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My Grown-up Christmas List

 

In case you were wondering what to get me for Christmas, I thought I would make it easier.  The list goes from grand to less grand so that by the time you get to the bottom, you think it is such a deal that you buy whatever is last.  Oh, and listen to my calming voice; you are getting sleepy…

1. I would like a car with four-wheel drive or all wheel drive.  I wouldn’t mind a Hummer although I think their windows are too small.  I would settle for a Land Rover or a Mercedes with all wheel drive.  I want it fully loaded with all of the computer software possible.  I would like it to sync to my Macbook along with an Ipad and Iphone.  I will also, humbly, accept a hover craft.
2. A spa day.  Wait.  That is not thinking big enough.  A spa week.  I would like to go to a real spa in Southern Utah where I only eat grass, get massages after I exercise and then contemplate life while drinking water I find myself by digging my own well.
3. I would like to move to England for a year.  I have always wanted to do this and I believe the only way I will stop wanting to do this is to do it.  Questions?
4. LAMY pens.  You may think this doesn’t fit with the rest of my list because it is only $35, but I would like EVERY pen LAMY makes, with refills.  I actually found a paper and pen store in New York City that sells them and I am so excited to go there in May.  I believe it will be the highlight of my trip to New York.  And there is nothing wrong with that.
5. Two chairs.  I think I would like them to be reading chairs.  And I would like a protective shield over them so when I sit in them with a book, my children cannot see me.
6. An Ipad.  I would like this so I can carry it around and write whenever I wish and not have to carry a laptop.  I would do all my social networking on it as well so when I am writing, I am writing and not facebooking because that is easier than figuring out how to describe Sadie riding a horse (part of my plot sort of but not really).

Now doesn’t an IPAD sound reasonable?  I would need a case for it to go in, though.  I learned the hard way with my kindle that one must protect the screen and threaten small children with their lives if they touch it.  I would like a designer case.  One that costs more than the actual IPAD if possible, yet subtle.

So what is on your list?

My BFF James

 

I would like to be friends with James Taylor. I was listening to his Christmas album in the car and I foresaw my possible future.  He seems to be the type of person who always brings homemade bread to a potluck. I also think he would be great at barbeques.  Then after we ate our fill, we could sit around a nice fire because he has an outdoor fireplace and roast marshmallows while he plays the guitar.

            James washes dishes by hand and only wears cotton layers.  His wife brings out some homemade pie while the kids skip rocks on the beach.  We can’t actually see the children do this, however, because James’ house is in the mountains.  Maybe the kids are at a lake cut into the top of the mountain James lives on.

            And then we all sleep in hammocks that automatically rock with crickets and birds gently singing.  In other words, James Taylor lives with Snow White.

            I think I would do great in this atmosphere with James as a friend.  I could harmonize and we would look at each other knowingly over his guitar when others would try to join in, off pitch.  Then for Christmas, he would give me a basket of handmade candies wrapped in tissue paper.  He would then start to chop wood for the next night’s fire.

            This is how James Taylor lives, don’t you think?  And I would fit in to this lifestyle quite well.  I use to hang out at campsites, although no one ever sang, and I couldn’t understand what anyone was saying around the campfire in Mexico.  I used to fall asleep every night to crickets chirping when I lived in Connecticut.  I never actually slept outside with crickets.  I started camping in Utah, namely Southern Utah, and it is too hot for crickets there.  Mostly, I slept to other people’s snores. 

            But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t fit in.  I have done everything I would do at James’ house, just not all together.  That is why I need him to be my friend.  It would bring me completeness.  I would be a complete person.  Just like Snow White.

Pre-fab sugar cookies

With the holiday season upon us, I find that my deficiencies are magnified.  (Although those of you who actually read this on a semi-regular basis are probably wondering how the holiday season is different from any other day of the week in the magnifying my deficiencies arena.)  In particular, I realize I was not meant to be a “homemaker.”  -At least not one that cooks, cleans, or makes decorations for the home.

I was at the grocery story trying to buy unprocessed foods for my family when I walked by the ready-made cookie dough.  I am supposed to make two-dozen cookies for a church activity on Thursday.  As I slowed down between the refrigerated area and the baking goods aisle, I started to question my development as a sugar cookies manufacturer.  From the age of ten to about eighteen, I made sugar cookies by myself.  I rolled out the batter, cut them into Christmas shapes, baked them, re-rolled and cut the dough until there was only a tiny bit left, baked all those, made homemade frosting in multiple colors, frosted and decorated the cookies and then cleaned the whole mess up.  (My mother didn’t thank me enough for this, by the way)  I did this every year like clockwork.  In fact, I have an unhealthy addiction to frosted sugar cookies due to this habit, I believe.  So with this as my background, I wonder why have less than zero desire to make sugar cookies now.  I used to love it and now it is a pain to buy the tube of dough and roll it out a few times to make a couple tree shaped cookies.  Am I giving up on a cherished tradition by not making the dough by hand?

And then I remembered the book I read on the biography of Betty Crocker.  She isn’t a real person, by the way.  It was more a history of the corporation, but I am going to personify the company because they have and why stop a good thing?  So women used to pride themselves by how good a cake they could make, according to Betty.  Many women wouldn’t use a mix when they first came out for shame of it all.  At the same time, many people found that the mixes worked better and tasted better because all of the ingredients were regulated and sifted nicely.  (I personally think brownie mixes are generally better than homemade.)  It saved women time to use the mix and many found it to be a luxury.  Now when we bring a “homemade” cake to an event, it is generally from a box.  (Unless your name is Gail Welch; then it is made from scratch no matter what.)

So I thought about this history and realized that I was simply carrying on the evolutionary process, as it should be by using pre-made sugar cookie dough.  This was created to ease my life, which is hard enough when making sugar cookies with three children.  I still make the frosting by hand, but now I only make green, red and white instead one of every color in the food-coloring box.  Stars can be white instead of yellow.  I have spoken.  And I really only like to make the frosting because I like the cloud the powdered sugar makes.  I can pretend I am inhaling a different white powder and then pretend nothing bothers me for the rest of the day.

So I guess this is not a deficiency.  It shows how adaptable I am to evolutionary changes. I do, however, still have issues with tadpoles turning into frogs, but only when they are doing so in a bowl in my kitchen.  In fact, next year I may buy the pre-cut sugar cookies to show how evolved I am (and to make one less thing I have to clean up).

Now if I could just figure out how to make Rhodes rolls (pre-made frozen rolls you just have to defrost and stick in the oven at 350 for 15 minutes which supposedly every Mormon on the planet knows how to make except for maybe three.)

Macey's Thanksgiving Turkey

 

I am sitting at my kitchen table looking at the snow, while my three year old watches Iron Man 2 – don’t judge me.  What’s more worrying is that I find myself strangely attracted to Mickey Rourke in this film.  That is what you should be judging me for, not the fact that I am knowingly raising a delinquent. 

It is negative gazillion outside and I need to go to the store for Thanksgiving.  I have to buy everything I will need for a small family of 5 Thanksgiving.  This is not very easy because I do not want to gain the ten pounds I have lost by counting the points that Big Brother, a.k.a. Weight Watchers, has given to every food created.  So I can’t buy a ready-made pie, because my family does not eat pie.  I may not finish off the mashed potatoes but I could very easily sit down with the pie pan three fourths full and finish it off while reading a nice book.  Or a trashy book.  Or both, depending on the size of the pie.  So I am going to make a Weight Watchers pumpkin pie.  It has graham cracker crust, but the rest seems to be the same.  If I don’t eat for the rest of the week, I can have as much pie as I want.  Maybe two.

I was going to buy a turkey breast because three of our five do not understand how much you are supposed to eat at Thanksgiving yet.  Katherine will ask if she has to eat everything on her plate and Seth will have his Storm Trooper hiding in the potatoes before I have to loosen the top button of my jeans.  When I bring out the “pumpkin pie,” they will ask for chocolate cake.  Or just the frosting.  Or maybe just Thanksgiving decorated Oreos. 

So here is my dilemma:  do I make the traditional foods, like pumpkin pie, or do I make cupcakes that the kids will like more?  In five or so years, they will be addicted to the traditional foods and then all will be well.  But I have to go through the next five years.  I think I should have gone to my parents.  Then there would have been more people there and they would have succumbed to peer pressure.  Actually, tradition has been eroding from my parents’ house lately.  My sister brings a Costco pumpkin pie instead of making one.  That is almost as bad as making a pie with a graham cracker crust, in my personal opinion.  I don’t care if Costco makes a good pie.  Thanksgiving is the time for homemade food and if you can’t cook, it is the time to eat someone else’s homemade food.  That is the spirit.

So now I am stuck in negative weather, writing down ingredients for recipes I can eat more of while Big Brother is watching.  When really I should be writing stories about other people’s Thanksgivings, selling those stories, and ending up in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.  I want to be on the big paper Mache turkey whose wings flap and the head moves from side to side.  I think that is a nice attainable goal.  It’s good to keep your goals attainable during the holiday season.  If you don’t, you end up eating the whole Costco pumpkin pie your sister brings.  In a closet.  Behind the bathrobe.

Improving my Internet Personality

 

So I am trying to get my name out there more than it is.  I am social networking and commenting and figuring out how the Internet works.  I am realizing that while I do this, I may actually have to think about what I write.  I mean, the Queen of England is on Facebook according to Entertainment Weekly. What if she reads what I write? I can’t actually find her, though.  When you put in her name - Elizabeth Alexandra Mary – all sorts of pages come up for her.  I want to friend her, though, because I want to get an invite to the wedding next year.  So far, it does not look like it is going to happen.

Any who – I have to actually concentrate on what I write now.  For instance, I just wrote the entry on sewing.  I think that if I write entries on domestic issues, people will think I am domestic.  The whole point of the Internet is to let you create a reality that is only on your computer.  I am domestic, tall, no body fat, and my hair is long and flowing and I don’t have to do a thing to it and it looks amazing.  I love the Internet.

What was I saying?  Ah, yes.  So I now realize I should think about what I write.  Here is the rub:  I slept from 3am to 7am last night.  I have been doing that a lot these last two weeks due to the fact that I live in such domestic bliss with perfect children who shower regularly and go to bed when asked that I lie awake at night thinking of its wonderfulness – once again, I love my Internet reality.  Surprisingly enough, when you have had the amount of sleep required for a normal female for one night splattered among three, not only should you probably not operate large machinery in a snow storm, you should probably not write.  At least not if you are thinking of posting it on the World Wide Web.  It may hurt your Internet personality.  People may think my hair is not flowing.

So I have come up with a plan.  I just gave my three year old his brother’s DS; I put a two hour video on repeat play; and I am drinking drug laced hot chocolate (it is a special Swiss Miss flavor only found in Canada.).  I have one hour and ten minutes before I am in charge of picking up the kids in said snowstorm.  I can nap for the one hour and I will take the ten minutes and get a Diet Coke on the way to the school.  After all I am a responsible adult.  (Ooh, just added new characteristic to online persona.)  And then I will write an entry that I will post and it will be coherent and everyone will love it and it will make me one million dollars.  Or maybe I should stop buying my Swiss Miss in Canada.

Sewing at the behest of the Red Baron.

 

Today I received an ad from the local sewing store that specializes in quilting and Bernina sewing machines.  When I first moved to Helena, I went to this store to take a class in quilting and perhaps make friends.  I tried many things when I moved to Helena and I figured this would be as good as scrapbooking.  I didn’t meet anyone at this first class, but I bought an insane amount of incredibly expensive fabric that sat in my basement for the next four years.  Last winter, I decided to start up again.  I broke my Wal-Mart sewing machine and went to my sewing store to buy a Bernina.  I didn’t realize that I needed to talk to my banker before I went.

I was shocked at how much sewing machines can cost.  I was raised by a mother who sews, but upon research at the store, I realized she only sewed straight lines.  Sometimes a zig-zag.  She could have sewn patterns and embroidered and made little Mickey Mouse characters had she taken out a second mortgage.  When I took my “Get to Know my Sewing Machine” class, a woman in there had to choose between a new car and a new sewing machine.  She chose the sewing machine.  I have another friend who can either go skiing in Switzerland or get an upgraded sewing machine.  It shocked me.  Just shocked me.  I looked at my sewing machine, a nice general bottom of the line that could only do 56 fancy stitches and did not have a computer screen that would either spell your name in French but using Chinese characters or possible start Global Thermal Nuclear War by putting the thread on incorrectly.

Sitting in the class reminded me of high school when I used to look around to make sure I had better jeans on than at least one member of the class.  I was looking at all of the numbers on the machines to see if mine was higher than the person next to me.  If it was the lowest one, I would pick it up and carry it out of there.  Luckily, I could do that.  The nicer ones come with huge carrying cases making it harder for a quick get-away.  Of course, if you have a nicer one, you don’t need to get away.  You sit a little farther away from your machine so people can see the number and the cool computer screen.  Like the kids with the Forenza jeans always tucked their shirts in.  Jerks.

So I got the coupon in the mail tell me I could get 35% off.  That is a good deal.  Coupons are usually 10% or 15% with an occasional 25% for your birthday.  But then I read the fine print.  I had to spend $200.  In other words, I just needed to buy another foot for my sewing machine.  That is another way I know my mom wasn’t a true sewer.  She only had 3 feet for her machine.  To be a true sewer, you need at least 22 with one on order.  I even have 6.  I know how to use 2.  But as everyone knows, it is how many you have, not what you can do with them.  (Although I think I can sew a straight line with all of them.)

So there you have it.  I have found myself in the middle of a huge conspiracy created by the Red Baron, I believe, to make me buy a sewing machine that can start WW III once I purchased foot # 243.   Curse you Red Baron.

How to Decorate for Thanksgiving and be the Envy of the Neighborhood

I have been trying to find a way to decorate for Thanksgiving.  I don’t want to do much because I don’t really like Thanksgiving decorations and it is only up for three weeks before the five bins of commercialized Christmas décor comes out.  I don’t want to have to put much away (because these xmas bins are HUGE.)

So this year, I thought, maybe I should do something unique.  I should do something to represent the state I live in.  I should get a live turkey and put it in my front yard.  (I’m sure that was what everyone else was thinking I should do as well.)  I started to look into it.

I knew I would need a cage, but I didn’t want a small one.  It would make me sad seeing a live Turkey in a tiny cage in the middle of my yard.  I thought I would get one of those metal ones my neighbor has for her yorkie.  It is almost like a child gate, but metal and bigger.  I know turkeys don’t fly, but I think I have seen a few jump, so I may have to wire two of them together.  I have never seen a turkey jump over a wooden house fence, so I figured this would do.  Never mind that I have never seen a turkey in a neighborhood with wooden fences, but I still thought my reasoning was sound.

I then thought about the food.  I shouldn’t have a problem there.  I live half a mile from a ranch super store that sells poultry every spring.  Live poultry.  Live baby poultry.  You know, chicks and ducklings and stuff.  Just to make sure you know what this live baby poultry is for, they label each animal with the best way to cook it after it has matured.  The cutest chicks every year, hands down, are good for stews.

I also thought of the poop issue.  I can’t get my 3 ½ year old to use a toilet, so I was pretty sure I would have no control over this issue with a live turkey.  I decided to not think about this problem.  (Which is how I am handling the same issue with my 3 ½ yr old.)

And finally how would I get a live turkey?  I thought I could call my friend Cathy who lives on a ranch.  She owns over 56 billion acres.  There has GOT to be a turkey somewhere on her land. 

I had all my bases covered.  I was going to have the greatest Thanksgiving lawn ornament EVER and then we could eat it for Thanksgiving.  Perfect.  But then a neighbor reminded me that I live in the Helena city limits and there are laws about these things.  I’m not supposed to have livestock or farm animals in my yard.  I argued that it would be classified as a lawn ornament.  She didn’t agree.  I then told her it was a holiday decoration, thinking this would appeal to the side of her that puts so many Christmas decorations out that you can’t actually see the lawn.  She still didn’t agree.  I told her I would give her all the white meat.  She said that the manure on the lawn would cause a health hazard.  I asked her what would happen if there was no manure on the lawn.  She looked at me like I was insane and walked away. 

So now I have no Thanksgiving decorations.  I have decided to look ahead to Christmas, however.  Now if I could just figure out how to get live reindeer to stay on my roof, I will be in business.

Naked Confidence

 

When is nudity no longer appropriate?  There is a certain age where your parents start to tell you that you are no longer allowed to answer the front door nude.  I don’t remember when this occurred for me.  I do remember that I started telling Katherine to cover-up between her 4^th and 5^th birthdays. 

I started thinking about this today when Seth’s friend Lily came over.  I answered the door with Seth, completely naked, standing behind me.

“Hey, Lily,” Seth said.

Lily nonchalantly walked by as she waived to Seth.

Seth followed her to the couch, leaned against it, crossing his legs.  It was a very studly pose even for a naked three year old.

“So how is your cat?” Seth asked.

“She’s good,” Lily said.

“What is her name?” Seth asked.

“Jasmine,” Lily said.

The conversation went on for a bit longer until I decided to get Seth dressed.  I decided that his naked confidence shouldn’t be hindered.  It takes a real man, or a real three year old to be so nonchalant about nudity.  Of course it helped that Lily was just as nonchalant.  Makes me wonder what goes on in their house.

I am thankful for Beverly Hills

 

A lot of people have been writing what they are thankful for this month because of Thanksgiving.  That really isn't my thing but I have decided to give it a try.

Today I am grateful for day long marathons of Beverly Hills 90210, the original.  My last couple of days have not been the greatest and I may have even been feeling blue and discouraged.  I should be editing and writing something completely different, but I haven't been feeling up to it.  So I went down to the basement, turned on the tv and decided the BH 90210 sounded good.  (You know you are really depressed when BH 90210 sounds good.)  Within the first fifteen minutes, I felt better about myself.  I am not teaching ten guys on how to pick up girls.  I am not rolling around on a beach with some guy trying to pretend I don't have sand in some really bad places.  I am not dating some guy who lives in the house Brandon and Brenda originally vacated.  (I didn't really follow the show in the later years so I am slightly confused as to who this guy is.  I'm starting to think that Kelly can only date men who live in the original Walsh's house.)  I, unlike Dylan, have not walked into a stranger's house with a gun and threatened them and then found out it was a huge misunderstanding.  Wait, now another couple are making out in the Walsh house.  Steve lives there.  I think I have missed out on a lot of plot points not watching this for the last fifteen years.

Wait.  I am no longer grateful for marathons of Beverly Hills 90210.  It just made me realize that this show was on twenty years ago.  I was in high school twenty years ago.  That means I am really old.  Not as old as the guy who owns the Peach Pit, but still.  And I have no clue what I have to show for the last twenty years.  I think I need to be drinking whatever David is drinking and then turn the channel to something more relevant:  The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.

Night Fishing

So what does one do when you and your beloved don’t enjoy the same things AND you are WAY past the part of courtship where you feel the need to pretend?  After I spent a weekend hunting with my hubby right after marrying him, I decided there were some things that he should experience on his own.  I also decided I would never eat deer meat again.  Or go camping in Northern Idaho in October.  I decided a lot of things on that trip.

One might say that each doing what they enjoy without forcing the other spouse to do it as well would be the best conclusion.  You, however, would be naïve.  If I never went with my beloved on horrible excursions, we would probably never see each other.  Tuesdays and Thursdays are kid activities and dental and board meetings.  Wednesday is scouting for Kevin because he is the leader.  Some Mondays are dental meetings and some Kevin just works late.  It gets to the point where you schedule time together.  The problem occurs when your spouse wants to also schedule things he enjoys doing with the time together.

This is how I ended up on a two person-fishing vessel in a lake while eating dinner.  Kevin wanted to make a romantic dinner for two on this fishing vessel.  There was a slight problem with this, however.  Every time Kevin stood up or moved, I thought for sure the boat would tip.  I do not enjoy this feeling.  To add to this, Kevin actually fished.  He picked up a worm, put it on a hook and then handed me a plate for food.  Ick.

The next step is to get the worm in the water.  His first cast was towards me and so I was dripped on as the line went out of the water and over my head to settle in front of me.  He very graciously did not do that again.

It didn’t get better when he actually caught a fish and got it in the boat and it flapped around and tipped over his plate, the stuffed grape leaves and the salad.  He was going to let the fish go but it was a decent size and after the fish destroyed my meal, I suggested it should die.  So it did.

It got dark and incredibly cold and so we drove the floating vessel back to the dock.  Kevin let me know how much he enjoyed himself and I told him that I was glad he did.  He then made the HUGE mistake of asking me if I enjoyed myself.  I mistakenly did not lie.  I said that it was an “interesting” evening.  He asked if I enjoyed any of it.  I didn’t say I enjoyed the sugar cookie I had, that is, until I found out it is 11 weight watcher points.  So now after going on a romantic fishing trip –yes, I know it is an oxymoron- the rest of the ride home was quiet. Perhaps one might say uncomfortably quiet. 

So I figure fair is fair.  He must now do something I enjoy that he does not.  I, however, will not make the mistake of asking if he enjoys it.  I do not care.  As long as I get sparkle toes, he can do whatever he wants at The Nail Shop.

I'm a Loser Baby

So I did something today that makes me feel like a failure.  What is interesting is that when I hear other people doing this, I think: "Good for you!  You are taking care of yourself!  How inspiring!"  When I did it, I felt like I was admitting I couldn't go it alone and I needed to pay a weekly fee to get where I want to go.

I joined Weight Watchers.  I have a friend who has lost 10% of her body weight and another friend who met her goal and I decided to actually do something about my own failure to lose weight.  During the last year, I have been the same weight no matter what.  I think I have lost tons and I have lost none.  On the plus side, I think I have gained tons, and I am the same.  After buying a treadmill and asking a friend to help me make a table for it so I can walk and write at the same time, I decided to work on the food intake.

I went to my first meeting today.  I took Seth because I didn't know what else to do with him at 9am right after the others went to school.  I do not believe I will be attending this meeting anymore.  Seth decided he was hungry.  I had a sandwich and grapes for him.  He grabbed some Twizzlers left over from the drive from Idaho and walked into the class based on how to deal with Halloween candy.  It was very inspiring with Seth being an example of what not to do.  I sat on the floor and hid behind everyone.

So explain to me why joining WW makes me feel like a failure?  I have decided to be proactive and actually be public about my desire to do something which are all wonderful, positive things.  But I feel like I couldn't do it myself and therefore I am a loser.  (And yes I know my goal is to be a loser of weight.  Great play on words everybody.  I am laughing on the inside.)  Why do I feel like I have to do everything myself?  I have decided to try and do nothing myself to try and break me of this feeling of guilt.  I appreciate any help you may give me.  I need dinner in 4 hours.

I Heart Truckers.

 
This will be short but sweet.  I learned at the social networking class that I should blog more than I do.  Of course none of the people who told me this actually do blog very much.  I believe they mostly tweet.  Or twit.  or twat.  I am working on that.  The more I learn about the web the more overwhelmed I become.  I can attach my facebook page to my blog page to my twitter account and back again.   There is Digg and Stumbleupon and tumblr and I am sure that someone is creating another one right now.  I can also be Linkedin which I am but I am unsure what it means or how it works.

I remember when I had to be home to answer the phone.  I am THAT old.

So now instead of blogging about raising a family or about my life, I am no longer raising a family or having a life because I am spending my time trying to figure out what I am supposed to belong to, what my privacy settings are and how this will all help me to become a famous columnist and help me lose weight.  I am getting there, though.  I think I have figured out my URL, even though I don't know what URL stands for, and I have figured out what my twitter name will be.  I also believe I will get a CB radio and have a call sign and talk to people driving through late at night when I can't sleep.  I'll give my children call signs as well.  That way, when they want cell phones or they want to use chat rooms that can be places where they can meet creepy people, they can talk to nice safe truckers.

I have to go pick up my children from school.  Don't worry, though.  I don't have to stop figuring out the internet in order to pay attention to them; I bought the new Toy Story movie I can sit them down in front of with some vitamin enriched popcorn and call it dinner.  Before the end of the night, truckers everywhere will be introduced to "Red Hot Momma."

WARNING: CHANGE IS A COMIN'

Hey,  I just got back from the Surrey International Writer's Conference and I realized life must change.  If I am going to take writing seriously, I have to take writing seriously.  So I need to find a domain name and get a URL and get on twitter and figure out who I am.  It has become a deep philosophical debate as to what my URL should be.  Who am I? Where do I come from?  Where am I going?  Am I marianneh?  mariannehr?  mariannehansen is already taken.  themariannehansen is also already taken.  Just marianne is taken.  I could be comedyoferrers but that may not tie in with all of the writing I choose to do.  I could be mariannerencher, but truth be told, I have never really felt like mariannerencher so I have canceled that out.  I could be blog.marianne but I don't think I want to be that.  I think I could be marianne.org which opens up the possibility that I could be seen as a nonprofit organization and people may send me donations.  I could be marianne.biz but then people may expect me to be a business and may want me to actually do something.  I could be marianne.net but that seems too web for me and people may think I know something about the internet or technology and when my website is taken over by the neighbor kids, they may stop following me.

What it comes down to is that some time in the next month, I will have an internet host with my very own web page which will be nothing more than a glorified blog.  So instead of using this site for free, I will be having a similar site that I will be paying for.  I will also have to find pictures that are for sure not copyrighted which makes me sad because some of the pictures on this blog are incredible and I am really just helping people spread their talent by using their art without actually asking.  See?  I am helping.  I will be getting my pictures from creative commons instead.  They have good pictures too but it will not be the same.  But I am an adult and I can handle change.  Luckily I have children I can yell at when I get frustrated with the whole process.

More to come... Isn't this exciting?

Just a Spoonful of Cough Medicine

 
 

I would like to tell you a story of a wonderful, innocent little housewife who lives in a quaint little valley town.  She has three darling children who, unfortunately, became sick all at once.  She believes they got it from her heroic husband who works tirelessly with other people’s sick and diseased children’s mouths.  Although she has asked her heroic husband to wear a bubble to work, he has politely refused telling her that he would not be able to fill cavities if he were in a bubble. After he leaves for work, our housewife diligently tries very hard to sanitize everything he has touched during the last twelve hours.  She, however hard she tries, cannot do it perfectly and her children got a nasty, nasty cold.  Although once her children become sick, our housewife tries to stay away from them and will not let them touch her, she got sick.  (Insert sympathetic sigh)

Our adorable housewife decided to take her youngest to the pediatrician to see if there was more to this illness because it was hanging on and on.  The pediatrician said that it was a two-week thing, to buy some Delsym CHIDLREN’S cough medicine, give it to them at night, and good luck.  The magnificent housewife did this and even used disposable spoons to give the medication so there was no cross contamination.  She was very careful.

Now let us think about our poor, under appreciated housewife.  She had a sick husband, and three sick kids while she herself was sick as well.  Everyone knows that housewives cannot be sick; especially housewives who are wonderful, innocent, adorable, and under appreciated.  Her heroic husband laughs at our sad housewife when she takes children medicine, thinking it will help her as well.  She is overworked and underpaid and sometimes she is unable to get to the pharmacy to get adult medications, but as any noble housewife does, she has five different kinds of children’s medications just in case.  So if she feels sick and does not have adult medication, sometimes she may take a swallow or two of children’s medication without being as diligent with measuring as she is with the kids.  Her heroic husband tells her they can’t help her so it shouldn’t be a problem.  Our housewife figures something is better than nothing.

Well, Sunday night at about 2 am, our poor, sleep deprived housewife was coughing and though she would take a swig of her children’s cough medicine.  She kept coughing so she took one more swig.  She went to bed and didn’t cough anymore.  Her heroic husband got up about 5:30 am and woke up our little housewife.  She decided to go the bathroom.  She got up and the room started spinning.  She walked to the toilet and sat down and the room was still spinning.  She got back to bed and her heroic husband asked what was wrong.

“The roomzzzzz  schpinning.”

Her husband asked if she was slurring her words and she wasn’t sure if she answered him or not.  Her heroic husband started to laugh and got the cough medicine.  He looked it up on the Internet and found out that people use this brand to get high. 

So our poor, naïve, sleep deprived over worked housewife was high.  Very very high.  Because she took two swigs from her CHILDREN’S cough medicine.  She spent the day lying around, although a friend did help her get to the eye doctor.  Her husband told her to not talk much at the appointment because the misunderstood housewife was laughing at her own jokes which her heroic husband told her were not very funny.  He reminded her that drunk people don’t think people know they are drunk.  So she tried to be very quiet, but she did try to take a nap during the appointment, which may have confused the technician.  Her eyes have not caused her migraines, though.

She hung out with her three year old all day.  She gave him a hug to tell him how much she loved him and thought how comfortable she was and started to fall asleep holding her three year old until he started to yell that he couldn’t see Elmo through her head.  Our innocent housewife went back to her room.  So she spent the day lying there.  When she got up, she could walk although she may have had to hold on to furniture as she did.  She made it through the day, though and made it to sleep.

Today she woke up much more put together.  She is a little light headed but able to function.  The laundry will be done.  Food may be cooked; it will at least be ordered and delivered. 

Our sad, tired housewife hasn’t coughed since Sunday night, however.  (And this has been written while still light headed and any mistakes are the fault of cough medicine and not of the author)

1997 was a very good year.

 

I had a good ten years.  I was really healthy between 22 and 29.  Ok.  I had a good seven years.  Before 22 I got migraines all the time.  At 29, I got pregnant and well, my body has never been the same.  After my second pregnancy, I got plantar fascitis, after my third pregnancy I got a tumor, and then finally, I thought I was done.  I was getting more energy and I was feeling happy and life was getting good for almost a month and then I got the stomach flu, which led into a horrendous 3-week chest cold, which has led to a week of migraines.  I have had four this week and I am bitter.

When you get migraines, people ask you if you are stressed.  My answer to that is yes.  I am incredibly stressed I AM GOING TO GET A MIGRAINE.  But now I am paranoid too so I am reading what the Mayo Clinic says I should do.  I have to stay away from processed foods and caffeine.  They might as well tell me to die or stop eating.  EXCEPT fasting can cause migraines.  I have been sleeping the week away from the medication I have taken until I found out that over sleeping could cause migraines.  But so can too little sleep.  So how does that work?  I need to take up yoga and there are some herbs I can take. 

Causes of migraines?

            Being a woman    check

            Being between 30 and 40    check

            Having a family history    check and thank you once again mom

            Experiencing hormone changes    check although I question this because I have been off my meds since November so I would think I would have gotten these earlier.

So the Mayo Clinic’s risk factors are stupid because I have all of them.  I guess the question should be, why haven’t I gotten them before this week?  The answer is that the Gods, especially Zeus, loved me and now something has happened.  I’m not sure what.  I would burn incense to get in better favor but certain strong scents can trigger them.  (Notice I said strong.  Not any old scent.  It has to be REALLY REALLY strong.)  In other words, please continue to use deodorant soap after mowing the lawn.

And to add to it, I thought I would get pizza tonight as a treat.  My kids ate a little but not too much because they had asked my neighbor to cook them dinner.  My kids are begging for food.  Just because she is from China and everything I have ever had of hers has been amazing, this is not a good reason to be begging for food.  And now my son is throwing up in the bathroom.  I’m not going to help him, because that will probably cause a migraine.  (Or I will throw up too)  And you already know I am not a good mom because my kids won’t eat the pizza I made or bought them.

I wonder if this has anything to do with the funny taste in my mouth.  Because I also just found out that I have a higher likelihood for a stroke.  Explain to me why I care about high cholesterol or being obese when I could die?  Pass me another donut, but not the chocolate ones.  Chocolate causes migraines