"Oh, How Awful!"

It's a tradition in Gary's family to decorate gingerbread houses each year. His mother bakes and assembles 15 to 20 houses and hands them out to family, friends and various children to decorate. My mother-in-law amazes me with the amount of food and goodies her kitchen produces, there is always enough to feed a small army. This year was no different and Gary and I spent an evening making a hugenormous* mess with candy, pretzels and frosting. Since I'm my mother's daughter, I spent time agonizing over the perfection and traditional design of my house. My dear husband on the other hand, while very detail-oriented, is anything but traditional. Needless to say, the gingerbread house Gary created received this kind of reaction from his sister Shyla.

GARY (showing the back of his house): Do you like my gingerbread house Shyla?

SHYLA: Oh how cute!

GARY (flipping the house around): What about the front?

SHYLA (with horror): Oh, how awful!

Since Shyla liked it so much, I thought I would share Gary's "awful" creation, one of his sources of inspiration and I'll even throw my house into the mix for extra holiday cheer. Enjoy!

I adore Calvin & Hobbes and hope you enjoy these wintery strips. Notice the similarities of these comics and Gary's house. You might as well paste Gary's face over Calvin's.

Merry Christmas!

Gary would like to thank his wife and mother, but most of all Mr. Jim Oden for their ideas and support of his 2008 gingerbread house.

.

P.S. My husband really is a mentally stable individual, he's just been playing too many video games and working at the hospital for too long.

.

*an original Gary word, or a hybrid of huge & enormous.

What Are The Odds?

Excerpt of a conversation that took place back in July.


ME: So I finally picked a OB/GYN and scheduled an appointment.

MOM: Oh good, it's about time. Who's your doctor?

ME: His name is Jenks, Dr. Jenks.*

MOM: Oh really, I know that name. I wonder if this Dr. Jenks is his son?

ME: Uh? What are you talking about?

MOM: I used to know an OB/GYN named Dr. Jenks so I'm thinking that maybe this Dr. Jenks you're going to is his son.

ME: Um, I don't think so his name is Joseph Jenks and he's pretty old.

MOM: Joseph Jenks!? Are you serious? Brittany, I used to see Dr. Jenks for a short time when I was having babies and he was no spring chicken then!

ME: . . . . . . . .

MOM: He used to sing funny songs.

ME: Wow . . . . ok, that's just creepy.


*Name changed because a girl's gotta retain something.

Give Me Reality. I'll Deal.

Wow, it's been awhile. Anybody else wondering what in the heck happened to November?! I truly don't remember it coming or going. I woke up the other morning, looked at the calendar and saw DECEMBER staring back at me. <insert stress overload here> Yeah, I'm feeling it baby.

So how 'bout that long awaited Quirk #3? I know you've all been sleeping next to your computers and it's starting to get uncomfortable, but I can explain. In my book, November never even happened, remember? So that much time hasn't really passed. And second, I wasn't completely aware of Quirk #3 until the other week so the point of writing Quirk #3 weeks ago is mute. So there. Ok, ok so secretly November did happen, but it was spent trying to unravel the mystery that is my body. Doctor appointments, tests, more doctor appointments, more tests. There wasn't much time to ponder on the passing month or focus on much else besides work (which got incredibly crazy) and feeling like a lab rat.

When Gary and I started seeing a doctor 6 months ago, I thought I was prepared for this process (and believe me it is a process). I had a lot of time before-hand in the many failed months to think about the possibilities and what I could deal with. I thought I was ready and willing to accept whatever master plan my Heavenly Father had put in place for me. My first doctor visit was a success and left me feeling understood and more confident than I had felt in some time. The following appointments . . . . . . not so much . . . on the confidence part that is. Now before you hit comment and tell me all about the personable doctor you know that can simply mumble some gibberish and a baby appears, let me tell you that I've been an emotional mess through no fault of my doctor. And yes, he is a man and can't offer me that I-know-what-you're-going-through connection that all your woman doctors can, but he can offer me 40 years of experience and a kooky sense of humor, both of which is infinitely more important to my husband and I than Oh, you have a vagina? So do I! Let's band together! And yes, you read right 40 YEARS. In addition, my doctor has not once made me feel unimportant or diminished my problems in any way, nor has he tried to tell me what to do or force anything on us. I'm always presented with a handful of options and Gary and I can then decide what is best for us. So yes, I like my doctor and we don't want to switch, but I've still been having an emotional melt-down every time we leave his office. I thought I could handle this! Why am I even crying? All we did was blood-work today and I'M CRYING! Needless to say, my husband has been a little confused with all the water works after every single appointment. Frankly, so have I.

After months peppered with appointments and numerous tests that have proved useful, but still haven't given us concrete answers, we finally moved onto a lapraoscopy surgery that took place the beginning of Thanksgiving week. So yeah, anybody who thought I was looking like I had some serious weight gain going on, that wasn't the second helping of turkey and stuffing or the 3 pieces of pie, that was the air the doctors pumped into my body to make MOVING MY INTERNAL ORGANS AROUND easier. Gross, huh? Needless to say, all that extra air really looked & felt like extra pounds which was pretty depressing. More painful than the two incisions and bruising was that AIR getting up into my chest and shoulders so even the tiniest breath would send pain screaming through my torso. IF THEY CAN PUMP THE AIR IN, THEY SHOULD BE ABLE TO PUMP IT OUT!

Two weeks after the surgery, Gary and I showed up for the post-op appointment. This was the appointment that we would discuss what the doctor had found during the surgery. I'd spent two weeks not knowing and I was a little nervous about the outcome. What if there is something seriously wrong? Amazingly, my doctor came right in and spoke with us for a bit, but didn't give us specifics of my surgery because the hospital hadn't sent over my op-report yet and he didn't want to give us misinformation based solely on his memory. What? Are you telling me that I might leave here today still NOT KNOWING WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON?! So we waited. Gary sat relaxed in the chair while I fidgeted on the table cursing the stupid hospital. They'd only had TWO WEEKS. After another 45 minutes my post-op report was finally retrieved and my doctor sat down to share all the juicy details. The information delivered was indeed serious, but laced with lots of options and hope. I sat gripping the edge of the table, leaned forward and just ate it up. This was the good stuff. We talked options and the steps we wanted to take. Then we left and I felt good. No I felt great, relieved. I was talkative, laughing and in good spirits. Gary was just waiting for the floodgates to open.

ME: Wait, we just found out about the most serious stuff we've had to deal with since we've been married and I'm not crying. Aren't I supposed to be crying? I cry after every other appointment. I may never carry a child! Why am I not crying?

GARY: . . . . . . um, maybe because you actually know what's going on now and you don't have to guess about why you're not getting pregnant. All the previous appointments were just leg-work that never gave us any real answers. Now you know.

ME: Oh . . . . . you're so smart!

GARY: I know.

Thus Quirk #3 presents itself. I cry myself into a sniveling heap when there may not be anything wrong and I feel relief when given bad news. Doesn't that seem backwards to anyone else? I believe my husband had it right though. It takes patience, strength and endurance to battle through trials. I guess I just need to know what I'm battling. Exactly how much patience, strength and endurance am I gonna need?

Give me reality. I'll deal.

Yeah, I think that's my new motto.

Quirk # 2: The Nose Knows

I've always found reading among the plethora of things I thoroughly enjoy. My mother used to catch me still awake under the blankets with a flashlight at 4:00 in the morning, my nose stuck in a book and by golly, IT WAS A SCHOOL NIGHT. When it came to books, I wasn't a casual reader, I was completely and hopelessly addicted. I'd plunge headfirst into a book & the only way to get me to come back up for air was to physically shake me. Yeah, my parents learned real quick that grounding me or sending me to my room wasn't punishment. They finally changed tactics and simply took away the book I was IN THE MIDDLE of reading. That's just cruel.

I don't devour books like I used to and mind you, not for lack of interest. I simply made a commitment to a full-time job, husband and a whole host of additional responsibilities, but I'll tell you what, that commitment weakens when a book steps into the picture. The love affair that ensues is hot, steamy, and completely absorbing.* Books become the other woman in a weird, twisted, backwards sort of way. Once an addict, always an addict I guess. So when I say that at some point I will have a beautiful library full of the books I've come to love, my husband is a little worried. It's like your unfaithful spouse asking for all his/her lovers to move in. That's just awkward.

Now I wouldn't place reading in the category of quirks, maybe of obsessions, but not quirks. That which I place in the category of quirks is the process by which I purchase the books that will one day reside in my beautiful library. So I suppose the above two paragraphs really don't mention Quirk #2 at all, but are simply background info to understanding Quirk #2 more fully. I don't have many requirements to read a book beyond being filled with words and the pages in numerical order, but to actually buy the book, well now, that's a different story (no pun intended). Often times, the same novel is published in a handful of different ways. Hardback, paperback, large, small, abridged, unabridged, various cover art . . . um . . ya get it. When in the market for a new book, I explore all my options. I consider the weight and sturdiness of the book, the texture of the paper and after much deliberation I employ the tried and true method of book selection. I smell it. Yes you read right, I SMELL IT. I open 'em up and take a whiff RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STORE. Needless to say my husband always makes himself scarce at these times. Do you think he's jealous? Maybe he just can't handle seeing me that way with another . . . . .um, novel. The whole sniffing thing seems strange I know, but I LOVE smelling books. I find myself smelling everything I read and have discovered that there are a lot of different scents that accompany their hosts and, to be honest, some are downright terrible. Others have a certain musk that lays hold on my nostrils and all I can think about is how much I want to get that book alone and dive between the sheets of paper. I have been known to buy random books based on scent alone. I told you I was quirky. So if you catch me in a Barnes & Noble with a book plastered to my face, you'll know why. Not only will my beautiful library be full of the books I love, but it's gonna smell AWESOME.
What can I say, I'm head-over-heels for having my nose stuck in a book (ok, ok pun totally intended).


*To clarify in case anybody misunderstood, no, I do not read literary pornography, unless you count The Twilight Series in that class, then I'm totally guilty. So when I talk about my love affair with books, it has nothing to with the content of them.

Quirk Nombre Uno

My friend Esther tagged me with 6 Quirky Things About Me. While I typically don't participate in the whole tagging thing, I decided to give this one a shot, but in my own way. I won't be tagging anybody else (mostly because there is no one left to tag) and I'll deliver one quirk per post. I can't seem to handle doing all six at once, which is due to another quirk of mine that I won't get into now. So I guess if you care just how screwed up I am, you'll have to check back another FIVE TIMES to get the rest.

Quirk #1
My husband works nights and is often gone for work or school. I've become accustomed to being alone and even revel in it because I can watch, read, or do whatever I want without disturbing or being disturbed (mostly I just blare my music and dance around our small space like a gypsy). While I enjoy the freedom of being a single wife, it does have it's downfalls, one of which being that every now and then my imagination punches into overdrive and I effectively freak myself out for NO REASON. My most common mind-induced freak-out occurs when I come home after dark and try to unlock my front door. Having not been home, there are never any lights on. You'd think I'd learn to leave an outside light on before leaving, but I just can't bring myself to willingly turn on a porch light in the middle of the day. I'd worry that my mom would pass by and see how irresponsible and wasteful I was being. Then she'd feel like a failure as a mother. Not wanting to be responsible for doing that to her, I walk alone in the dark to my door. It's about this time that my imagination kicks in and my perfectly safe yard in my perfectly safe neighborhood turns into a dark alley in the city with rapists and murderers lurking in the shadows, waiting for me. Subsequently I walk a little faster and breath a little harder. My mind fills with horrible images of scary men as I fumble with my keys, trying to unlock my stupid door! CURSES! Why did I lock the door? I locked it to keep the scary men out while I was away and now they're gonna get me anyway because I'M SHAKING SO BAD THAT I CAN'T GET MY KEY IN THE LOCK! It takes about another, oh . . . um, 0.5 seconds for my freak-out level to jump off the charts and all I can think is MUST. GET. INSIDE. My rational at that moment is all I need to do is close the door behind me and I'll be safe. It never occurs to me that if there really was a rapist outside my house he'd probably wait until I was inside anyway before inviting himself in and having his way with me. The key finally slips in the lock, I turn the handle and burst inside. I slam the door back shut, turn the dead bolt, flip on every light in the house and then try to compose myself. Everything is ok now. You're inside, the lights are on, the door is locked and you're really just suffering from an over-active imagination. Turn on some tunes, eat some ice cream and calm down. So I take my advice.

Then I go and retrieve my keys from the outside lock.

I Miss . . . .

There are times when I'm suddenly struck with an odd feeling of emptiness. The absence of something or someone that once was is keenly felt and though the space has been vacant for some time, only now do I realize the loss. Only now do I feel appreciation for what was and miss that which can no longer be.

I miss being a kid.

There are certain things that just come with the territory of being a kid. Extravagant forts, playing in the mud, sleep-overs on the trampoline, laying in the grass & finding shapes in the clouds. Things you did because school, chores, and homework were finished. Because Mom turned off the TV. Because you had a big imagination. And by you I mean me. Random ideas would pop into our heads and my siblings and I would say, "That sounds fun!" then promptly run off and put our plan into action. We didn't wait to think every detail through before starting. We didn't look at a calendar to see when we could afford to squeeze the fun in later that week. We simply acted, right then. I miss that. I miss being so impulsive. I miss sleeping on the trampoline. I miss getting dirty and not thinking twice about it. I miss taking the time to enjoy life. There are many reasons that form my desire for children. Having a good excuse to play is one of them. When my kids are going crazy with a hose, I want to be there. When their bodies are plastered with mud and smiles, I hope mine is too. When I find them awake after bedtime laughing and having a pillow fight, I hope I join them. And when their dad builds them a tree-house, it better be big enough for me.

Make-believe, one of my favorite past-times as a little girl. I was different than a lot of other kids in that I tried to create the most tangible world I could. While other children playing cowboys and Indians were satisfied with a feather in their hair and a toy gun, I played outside with separate camps at either end of the yard. The Indians would have tepees of sheets wrapped around trees, stuffed animals scattered around, gathered sticks and string for bows and arrows, faces would be painted. The cowboys would wear button up shirts, hats and had forts built out of various scrap wood we found. Out of my many make-believe worlds, the one I visited most often was pretending to be a grown-up, doing grown-up things. My mom's checkbook was fascinating and it was magic when she would sign her name and hand it to the clerk of the grocery store. My cousin Lora had a playhouse her dad built for her with two rooms, a shingled roof, and curtains in the windows. I was so envious of Lora. Having a house of my own was my strongest childhood desire (it's transformed into an adult desire now). I never did get one, but that didn't stop me from pretending I was a mommy paying the bills or changing a diaper. I sent my brother Bryce to work while I cleaned the house. A plastic hot dog and mashed potatoes would be waiting for him when he returned. As a child I couldn't wait to be a big girl with big girl responsibilities and now that it's happened and I'm there . . . . well, let's just say that pretending to be an adult is much more glamorous than actually being one.

I LOVE vacations. I think most people do. Of the many reasons to love them, I believe the one that tops my list is that a vacation is the closest I come to carefree adventure. Notice I say close to carefree. I don't feel that any responsible adult can be truly carefree, especially poor starving college students trying to eck out a living. Sure we can relax and leave worries at home, but there is still a level of awareness of funds, gas, food, lodging, etc. Unlike a child, who's mind never ventures to those areas. There is always enough money, always enough gas, always enough food, always a place to sleep and when there's not, a child doesn't feel the loss, at least not at that time. Maybe when they're older and the world as it really is comes into focus. Childhood is filled with make-believe, learning, games, discovery, but not worries. A child doesn't ponder on tomorrow, unless it's Christmas or the first day of school. A child doesn't notice the passing of time. Childhood is truly carefree. I miss that.

My parents used to know EVERYTHING and while now they're still extremely knowledgeable, they don't have all the answers. My woes, worries, and wonderings aren't wiped away as cleanly as they used to be, if they're wiped away at all. I'm sure that has something to do with the fact that my trials and challenges have entered an entirely different sphere than that of a 8 year old. The biggest issues my parents had to deal with then were Why are there ugly cockroaches? (I still wonder about that) When will Christmas be here? Bryce is bugging me again! Mom and Dad could handle those. They're much more uncertain on what investments Gary and I should make or why I'm not pregnant. The easy answers are gone, the comfort and security incomplete. It's part of being an adult, I know, never having an absolute knowledge of the why, how, and when. Even though my mom and dad have never actually wielded an all-knowing mind, I miss feeling like they did. I miss saying, "My dad is smarter than your dad."

I miss being a kid.

What do you miss?

Cure: A Bullet to the Brain

I thought I was getting an early jump on allergies this year with all the dust being stirred up from deep cleaning. Sneezing and watery eyes have been a companion of mine for the last couple of weeks now and so on Wednesday, when my nose started to get stuffy and my throat a little sore, I believed I was heading into full-blown allergy territory. After an extremely fitful night's rest, I awoke on Thursday morning and determined I was past full-blown allergies and into more of a miserable cold. I could deal. By Thursday afternoon it was clear to me that I had gone way past a cold and had ventured into the land of KILL-ME-NOW-BECAUSE-WHATEVER-I-HAVE-IS-GOING-TO-WIPE-OUT-A-SMALL-CITY-AND-EVEN-IF-IT-DOESN'T,-KILL-ME-ANYWAY-'CAUSE-I-DON'T-WANT-TO-FEEL-LIKE-THIS-FOR-ONE-MORE-MINUTE.

I'll spare you the icky details and just say that the bug I have is kinda like the super spiders off of Spiderman and includes such things as allergies, cold, fever, and flu. NOT. FUN. AT. ALL. I didn't know the body could produce so much mucus and in such varied colors. Usually when I'm sick or don't feel good I employ my defense mechanism and simply go to sleep. Sleeping makes it so I don't have to be conscious for the suffering and the passing time. Good plan, huh? Um, yeah, hasn't worked out so well. I've been soooooooooo congested that no amount of air as been allowed to pass through my nostrils for 2 days now. I've filled up a trash can with snotty Puffs Plus Lotion tissues and you'd think after blowing that much mucus out of your head that your wish of breathing through your nose would be granted. No such luck for me, hence I haven't been able to sleep much. I keep waking up every 45 minutes because my head is about to explode bright yellow snot all over the walls. I diffuse the bomb and add another handful of used tissues to the trash. Then I get to lay awake for the next 30 minutes, acutely aware of the time and how miserable I am, and try to sleep again. Play. Repeat. All night long.

On top of it all, I still have to work (the employee who covers for me is out of town) and any medicine I've taken hasn't provided much relief. Oh hey, Relief Society anyone? I could use a casserole, but please, no dairy products 'cause then you'd have to pick up the pieces of my brain from the resulting pressure explosion.

Just shoot me. Please?

Just Like Raiders of the Lost Ark

Hasn't the weather been freakin' awesome as of late?

True, summer hasn't quite let go of the days, but oh, the nights with their cool breezes. The other night I flipped the AC switch to OFF, opened every window and slept blissfully to the sounds of crickets and distant dogs barking. The air that circulated through my home was perfect. I absolutely love autumn and it's coming fast. I'M BEYOND EXCITED. Summer brings a lot of fun activities like swimming and camping, but my face melting off every time I walk outside is getting really old.

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

You wanna know something strange? I'm sitting here hoping with all I have that I start my period TODAY. Yeah. WEIRD. Oh, and you should all hope right along with me because . . . . . . . because I said so. WEIRDER. That is all.

Ok, ok, let me explain. As if I could ask you all to will my female cycle to begin without a good reason, especially when last you heard I'm trying to get a loaf in the oven. Basically I need this test done. And this test can only be administered on days 7-10 of my cycle. So about a month ago I attempted to get this test taken care of, but the attempt was in vain and has only lead me to believe that the people at Southwest Medical Radiology are some of the most INCONSIDERATE SERVANTS OF LUCIFER I'VE EVER HAD TO DEAL WITH. Yes I know that is harsh, but I'm PMSing and emotional so I'm allowed a certain level of irrational thinking and I'm not the one who treated them like ABSOLUTE CRAP! Let's just say I haven't had a day that bad in over a year and those (insert expletive) people helped make in possible. After spending a day on the phone with various doctor offices and insurance companies all I had to show for it was a gallon of tears and a five pound bag of anger. To be honest, I FELT A LITTLE JIPPED! Oh and to clarify, Southwest Medical is not who my doctor is with. I know you're all thinking What the caboose is she thinking for choosing to go there in the first place? I'm not that irrational folks. And the only reason I'm going through them at all is that they are the ONLY flippin' people that can provide the test I need under the wing of my $10 co-pay insurance. The alternative is forking out $1000+.

So here we are, a month later, a month wasted. I had my husband call the children of Satan this time because I don't think I could have made it through without hot tears spilling all over my cheeks. This test is all about timing (remember days 7-10?). Last month I was told to call on the first day of my cycle and an appointment would be scheduled. Last month my clock began chiming on a SATURDAY. Last month Southwest Medical Radiology WASN'T OPEN on a Saturday and because I didn't call EXACTLY on the first day of my cycle, they were booked through the 20th which was at least a week after my four day window. Makes a lot of sense huh? HENCE MY ANGER WITH THEM. Well that and the whole treating me like crap thing. Like I wasn't an individual woman who hasn't been able to get pregnant for over a year and just wants to KNOW what the heck is going on with her body, but can't get anything figured out until she gets this test done and YOU'RE BASICALLY TELLING HER YOU DON'T GIVE A @$&%. Yeah, like that. On top of everything they REFUSE to schedule the test UNTIL you have actually started your period. A heap of good it does me since a typical female cycle lasts four weeks which puts me right back to starting on a Saturday. AGAIN. So, to prevent a repeat of last month, my husband came up with the ingenious idea to lie about my start date. "We'll just call them up Friday morning and fib." Um . . . . . . I'm ok with that. We called, told our little lie, and BARELY got an appointment for Monday the 15th (which would be the 10th day if I really did start on Friday). So things are perfect right? I've got the stupid test scheduled, it'll be within the four days, and I made it out minus the tears. SERIOUS PLUS. There is one teensy-weensy, small, minor problem though. IT'S MONDAY MORNING AND THE BLOOD'S NOT FLOWIN' YET! Curse my uterus for choosing this month of all months to be behind. I need to start TODAY or tomorrow at the absolute latest to make my Monday appointment work. If I don't, I'm gonna have to call 'em up and spin a new story about why I can't go through with it. Either that or tell them the truth and we all know that's just not a viable option if I'm going to have any luck rescheduling next month.


Wo unto the liar . . . . .


UPDATE: I'm not pregnant, but I was expecting that anyways. I did start my period late Monday night/Tuesday morning. I've never been so relieved to start a week of cramping, bloated misery.

A Full Helping Of Insanity

My Mom's side of the family is a little crazy.

And by crazy I mean running through stores singing "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirates life for me!" crazy. Loud and obnoxious crazy. Tears streaming and gut split open because you're laughing so hard crazy. Yeah. I know.

My mother is one of 6 sisters. Each sister is married making 12 aunts and uncles. 35 cousins. 20 children from 13 of those 35 cousins. If you were to gather those 67 people to one place for, say a family reunion? Imagine the above CRAZINESS MANIFESTED IN 67 PEOPLE. Ok, ok. So maybe not every single person possesses the same level of crazy because I was including the implants* in my count of 67. You figure though that the implants must have a screw or two loose to join the family in the first place. It's not like they didn't know what they were getting themselves into. Sure my mom's side of the family put on a show! Just not a fake one. We joke about that being the ultimate test for implants. SURVIVING THE FAMILY. I know my husband thought twice about the whole marriage thing after a family get-together. They're hugging me! Why are they hugging me?! I've never met these people in my life! Wait . . . did she just grab my butt?! Ok, ok. None of my aunts or cousins ever actually grabbed Gary's butt. But I wouldn't put it past them! It may yet still happen!

To transition into what I was originally trying to tell you all, that's where I was this past weekend. THE QUICK FAMILY ROUND-UP OF 2008. Or in plain English, the bi-annual family reunion for the crazies. And boy did it deliver! A full helping of insanity all around! Seconds anyone? There's leftovers! My super creative cousin Lora planned and organized the entire event. It's all about the details for her and she left nothing untouched by her imaginative genius (we played a lot of make-believe as kids). Lora launched a full-scale pirate themed weekend complete with an Under the Sea Dining restaurant, Scallywag Cinema, and of course an intense, battle-to-the-death treasure hunt! Well, actually, I think we had a couple of those. The bodies kept piling up . . . . ahem. Anyhoo, moving on. Popcorn, an outdoor theater, fog machines, pirate coins, a treasure chest cake, "Arrrrgh mateys!", the most amazing snow cones . . . . . . . should I keep going? Because I totally can.

Lora had treasure hunts and water games planned to keep the kids entertained. She also threw in a couple for the adults. I don't think Lora anticipated the adults being WAY more competitive than the children. Sticking the bandanna-clad adults behind the wheels of three 15 seater vans for a video scavenger hunt might not have been the safest idea. Curbs were ran over, traffic laws were broken, and some of the general public were a little freaked out I'm sure. Then again, we were in Utah. They were probably thinking, "Those (insert expletive here) Mormons! Why can't they just get drunk like normal people!" ADRENALINE. The Latter-Day Saint's drug.** Instead of needles we use crazy timed scavenger hunts to procure a hit. We had 30 tasks with only one hour to complete them all. You'd have adrenaline surging through your veins too if you thought you were going to loose to the Brown Team! I cringe at the thought!

For five days my aunt Terrie's house was packed with bodies. Her yard sported four RVs and a scattering of tents. Races to the food, lines for the bathroom, and kids, kids, kids! EVERYWHERE. It was loud. Overwhelmingly loud. Everybody is loud in that family. Even the implants. Well except for Karen and Gary, and Amy always fills both of their noise quotas. Talking, crying, whining, yelling, sneezing, singing, cackling and laughing filled the house, or property rather. Mostly laughing though. My abs were seriously protesting. But it was seriously fun (oxymoron anyone?). And I decided that I seriously love having a loud, obnoxious, unscrupulous family. I'm serious about this. And if you're really good, I might tell you about the HANDS-DOWN, WITHOUT QUESTION, MOST SIDE-SPLITTING GAME I'VE EVER PLAYED. But only if you're good. Seriously.


*Those individuals who have married into the family. Yeah, I'm not sure what they were thinking either.
**Do you think I'll get struck down?

Immortal

I really dislike having blood work done because, in order to do blood work, they must first draw blood. With a needle. In your underarm. Frankly, it gives me the creeps.

I don't believe that the core issue for me is needles though. I can handle needles in my upper arm just fine. I did allergy shots twice a week for three years. Yeah, it was uncomfortable and my arm was sore most of the time, but I didn't turn into an anxious, freak-out mess before each one. Anxious, freak-out mess is what happens before drawing blood or putting in an IV. Those needles have to stay in your skin longer and THAT freaks me out. Those needles are also stuck in your tender underarm and THAT FREAKS ME OUT even more. I do not like my arms pulled away from my body and I feel naked, exposed, and extremely vulnerable when my underarms are turned towards the sky by someone other than me. Every experience I've had with blood work and IVs has been traumatizing and very painful. EVERY ONE. So when my new doctor asked for blood work on day 22, I was a little less then ecstatic.

Thankfully they called me right back when we arrived. The less time I had to sit and devise how I was going to snatch the needle and turn it on the evil nurse, the better. After sitting down in the devil's chair, I turned my head to the left as the nurse had her way with my right arm. Looking at anything she was doing would have launched my anxiety into overdrive. She tied off my arm (a little too tight I might add), kneaded the inside of my elbow with her fingertips, and had me make a fist. After fiddling around for a minute I felt the cold, alcohol-soaked swab on my arm. I waited for needle to puncture my skin and the pain it would bring. Please just get it right the first time. I did not want to be poked more then once. There was a quick pinch of pain and then . . . . . nothing. Just great. She didn't hit a vein and now she's gonna have to do it again. Still nothing, but I didn't dare look.

"Well, we didn't make you wait, but there's no blood. I've got it in the vein and everything."

What? The needle is still in my arm?! NO WAY! Reacting to her words, I turned to look. Sure enough, there was the needle lodged securely in my vein. But I can't feel it! I was so surprised to find it stuck in my arm (because I wasn't in agony) that it took me a moment to register what the nurse had said. There's no blood? Huh? The little tube hanging from the needle remained a pale yellow. That's weird. The needle had been in my arm for a good 15 seconds.

"Did you bake in the car on your way here?"
"It was an hour and a half drive and I haven't had a lot to drink today."
"Yeah you're dehydrated and your veins are shriveled up."

Finally pale yellow turned to crimson. Blood flowed for a couple of seconds then she pulled out the needle and taped some gauze to my arm. After verifying my birth date she sent me on my way.

Gary opened my car door and asked, "How'd it go?"
"Um it went really well actually. It barely hurt! Compared to previous episodes it was great." Oh yeah, and by the way, I was immortal for 15 seconds.

Hey you, come to my party & spend all your money so I can get free stuff!

Hey everyone, I'm having a Lia Sophia open house Wednesday the 23rd from 12:00-3:00. So yeah, that's like tomorrow. And I know, I know, I'm not typically the type to do these sorts of things. I just feel stupid inviting people. Hey you, come to my party and spend all your money so I can get free stuff! It just doesn't seem right does it? The only problem is that my husband said I can't spend any more money on all this fabulous jewelry I want. The only way I can get it is if I have a party and I did promise a friend I would.

The sale will only last until the end of this week so if you want to take adavntage of it at all, now would be the time. It's buy one at full price and get two other items for half price. The best part is that your first item doesn't have to be the most expensive. You can choose to pay full price for your $15 earrings and get a $50 item half off. The jewelry is good quality too. But my favorite thing about Lia Sophia is their Lifetime Guarantee. If at any time you decide you don't like that piece you got or you're ready for some new bling, or you even snap your necklace in half, you can exchange it for whatever you want. Let's say though that you bought a $50 bracelet at half price (so $25) and you decide you're not in love. Lia Sophia will give you a full $50 credit, even though you only paid half of that. So basically you can start with one set of jewelry and just keep upgrading every year as the fashions change. Also the new catalog is coming out in August. That means that a lot of things are being discontinued. Last chance to get those things. I've definitely got my eye on some discontinued items, but my master plan is to buy a whole bunch of stuff at the sale prices and then trade it all in for glam from the new catalog. I'm in love, love, LOVE with the new line they've rolled out.

Ok, ok. I'm done. If you are interested you can check out both the old & the new catalogs online at www.liasophia.com. If you have any questions or actually want to place an order you can call me at 702-371-2028. I'll be keeping the party open for the rest of the week. And finally, if you actually want to stop by and see the oodles of jewelry we'll have on display, please do. It'll be at my house. For those of you who don't know where that is, call me. I might tell you.

"He's Old."

I wasn't nervous.

That is, I wasn't nervous until I was sitting on a patient table, draped in a hospital gown, my backside exposed, crinkling on the sanitary paper, my cold feet dangling. And waiting. Waiting for eternity. Each minute that ticked by was accompanied with mixed feelings. Why couldn't they just hurry up?! I'd been sitting there feeling cold and vulnerable for 40 minutes. Let's just get this done and over with! At the same time, the longer he took, the longer I had before he brought with him the judgement I was freaking out about. Once that door opens, I'm going to shrivel up and die. I just know it. So I'm cool with waiting for the next couple of days. My husband shot me a smile. "You're nervous aren't you?" he said, amused. Nothing gets past that guy I tell ya. "There's nothing to be nervous about you know? It's no big deal." Yeah, easy-peasy for you to say. You're not the one sitting here naked waiting for some guy to come and STICK HIS HAND UP YOUR VAGINA! Instead, "I know, I know. Logically there's nothing to be scared of." But we all know that emotions are rarely logical.

When the door opened, the doctor I'd never met before walked in with a newbie medical student on his heels. I had a small heart attack. For the past hour I'd been preparing myself to meet this ONE doctor. I'd thought about the questions to ask. I'd rehearsed my medical history. And now, without warning, there was a second person who I would be exposing myself to. The thing that kept me from locking my legs together is that the eager learner was a woman. I could deal.

The doctor proceeded to ask questions about my cycle, birth control, and our family timetable. My cycle's regular & fairly normal. There's hiccups every now and again. I was on birth control for 6 months, been off for two years. We didn't prevent pregnancy for 6 months, we've been actively trying for the past year. Etc. Now came the part that I was most fearful of. The emotional beat-down. You're asked exactly what you've been doing to get that egg and sperm hitched, you fill them in, and then, "Did you try x+y=z?" You stare at your feet and mumble a no. "Well it's no wonder you're not pregnant!" I experience this quite often. Mostly from well-intentioned friends. They're just trying to help, but my feelings always take a hit. Even more so when x+y=z is tried and fails. At times I feel that I've worked every equation possible, then another is slapped up on the whiteboard. So I put on my thicker skin and tried my best to mask my face for the list of Well it's no wonder!s from my doctor.

"When dealing with this there are four areas we cover," he explained. "We'll start with the first, which is making sure you're ovulating and I suspect you are based on what you've told me. The second is anatomy. Some exams and procedures will be done that will tell us if everything is where and how it should be. We'll deal with the third and fourth areas if the first two check out." He then told us to get busy on such & such dates. He also wanted to see me again the first of the month and do a small test. And then . . . . . he moved on. What? THAT'S IT? What happened to all the questions about the inner workings of our sex life? Whether or not I've been overdosing on prenatal vitamins? Do I stand on my head afterwards? Really? NOTHING ELSE?

The remainder of the appointment was relaxed and informative. He examined me and took a little bit longer doing so because he was too busy pointing and discussing things with the med student. This here is the vagina. That's the hole the baby comes out of in case you missed that nugget in class. I didn't care. They could have invited the rest of the clinic in for a seminar on a woman's downstairs. What mattered to me is that the doctor didn't automatically assume I was doing something wrong. He didn't poke fun or make me feel incompetent. I didn't walk out of there with a bunch of lotions and potions and a list of old wives techniques and remedies. It was . . . . . relieving. Liberating. Simply put, my doctor was the first person who made me feel that it wasn't my fault we hadn't achieved pregnancy. Logically I know it couldn't possibly be my fault. But we all know that emotions are rarely logical.

"So how do you feel about this new doctor Gary?"

"He's old."

I'm gone, gone, gone . . .

On vacation in NYC. LOVIN' LIFE!

My Concern (Because Obsession is Such a Strong Word)

I don't know about the rest of you guys, but I have issues with public places. Not your typical anxiety or claustrophobia being surrounded by crowds of people, but more the things that those crowds touch. Railings, carts, counters, doors, bathrooms . . . . . . . the list goes on. I simply do not feel comfortable touching all those things too. I don't steady myself on banisters going up stairs. I avoid leaning on counters and tables in stores. There's a special love between me and automatic doors. And, above all, I never touch anything in public restrooms. Do not misunderstand, I mean ANYTHING. Forget going out with a bang, I come in with one. BANG! That bathroom door never saw it coming. Yet another perfectly executed kung fu, germ-avoidance kick. I just cross my fingers and hope nobody is behind the door. Once inside, the odor and filth are so assaulting, I feel as if I'll contract a disease simply by inhaling. Squatting in a bush is so much better than public restrooms. After surveying the available toilets I choose the least offensive one, close the door with my foot, then proceed to pile the porcelain with layers of toilet paper (since they're always out of the convenient seat liners). Once business is taken care of, the only way anything gets flushed down is if my hand is mummified. It's also the only way I end up out of the stall. It all feels so 'What About Bob?'ish (OK, I'm not that OCD . . . . . . I swear). Washing my hands is strange because even though I'm about to scrub the skin off 'em, I still hesitate to touch the faucet & soap dispenser. The paper towels is even harder. I just eradicated the germs from my hands, why would I want to risk contamination again? My elbow usually bails me out. And Mr. Paper Towel who dries my digits, yeah he's real sweet. He always hold my hand, opens doors for me (kung fu, germ-avoidance kicks aren't as effective the opposite way), pushes my cart while I shop. The relationships never seem to last though. I just can't commit for longer than one Target trip. It's not you, it's me.

I don't know exactly when my paranoia set in, but I'm pretty sure it got a big push by me having a job that deals with the public every day. Working at Radioshack for the past 5 years has made me acutely aware of how unbelievably disgusting a person can be. I'm sorry, but when I help a customer who always wears the same set of clothes with the same food dribbles, hair matted, stench unbearable, greasy build-up of who knows what on his skin, teeth rotted out of his head because the last time he brushed them was 20 years ago, yeah you can't convince me not to be a germaphobic. You're telling me there are people like that out there TOUCHING things and you aren't worried? And don't tell me that that guy is some homeless bum. Because he's not. He has a house. And money. He just chooses to let his body and every sort of bacteria get together for dinner and, while they're at it, create the disease that will WIPE OUT THE ENTIRE HUMAN RACE.

You'd be surprised about how many of those types of people I come in contact with through work. They all stink and they all want to standthisclosetoyou. I've almost tossed my cookies on more than one occasion. THE SMELL IS THAT BAD. I don't know what I'm going to do when I'm finally pregnant and am blessed with a supernose and queasy stomach. I'm sorry sir, but I'm pregnant and you smell really, really bad. Flesh-eating acid up the nostrils is way more appealing than inhaling your body odor ever again. Please go home and soak yourself in bleach. Thank you. Have a nice day.

You may feel I'm over-reacting, but just stop and think about it. A man goes to the bathroom, fails to wash his hands, then touches a door handle. A little kid sticks her hands in her diaper & wipes some on a chair. An old lady sneezes mucus and saliva (and whatever cold virus she has) all over a cart handle. The aforementioned greasy guy who hasn't showered in months leans on a store counter. Then you come along and get comfortable with all those germs. You open that door. You sit on that chair. You push that cart. You lean on that counter. You then proceed to wipe something from your eye, put a piece of gum in your mouth, and generally touch your face everywhere WITH YOUR BARE HANDS THAT JUST TOUCHED ALL THOSE EXTREMELY PUBLIC PLACES. Sheesh, get a room already! What's that? You haven't gotten sick and died a horrible death yet? Well neither have I, but I guarantee you if you would've seen that lady sneeze all over that cart, you would've picked a different one. That's the issue, we just assume, because we didn't see the offense happen, that things are clean. They're not. For me, if I touch a counter in a store, I see that greasy man wiping his body grime everywhere. He's laying on the counter making grease angels. Yeah, it's time for hand sanitizer. NOW.

Yeah, I know, I have issues. I told you so. But this concern (obsession is such a strong word) doesn't stop me from living life and doing things that make me happy. I still love to shop, eat out, go to shows, etc. I just keep my hands to myself when I do.

Do you mind if I sing it to you?

I went to Relief Society for the first time in two years a couple of weeks back.

No, I haven't been inactive, I've simply been in Primary since the day I was married. I've bounced from this ward to that one, that nursery to this one, Valiant 10 and sharing time. I've survived short attention spans, questions that the kids know answers to better than me, and unnaturally high-pitched squeals of excitement. I have all the answers to life's great questions in the form of a song. What's that sir? You're curious about what happened before you were born? Well I've got you covered, but . . . . do you mind if I sing it to you?
There were times when strangulation almost occurred, but then I remembered they had parents who would miss them, and in truth, so would I. I have grown to love and respect children. They're smart little boogers! I don't remember being that knowledgeable as a snot-nosed kid. Hopefully my future children will inherit the genius genes from my husband.

I went to Relief Society for the first time in two years a couple of weeks back because I was released as a primary teacher. Wow, was I uncomfortable! I didn't know what to say or do, how to act, where to sit. Well, I take that last part back. I knew exactly where to sit. Left side, third row back, in the middle (about the 4th chair). Yep, that was my spot, or at least it was during sharing time. Chair ownership is transferable, right?

Although Relief Society that first week was unfamiliar, I've faithfully gone for three weeks now and I've found that things aren't that different from Primary. I still encounter short attention spans, questions I don't know the answers to, and unnaturally high-pitched squeals of excitement. Albeit in smaller quantities, but still.

Overall I think I'm adjusting quite nicely. I do miss all the singing though. Sometimes, when the kids sing really loud, I'll hear them during Relief Society and my attention shifts to the songs. I mean, come on, I've got to be prepared for those tough questions.

Um, sir, that question is a bit harder. You might need to wait until I have children in Primary. I haven't learned the song for that one yet.

Oh Deer

We blame Casey & Colby for not being there to make dinner, I mean, it was supposed to be their turn. Then again it might have been my fault for not buckling down & cooking dinner myself. Or we could venture to say it was RJ and Gary's fault for staying out so late fishing that, by the time they got back, it was just too late to want to cook. Whoever's fault it was caused us to load up in Gary's Honda Civic (better gas mileage than RJ's truck) to drive the 20 miles to Pioche for a bite to eat during our camping trip in Eagle Valley.

We headed up the road chatting, hoping something would be open, playing with Lane. We'd gone about 3 miles when off to the left side the headlights illuminated a large doe beginning to cross the road. The deer paused, Gary pushed the pedal & veered right to get past, but then the animal went for it.

GARY: "Oh dear!"

SMASH!!! The deer had hunched down to jump when the bulk of it's body connected with our front left panel & headlight. It flew up and came back down with muddy hooves on the hood. Rumbling noise pounded our ears. End over end the doe tumbled as our car plowed forward. It felt like we were hitting it forever. When Gary finally got the car to a complete stop the deer rolled away from us dazed, struggling and clearly in a lot of pain.

TERESA: Oh no, we have to kill it so it doesn't suffer!
RJ: Just keep going. Gary keep going.
BRITTANY: We don't have anything to kill it with though!
TERESA: We can't just watch it slowly die!
RJ: Just drive past the deer.
GARY: But . . . my car.

Everyone stops at Gary's strangled words. Who cares about the stupid deer, he's thinking, that stupid deer just munched my car! Gary throws open his door & jumps out to survey the damage, RJ follows. The deer struggles up and over the bank and, thankfully, out of sight. Gurgling sounds coming from under the hood don't sound good. The thick, plastic cover that was the headlight is now in pieces, the bulb dark. The hood is dented and pushed to the right, muddy hoof prints scattered across the silver paint. The front left panel is crushed beyond recognition. It's now sitting in a crumpled heap on the wheel. The guys prop open the hood to find a broken container and the liquid the container held spewed all over the engine. I've joined the men by this point. Teresa remained in the car with Lane. After the guys did, ya know, guy stuff they mused it was probably the power steering fluid that was everywhere. Not so bad, right? Vehicles were driven for years before power steering came about. We'd live.

We decided to head back to camp to the sound of metal scraping against the wheel. Once there we laughed & joked about the ordeal, if for nothing but to lighten the mood.

TERESA: Yeah your husband's line of emotion is always straight. I had no idea there was even a deer coming until we were on top of it. If it was me behind that wheel I would've been yelling, "DEER! DEER! DEER!"
BRITTANY: It is difficult to tell when he's joking and when he's serious because he sounds the same.
RJ: Ha ha, Gary said 'oh dear.' Get it? That's funny. You couldn't come up with anything more creative?
GARY: Well, I'm just not a swearing man I guess.

Why did we even go anyway? Whose idea was it? We came up with silly, but plausible, reasons as to who was to blame. Casey & Colby were finally deemed responsible. They weren't there to defend themselves. It was easy to blame them. That is until Teresa fessed up.

TERESA: Guys, when the whole thing happened I didn't have Lane buckled in. I don't always buckle him in because he hates it & throws a fit. So while the rest of you were looking at the car I was silently freaking out. I mean accidents are called accidents for a reason because we don't mean for them to happen. What if Lane had gotten hurt? I'm such a bad mom! I'm buckling him in from now on.
RJ: Oh so it's your fault!
BRITTANY: Yeah, Heavenly Father was trying to teach you a lesson.
GARY: He's scaring you into buckling Lane in.
TERESA: Well it worked!

So the accident is officially Teresa's fault. Something was amiss in her life & Heavenly Father was trying to reach her.

Too bad He decided to teach her a lesson in Gary's car.

New Year's Resolutions . . . In March

Yeah, I know, I haven't posted in a long while. Needless to say some friends have gotten after me.

The past three months have been taxing. I am soooooo ready for sleep-in mornings and lazy days (a.k.a. a vacation). I'm not by any means unhappy, things have been really good, I'm just really tired. Work has occupied a lot of time. My two right-hand men have abandoned me, well . . . not entirely. Steven went off to serve a mission in Washington DC and Austin decided to start school this semester which translates into him only being able to work 3 days a week, hence I have two extremely green employees. I forgot what it was like to train someone and how long the process actually takes before they're up to speed. It's exhausting!

A hold has been placed on so many things in my life and to avoid making that hold permanent I've decided to make some resolutions. Yeah I know, I'm about three months late, but better late than never, right? The idea is by actually getting my goals typed out it'll spawn action rather than passing thoughts like I'm going to get in shape! Sweets, who needs them? . . . Is that chocolate cake? Yeah unfortunately that pretty much sums up my resolve as of late. Encouraging isn't it?

But spring has sprung, the sun is shining and I can't help but get excited about being productive! There's something about beautiful weather that never fails to turn me into a crazy, cleaning, OCD freak. I'm not sure if my husband loves or hates it. Probably both. So without further ado I present my goals, in no particular order, for the year 2008, which now apparently begins in March. :)

1. Drink more water
2. Develop an addiction for running
3. Early to bed, early to rise
4. Scrapbook, scrapbook, scrapbook!
5. Throw away junk! If I haven't used it in the last year I really don't need it.
6. Deep clean & organize my entire home, room by room
7. Read my scriptures & attend the temple more
8. Eat healthier
9. Save more for important things, spend less on silly things
10. Have fun, laugh, travel, stress less

Traitor

An interesting thing happened the other night that further supports my idea that I've got a serious problem.

My friend Teresa called me Friday afternoon to tell me that the hair products I ordered had come in. She then handed the phone to her husband who invited me to come play Xbox 360 at the Red Hills Cinema in Mesquite. They let customers use the theater for $5 a hour to play video games on the big screen (pretty neat idea if you ask me). I inquired about the time & who was going.

Britt: So is everyone gonna play?
RJ: Well actually no, all the girls are going to a movie.
Britt: Oh, ok (puzzled)
RJ: I just figured you'd rather play Halo then go see some chick flick.

I wasn't sure whether I should be offended or flattered. I mean after all I am a girl. Who's to say I don't enjoy the occasional chick flick? I fix my hair, wear make-up, & love romance so this should be an easy choice, right? Well the ironic thing is it wasn't. I mean I was really torn. A sweet, poignant love story with the girls (the movie had the word love in the title) or a shoot 'em up, blow 'em up, get-as-many-kills-as-you-can-before-the-time-runs-out video game with the guys?
I used to think that maybe I played video games because I liked guys & where a video game was, there a guy would be also. When I got married I thought I played because my husband enjoyed them & because I loved & wanted to make him happy. Though as of late I'm beginning to question my motives. My husband & I now own just about every gaming system possible. (Nintendo 64, Xbox, Xbox 360, PS3, Wii . . . .) I play all of them while Gary's at school & work. I keep telling myself it's to provide Gary with more of a challenge when we play together. We're subscribed to Game Informer magazine which I look at more than I care to admit. And now I feel too informed. One evening playing card games with friends, the subject of gaming came up.

Blake: I'm not really good at that game
RJ: Yeah it's alright. Oh you know what game looks way awesome!?
Britt: Assasion's Creed!?
RJ: Yeah that's exactly the game I was thinking! (stunned look)
Britt: Oh I know! I can't wait for it to get released!

Now that's just scary, right? Being a woman I shouldn't have known that game title. I shouldn't have been involved in the conversation in the first place. Of course all the wives at the table shot me disapproving glances. This was part of the boring, irresponsible, fry-your-brain behavior they've been trying to discourage in their husbands & there I was giving the males hope that they might yet be able to convince their wives gaming is a worthwhile activity. I was crossing the line & becoming a traitor to the female gender. I've had to come to grips with the fact that I might actually love video games. That I might play them because I want to & not to please somebody else. So when RJ invited me to play Halo it was a difficult decision because the real conflict was, did I really want to alienate myself further from the women of the group? I wrestled with it, but in the end . . . . .

RJ figured right. I chose Halo.

Yeah, I know, I'm a traitor.