I thought this would be more like having a cat.

Your Band Name is: The

Your Band Name is:

The Plastic Tulips

Band Name Generator

Your Hillbilly Name Is... Lil'

Your Hillbilly Name Is...

Lil' Daisy Clementine

Hillybilly Name Generator

Acute CRS

I have the worst case of CRS (Can’t Remember Shit) lately. It started last Thursday with my eye doctor appointment. I’ve already rescheduled it TWICE because of my acute CRS lead to me scheduling things over my appointment. So I wrote eye appointment in huge letters on all of the calendars in my life. Thursday morning I looked at the calendar and said to myself, “Self. DON’T FORGET YOUR EYE APPOINTMENT TODAY AT 4:45!” So I picked up Soph, and started doing errands. Around 4:00, I kept having the vague feeling that I should have been doing something that I wasn’t, but couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Then at 1:00 am the next morning, I sat up in bed, muttering, “fuck fuck fuck fuck,” because it was then, 8+ hours later, in my sleep, that I remembered my appointment.

The next day, Friday, CRS struck again. Because my work schedule is so odd, and because Soph doesn’t have school on Fridays, it’s tricky for me to figure out who tends her those days. Throw in a random holiday (President’s Day) and my whole system goes straight to crap. E’s mom was SUPPOSED to have Soph, but apparently I calendared wrong. On the “Sophie Schedule” calendar that I cleverly made and gave to everyone who has anything to do with Sophie (but that I don’t have a copy of because I gave mine away and haven’t printed a new one yet) I effed up and put that she was at my friend Erin’s house. Because I didn’t know I effed up, and don’t have a copy of the calendar, I was shocked to find out that E’s mom had plans on Friday—plans that did not include tending Sophie. So E stayed home. I didn’t even for a minute figure out the obvious, that the calendar was wrong, and that Erin was probably expecting Sophie, and expecting me to take her daughter in the afternoon. When E informed me as we were en route to Vegas that Erin had called wondering where Soph was, I was mortified. I planned on calling Erin right away to apologize and explain, but didn’t. I forgot. I forgot yesterday too. So now, (IF I FREAKIN’ REMEMBER) I’m going to go get her some flowers, and drop by her house to apologize and explain in person.

I HATE dropping the ball. It’s something I never used to do. Now, I drop balls all over the place. At school. At home. With my friends. With my family. During incomplete sentences. I hate it! The calendar doesn’t even work anymore, because I read it, then promptly forget what’s on it.

As for a weekend update, Vegas was lovely. Didn’t win any money, but didn’t loose too much either. Drank many Crown and Cokes. We went to the buffet at the Aladin, and it was THE BOMB! Clean. Classy. Well stocked and served. I had my first falafel, and may I say—where have you been all my life delicious fried nuggets of chick-peas? Chocolate mousse, crab legs, fruit stuffed pork loin, creme brulee, roasted asparagus, etc. The time spent with friends was, of course, the best part.

Soph had fun with Aunty Kate. Apparently, she slept all night. Why is it she does this only when I'm not home? Such a mystery. I was lazy as hell Saturday when we got home from Vegas, and basically laid around on the couch with her. Sundy, the lazies still hadn't let go, so we watched rather too much TV. Oh--something momentous did happen that day. I needed to do a Wal-Mart and asked Soph if she wanted to come with me or stay home with dad. For the first time EVER she opted to stay with dad. This totally made his day, and made my trip to hell-on-earth much speedier.

Oh--my pop up blocker is blocking the spell check. Sorry.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
She's currently feeding Jimmy french fries, singing "Here comes the fry train! All aboard!"

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
This morning while we were all getting ready, she found a bottle of baby powder. Sophie. Unsupervised. Baby powder. Living room. You get the idea.

Adios, amigos

Very shortly, E and I are on our way to Vegas for a rendezvous with some old friends. We're going to be gone for less than 24 hours, and Katester the Greatster is staying over with Soph--but still, still, still I worry. I feel guilty. I'm scared something will go terribly wrong. So much of what you give up as a mother is the ability to just have no strings attached.

I've been missing Soph like crazy anyway lately. I hate waking up every single morning and rushing out the door to work before getting to spend any time with her. I miss lazing on the couch with her, watching Sesame Street, fixing her hair, scrambling eggs, poking along through a "Mom and Sophie Day." These days I get up, rush to get myself ready, hurry and do her hair, (Why is it that men just don't have the hair doing gene? Are barrettes and pony tails really that tricky?) snuggle her on the couch for about 2 minutes, and head out the door. I'm SUPPOSED to be at work by 7:30. I rarely make it before 7:40. Sheesh.

Usually on my short days, I pick her up from school, and we go out to lunch. Expensive, yes, but it's a nice treat for both of us. Yesterday, she wanted dumplings, so we headed to the Hunan. Soph is super impressed with the golden (spray painted) dragons and other assorted plastic Chinese decor. The only way to get dumplings there is to order this huge bowl of soup, so I fish out the dumplings and put them on a plate for her, and eat the rest myself. She, of course, must eat with chopsticks, and ends up with half of her lunch in her lap. Then, the climax--the letter cookies. I don't think she quite gets the idea of a fortune, but loves to open them and pass out the letters.

So I have this huge tension headache, and am being pretty grouchy to E. It's time to take a deep breath, buck up, and fucking have a good time all ready. For some reason, that kind of sounds like a lot of work.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
I just love her. So much.

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Separation anxiety

Fuzz

No one really tagged me, but my brain has been so fuzzy for some reason today. Can’t think of anything to do but write a list.

Four jobs I've had.
1. Yogurt jockey at “Sounds Yummy Yogurt”
2. Floral Department Manager at “Hurst’s Hardware and Crafts”
3. Visitor’s Center Attendant (Post Card Salesperson) Kolob/Zion National Park and Cedar Breaks National Management
4. Extended School Year Coordinator (Summer School Bitch), Iron County School District

Movies I can watch over and over again
1. Get Shorty
2. Almost Famous
3. Bull Durham
4. Out of Sight

Four places I've lived.
1. Christchurch, New Zealand
2. Coon Rapids, Minnesota
3. Monterey, California
4. Cedar City, Utah

Four TV shows I love.
1. Firefly
2. Northern Exposure
3. Dancing with the Stars
4. The Daily Show

Four places I've vacationed.
1. Disneyland
2. Las Vegas
3. Logan, Utah
4. Seattle

Four of my favorite dishes.
1. The Piggy Special at The Market Grill (scrambled eggs with diced ham, hash browns, sourdough toast)
2. Fried Chicken (SO BAD!! I hate to even admit it.)
3. After Thanksgiving turkey sandwiches with lots of cranberry sauce
4. Spanikopita a la Jennifer

Four sites I visit daily.
1. Baby Attack
2. Strangeafeet
3. Krause House
4. Katydidz

Four places I would rather be right now.
1. About Face Day Spa
2. Home
3. Almost any beach
4. At yoga

Today’s best thing about being a mom:
Soph has taken to crawling in bed with me at about 2:00. This is a problem for many reasons, but she always says the funniest things when she first wakes up. A couple days ago, she said straight up and said, “Oh no! My cake is ruined.” Today it was, “Quick! I need my medical kit!”

Today’s worst thing about being a mom:
Fuzzy brain as a result of being KICKED in the stomach for about 4 hours in the wee hours of this morning.

Delta Dawn Revisited

I swear to chocolate, I didn't put Sophie up to this. I was bored this morning, and reading through my old blogs. When I played that silly audioblog I put up last month, Soph heard it and said/yelled, "I want to sing on the computer too! I know that song! I know it! I do! I do!" So I let her. Here's the result.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
Creating a mini-me

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Creating a mini-me

This is the way we wash our clothes.

So--Erik, Janzen, Sophie Gene and I are all sitting at the table, eating oatmeal. Soph has her requisite 3 bites and says she's full. I excuse her from the table, and she jumps off her chair, and starts tearing around in her pink fuzzy footie pajamas.

I see her disappear into the bathroom, then come out with the water bottle E had left in there after his run this morning, and trot into the family/living/play/tv room. (My house is very small.) I think, "Ok--water. She can't make any huge messes with that," and go back to eating my oatmeal. (My family thinks I make "Special Oatmeal" as in, "Boo--will you make that special oatmeal for breakfast?" I just use old fashioned oats, use 1/2 water and 1/2 milk, add a handful of raisins and some brown sugar, and cook is on the stove for 10 minutes. I guess that makes it special.)

Then I hear her singing "This is the way we wash our clothes, wash our clothes, wash our clothes. This is the way we wash our clothes on a cold and frosty morning." I smile to myself, and think how cute it is that she sings to herself all the time. A few seconds later, she comes streaking by--naked. Again, no surprise, so I don't pay very close attention. There have been no crashes, no bangs, and she hasn't opened the refrigerator--so I figure everything is kosher.

I finish my breakfast--and start cleaning up. The milk in one hand, and juice in the other, I head for the refrigerator, where I see this.

Soph runs in naked as I'm taking her soaking wet panties and sock off of the refrigerator and shrieks, "NO!! This is the way we DRY our clothes on a cold and frosty morning!!" So--there they remain--drying--on my refrigerator--on this cold and frosty morning.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
Apparently, Sophie is on her way to doing her own laundry.

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Wondering what's next

Why you should ALWAYS call a professional.

Home improvements are such a fucking drag. I guess I should look at them as exciting ways to show my artistic (ha) side, or at least not approach them with as much hesitation as I would, say, a flaming bag of pooh. However, home improvements seem to be the topic of the day. Almost one year ago, E and I started refinishing the wood floors in our house. (Notice, I didn't say FINISHED, as we haven't.) What follows is a day by day description of the horror that ensued, as written to the big sis in an email. Maybe you'll see why I now approach all home improvement projects with fear and trembling.

Sunday: Took Janz to Nephi to meet Cassie. Finished listening to Artemis Fowl (you might like these. Precocious millionaire quasi orphaned 12 year old captures and blackmails fairy folk--who are incidentally, dripping with technology and scorn for humans. There's really no good guy to root for, but it was fun.) Arrived home to find Erik ripping up the carpet in the kitchen. Removed layer of indoor/outdoor carpet, and discovered lovely asbestos laden orange linoleum. Asbestos research on internet led to stoppage of stripping process.

Monday: Resumed linoleum removal, taking asbestos precautions. Removed carpet in dining room to discover 12 inch square cork tiles, adhered to the wood floor with TAR PAPER. Began removal with hammer/putty knife in hammer/chisel fashion. Added some variety to the day by trying to scrape linoleum glue from kitchen floor.

Tuesday: More cork removal. Then began tar paper scraping. Purchased several scraping tools. Also experimented with several toxic chemicals for adhesive remove. Continued scraping both kitchen glue and dining room tar.

Wednesday: Several gallons of Jasco poured on dining room floor. Noted gigantic scull and crossbones on the container. Scraping. Swearing. Very little progress.

Thursday: Scraping. Chemicals. Swearing. Then St. Patrick's day dinner at Jen and Paul's. The corned beef and cabbage was delicious. Met Erin Waldman. Do you know her? She seemed quite nice, and has a little girl Sophie's age.

Friday: Had resorted to razor blade--no chemicals, scraping tar and paper off of floor inch by inch. Also shaking things up by occasionally attacking army green glue on kitchen floor. Then went to the Sportsman's (for first time) with Jen and Paul and Erik for Karaoke night. I sang "Son of a Preacher Man" with, I must admit, some success. I may be an addict. I wanted to sing another song, but we had some babysitter trauma, and had to leave.

Saturday: Embarrassing and fortuitous event--not unlike first caveman noticing that a log can roll. I dropped an ice cube on the floor in the kitchen and didn't pick it up. Then, when I wiped up the water, the previously cement-like, adhesive remover immune, army green glue was gone! Water soluble. Somehow we had never considered just removing it with water. 45 minutes of mopping later, low and behold, clean lovely wood! Wood, yes. Oak, no. We assumed that because the floor in the living room is oak, the kitchen and dining room would be as well. Nope. It's fir. A soft wood, but not quite as soft as pine. We're going to go ahead and finish it, and hope for the best. Tested the water method on the dining room tar. No workey. So, began sanding with the big daddy orbital sander. Went through about 5 pads in as many seconds. (hyperbole, but not by much.)

Sunday: More sanding. Found that water does work on the glue UNDER the tar, but not the tar. Hands and knees floor scrubbing, then scrubbed adhesive out of corners and cracks with a toothbrush.Now, after reading Sophie several stories, (her current fave is Green Eggs and Ham. I would not could not sand my floor. I would not could not any more!) I'm going to sweep and clean for Kodi who is tending tomorrow.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
Pink kitty pajamas with feet (for her, not me)

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Daycare guilt

You Choose

This morning, I actually said to my daughter, “My hell Sophie! Take your toothbrush out of your butt!”

At school, we’re learning a classroom management program called “Teaching with Love and Logic.” A big piece of the plan is allowing kids to make choices whenever possible—thus letting them feel in control of themselves—their situation—and not having to take control by acting out and other things. So—instead of giving 4 homework assignments a week, the teacher trickily gives 5, and tells the students, “You can choose any 1 homework assignment to skip each week.” If you don’t care if a paper is written or typed tell the kids it’s their choice. This also gets you out of telling them what to do all the time, as in, “You can either talk more quietly, or you can come sit at the front of the classroom by me.” You get the idea.

Seemed reasonable, and as the Teaching With Love and Logic is based on Parenting With Love and Logic, I decided to try a bit of it with Sophie.

So at DQ yesterday with my mom, Soph was, of course, being a total spaz. I had to pee, so I said, “Sophie, you may either come into the potty with mom, or stand quietly next to Grandma." To which Sophie responded, “I’m going to look at the love day cakes!” and ran over to the freezer stocked with heart shaped ice cream cakes. I took a deep breath and said, “Sophie. You can choose between 2 things. Either come into the potty with mom, or stand quietly next to Grandma.” Soph looked thoughtful for a minute and said, “Look! That one has angels! Mom! Mom! That one is the cutie cutiest one. I want it! I want it! Can I have it?” So—I hoisted her in my arms squealing and took her into the bathroom with me.

After getting our treats, and were sitting at the table, Soph stood up on the bench and started climbing over the back. I said, “Sophie. You can either sit on you bottom next to Grandma, or sit on your bottom next to Mom. You choose.” She responded by throwing a leg over the back of the bench, (luckily no one was sitting behind us) waving her arm in the air, and yelling, “I’m a ropin’ cowgirl!”

Back to this morning—Soph (naked of course) was cruising around the house with her new $9.00 electric mermaid toothbrush. She was going back and forth between brushing her teeth, and experimenting with how the brush felt on different places. She put it on her forhead—on her foot. I should have seen it coming. So—I watch the toothbrush be poked between her butt cheeks, and for an instant think, “OK—what do I say. ‘Sophie, you may either put your toothbrush in the garbage, or wash it off and use it only for brushing teeth,' or maybe, 'Sophie, would you rather take your toothbrush out of your butt, or have me spank it?'"

In the end, I went with, “My hell Sophie! Take your toothbrush out of your butt!”

Today’s best thing about being a mom:
Ummm. I get more sympathy now?

Today’s worst thing about being a mom:
So—that freakin’ toothbrush was expensive. If I wash it in REALLY hot water, or maybe run it through the dishwasher, would it be super gross to still let her use it?

Your assignment, should you choose to accept it

Ok. Writing assignment time. Here's one I gave my 11th graders recently to start gearing them up for a compare/contrast essay. The format is simple. Choose two specific time periods in your life. Write about then, alternating the phrases "I used to" and "But now I," creating a "poem" that shows how your life has changed over time. Here's mine. It's sort of a high school student/teenager vs high school teacher/mother. Oh--complete your assignment in my comments, or your blog, whichever you prefer. Let's say this one is due by Tuesday. Extra gold stars for those who turn in their work early.

I used to...But now I

I used to wake up at 6:00 to have time to choose the perfect outfit, shower, blow-dry, apply cosmetics chosen from a tackle box full of Bonnie Bell and Cover Girl, and still get to school on time,
But now I wake up at 6:00 to have time to grab a quick shower, slap on my Estee Lauder tinted moisturizer with SPF 30, find a pair of pants that will zip, wrestle Sophie into her clothes, bribe her to get her hair done with a Pop Tart, pack her lunch, and still get to school on time.
I used to spend Sunday afternoon listening to Rick Dee's weekly top forty with Mandy, hiding out in our room to avoid our parents,
But now I say things like, "I can't believe the music these kids listen to," IM with Mandy more than I actually talk to her, and hope my mom will call on Sunday and offer to feed us dinner.
I used to sit in Mr. Bonzo's English class, passing notes under the table to my best friend Kara about my crush on Erik, and her sometimes boyfriend Paul,
But now I sit on the toilet while Erik's in the bathtub because we only have one bathroom, and am deciding what dessert to take to Paul and Jen's house for dinner tomorrow.
I used to tell stories that started with the phrase, "Ok. I was SO tore..."
But now I tell stories that start with the phrase, "Yesterday, Sophie got into..."

I used to feel something was wrong with me because I never felt "the spirit" in church, liked to make-out with boys, could do my English assignments in 1/4 the time of the other kids, and was never ever a size 8,

But now I feel something is wrong with me because my walls are filthy, I never dust, I'm rarely "in the mood," my daughter is sassy and eats frosting for lunch, and I will never ever be a size 8.

I used to be proud of my great rack, blond hair, mad vocabulary skills, and ability to put people at ease and make then laugh,

But now, I'm proud of my great rack (though now it needs a bit of a boost from an industrial strength bra); my blond hair (though now it gets a little help from Katy and a highlight kit); my mad vocabulary skills (which, to be honest, are quite prodigious); my ability to put people at ease and make them laugh; my fetching, messy, and precocious daughter; my loyal, loving, and sexy husband; and my willingness to look at my life, with all its little foibles and follies, and laugh.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
Soph, her friend Addison, and I are having a valentine making party this afternoon. I can't wait.

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
She's coming down with a cough. I'm holding my breath to see if it's just a little thing, or will grow into a full blown problem, complete with fever, a doctor visit, and several sleepless nights.

What's for lunch?

When I ask Sophie how school was, the first thing she has to report is what was in the other kids' lunch boxes. Last week, she was very impressed that Alexia had a plum in her lunch. So when I went to the store, I bought plums and sent one with Soph. This week, Addison had bunny yogurt. That one stumped me. Bunny yogurt? A perusal of the yogurt section revealed that Trix, as in the breakfast cereal, has yogurt now. So my refrigerator currently is the repository of "Blastin' Berry Blue" and "Rockin' Red Raspberry" Trix yogurt.

I wonder if the other kids ever have lunch-box envy over the contents of Sophie's box. She loves the Smuckers pre-made round pb&js, and all though they are way to expensive, and probably as nutritious as a jar of marshmallow fluff (note to self--buy jar of marshmallow fluff so I can make her a fluffer-nutter for lunch next week), they are one of the things that make school a cool thing for her, so she gets them. She also gets a huge kick out of the apple dippers you can get instead of fries now in fast food kid's meals (not that I ever let her eat fast food. What kind of mother do you think I am? Well, actually, the kind that buys her kid McNuggets on a fairly regular basis.). So--I bought some little caramel apple dip things, and send those and apple slices pretty regularly. String cheese, Jello, Pudding Snacks. I really do try to make her lunch fun for her.

Why do I do this? 2 main reasons. 1) When I told her she was going to a new school, she was very apprehensive. When I told her she could take a lunch box, and pick any one out she wanted, the problem was solved. She was totally on board. Lunch box? Well, why didn't you say so Mom! She has 2 lunch boxes now. One is actually a heart shaped bag thing--with, of course, Disney Princesses on it. The other is a Barbie box that came with a pink thermos (jump back!) AND plasticy window-cling like outfits to put on the Barbie on the front of the box. Her school likes to have the kids bring a little place mat (something about defining their space) and the teacher said most kids just bring a dish towel in their lunch box. I, however, searched Wal-Mart and found Winnie the Pooh hand towels that cost 5 bucks each. What can I say? I spoil my child--but I also leave her ALL DAY with other people--and if Winnie the Pooh hand towels make both of us feel better, so be it.

Oh--reason number 2. I remember school lunches in elementary school. My coolness factor during those years was about a -3. Opening up your lunch box (I had to take a brown bag-horror-because I always LOST my lunch boxes) was a bit like bearing your soul. My mom ALWAYS sent tuna. Tuna was pretty frowned upon by my table mates--and I felt like a huge doofus as I took mine out of my bag. Also, mom froze our juice boxes--a nice idea, the rational being that it kept everything cold, and thawed by lunchtime. The problem was, it never thawed by lunch time. I remember ripping the top off and gnawing off chunks of frozen fruit punch. Now--obviously, my mom was a very sweet lady to make me a lunch at all. At least I didn't have to gag down hot lunch--except on pizza days, which were circled on the lunch calendar at home--but still, I never felt that my lunches were ever quite all they should have been.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
Reliving old childhood memories

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Reliving old childhood memories

Feeling ever so very not well

What ever happened to women being able to "take to their beds"? I love it in Pride and Prejudice when the crazy mom has an attack of nerves, plops on a floppy sleeping cap, climbs in bed, and rings for tea. Why can't I do that? Can't I complain of the vapors or fantods or something, put on my volumnous lace night gown, and retire to my bed chamber?

Instead, I get to plod through this day. I teach 2 classes today, then go home and tackle such riveting tasks as: washing Sophie's peed on sheets, cleaning up the roll of toilet paper that Jimmy ripped into submission this morning, shopping for juice boxes and feminine hygiene products, and cleaning out the refrigerator before it gets up and walks away.

I really should have servants. Instead, I have the exact opposite of servants. The three other beings that live in my house seem to think that I have too much time on my hands, and need them to help me fill it by emptying Pepsi cans and leaving them for me to find and throw away, finding pencils to chew the leave little shards for me to step on and then vacuum, and make many and varied messes involving jello and or cheese.

The doldrums are in full effect at the Jorgensen house folks.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
Reading Dr. Seuss

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
I think I may have inadvertantly promised Sophie a hampster this morning.

This, that, and the other

Man--this working everyday thing is sure cutting into my blogging time. Not only is it cutting into the time I have to actually write, it's cutting into the hours when I would otherwise be doing, hearing, seeing, and experiencing blog-worthy things. My world is dull, dull, dull at the moment.

Currently, Soph and her friend Bianca are watching Care Bears and coloring some Care Bears I printed for them. Soph is in to this baby-talk phase and it's almost as annoying as the spitting phase was. Also, her father taught her to give wet-willies. Enough said. She has also taken to folding her arms and haughtily turing her head and saying "Final!" when I tell her to start or stop doing something she doesn't want to start or stop doing. This, combined with yelling "Silence!" when I'm talking is leading me to wonder where I went wrong with her more and more.

Mostly these days I work, clean up Sophie and Jimmy messes, (does the chewing up everything EVER stop with a dog?) and watch Firefly. I must say, I've become a bit of an addict in that department. I never watched it until E got the first (and last) season on DVD--but it only took one episode, and I'm pretty much hooked. It's not just that Captain Mal is the HOTTEST HOTTEST HOTTEST fictional man ever (sorry Mr. Darcy. He's even got you beat.) but the whole story, all the characters, the sometimes hilarious and sometimes heart-wrenching stories--well, it had me from hello I guess.

In nutritional news--my last shopping trip was a bit of a cluster-fuck. I was trying to buy a lot of whole foods, produce (to probably eventually throw away) and reading labels on everything else. Asking myself, "Should I REALLY buy the three dollar free range, no hormone, apparently laid from magical chicken eggs, or can we do with the 99 cent regular ones? Why the fuck is there corn syrup and cotton seed oil in whole wheat bread? 2.50 for organic chicken noodle soup? Will the Campbells really be that bad?" and so on. I did buy the Annies, or Amy's or whatever mac and cheese, and did spend three dollars on the eggs, but the Campbells was on sale 2 for a dollar, and I just couldn't pass it up.

Kods and I are on our way to see Brokeback mountain here in a few minutes, so I must run. I need to find a water bottle to fill with vanilla rum to smuggle in in my purse, and at least brush my teeth and put on a bra.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
Sunday morning snuggles in bed

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Soup guilt