A Word to the Wise

Because I care about you, my loyal readers (Hi Mom and Steve!), I'm offering up a tasty morsel of advice to keep you from looking like a huge putz at your next family function.

This past weekend was family-palooza for us. It began with a family reunion on my side, which went off without a hitch. I managed to keep from embarrassing myself too much and my kids acted with decorum and tact throughout the proceedings.

(This means that they happily played with pine cones and avoided loosing their shoes down the river)

The next day was a wedding on Steve's side of the family. It was lovely and I always enjoy the chance to go to the temple.... and be shushed yet again. Really, you'd think at my age I'd use a "temple voice", but I can't seem to muster up the strength to keep it down. My apologies to yet another cousin, A.E., who I dragged down with me.

Now, for the advice portion of this post. It would probably be in your best interest to do a little detective work and find out a bit about what is happening in the lives of your extended family before bumbling into a slightly uncomfortable situation.

(My bro-in-law recently asked about a deceased family member as though said person were still living. Big oopsies! Makes me look like Miss Manners!)

Anyhow, after the lovely temple ceremony we were waiting on the lobby for the grand exit of bride and groom. Hubs and I got to visiting with Uncle D. and he was mentioning having to get back to home state for church. I proceeded to do my usual guff-giving and went on and on about how it's okay to "get a sub" and "take a break". I mean, really, how dedicated do you have to be to your calling?

Then, I asked the question that probably should have been asked before my monologue on "getting over yourself". (Okay,I didn't actually say or think that - but needed to emphasize my sass level)

His response? "I'm the Bishop".

Oh, well, gee-willickers. Then I suppose getting a sub and taking a break isn't really going to happen. My bad.

And what was my response to his? "Well... huh... bet you don't know what my calling is either. Just sayin'!"

I always advise using extreme tact and humility in situations like that. You don't want to add to the tension.

Luckily for me Uncle D. is pretty great - not to mention his mad skills at talking like Donald Duck - and let me off the hook

See, this is why he's the Bishop and I'm just teaching primary.

Now please excuse me while I unwedge my foot from my mouth.

More About Hair

Let's consider this a follow-up to my shaving rant of last Sunday. Boy, can 7 days really change a girl's perception of things.

Yesterday I was told about the following conversation, and it completely blew my hate of shaving right out of the water. That hate has now been replaced by gratitude for the opportunity - that's right! - I have to keep myself relatively hairless. The efforts of hair removal have not been lessened, rather my attitude has changed.

And I owe it all to my 4 year-old daughter, Cadie Lu.

Yesterday my husband and two daughters hit the pavement to help clean the church. Since our church is roughly two blocks away, Steve felt like it would be in the realm of pansiness to drive.

(This, however, has not kept me from driving there on Sundays. Just sayin')

On the walk over, Cadie Lu started whining about how cold she was. Steve tried to give her some encouragement by saying, "It's not that cold, sweetie. I'm not cold."

To which Cadie replied "Well, Daddy, I'm cold because I don't have FUR like you do to keep me warm."

SHAZAM!!

Steve told me this story last night while he was shaving.

Coincidence?

I think not.

(This is not my hubby. I respect his privacy too much to post pictures of his hairy... excuse me... furry chest on my blog. I do not, however, have the same level of respect for Alec Baldwin!)

Shaving

Shaving. I hate it. Yep, I really do.

Oh sure, I like hairless legs and pits as much as the next person. What I'm not loving is the never ending process of hair removal. It's like dishes and laundry... no matter how much you do it, you'll never be done. Unless you're rich and can hire someone to remove said hair permanently. For those of us buying disposable razors from Walmart, well, we're clearly not looking at permanent hair removal. It's best to just hunker down for a long ride.
First of all, why do we shave? I mean, I'm pretty sure that when God created our bodies he did so with purpose. So, hair on our legs shouldn't be messed with... right? (Okay, I don't need your attitude about appendixes right now!)

But, really, in this country of therapists and new-agey vulnerability, it shouldn't surprise me that society tells us to pour hot wax on our bodies and strip off our primitive protection. Just sayin'

Now, assuming you've been brought down by peer pressure - like me - you begin shaving to fit in. You want to be able to catch yourself a mate and no one likes to be surprised in the night by a prickly bed partner.

So, we find ourselves on yet another Sunday morning, weighing out the odds between wearing nylons and shaving. We finally decide to throw poor hubby a bone and shave them. Now comes the hard part.- First I have to decide which of the 15 razors laying on the shower floor is the most recent acquisition, thus slightly decreasing my chances of an ER visit.

-Next I have to turn in circles while deciding where is the least risky place to sit.

-Then I lather up and get to work. (On a side note, I'm wondering which mystery of science made it so that when the rest of my body got chubby, my shin bones stayed nice and poky?! I'm pretty much guaranteed a cut on the shin during shaving. In fact, I'd say it's a modern-day miracle that my shin bones don't have potholes!)

- After nicking and scratching and removing hair I'm forced to sit still so the blood can run down the drain rather than drip on my nicely cleaned floor (loving the imagery?) Anyhow, once the entire process is complete I feel like - despite what medical professionals and people named Steve Hadley may say - I've shaved off any type of tan I may have gotten over the week and I'm back to pasty white. No, make that pasty-white with scabs. It's very discouraging.

I'm thinking maybe I should move to some country where shaving is out and hairy is in!

Do you think there's any place where women with chin-hair are welcome?

This Post's For YOU

Last night was my monthly get together (aka, Mom's Gone Wild) with my lady friends. Lest you think that this monthly shindig has no depth, I present to you the following facts:

1 - We've been getting together on a monthly basis for about.... 8 years by my count. (Is this right Becky?) Regardless of what's happening in our lives - moves, newborns, scheduling conflicts - we always know that the 2nd week of the month is "ours" and whether we make it every month, or once a year, we'll be welcome with open arms when we return.

2 - I've known all of these party animals for at least 16 years - but many of them for over 20. (Yes, that makes me feel old!!)

3 - Most of us were college roomies of some sort or another during the college years. (Some of us actually ended up with diplomas too!)

4- We've been around for weddings, babies, parental illness and moves, weekend vacations, dealing with bat-scat crazy siblings (and their spouses) and swapping recipes.

Can't wait to see what the future holds!

5 - I can always count on them for more than just good eats at our monthly soiree. They are also fantastic conversationalists. We cover all sorts of topics and last night I actually thought, "Oh my gosh, I hope Amber's hubby isn't listening in." I mean, it's one thing for me to think we're silly, but the husbands should be left firmly in the dark!

(How many times do you think we've discussed THESE friends!!)

Mostly, I just want to thank you fabulous fillies for so many years of laughter.

I love that every month I can walk in one of your doors and know that I will leave feeling refreshed, rejuvenated and deeply grateful for my good life.

Here's to many more years of adventures to share. You guys are the best!

To Forgive is Divine

I've had something plaguing my mind for the past few days. I just won't feel right if I don't get it off my chest. Here it is:

I think it's time that the world forgives Brad Pitt for the demise of his marriage to Jennifer Aniston. I still remember that day in 2005 when the news broke and how sad I was. (Give me a break, I was at home with one baby to care for and had a lot of time on my hands!)

Anyhow, at the time I totally blamed Brad because it was obvious that he'd fallen victim to the wiles of she-devil Angelina Jolie.


But now.... well... here's what I realized while I was doing my hair the other day:

In the 5 years since the failure of the Pitt-Aniston household, what has happened relationship-wise to the two of them?

Brad Pitt - he's been in a committed - albeit disturbing - relationship and has become a father.

Jennifer Aniston - she's dated one he-skank after another and had about zero commitment to anyone.

Now - as things have shaken out - it kind of looks like Brad wasn't the problem. Maybe Jen (oh yes, the media says I can call her that) was the weak link. Brad wanted a home and Jen wanted freedom to slink around town doing who knows what.

So, Brad, I apologize for my judgment and I forgive you for simply trying to find a happier situation where you could have a family and a nice - albiet disturbing- life.

And, just for the record, this has NOTHING to do with the fact that you've repeatedly been named Sexiest Man of the Year. I'm just here for you, regardless!