Family Reunion Memories

As I'm reading everyone's blogs, "family reunions" seems to be a big theme for the summer.

One year my family had a camping family reunion. As I was getting out of the communal shower, my sister, Rena, jumped out and took my picture. Luckily, I was able to cover most of my "naughty bits" with a small (very small) towel.

I thought the funny little episode was over. But no. Several weeks later, I get a package in the mail from Rena. She had taken the photo and had a PUZZLE made of it!!!

I must admit that it's my kids' favorite jigsaw. They really love leaving out the pieces with the towel on them so that it looks like I'm naked. This is especially fun for them to display it on the coffee table when they know company (preferably someone from church) is coming over.

I must admit that I don't remember much from that family reunion, but I do remember that! Thanks, Rena, for being such a fun sister.

Do you need a rabies shot for that?

So my sister, Rena, calls me today to tell me that she got bit by a giraffe.

Only you, Rena, only you.

(Note: I've been getting complaints that I don't have enough pictures on my blog. I'm sorry, but I don't have a digital camera and I have stinky slow dial-up Internet -- there, are you happy now?)

It's a Dog's Life...

When I was younger, we had a daycare center in our home (because my mother obviously didn't think that 9 kids and 5 foster kids were enough -- she had to have about 14 daycare kids, too).

One day I was changing a toddler's diaper on the bathroom floor when our dog came tearing into there as fast as she could, claws skidding all over the linoleum. This was quite odd because the dogs are NEVER allowed in the house and even if they did somehow get in, they never went beyond the kitchen.

Anyway, our dog went racing into the bathroom and straight for the dirty diaper! That stupid dog gobbled up this huge pooh in two bites!

Being only 10 or 11 at the time, I wasn't sure what to do. My first instinct was to grab the dog by its hind legs (it was a small Pekingese/Maltese mix) and start shaking it over the toilet yelling, "Let go! Let go!"

The grossness of what was happening suddenly hit me and I had to get out of there quick. I ran into my parents' bedroom where Rena was reading a book. She said that I was this sickly green color and couldn't speak. She put a new diaper on the child and scooted the dog out of the house.

And people wonder why I don't have a pet dog OR babysit.

If I Had a Hammer...

I'm trying to convince my sister, Rena, to create a blog. She is too funny and has the most ridiculous things happen to her (OK, tragic for her, but HILARIOUS for me!).

Did I mention that she once sliced her foot open on the phone? The PHONE! How do you cut your foot on a telephone?

One year she decided to teach herself how to juggle. She was in her room juggling some beanbags and whenever she juggles she throws the objects too far ahead of her so she has to walk forward as she juggles. She walked as far as she could in her room, but was soon stopped by her bed. She kept leaning farther and farther over her bed until she finally made a graceful leap onto the bed to catch the beanbag.

Or, should I say it would've been graceful if she hadn't been nailing pictures up in her bedroom earlier that day and she left her hammer on the bed -- claw end up.

The hammer got her right in the chin. Lucky for her, she didn't get seriously hurt. Lucky for me, she did get an awesome scrape on her chin so that everyone asked her about it and she had to relay this story over and over again!

I've Been Tagged -- Again

ABC Blag

A- Attached or Single? Attached (but my earlobes are not).
B- Best Friend? guy: Nigel -- girl: I must admit that I haven't had a "call on the phone and talk for hours and go out to lunch every week" girlfriend since I've been married (though my sister, Lorna, is often dragged into those situations). I have lots of friends, but Nigel is my best buddy.
C- Cake or pie? Oh my goodness, it HAS to be pie. For my birthday? Pie. For Thanksgiving? Pie. For Christmas? Pie. I used to love Key Lime, but my body has revolted against all citrus. Chocolate cream or coconut cream is always good. Not into the fruit pies.
D- Day of choice? Tuesday (that's the only day I get off of work).
E- Essential Item? My budget paper that I keep in my wallet (I keep track of every penny -- I don't spend my money wisely, but I know where every cent goes).
F- Favorite Color? Pink
G- Gummy Bears or Worms? I hate all things gummy (or goomy as Gnat likes to say).
H- Hometown? Clover City, CA
I- Favorite Indulgence? Cadbury Cream Eggs or Pepperidge Farms Mint Brussels cookies.
J- January or July? July (I look forward to the Freedom Festival and Pioneer Day every year).
K- Kids? 3: Frances, Jeffrey, and Alice-Grace
L - Life isn't complete without? Old MGM musicals.
M- Marriage date? Dang coldest and windiest day to be outside taking photos while surrounded by turkey farms.
N- Number of brothers and sisters? 5 brothers: Clark, Spence, J.D., Henry and Stillwell; 3 sisters: Lorna, Myrna and Rena
O- Oranges or Apples? Peaches (always peaches).
P- Phobia and fears? Falling in the shower and knocking out all my teeth (Denturaphobia).
Q- Quote? "Mr. Green is Left-Handed" (graffiti at my high school).
R- Reason to smile? Seeing people trip (yes, I know that's horrible, but I can't help myself).
S- Season of choice? Fall (also known as pie baking weather).
T- Tag three people? Can I tranquilize and tag some wild animals instead?
U- Unknown fact about me? I went to junior high with the actor/musician Jack Black.
V- Vegetable? Green beans (the squeaky ones).
W- Worst habit? Biting my nails.
X-Ray or Ultrasound? I don't want to drink a bunch of water, so I'm saying X-ray.
Y- Your favorite food? Ginger's elk enchiladas (I can eat them every day of my life).
Z- Zodiac sign? "Keep Off The Grass"

"Milk Duds!"

I love Gremlins. Not the little creatures that turn evil if you feed them after midnight, but the cars. My friend's brother had a Gremlin (OK, it was actually a Pacer). Such a groovy 1970s space mobile. The huge window in the back, the curvy lines, awesome.

I love weird cars. You know, the kinds of cars that would make my sister, Rena, duck in embarrassment for fear one of her cheerleader teammates might spy her.

My mother, Dot, would purchase her cars based on how many bags of manure she could fit in the back (you know, for growing corn on the roof of our house), so she always had a huge station wagon. Her station wagon could seat 12 -- for dinner. It was gigantic!

My father, Ardale, would purchase a variety of cars, but they were always decked out with so many Ham radio antennas that it was sheer terror driving under a bridge or into a parking garage (remember the infamous Westside Pavillion experience, Rena?).

Since we never pay more than $1.00 for our cars, they tend to have fun personality quarks such as only being able to turn right or the fact that you can only enter though one door and exit through a different door. I keep trying to get Nigel to hand paint our car, but he hasn't done it yet.

I must admit that I always smile when I see an old beater car that's two-tone rust and held together with duct tape. Now that's some people I want to meet! Even more so if they're driving a Gremlin.

Holy Guacamole!

I LOVE avocados.

Growing up, I would just go to my friend's house and pick them off her tree. Rena and I would cut them in half, take out the pit, sprinkle some salt on them and just spoon out the creamy flesh. Mmm.

Now I'm horrified by the cost of them in the grocery store. What? I have to BUY avocados? And they're either rock hard or so mushy you can almost drink them.

When I go to a restaurant, I base my order on what entree has avocado in it. "Dog brains with gasoline sauce? That sounds horri--oh, there's avocado in it? I'll take that."

My doctor is always amazed by how high my HDL levels are (that's the GOOD cholesterol). I'm telling you, it's that all avocado diet.

That tree in Lehi's dream? I'm pretty sure those were albino avocados.

Tagging Along

I've been tagged. Again. I guess I'll do this one (I wimped out on the other one because there was no way I could compete with GEO's and Compulsive Writer's great lists of imaginary college courses to take -- besides I still hate school, even pretend school -- and GEO, why do I always write your name in all caps?). Here goes:

5 things I Was Doing 10 Years Ago:

1. Making Nigel get me club sandwiches at all hours of the night while I was pregnant with Frances
2. Giving birth to my first little baby, Frances (who did not want to be born and it took the doctor yanking with forceps and a nurse on top of me pushing on my belly to get her out -- I hope she's not the same way when it's time to go to college)
3. NOT working (I took a whole year off after Frances was born -- my best year ever and I have video proof that my house was clean)
4. Breaking my back getting Frances in and out of her car seat in our little Toyota Tercel (which I still miss, but have you ever tried to fit THREE car seats in a hatchback? Can't be done)
5. Living with Rena and her family for a month and trying not to boil to death or be stung by scorpions, but it was worth it to see Maureen's "happy dance"

5 Things On My To-Do List Today:

1. Clean/straighten the house (OK, that's on my list EVERY day and I have yet to do it)
2. Go to work and NOT work more than eight hours (didn't do it)
3. Take Frances to piano lessons (did it -- how could we miss a lesson with the adorable Babs?)
4. Balance my check book (did it)
5. Write a post for my blog (doing it now)

Snacks I Enjoy:

1. Cherry Blow-Pops
2. Pringles (I like to stick them to my lips and pretend I'm a duck)
3. Cheetos (but I don't like the orange fingers)
4. Cherry Slurpees
5. Flea's rum nougat candies

Things I Would Do if I Were a Billionaire*:

1. Pay a ton of taxes
2. Buy a house with an art studio for Nigel and a garden with fruit trees for me and lots of land for chickens and goats
3. Travel and visit family
4. NOT WORK!!!
5. Share

*Note -- isn't it funny that now we have to say "billionaire" instead of "millionaire"?

3 Bad habits:

1. Speaking before thinking
2. Biting my nails (yes, even the hypnotism didn't work after a while)
3. Not finishing what I sta...

5 Places I've lived:**

1. Clover City, CA
2. Parvo, Deseret
3.
4.
5.

**Note -- yes, I'm pathetic. I've only lived two places my entire life.

5 Jobs I've Had:

1. Clerk in charge of the freezer full of dead dogs at a veterinary hospital
2. Sales girl at a floral shop (which was hard for me because I don't like cut flowers -- I didn't even have any at my own wedding)
3. Waitress (at a tiny cafe in a small town where they once raffled off a mule)
4. Typer of library cards to computer databases -- did I mention the cards were all in CZECH?!?
5. Transcriber of TV news programs and interviews for a certain CNBC financial reporter

5 Things People Probably Don't Know About Me:

1. I'm in an ad for Polaroid cameras in the October 21, 1974 issue of Newsweek (pages 54 and 55)
2. I detest cheesecake
3. I'm scared of horses
4. I was president of my high school's Chinese Club
5. I used to work as a nude model for artists (one of the many reasons why I can't run for public office)

There. I did it. And just like when I was a young girl playing the real game, I'm not going to tag anyone.

A Christmas Movie: Take Two

When I look back on the old Christmas movies that my family did every year, I notice a pattern.

Besides filming us hanging up our stockings, my dad also filmed us on Christmas day getting our filled stockings and opening our presents. When we were really little, you could see my brother, J.D., secretly stealing candy from the other kids' stockings. As the years went by and we all got older, one thing would not change. EVERY film showed J.D. stealing candy from people's stockings! He'd be in his 30s and still stealing candy!

I shouldn't be surprised. This was the same brother who would steal food off my plate during the prayer at dinner and he would hold a fork to my side to keep me quiet while he did it.

But no one could ever hate him. No matter how mean he was to us (including cutting off Rena's hair with a pair of toenail clippers), we still loved and adored him.

Though I should warn his wife and son to hide their candy this Christmas.

I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille

Back in the early 50s, my father worked in TV. Even though he soon left that job to work as an electrical engineer, he still had some of that movie magic running through his veins.

It started with a Super-8 camera taking simple films of his growing family hanging up their stockings every Christmas eve. As the years went by, we couldn't just hang up our stockings, we had to have ever more elaborate skits that went with the hanging of the stockings. Regular lamps weren't good enough, my dad had these super bright spot lights that would blind us all as he would yell, "Open up your eyes!"

Lorna's husband, Jorge, proclaimed ours "The Cecil B. DeMille Christmases." Just like real film making, we had to wait forever for the lighting to be just right, we'd finally get our skit perfect and my dad would realize that he had the lens cap still on (or no film in the camera), and it would always go over time and over budget. I would half expect to see a couple of grips eating at the Crafts Services table in our living room with the way these productions would play out.

Then in the early '80s, we were introduced to video tape. SOUND. Just like the old silent movie era actors, we were kind of hesitant and some of our skits were still done with no sound. After a year or so, we used this new medium to showcase J.D.'s band or Rena's vocal lessons. Soon, all the neighborhood kids were also involved in our movies.

My favorite Christmas film was when the entire family was struck down with the stomach flu, but we still went on with the show -- with all the kids carrying pots around for barfing in.

Another good one was when Ardale went on and on about how proud he was of Spence and how much we miss him while he's on his mission. Then we hear Spence in the background say, "Don't you mean Henry?" Oh, you should've seen my dad's face on that one.

Just like in real life, we try our best to plan things out and control everything. And just like in real life, our favorite memories consist of the times when everything goes wrong.

Upside-Down, Boy You Turn Me

M-A told me to write a blog about upside-down Christmas trees. I guess there's a new trend of hanging trees from the ceiling so there's more room for presents underneath. I checked it out on the Internet and was not impressed (if I was computer savvy, I would put some links -- but alas, I can barely figure out how to work the rat -- oops, I mean mouse). Does anyone else remember the Wilkinson Center Ballroom being decorated with upside-down trees hung from the high ceilings every Christmas? I guess they were trend setters.

It reminded me of one Christmas when my mother was musing over where to put the tree. She delights in rearranging the furniture and finding a new place for the tree each year.

Rena, Stillwell and I suggested that she should have the tree sticking out from the wall horizontally. Well, she was NOT amused. In fact, she said, "That's enough. Go to bed right now."

We looked at each other, shocked. Was she serious? Go to bed? It was about 3:00 in the afternoon and I was 16, Stillwell was 18 and Rena was 20!!! We shrugged our shoulders and went up to our rooms to bed.

Tradition! Tradition!

When my brother and his wife were first married, Julene asked Henry what his childhood Christmases were like. He talked about all the traditions, including getting breakfast in bed, peanuts in his stockings, putting up Christmas lists, etc. and didn't give the conversation a second thought.

When Christmas day came around, Julene surprised Henry with breakfast in bed. Henry complained, "Oatmeal! I hate oatmeal!" Julene was shocked because this was his family tradition. "No," Henry replied, "Our mom forced us to eat oatmeal so that we wouldn't make ourselves sick eating candy all day. We all despise oatmeal" (in fact, Rena and I used to throw the oatmeal out the window, Stillwell flushed it down the toilet and Spence spooned it into his sock drawer every year).

When Henry looked in his stocking, it was filled with peanuts in the shell. "Peanuts! What am I supposed to do with peanuts?" Again, Julene was confused. "But you told me you always got peanuts in your stockings." Henry answered, "Yeah, they were just used as filler so they wouldn't have to fill them with so many toys and candy" (I'm positive those same peanuts were recycled year after year).

Then Henry looked under the tree and it was filled with presents for him. Julene had given him EVERYTHING on his list. She didn't understand that our family put up lists every year, but we never expected to get the things on them -- maybe just one or two if we were lucky. Then he felt REALLY bad because he had only given Julene one or two things from her list, and she was probably expecting ALL of them!

Traditions are what make holidays great, but we should understand the meaning behind them and understand when to change them to fit our situations. I'm sure that Henry and Julene have many wonderful and new traditions they enjoy at Christmas, and I'm sure that they still laugh at their first one.

Santa's Dead

As I'm in the twilight between awake and sleep last night, I hear this conversation transpire in the living room between my two younger children and my husband:

Alice-Grace: Mom told us Santa was dead.

Nigel: What?

Jeffrey: Yeah. Mom told us Santa was dead.

Nigel: She did not.

Alice-Grace: She did. For reals.

Jeffrey: Santa is dead.

My last thought as I drift off to sleep is, "Oh Lois, you're going to burn in hell for this one."

OK, since some people were worried in my last post, let me state that Santa does come to our house, but just to fill the stockings. But for some reason, my kids totally ignore the stockings and I have to practically force them to look there. I guess Santa only counts if he leaves big huge presents. It isn't like the stockings are filled with rocks or peanuts in the shell (that's for another blog) or something, Santa brings fun stuff like Kindereggs and Pez.

So this year I've decided to steal one of Rena's traditions and have my kids play Santa Claus (since he's passed away and all). She has each one of her kids put on a Santa hat in the middle of the night and put a secret treat in the stockings. My kids seem to be excited about the idea, so we'll see how it goes.

And just for the record, I told them that St. Nicholas who Santa Claus is based on is dead.

Season's Greetings

I have a love/hate relationship with holiday newsletters. I love writing them, but I loathe copying them off, addressing the envelopes, and mailing them (to be perfectly honest, I still have some from last year that I haven't mailed yet -- sorry!).

Also, it seems that I'm sending these newsletters full of "fascinating" tidbits about my family's life to people who are either very much aware of what we've been up to all year or people who really could care less. So what's the point?

I have people that I send newsletters to only because they send me newsletters. Are they only sending me newsletters because I send them newsletters? It's a vicious cycle.

Also, what's the shelf-life on newsletters? Am I supposed to keep these things forever? What about the holiday photos? Keep the ones from family and throw away the others?

Rena got fed up with the stress of getting the "perfect" family photo, so last year she sent one that actually looks like her family (kids with eyes closed, looking in the wrong direction, and/or picking noses). Now that's a photo I'm going to keep!

I'm not a total Grinch. Some newsletters are great. I love Ben's "Holiday Holler" just because of the title -- I even disregard my newsletter/resume rule for it (if it's more than one page long, I don't read it). M-A's newsletters are always hilarious (and my last few have been copies of her style -- I hope she considers it flattery). I always look forward to my mother's newsletter to see how little she writes about me (She'll write three or four paragraphs on Lorna and I'll get something like, "Lois is still alive").

The best Christmas newsletter of all time was one that I received from my friend's mother. She fancies herself a poet and one year she wrote about finding a dead body in the dumpster behind her home -- all in iambic pentameter.

I was all for boycotting a newsletter this year and I almost had Nigel talked into it, but then Geo's husband brought over a huge box of art paper, including some in the loveliest shade of green which Nigel is now enamored with. He says that HE will do the Christmas newsletter. Now, if I can just find a dead body...

Small Joys III: The Last Crusade

This is the last post in my month of gratitude. What a joy it has been to sit back and reflect on all the things I'm thankful for. It's been surprising how many simple things bring a smile to my face. One of my favorites are the small phrases that become part of my every day vocabulary because of people I've met or situations I've experienced. Here are a few:

ALL MY MAKEUP FELL IN THE TOILET THIS MORNING -- code for "I'm going to change the subject." This comes from a friend of a friend who could never keep up with the topic of conversation and would just say the strangest out of the blue things. This is especially comical because Nigel says it all the time (much to the shock of people who don't know what it means).

PLEASE PASS THE RIPLEY and WHAT DO YOU MEAN DID YOU WIN THOSE CLOTHES? -- code for "I misunderstood what you said." "Please pass the Ripley" comes from my brother, Spence, who misunderstood when his son said "Please pass the syrup, please" (we also now refer to syrup as "Ripley"). The other phrase comes from when I misunderstood my father asking "Are the windows closed" to my mother and I thought he said, "Did you win those clothes?"

SPACKY HAND -- referring to when your hand suddenly spazzes out and you drop something or accidentally hit something. This comes from Sister Spackman who had an unfortunate arm-to-industrial scone mixer encounter and would occasionally lose control of her hand (which was great because she was the ward organist and we would wait in anticipation for a "Spacky Hand" moment).

DO YOU THINK I CAN TOUCH MY KNEE TO THE CEILING? -- said before doing something very stupid that's sure to result in bodily harm. This comes from my sister, Rena, who was jumping on the bed and touching various body parts to the ceiling -- her head, her ear, her tongue, etc. Then she had the bright idea of touching her knee to the ceiling. She jumped as hard as she could and unfortunately didn't realize that her head would impact the ceiling way before her knee would.

HAPPY NEW YORK -- code for any English phrase horribly mangled on a consumer product because it was made overseas. This includes "Spoopy" book bags and "Winnie The Puff" stuffed animals.

Simple Pleasures III: The Search for Spock

We have a little three-year-old neighbor girl who looks like a complete angel. She has blond hair and always wears the cutest clothes (unlike my children who look like something the cat batted out from underneath the refrigerator).

Anyway, she has a not-so-hidden evil streak that brings me such joy when it comes out.

The other day she was trying to get her one-year-old brother in the house and said to him in her squeaky tiny toddler voice, "Come on, numb-nuts!"

Her father turned around surprised and asked, "What did you say?"

She batted her baby blues at him and replied, "Nothing."

Oh, I'm so thankful for three-year-olds. Rena always called that the "magic" age (though I think she meant that she no longer had to cut up their hot-dogs and they could play with regular toys), but I think everything they do is adorable.

Simple Pleasures II: Electric Boogaloo

Driving around at night to see the Christmas lights in a car whose heater works.

(Oh, and not running over a dog while doing it -- remember that, Rena?)

"Lick the Spoon!"

I just had a baby and I was feeling miserable and I must've been suffering from postpartum psychosis or something because this happened:

Nigel had killed a spider (a real spider this time) and for some reason, his weapon of choice for killing spiders is a spoon. Not a shoe, not a book, a SPOON! Being Nigel, he left the spoon with the squished spider still attached to it on the dresser.

Every time I walked by that dresser, the voices in my head kept saying, "Lick the spoon! Lick the spoon!"

Of course I never licked the spoon, but it was scary enough that I even THOUGHT it (or the voices in my head thought it).

Are you technically "crazy" when you can realize that what you're thinking is crazy? Now whenever I'm afraid I may start "gardening with the fairies" (Rena's phrase for going cuckoo), I call it a "lick the spoon" moment.

Scratch, Scratch, Scratch

When I was a young tween (back in the days before anyone knew what a "tween" was), my parents were gone for the evening and left me, my sister Rena, and my brother, Stillwell (and Stillwell's friend, Red) alone in the house.

I went into my parent's bedroom to find the TV magazine, which was usually on the organ bench. Yes, my parents have a full-size organ in their bedroom (the kind that plays MUSIC, not a kidney). As I was looking through the newspaper, I heard a "scratch, scratch, scratch" coming from the organ. I stopped, looked around. Nothing. Again I searched through the pile of newspaper. "Scratch, scratch, scratch." I looked closer at the organ just as a big black, hairy thing came out from the keyboard! AAAAAHHHHH!

I ran to get Rena (a bad choice since Rena is the most paranoid person there is on the face of the planet, but Stillwell and Red were busy playing "Risk" and didn't want to be bothered). I dragged Rena into the bedroom. She didn't even have to wait to hear the "scratch, scratch, scratch," she was already running out of the room.

Finally, my parents (Dot and Ardale) got home. Rena and I told them what was going on. Of course, they just rolled their eyes and ignored us. We begged and pleaded for them to check, and finally they relented.

With Ardale lifting the top of the organ off and Dot lecturing us about how we shouldn't watch scary movies -- BAM! A huge black cat leaped out of the organ and ran terrified out of the house. We, of course, all started jumping up and down and screaming.

Somehow, the neighbors cat had gotten into our house, crawled up into the organ and then couldn't get back out! Who knows how long it was in there! (And judging by the smell of the inside of the organ, it was a while)

CAR-nal Knowledge

I've come to the conclusion that all my money woes come from cars.

When I was first married, I had no problem keeping in my budget -- and I think it's because we didn't have a car. And I'm not talking about the cost of the car, insurance, gas and repairs. When you don't have a car, you can only buy as many groceries as you can carry. When you have to load up your dirty laundry in a duffel bag and walk for half an hour to get to the laundry-mat, you have no desire to buy more clothes. You can't even get to any place where you can spend your money.

Of course, we have been really lucky in the car department. Our first car was a loaner from my military brother, Spence, while he was stationed in Korea. When he got transfered back to the States, he very nicely let us keep it. FREE CAR! We loved that little car, but eventually we had three kids in car seats and no longer fit in a little two-door Toyota. We passed on his kindness and gave it to a family who desperately needed a car.

Then my sister, Rena, bought a new minivan and gave us her old one. ANOTHER FREE CAR! That was great until it kept dying on us (usually in the middle of an intersection or on train tracks) and no mechanic could figure out how to fix it. We donated that one to the Kidney Foundation.

My other sister, Lorna, then stepped up to the plate and gave us her old minivan. A THIRD FREE CAR! I mean, you can't beat that.

What will I do when this car dies? Well, I've got five more siblings...