Time's up; pencils down! Let's review the answers.

I hate to brag, but a student spent her entire bank account ($1,800, or nearly two months' rent) on a pass to eat lunch in the classroom with me and two friends of her choice.

Who's feeling popular? I am, I am!

Well, burn my biscuits!

SCENE: Jacob and Jennifer are sitting side-by-side on the couch. Jennifer is on her lappy and Jacob is eating dinner and watching television.

Jennifer: Do you want to be a peach and give me some beverage of the liquid water variety? [smiles creepily]

Jacob: [Continues to watch t.v. without responding]

Jennifer: [extends one hand to turn Jacob's head to the side so he can witness her expression]

Jacob: You should get your own water.

Jennifer: You mean my creepy smile didn't work!? How about if I flutter my eyelashes?

(Note: Fluttering eyelashes was almost guaranteed to work on my dad, who would always respond "Got a bug in your eye?" and then acquiesce to our requests.)

Jennifer: [flutters eyelashes maniacally while continuing to smile creepily]

Jacob: [Nudges Jennifer away from his face so he can better watch his sports.]

Jennifer: How about the puppy dog pout? [Sticks out bottom lip and makes her chin tremble.]

Jacob: Why can't you get up yourself?

Jennifer: Because I lost my legs in the war. [Glances at legs.] These are prosthetics.



(In case you were wondering, I ended up getting my own beverage. Harrumph!)

"That's a fate no woman should have to bear!"

Is it worth it to sign up for health insurance (keeping in mind I'll have to pay for it out of my paycheck) when I'm already covered through Jacob's work? Discuss.

* * * 

Teacher Appreciation Week is eight months away. I'm already crossing my fingers that my students (and their parents) bestow upon me a lifetime supply of Stephen's hot chocolate to show their appreciation.

* * * 

Jacob has recently started watching a show called "Deadliest Warrior" on Netflix. The premise is that each episode some computer software programmers pit two different warriors (a knight, samurai, pirate, Viking, etc.) against each other, and, after performing a bunch of tests on their weapons and armor and such, simulate a battle to determine which would win. I've started watching it as well. It makes me feel both fascinated and slightly barbaric.

* * *

Last weekend Heather and I crafted a festive scarecrow. It's so adorable I could die.  

Brilliant photography by my cell phone. Be amazed.

 * * * 

While browsing the pictures on my phone, I came across this gem I forgot about until just now. Now presenting the creepiest car seat ever: 

Dora will stare into your soul and then throttle you with her fists of doom.

Tales of a Fourth Grade Teacher

So, it looks like I've survived my first eight days of teaching, and I haven't quit yet! In those eight days, I attended my first IEP meeting (to discuss accommodations for low students), met the superintendent, talked to parents, kept the students occupied throughout the day, received my badge to let me into the building (this was momentous because the first 5 or 6 days I had to wait for somebody to let me in), and had my contact information listed on the school website. I'm pretty much a pro by now.

By which I mean I still don't have much of an idea of what I'm doing, but the current plan is to fake it 'til I make it. It's working so far.

Allow me to share a few tidbits about my class:

- Earlier last week, I had my students fill out a reading interview form that asked questions like "What kind of books do you like to read?" and "How do you feel when you read aloud?" One question asked students to list their favorite place to read. One girl wrote "in the bathroom." Bahaha. A girl after my childhood heart.

- I'm setting up a classroom economy. Students will earn money to pay rent on their desks (a hefty $1,000 a month, which -- shh! -- is almost twice as much as we pay for our apartment rent), pay fines for violations of class rules, and participate in auctions. They earn money by holding a classroom job and earning bonuses for good behavior or academic achievement.

I had my students fill out a job application for their top three job choices. If they wanted to be a police officer or banker (by far the most popular job choice), they needed to get a "letter of recommendation" from a former teacher. I was more than a little surprised -- and impressed -- when some students turned theirs in from the principal! Way to go to the top.

- These are a few of the reasons my students said they would be good at the job they were applying for:

• For a librarian: "I will make sure I go over my [book] list twice, like Santa."
• For a banker: "Not ONE person knows where I keep my money, that's what I want to be in J biz town." (Should I know what J biz town is? I'm so behind the times!)
• For a filer: "I need a job, and a good one."
• For a custodian: "Because you [Jennifer] were one." Why thank you, thank you very much!
• For a police officer: "Because I am a fast writer and good speller so I can fine [write tickets] fast."

So things are going pretty well so far. Except for the times when my students make me want to pull my hair out. Which is only about twice a day. I'll take it.

This and that.

Today, I made a student cry. Oh, the guilt! (And I'm sure it won't be the last time, either.)

* * *

Starting next week, I'll be teaching the fourth grade how to play recorders. I better brush up on my Hot Cross Buns! And maybe invest in some ear plugs.

* * *

Earlier today at our apartment, I'm pretty sure I overheard a man tell a kid "If you keep crying, your eyeballs are going to fall off. [Out?] I mean it. You're going to go blind."

I'm pretty sure if that was true, my eyeballs would have fallen out about 17 years ago. Just sayin'.

* * *

I think over the past three days, Jacob and I have been together for a grand total of two hours. It's been a little busy over here. And I don't know how people can work full time and then come home and cook and clean -- I just don't have any energy when I come home! We're eating like I did when I was a single college student. One night this week I went to the effort of heating up a can of soup. The most labor-intensive meal I've made so far was quesadillas. (Also, in our household, we purposely pronounce the l's so we sound like hicks. Classy, I know.) And our apartment is a bit of a disaster. Meh. Don't judge me.

Sharing is NOT caring

Yesterday, I somehow managed to persuade Jacob into doing the laundry for me. (Score!) He dutifully washed and dried three loads of laundry, including our sheets and towels.

While he was putting some of our laundry away, he decided that he had had enough of matching towels in the bathroom. You see, over the last close-to-three-years of marriage, he has come to the conclusion that the thought of using the same towel as his wife gave him the jibblies. (Apparently, he isn't the only husband that feels this way -- I recently read about another case similar to ours.)

I have to admit I was slightly offended. I mean, it isn't like we sleep in separate beds or maintain a foot of personal space between us. What's the big deal?

His excuse was that he didn't want to get all of my hair over his body. Well, I suppose he has a point there. I do admit to having a shedding problem.

So that's why we now have one light blue and one dark blue towel hanging up on the towel bar. (In case you were wondering, I have been assigned the light blue one.)

At least they'll go with our mismatched couches.

Times are a-changin'

So, we've had some pretty big changes around here lately. Allow me to enumerate:

1. I was hired as a fourth grade teacher last Tuesday. Was I planning on working full time? No. Was I even looking for a job? No. The process went a little something like this:

The Friday before last, I was subbing for the fifth grade teacher I mentioned in an earlier post. Before school started, the principal of the school asked me if I had my teaching license. I responded in the affirmative and thought nothing of it. Then, after I finished teaching for the day, he met me at the classroom and mentioned that they had a fourth grade position open. He asked if I was interested, and I hesitantly said yes, but I'd have to talk to my husband about it. The principal told me to discuss it with Jacob and we'd talk more on Tuesday.

I emailed Jacob about the prospect, as he was at work, and I received an email filled with the most capital letters I've ever received in my life. To say Jacob was excited would be an understatement. :)

When Tuesday rolled around, I came back to the school to sub as usual, and the principal arranged an impromptu interview with the rest of the fourth grade team just a few minutes after I finished teaching. I thought the interview went fairly well, but it could have gone better, so I wasn't getting my hopes up. (Been there, done that, had all my hopes and dreams crushed into a million smithereens.) I figured it would be a few days before I heard anything, so I tried to put it out of my mind.

Well, not four hours after returning home, I received a phone call from the principal offering me the position! I wasn't sure I heard him right so I had to ask for clarification, haha.

I had a few days to prepare, and my first day of school was on Friday. If I had to sum it up in one word, it would be "overwhelming." Teaching itself was fine, but afterward I realized I have no idea what I'm doing! (And I really should be planning for next week right now, but I just had to take a little break.) I have 25 students: 11 boys and 14 girls. It seems like a pretty good class, but I can tell a few students are going to give me a run for my money.

2. I have a functional laptop again! One of the perks of being employed by a school.

3. We are now a two-car family. Jacob drove me to and from school on Friday, but we realized it just wouldn't be feasible for him to do that all the time, especially with his crazy schedule. So today we headed to a car dealership and, two hours later, left with a 2009 Honda Civic Hybrid. (The "Hybrid" part makes it sound all hoity-toity. Hmm.) I don't have to walk to work anymore! Glory be!

The Vacation to End All Vacations

This summer, Jacob and I decided to spend all our dollars to go on a Grand Adventure. And so we did.

The Adventure started with a trip to Arizona to welcome home Jacob's twin brothers from their missions. Well, Stephen returned a few days before we were able to get down there, but at least we were able to greet Robert at the airport when he arrived. 

Each family was in charge of making a poster to bring to the airport. I learned that despite my background in elementary education, poster-making, especially when it involves paint, stresses me out. So I put Jacob to work on touching up my mistakes.

This is as crafty as it gets.

Unintentionally patriotic poster.

The man of the hour.

Our time in Arizona was mostly spent avoiding the outdoors. You guys, it was hot -- like stepping into an oven whenever you set foot outside. I lost track of how many times I burned myself on the seat belt in the car. And so while I love my in-laws, after spending a week in 115+ degree heat, I'm starting to think they might be slightly insane. (But only slightly!)

So, in an attempt to avoid roasting, we watched the Olympics, played games with the siblings almost every night, and, um, may or may not have consumed three milkshakes apiece. We will not speak of how many calories we consumed during this vacation.

We also watched the new Batman movie, did a little bit of swimming, and made merry with the relatives in general. One night we had a family potluck/birthday bash to celebrate the boys' return and the August birthdays. We played several family-friendly games, including a three-legged race which paired each child with an adult. My four-year-old niece and I came in dead last. I guess we lack that competitive edge. Alas.

The Erickson clan: 1 mom, 8 siblings, 6 spouses, and 18 grandchildren.

The Monday morning after Robert and Stephen's homecoming talks in church, Jacob and I bid our adieus and set off on the Grand Adventure: Stage Two. We drove to California to spend two days at Six Flags Magic Mountain. We splurged and purchased Flash Passes so we wouldn't have to wait in line as long. And let me tell you, we couldn't get to the rides fast enough! By the time we got off one ride, it was usually time for us to board another. One of our favorite rides was X2:

X . . .

. . . 2.

While it wasn't nearly as hot as Arizona, it was still pretty hot. The first day we were fools and didn't bring a water bottle into the park with us, so we were scouting out drinking fountains like nobody's business. Unfortunately, this still didn't prevent us from getting super thirsty and slightly dehydrated. So we ended up resting a lot.

Taking a break.

Wilting.

 And then, because we were so thirsty, we ended up purchasing the World's Most Expensive Lemonade to share. (Later that day, we purchased the World's Most Expensive Milkshake and the World's Most Expensive Soft Pretzel.) Food and beverage was not cheap! But I guess that is kind of the point when you run an amusement park.

A little refreshment.

On the second day, we brought our own water bottle we could fill up, and things were much happier. (Also of note: we didn't bring our camera or phones with us, so we could go on the water rides, and that also made  the second day more enjoyable.)

After one more night in the hotel, it was back to the real world (i.e. Utah). It was a lot of fun, but we're going to need our bank account to recover from this trip and from paying tuition before we have any more adventures like this!

They're taking the hobbits to Isengard!

Two posts in one day? Is the world coming to an end? This will be quick.

Elementary school started yesterday. Over the past year and a half of subbing, I've gotten to know several teachers pretty well. One of them had knee surgery over the summer, and since she's still recovering, she asked if I would fill in for her in the mornings for the first three to four weeks so she can continue to recuperate.

Now, I was familiar with her incoming class, and they just so happened to be one of my favorites, so of course I jumped at the chance.

Yesterday I was at school for a grand total of three and a half hours with these fifth graders. And it was joyous. Because really, this is the best class ever.

However! Not three hours after coming home, my throat started to feel a little irritated and swollen.

Today, after day 2, I'm getting a little congested and headachey. And to top it off, I'm running a fever of NINETY-NINE POINT TWO DEGREES! For me, this is akin to a normal person coming down with malaria! (I usually run cold, in case you were wondering.)

Moral of the story: my immune system stinks.

Woe is he.

One day I'll get around to blogging about the Grand Vacation to End All Vacations, I promise. But for now, take a look at this picture:

I insisted on taking a "first day of school" picture.

Memorize this face, because it might be the last time you see it until December.

You see, Jacob started taking classes at a university about 50 minutes from our apartment this week. For the past two glorious weeks, he was working the afternoon shift, from 2-10 pm. Seven days on, three days off, seven days on, four days off.

Maybe not the best shift ever, but at least we were able to see each other in the morning and go to bed at the same time at night. And since he had just finished about eight months of the graveyard shift, it was pretty nice to be on the same sleep schedule.

Now, his classes start at 8:30 in the morning and end at 12:30. With the commute, he left for school at 6:45 am to get good parking, and then from class went straight to work. This makes for a very long day, as he doesn't get home until 10:15 pm on the days he works.

However, it couldn't end there, could it? He emailed me a few hours ago from work, informing me that his work has changed his schedule again, and starting Saturday, he's going back to his old schedule -- 12 hour graveyard shifts, from 6 pm to 6 am. Four days on, four days off.

Now on the days he has class and work, he'll leave for work around 5 pm and get home at -- get this -- around 1:30 pm. This is an even longer day than he has now!

He is going to be exhausted! At least he never has class two days in a row. But the schedule still sounds miserable, and I feel really bad for him.

The man is a rock star. And hopefully the end of the semester comes quickly, for both our sakes.

Bedtime Stories

I recently found out, to my shock and horror, that Jacob had never read the classic children's story Goodnight Moon. So yesterday we went to the library and I checked the book out and read it to him.

If your childhood was similarly deprived, the book is [SPOILER ALERT!] about a little bunny who says goodnight to the various objects in his/her bedroom. It incorporates quaint rhymes like "goodnight kittens and goodnight mittens."

I enjoyed this book as a child well enough, but the real joy came when I was a teenager.

You see, when my sister Heather and I shared a room back in the day, she would often ask me to tell her a bedtime story. And I would invariably pattern such stories after Goodnight Moon.

You, too, can make your own Goodnight Moon story with very little thought involved! Just follow this formula:

Each stanza contains four lines. The first line is always "Goodnight moon." The rest of the lines are "Goodnight ________." On the third line, the blank should be filled in with an object in the bedroom. (The second and fourth lines may also include bedroom objects, but a little more leeway is given. Also, the fourth line can be somewhat unconventional/creepy/scandalous.) The second and fourth lines must rhyme. (Or, if you want a throwback to high school English, each stanza has an abcb rhyme scheme.) At the conclusion of the story, it ends simply with "Goodnight moon."

For example, this is a similar story to what I told Jacob last night while we were trying to fall asleep:

Goodnight moon,
Goodnight stars,
Goodnight closet,
Goodnight cars.

Goodnight moon,
Goodnight fan,
Goodnight carpet,
Goodnight creepy white van.

Goodnight moon,
Goodnight clothes,
Goodnight dresser,
Goodnight garden hose. (When I was telling the story last night, I had to insert "garden" lest Jacob interpret it as a different kind of hose.)

Goodnight moon,
Goodnight bed,
Goodnight lamp,
Goodnight head.

Goodnight moon.

Isn't that just precious? After laying awake for a few more minutes, I asked Jacob to tell me a bedtime story. He interpreted the rules a little differently. This was his version:

Goodnight belly button,
Goodnight tongue,
Goodnight LICK JENNIFER ALL OVER!

At that point I had to launch myself away from him, lest he carry out the threat. So he never finished his story.

Alas.

Photo Dump, or Summer Adventures!

As far as months go, July was a pretty good one. But enough of these words! On to the pictures!

We tossed a football around before watching the fireworks on the 4th of July.

On the three-year anniversary of the day we met, we went to Lagoon (an amusement park in Utah) because tickets were relatively cheap and Jacob had the day off work.

Jacob is a very intense driver. And he took his road rage out on unsuspecting victims while cackling diabolically*.

I insisted we ride the merry-go-round because it was "quaint."

We repeated a "Christmas in July" date we did two years ago, this time with my sister and brother-in-law. We put Dustin to work on making Christmas cookies. 

But let's be real, Heather and I did most of the work.

Jacob pretended to read a Christmas story for the photo, and then promptly handed the book of to me. And then we watched A Muppet Christmas Carol, much to the delight of all.

My parents and little sister Emily came up to Utah for a family reunion! As part of it, we visited some relatives' grave sites. (This bench is not one of them. We just thought it was somewhat cool/creepy to have a bench as a grave marker.)

Jacob's dreams came true when he became the owner of an official Sudweeks Family Reunion t-shirt.

The Sudweeks clan. And this isn't even all of them. Photo credit goes to Josh Sudweeks.

My mom organized a series of "Minute to Win It" games for one of the evening activities. Heather and I participated in a game that required two people to unwind an entire roll of toilet paper around one of the contestants. She ended up holding the roll and I ended up spinning in place until the roll ended and I promptly fell over. Photo credit to Kim Aldrich

We went boating with the family. I tried my hand at a little wake boarding, and  we rode the tube together. And then I was sore for a week.

Most of my immediate family came to our apartment to watch the Olympics Opening Ceremony  and celebrate with food. Namely, fish and chips, Olympic onion rings, and Olympic ice cream cone torches. With some healthy stuff provided by my parents.

And here they are! They're pretty much the best.

 They say a picture is worth a thousand words. And I just gave you over a dozen, not to mention the captions. So basically I just wrote the essay of a lifetime. You're welcome.

*He may or may not have actually cackled. I could possibly just be taking artistic liberty.

Scumbag brain.

ME, last night: Well, it's 11:15! I guess it's time for bed!

BRAIN: Actually, I think this would be a prime time to think about every single thing ever.

ME: Really, brain? Couldn't you have thought all these things like twelve hours ago?

BRAIN: Nope!

ME: Curses.

BRAIN: Also, I think we should compose an email we've been meaning to write for the last few days. And we'll mentally rewrite it over and over, changing one little word at a time.

ME: Is that really necess--

BRAIN: Over and over.

ME: But I really should--

BRAIN: OVER AND OVER!

ME: You know what, how about I just get up and write the stinkin' email right now?

BRAIN: Suit yourself.

ME: Fine. I will. But I'm not going to send it yet!

BLADDER: While you're up, would you mind relieving me? You really shouldn't have consumed a quart of liquid before going to bed.

ME: Sigh. If I must.

BRAIN: Now that it's 2:30 in the morning, I'm wide awake!

ME: Don't you have an "off switch" or something?

STOMACH: Feed me!

ME: What? No! It isn't time for breakfast yet.

STOMACH: FEED ME!

ME: Quiet, you! You will wait at least until the sun comes up!

STOMACH: Fine. But I will continue to make my displeasure known by growling unpleasantly.

ME: I think I'm going to try some relaxation techniques to help me fall asleep. First I'll focus on my breathing.

BRAIN: I have a better idea! How about I sing you to sleep? I'll start with all the songs from A Muppet Christmas Carol.

ME: In with the good air, out with the bad. In with the good air, out with the bad.

BRAIN: We're Marley and Marley, WHOOOOOAAA!*

ME: Maybe I'll focus all my thoughts towards the sensations in my big toe on my left foot. And I'll gradually work my way up to my head.

BRAIN: There goes Mr. Humbag, there goes Mr. Grim! If they gave a prize for being mean, the winner would be him!**

ME: Brain, I love you, but I hate you.

And that's how I didn't fall asleep until well after 3:30. And of course I was awake by 7:45. Sigh.

*Educate yourself.

**Can you believe Jacob saw this movie for the first time just this past Saturday?

"I don't drink gum."

So there I was, washing my hair and thinking to myself, "Dang, girl, you are shedding a TON today!" Naturally, my next thought was, "How can I make a blog post out of this?" 

I decided I would be really clever and take a picture of the shower wall, coated with my recently-departed hair and make a guessing game out of it. "Guess how many hairs I shed!", my post would proclaim. "The contestant who makes the closest guess will win a special prize!"

And then I would confess, "Just kidding! I've counted all of my shed hairs before. Never again. Never, never again."

And that would be that.

However, I hit a bit of a snag when it came to photographing the evidence. You see, when I took the first photo, you couldn't see the hair very well because it was spread out so much. I took the liberty of creating a representation in Paint:

So then I moved the hair to a more central location, with most ends meeting in a nucleus of sorts:

Finally, I wrapped the hair into a Giant Hairball of Mass Destruction:

At that point, I nearly tossed my cookies myself. So you can thank me for not posting the actual photos here. (Thanks are accepted both in verbal praise and in baked goods. Preferably baked goods.)

Lady, there's a hole in the doughnut, too.

Last Saturday, Heather and I volunteered at the Utah Tour de Donut. What's that, you ask? Why, it's nothing more than a 21-mile bike race, where participants cram as many doughnuts down their gullets as possible after the 7th and the 14th mile in a quest for a reduced adjusted time and everlasting glory. For every doughnut consumed, the rider takes three minutes off their total time. According to legend, one year the "King Donut" ate 28 glazed rings of fried dough.

Sounds pretty great, no? (Except for the eating 28 doughnuts part. That sounds slightly vomitous.)

As volunteers, we were promised free t-shirts and free access to any leftover doughnuts at the end of the race. Naturally, these were our main incentives.  Unfortunately, the t-shirts turned out to be a "traffic cone orange" color instead of hot pink or lime green or neon blue (or pretty much any other color besides orange). I suppose beggars can't be choosers.

To go along with our fashionable outfits, Heather and I were also bestowed highlighter yellow safety vests, as we were in charge of directing traffic along the course. And of course, we couldn't direct traffic without incredibly legit stop signs!

Not pictured: super attractive, extra large safety vests.

For some reason, the race coordinators didn't want two volunteers at the same turn on the course, so Heather and I were separated by several miles for the duration of the race. Fortunately, we had our cell phones and could text each other when we hit a slow stretch.

Things went great for the first hour and a half or so, with the small exception that we didn't have any shade or seating and our arms got really tired (try pointing to your right with your arm extended for 15 minutes nonstop and you'll see what I mean). Many of the riders expressed their appreciation by thanking us every time they rode by (they had to complete a 7-mile course three times to finish). Several participants wore tutus and inflatable doughnut hats. Others rode tandem bicycles or, surprisingly, traveled on roller blades. It was all well and good.

And then we hit the last half hour of the timed race. Most of the cyclists had finished by then, so there were long stretches where we were just standing there doing nothing (except texting!). A lady in a car who happened to drive behind a fairly large clump of riders rolled down her window and yelled at me because they were riding in the middle of the street instead of on the side. Um, sorry? They were riding in the middle before they got to my turn, so I'm not sure how she expected me to enforce them sticking to the side of the road. I told Heather about this lady and she told me, "You should cut her!" Tempting. Very tempting.

Then, a little while later, I was several feet inside the right lane and held up my stop sign so a father and his son could cross safely. The truck I was trying to stop was not having any of that. It kept barreling towards me, and once it was five feet away or so and I realized it had no intention to stop, I leaped out of the way! The man referred to my stop sign and said, "I guess those are just a suggestion. . . ." Indeed.

Anyway, after an eternity of standing around and exchanging increasingly desperate texts with Heather ("I'm wilting!" "I think my left ankle is sunburned." "If they don't have any leftover doughnuts I may shed a thousand tears", and so forth) we were finally picked up in a blessed chariot of fire. By which I mean a van with air conditioning.

And we were just in time to eat the very last two doughnuts.

The Mush Pot

In general, I am not a very sappy person. At least, that's what I like to think.

Back in high school, I was vehemently vocal about my strong dislike for pet names among couples. When my dating friends called each other "muffin" or "cookie" (shout out if you're reading this!), I would either a) visibly shudder, b) tell them to stop being so mushy, or c) pretend to vomit.

I know, I was so mature.

I would say that I'm still not such a huge fan of pet names, but Jacob and I have a plethora of nicknames we call each other. Allow me to share a few.

By and large, the number one name we call each other -- even above our own given names -- is Charlie. And this must be said in a British accent, like this:

Variations: Charlie Brown, Charlie Bucket.

Another way we address each other is by filling in the blank: "Oh, my little ____________", with one of the following:

- pony
- squankee/squankinator (a million bonus points to you if you know what this is from and you aren't my sister)
- Honey Bunches of Oats
- petunias/flufflunias
- stinkerpuff/stinkerpants

And yes, we have even succumbed to jokingly calling each other food names, such as Peaches, Pears, and (Jacob's absolute favorite) Plums.

So, what do you think? Have I weakened my resolve against pet names or are these still significantly less mushy than most?

Songs that are not about pickles

Today, as Jacob was getting ready for work, I decided to treat him to a little song and a jig. I broke into dance and started singing an old Spice Girls song -- well, the 20 words of it I remembered, anyway, complete with mumbling in between phrases.

He looked at me and said, "My wife is weeiiird."

Harrumph! See if I serenade you ever again!

* * *

As a child, my mother taught us girls a song called "The Mexican Woodpecker." It goes like this:

The Mexican woodpecker high in the tree,

Peck-peck-peck-pecked all the day.

He grew so ambitious he wore off his beak,

Now you can hear him say:

Oh my beak! Oh my beak!

What a sad day when I lost it.

Hear me sigh, hear me cry.

What a sorry sight to see -- poor me!

One of my unnamed older sisters hated this song. Hated it. She thought it was so sad that the woodpecker lost his beak. My other unnamed older sister delighted in chasing the aforementioned sister around the house, singing this song at the top of her lungs, just to torment her*.

Throughout our two and a half years of marriage, I must have sung this song a number of times, because lately Jacob has started singing "Oh my beak!" at random occasions. It brings joy to my soul. 

*At least, this is what I remember happening. If either sister wants to chime in and set the story straight, be my guest.

The can opener saga continues

Remember that time I warned the Internets not to purchase an 88 cent can opener? Apparently, we didn't learn our lesson, because shortly after writing that post, we purchased the exact. same. one. For some reason, it didn't work out any better than the first time. Shocking, no?

So after Jacob resorted to mutilating another Costco-sized can of peaches with a pair of scissors (those poor scissors have been through so much), we decided enough was enough. Time to break out the big guns.

So we moseyed on over to Bed Bath and Beyond and picked up this sucker:

Oh yes. We forked over the dollars for an electric can opener. I used it once, and it was magical. So effortless! So convenient! I don't know if you realize this, but there is a shortage of left-handed can openers in the world. I myself have never seen one. So if you're left handed like me, and need to open a plethora of cans for dinner, your arm and wrist get mighty tired after a while. (And in case you were wondering, I have tried using hand held can openers with my left hand, but it gets all sorts of tricky and awkward.)

So you can see why it was pretty exciting to have an electric can opener. And then I checked out the reviews on Bed Bath and Beyond's website. (Which, admittedly, we probably should've done before making the purchase.)

This product received a whopping 1.3 stars.

I suddenly feel a sense of foreboding. . . .

Odds and Ends

A few days ago, Jacob and I went out for milkshakes. When we received our receipt, I had to laugh at how the cashier spelled Jacob's name:

I'm going to start calling him Jakeup. "Wake up, Jakeup!"

 * * * 

To the extent of my knowledge, I've never had allergies. But I'm starting to think I might slowly be dying in an allergic reaction to the great outdoors. Or the heat. Or something.

Allow me to explain.

On Memorial Day, I spent the afternoon outside at a birthday celebration for one of my old rooommates. While there, a couple of mosquitoes bit me on my arms and legs. This was a bit of a nuisance, but whatevs. However, the palms of my hands also started itching furiously. I thought maybe a mosquito had bitten those as well, but I couldn't detect any bites. After we left the party, the itching eventually ceased.

Then, last Saturday I went to the park for our library's Grand Opening Celebration/Summer Reading Kick-Off! I was outside for maybe an hour, and again, my hands started itching. This time, the fingers on my right hand began to swell. This was slightly alarming, and once I came home, I held a jar of frozen chicken broth in an attempt to reduce the swelling. Again, my hands eventually stop itching and my fingers shrunk back to the usual size.

Now, on Tuesday Jacob had the day off and we spent the morning going to various stores to shop (and get ideas for his birthday presents). In those few minutes we were walking from our car to the stores, my hands -- you guessed it -- started to itch and swell. This time, it was my left hand that was afflicted. And the swelling was worse than ever. My wedding ring is usually fairly big on me -- to the point that if my hands are cold, I might be afraid of it slipping right off my finger. But at this point, I could barely even twist my ring around, much less remove it off my finger.

You can actually see my ring digging into my skin.

 The moral of the story is, I think I'm doomed to spend the rest of my days inside.

* * *

 Earlier this week, it was so hot in our apartment that I was literally sweating through my shorts. Literally! (After sitting at the computer for awhile and then standing up, a sheen of sweat was left glistening on the chair. [Aren't you glad you just read that?])

The very next day, it was cold enough to warrant wearing slippers and a sweatshirt. And I thought about drinking hot chocolate. Good ol' Utah.

Lolly, lolly, lolly get your adverbs here

Sometimes, when I look back on the things I put Jacob through, I realize that he really must be some sort of saint.

You may remember the time he hefted a couch in response to an emotional breakdown I had because I thought my phone was lost forEVER (keeping in mind that this wasn't a smart phone or even a nice phone).

Anyway, last Sunday I was in a bit of a foul mood, due to various unrelated events. I was cooking dinner, already somewhat down in the dumps, when Jacob dared innocuously ask, "Oh, dinner's not ready yet?" when he came home from visiting some families in our ward.

This was NOT the question I wanted to hear, and I fumed. Silently. I'm good at that, much to Jacob's chagrin. Wisely, he began washing dishes as I stirred the foodstuffs vigorously.

And then I set the spoon down so its handle was resting on the edge of the skillet. As I grabbed some paper towels to wipe up the splatters on the stovetop, the spoon tumbled onto the ground. Perfect.

I shoved the spoon into the sink, retrieved a backup spoon, and began wiping the aforementioned stovetop. Which, in retrospect, is a really foolish thing to do when it's on and you have a very hot pan taking up quite a bit of space. So I suppose it's no surprise that I ended up burning my hand on the edge of the skillet.

As I left my post to run some cold water over my burn, the second spoon took a nosedive to the ground, taking a fair amount of vegetables and sauce with it.

And that, dear readers, was the proverbial straw that broke this camel's back. I lost it.

I rushed to the bathroom, full out sobbing. And when Jacob came in to check on me a few minutes later (you know, after he cleaned up the mess on the ground I left and turned the stove off so we wouldn't accidentally burn our house down), he found me sitting on the toilet seat, hand submerged in a sink half full of water, tears dripping dangerously close to the toilet paper. Just allow that visual image to sink in for a little while.

Bless him, he retrieved some tissues and pressed them into my eye sockets to "stop the tears." And then he lifted the tissues off my face and proceeded to repeatedly blow in my face to, um, dry off my face? Evaporate the tears? Force the moisture back into my eyeballs? (Picture that!)

Now, this is not the first time he has employed this technique. And really, it's quite effective. YOU try crying when somebody is acting like your face is a trick candle that they urgently need to extinguish*! In fact, I think you should try employing the method yourself the next time you see somebody crying. Let me know how it goes.




*On a side note, my mom used to get my sisters and I to stop crying by pressing a cup against our face. She said if we ever filled the glass to the top with our tears, she would buy us a goldfish. Shockingly enough, we never earned that goldfish. It may have had something to do with the fact that we would start laughing as soon as she pulled the cup out. 

"I need to sanitize my whole body."

If you've known me for any length of time, you are well aware that bugs are not my friends. You should also already know that we keep a fly swatter in our bathroom that we use to viciously attack any creepy-crawly intruders. (And by "we," I mean "Jacob," clearly.)

Now, rewind to last Monday evening. Jacob was at work and wouldn't be back until the following morning. I was getting ready for bed when I noticed some sort of winged insect crawling all over the wall next to my side of the bed.

We certainly couldn't have this. It's true that I occasionally refuse to enter certain rooms if I see a spider or other insect until Jacob gets home and disposes of them (just a few weeks ago, I opted out of breakfast because that would've required entering the kitchen, and a spider had staked its claim on the kitchen ceiling), but I couldn't very well stay up all night just to make sure the insect didn't eat me in my sleep.

I grasped the fly swatter, took aim, and smacked the insect -- right before I leaped back to make sure it didn't fall on my feet. And then when the insect was on the ground I doled out a few more beatings just to make sure it wasn't just playing dead.

When Jacob kills bugs, he usually flushes them down the toilet. I had thought about doing so, but then my conscience would've felt guilty for wasting water -- and sometimes bugs can be tricky and just float around in the toilet, requiring multiple flushes for proper disposal. And I don't know about you, but there's something very unsettling about exposing your nether regions to an insect carcass.

This is my very lengthy way of describing my thought process when I tossed the bug into the (admittedly full) trash can in the bathroom instead of the toilet.

All was fine and well until the following evening. I was in the bathroom when I thought I spotted a toenail clipping on the ground. I picked it up to toss it in the trash can.

YOU GUYS. It wasn't a toenail. Do you see where I'm going with this? It was the bug. I PICKED UP A DEAD BUG WITH MY BARE HANDS. (It was so harrowing that I need to WRITE IN ALL CAPITALS.)

Jibblies!

But you don't want to eat 'em now

How to Completely Ruin Roughly A Pound and a Half of Strawberries

1. Go on a massive shopping trip to both Walmart and Costco, purchasing four pounds of strawberries from the latter.
2. Upon unloading the groceries, shove the strawberries to the back of the fridge, which is the only place they'll fit.
3. The next day, use a little over half of the strawberries to make some delicious homemade strawberry ice cream.  Be sure to tell the Internets about this so everyone can be jealous.
4. Notice that some of the strawberries have frozen solid, which is a peril of all food that ends up too close to the back of the fridge. (Frozen salsa, anyone? How about sour cream?)
5. Hope that only a few berries were affected, and rotate the carton so the remaining strawbs are closer to the front of the cooling receptacle. 
6. Two days later, decide to cut up some strawberries for a little snacky-snack. Realize to your horror that ALL of the remaining strawbs had frozen and then thawed out, resulting in a mushy mess. 
7. Contact your friends with small children to see whether they're interested in purchasing the latest all-natural strawberry baby food at a low, low cost!
8. Rake in the dough?

The times we've shared

Once upon a time, when I was a wee lass of somewhere between six and nine years old (the details are hazy), my sister Heather and I had the same music teacher in elementary school. Said music teacher asked us to call her Mrs. DoRae (or some variation of spelling thereof), as in Do Re Mi. Har, har, har! So punny. (In case you were wondering, her real name was Mrs. Doris.)

Now, Mrs. "DoRae" was an aspiring singer/songwriter. And while I can only remember snippets of the song "Strawberry Ice," Heather and I still fondly sing the classic hit "Pickles in the Snow." Allow me to share the lyrics with you, as we sing it.

Pickles in the snoooooow
But you don't want to eat 'em now.
Nooo, you don't know what they're doing in the snow,
What they're doing on the grooound. ("Ground" is sung in a gravelly, rather unattractive voice.)


Pickles in the snooooooow
But you don't want to eat 'em now.
Something something something something
'Cause they're not green, they're brooooowwn. ("Brown" is sung in an even throatier voice, if possible.)


While for some shocking reason, Mrs. DoRae's songwriting career never picked up off the ground, I'm sure she would be thrilled to know that "Pickles in the Snow" is sung, sometimes daily, not only by two of her former students, but by many of those students' former roommates and (current) husbands, as well.

The holiday special

Back in the day when I lived with five other girls instead of one handsome man, our apartment was known for celebrating even the most obscure holidays in the most fantastic ways.

For Earth Day, we made "dirt" dessert (in very non-biodegradable plastic cups).

For Cinco de Mayo, we served chips and salsa and hit a piñata.

For Mexican Independence Day, we decorated my sister's car in red, white, and green streamers, and threw candy out the window while driving around playing Mexican music and shouting "Viva, Mexico!"

And so forth.

In the past couple of weeks, I've attempted to recreate some of the joy in celebrating holidays with Jacob. Unfortunately, he doesn't get quite as enthusiastic about said celebrations as I do.

For Leap Day, I practically had to beg and plead for him to play a rousing game of leap frog with me. We leap frogged our way from one bedroom to the living room, for a grand total of five leaps. Also note: It is very difficult to leap over a 6 foot, 5 inch individual, even when that person is crouching on the floor.

Pi(e) Day holds a special place in my heart. One year, my roommates and I threw a fairly impressive Pi Day party, with numerous varieties of pies for the taking:

Last year, I made a solitary chocolate pie. This year, I was even lazier than that:

Thank you, Hostess, for manufacturing individual pies a girl can use to celebrate Pi Day in a pinch.

Last year, I blogged about how I celebrated St. Patrick's Day a day late with some frightening green fettucine alfredo. This year, I celebrated in a more timely manner, with results that were much more pleasing to the eye.

I promise, the rice and milk are green. And for some reason, Jacob wasn't too terribly thrilled about taking the leftover green rice to work for his dinner tonight. I can't imagine why.

Also, remember my dilemma about this shirt? In honor of St. Patrick's Day, it made its first appearance since I purchased it almost a year earlier.

I'm still not quite sure how I feel about it.