Becoming Something

Inviting you to my funeral, please review programme and rsvp

I have decided to die.  Eventually. 

I am hiring a fancy letterpress maker to make me some invites for my funeral.  But while they are being produced, I am giving the people who matter most, the real people in my life -- my blog readers -- an advance programme, here, on my *blog.

* Said with reverence.

I was formerly planning on gene therapy until Christ comes.  It's expected that in 10 years or less, the human genome will be sequenced, on an individual basis, for only $1000.  We will be able to find out what diseases we're expected to get and then we can prevent them.  I'm sure I can extend my time long enough for Christ to usher in 1000 years of world peace (which I've always assumed won't include death but will be followed by direct translation to heaven).

But... ehn.  To be honest, Earth?  I can do better.  Earthquakes, frigid winters, temptation galore, and do you realise how many calories are in a single whole wheat and flax seed tortilla? 200!  I can't stand for that.  As well, I figure I get a head start in the spirit world, on all of you, if I leave first so, because I'm competitive, and because of tortillas, I've decided to just die.

It's tough to pick a date of death.  I never realised before how much there was to consider.   If I die in spring, summer, or fall, then my loved ones, in their immense grief and suffering, will miss the joy of these beautiful seasons and will just move right on into winter so really, their whole year will be like a winter, as everything becomes a blur of Natasha barrenness. (Not Baroness, although I don't mind that nick name.)

If I die in winter, that's just compounding grief and misery to the point where people might off themselves.  And remember, this is all about me getting a competitive edge in the spirit world.  I can't have you dying near my time of death. 

I've decided that June seems fair because the kids have the summer to mourn, so it won't interfere with their university educations, and most people have vacation days saved up.  I will wait until after my sister's birthday, to be nice.

So, as they say, save the date:

June 16th 2029.

It's a Friday, leaving room for a funeral on the weekend. I don't want to inconvenience anyone.  Or, if you're happy to have a good excuse for time off work, maybe we can make the funeral on Sunday so you can have Monday and Tuesday for travel time? Let me know in the comments;  there's still flex room.

I hope you like France because that's where I'll be living then, for part of the year.  In part so that all my American friends will have to visit France if they want to attend my funeral and then they'll see that they've been brainwashed into thinking France is evil.  I am a Teacher even from my coffin, you see.

I'm thinking Bordeaux because it's close to the ocean but then, do I really need to be tempted by all that wine?  Like life isn't hard enough already.  So, location -- I'll get back to you on this.  I don't have to have a location yet;  the point behind "save the date" announcements is to say "we don't have all the details ironed out yet but we DO know the date so save it".

Even better, I'm giving you the date and an idea of how much money you'll need to save between now and then for the plane fare.  With inflation, I estimate you'll need to save around $23,500.  Perhaps you can get a night job bagging groceries? 

I am inviting you and one guest.  I wish I could allow more guests but I'm expecting it to be packed and that's a lot of food prep for me.

Do not send flowers.  Please don't waste your money.  Flowers die and my family are unlikely to appreciate the reminder of my absence.  Plus, there's that plane fare, remember. Ouch.

You may bring food as an offering but if you bring a casserole, what are you even doing at my funeral?  You clearly don't know me at all.  If you bring a casserole I will assume that you are mocking me to my family and my spirit will possess the body of the nearest vicious animal and I will whoop your heiny and you better hope that animal is not an elephant or a tiger.

The funeral will take place at a Latter-day Saint chapel because -- I don't know if you've heard this -- I'm Mormon.  I know it's not always abundantly clear, but I think I give a pretty good idea. I mean, there's a LOT of coffee and wine, among other indulgent activities, that I pass up, so don't forget that about my good example.  Not a good party religion but what can you do? 

I won't be cremated.  I like the idea of being able to see a person after they've died, to make sure they're dead, and to say goodbye to a concrete something instead of an mystical spirit that's who-knows-where ... even though they look horrifying.  But I won't look horrifying.  I'll be freshly dead because it will all be planned and my make-up artist (emphasis on artist) nephew Mathew, who by then will be doing make-up for movie stars, will come do my make-up and I will be the hottest dead person you ever saw.  You will have death envy.  Mathew is qualified to make me look like a space alien so surely he can make me look like a hotter version of myself. 

You may take souvenir photos with me in my coffin.  Vince Jones and Julie Duggan will be the event photographers and will make sure that my hotness doesn't get the better of you. No make-out photos, okay?

Now, there's a rumour online that Boyd K. Packer, in a talk about the unwritten order of things,  instructed against members deciding funeral programmes and making them about the person who died instead of about The Plan of Salvation, but 1) LDS.org has no record of this talk so I can only assume he was spouting off his own opinion there, if he really gave that talk, which he probably did, and, 2) I don't care.  I'll be playing the convert card until death.

So, in my last gesture of convert free will, the tentative programme will be as follows, unless my bishop at the time wants to risk being haunted and I have a feeling I would be really good at haunting people:

Opening Hymn:  You Don't Bring Me Flowers by Barbra Streisand 

Pianist:  Harry Connick, Jr. or, if unavailable, Pam Thompson

Opening Prayer:  Katie Klute, who will, of course by then, be Mormon.

Eulogy:  John Burton. 

I'm thinking that Jude, the kids, Louise Burton, and Katie, will be way too broken up.  In fact, if they're not bawling their heads off I just might reconsider my position, repossess my body to come back and be even more wonderful and doting so that when I later suddenly vanish they are just destroyed -- mere skeletons of human beings -- for at least a full miserable year.  I mean it.  I was planning on being a bit of a jerk before my funeral so I wouldn't be missed so much but baby, I could turn on the charm so much that they would rather be burned at a stake than live one day without me.  I don't recommend tempting me:  Cry for me, Argentina.

John will hold it together, he knows me well, and I have a feeling he's a good speaker.  I certainly think my eulogy demands the dignity of a posh English accent, don't you?  I know he's a good writer so, he should have no problem writing a eulogy using only song titles.  You have lots of time to work on that, John. 

My Goodbye Video:  Me.  I have lots of jokes like, "Whoo, it's hot here!" and other such nonsense.  I'll start out being all funny and then I'll pretend that it's all about you and tell you how much I love you and how much I'll miss you and I'll bear my testimony and be sooo spiritual  so that you're just blubbering. It's gonna be awesome. Wear waterproof mascara, Mathew.

Closing Hymn:  You're Gonna Miss Me When I'm Dead and Gone by Muddy Waters

Closing Prayer:  I don't know. I'm thinking people who want to say the closing prayer should put their names in a box before the service starts and the bishop can draw a name.  No cheering and running down the aisle when your name is called, though. That's bad form, duh.

So, the after party.  I'm going to rent some really gorgeous hall, lots of stone and wood and big windows, and it will be decorated prettily, similar to what I would do for a wedding reception do-over.  At least once you'll play For the Girl by The Fratellis and I'm counting on Sara, Katie, and Louise to rock the joint.  A mic will be set up and everyone can take turns revealing my secret works of service and telling about all the thoughtful and lovely things I said and did and all the gifts I mailed wrapped so perfectly with poetry tape, and be sure to mention how delicious the funeral food I made for you is -- I like that.  Always compliment the cook.  The theme will be "Gush".  You can't overdo it.  Remember, this is for my children, so they can warm themselves in the coming years with the memories of how loved I was at my funeral.  However, do not feel compelled to spend more than eight hours on this.  And if Jack Johnson keeps insisting on singing songs he's written about me, just humour him, okay?  He gets like that, all attention-grabby. 

Mike and Brett will be responsible for live tweeting all of this.  Don't be too smartassy, okay, guys?  I was nice to you, remember.  

For parting gifts I'm debating between "I was at Natasha's funeral in 2029!" tee shirts and tattoos. Maybe some nice earrings with my initial on them?

Please RSVP so I can know how much food to prepare.  Thank you.

Warmly,

Natasha.

Daily Gratitudes

1. I have a warm, pretty home, albeit small, but I kind of like that.
2. I have a hardworking husband.
3. My son is developing a great sense of humour. He loved this post. When he laughed at the first hymn selection I said, "Why is that funny?" and he said, "Because you told them not to bring flowers!" He's SO sharp. I think we're going to be great friends when he grows up. It's moments like these that make me happy because there are many other times I just don't relate to him.
4. People who inspire me.
5. The Writer's Almanac. I recently started re-listening, reminded of it by my friend John. I used to listen to it in my high school English class every time the period fell at 9:00.  It was my favourite part of the day;  Garrison Keillor has the warmest, richest, loveliest voice of any human.  He is exactly what I would imagine God to sound like.  My teacher would put it on every time, without fail.  We would talk after about Garrison Keillor and Prairie Home Companion and would bond.  He gave me a REALLY good mark on my poem comparison essay between She Walks in Beauty Like the Night and She Was a Phantom of Delight, which are practically the same poem they're so alike, that one must have copied the other.  But really, I think he just had a crush on me and this was confirmed by the somewhat creepy hug he gave me when I graduated and then I later heard that he exchanged letters with fellow-graduating student Lisa, wherein he was flirty, and also he later crashed his car drunk driving, which doesn't further my theory about his crush on me, it just added to the general picture. Also, he wore this giant elastic to hold his glasses really tight up against his big bald head.  I don't know why I didn't go for that.

All I want for Christmas

I'm expecting nothing for Christmas and nothing would be just fine. 

I do love to receive thoughtful gifts but I hate to receive gifts that make it clear that the giver doesn't know me at all.  I do get gifts like this from family members, mostly.

"Natasha, for Christmas I give you Dejection and Loneliness.  I hope it fits.  If it doesn't, you can't return it because I stole it."

"Thanks, Gift Giver.  I was running out of the Feeling Misunderstood and Unloved from last year's obligatory gift. I think this will be a suitable substitute."

Jude used to say I'm hard to buy for.  If total strangers can tweet me or write me and say, "This is so you!", then I'm not hard to buy for;  you are just maybe not good with patterns and trends and should never try a career in marketing or business.  Or you need a hearing aid.  Or you have bad taste.

(I guess that means I think I have good taste.)  (I do.)  (Have it, that is.)

Jude is better now at buying me gifts because he knows me better, has been paying closer attention.

I'd rather get nothing than something completely disheartening.  I'm not put out about getting nothing. 

For one thing, I buy what I want.  If I want it that badly and have to ask for it, I might as well just get it for myself.  Making a list and then getting what you want on your list is not real gift giving or receiving.

As well, words, not gifts, are my love language.

I do love to give gifts.  The best gift someone can give me is appreciation for the gifts I give them.  Not all my gifts are awesome, I'm sure.  I once sent some people some guitar ice cube makers.  But when I make you a day-by-day calendar, completely by hand (365 pieces of paper cut and written on by hand, bound by hand), titled 365 Reasons Why I Love You, you better say more than just, "Wow, thanks."  A more appropriate response would be to weep and cut off your right arm and bronze it for me.  (Unless you're left-handed, in which case your left arm will do fine.)

I don't ask for much.

It makes me happy to know that I made you happy.  That was the point, after all.  Perhaps some people make gifts to receive praise and gushing over their talents but if that was the case for me, I'd have got around to opening up an Etsy shop.  I realised last night that unless I'm making something for someone I love, I have no motivation to finish it.  

Now, for a jarring interjection that breaks up this already lurching writing.

Shallow things I want for Christmas:

• the Swiss army knife of the 21st century:  iPhone.  I'm too stupid to learn how to use anything else.  I still have never read my camera manual.
• tickets to see Prairie Home Companion live
• a stand-up freezer for my garage
• drywall on the ceiling of my garage, then paint on the walls, then some curtain across the storage part of the garage, so that our home gym in our garage is more welcoming
• a treadmill for the dog.  I'm so tired of having to feel guilty all the time at all the dog walking Jude does.  It's exhausting.
• recessed lights in my dining room because this light fixture that we have is way dimmer than I expected.  I even put it ON a dimmer, which is such a laugh.  A private laugh because I'm too embarrassed to tell any visitors. 
• this weathered leather sofa in a lighter brown.  Lulu has stained the sage out of our Ikea Ektorp number.  And wouldn't you know, Ikea stopped making sage-coloured slipcovers.  Grrr.
• a seagrass blind for my front door, and ones for my dining room windows and something for the basement windows.  Although privacy after two years of putting ourselves on display?  Photos are probably already circulating the web.
• book shelf unit for the basement so stuff can be put away instead of just spread about on the floor
• laser treatments
• Garrison Keillor's Good Poems, and Good Poems for Hard Times
• a new book by Michael Chabon, any will do
• this original, stunning work of art that combines my love of letterpress, with my love for black and white art, with my love for fonts and language, with my love for the Salt Lake City temple

That's all.  Nothing much.

All that said, I do get gifts that are not exactly my style and if I love you a lot, I will love it a lot too.  When I was 16, Jude bought me a fitted but matronly navy dress I did not like, but he guessed at the size and it fit perfectly.  He loved me and went shopping alone for a dress for me.  I wore it with pride for years until my breasts got too big.  (Note me pretending that's all that got too big.)

Isn't that what gifts are really about?  Tokens of love?  Buying something off a list-- is that a token of love or of met expectations? 

I'm not expecting anything this year.  I look forward to Christmas morning for when Jude opens my homemade somethings and does a little better than a bland "Wow, thanks." 

If you feel loved by me on Christmas, and you love that you do, then I'm sitting here grinning, saying, "Aw, shucks."  I feel triumphant, my heart is full, my Christmas is good.

(But seriously: iPhone.)

Daily Gratitudes

1. A bright, sunny snow day.
2. Had a great idea for my son:  Write a play for us to act out on Christmas morning, incorporating words I've given him, and have them mostly make sense.  I'll video it and show you, if all goes according to plan.
3. Flirting with Jude quoting The Godfather on Twitter.
4. Sleeping in with delicious dreams.
5. Knowing what I'm going to make for supper tonight and just otherwise feeling lazy and happy today.
6. Lulu putting a blanket over her head, wearing only underwear and lots of pen markings (she calls them "love marks"--??), and saying in a ghostly voice: "I am thirstyyyyy!"

P.S. I decided to opt out of the Best of 2009 Blog Challenge.  Almost decided to opt out of blogging altogether, just because I didn't feel like it anymore.  We'll see where the wind takes me.

What was lovely about last night's Grey's Anatomy (and what I don't like about Glee)

I know I've been complaining about Grey's Anatomy lately, about how the cast members, and even the patients sound the same because they repeat themselves for emphasis, so you can tell that it's the same writers writing for everyone or maybe the writers are all just picking up each other's way of talking, like how everyone started saying "Seriously" all the time because of Grey's Anatomy.  And I've complained about how Callie and Arizona have no chemistry and it's totally not believable that they're a couple, probably because they're not gay in real life, and it would seem that I complain about tv shows (don't even get me started on Glee) because I want to feel superior for a moment and of course that's true but really it's because I need to believe that it's possible that there really is a hospital in Seattle with Dr. McDreamy and Dr. McSteamy in it.  The lack of chemistry between the girls stops me from believing that the show is real.  The characters all talking the same stops me from believing the show is real.  I like to believe that my tv shows are totally possible otherwise I might as well be watching Smurfs. 

That's what I don't like about Glee:  None of the writing is realistic.  Everyone sounds stupid.  No one talks like people do in real life and I don't just mean the obnoxious cheerleading coach who plays the same character in every show or movie she's in.  (Okay, so I'm getting started on Glee.  I just couldn't stop myself.)  If it were more campy, it would have the potential to be Ally McBeal but the writers don't know how to find the balance.  They try to have some characters from an Ally McBeal-type world live in a normal world except the normal world written by old adults trying to write a teenager world.  Gilmore Girls had unrealistic writing too but at least it was unrealistic that people would be that AWESOME and FUNNY and SMART, not inane, boring, and predictable.   There's no way that drives-me-to-near-homicide cheerleading coach character would work at a high school where normal people work and the normal people would not always be like, "What is wrong with that woman? Let's kill her now."  You know what I mean?  Like, we're supposed to believe that the Glee teacher guy does not want to murder her silly every single day?  On Ally McBeal, Portia de Rossi's character thought everyone was a nut job because they were and she was normal and that's called REALISM.  She came to accept and embrace the nutty but she didn't start off that way because it wouldn't have been believable. Glee has started off with an imbalance of normalish people and other-worldly people.  And the show starts off with the plot all laid out and obvious.  You know how it's going to end from the first ten minutes.

Now, if they made a DVD collection JUST of all their dance and song numbers, I'd be all over that.  And if the cute redheaded woman with the sexy-modest button-up 50's outfits, and the sweet little voice and meek demeanor was at my house, I'd just want to bake her muffins and stare at her with a smile on my face.  Not in a gay way.  Just in a "I love puppies, kittens, bunnies and the cute little meek redhead on Glee" way.  And I don't even really bake, nor do I like muffins.

Now, some of you who know me might have been thinking, "Right, Natasha, like Alias is realistic?"

LET ME STOP YOU THERE.

Alias is TOTALLY realistic.  If I didn't believe that it was possible for a sexy, slight-yet-muscular woman to  take out five men with guns, using only her heels, martial arts skillz, mathematical calculations, gravity defying abilities, and lipstick, while wearing latex and a wig, and that therefore, the same is possible for me because I, too, am a kickass woman, then I might as well just find a cave in Afghanistan to wither away and die in because who wants to live in a world like that?  If believing in Alias is wrong then I don't want to be right. The only thing not realistic is her name:  Sydney.  Sorry to all the Sydneys out there but wouldn't she be so much better off if her name was Natasha?  Natasha is a badass name.  It's all Russian and slightly evil or at least mysterious.  Characters in movies whose names are Natasha are always cool and slightly scary.  Like if you were to take them to bed, you'd better like nipple clamps.  (Did I just say that?!)  But I guess that's the point, actually, because Sydney is really just a wholesome college girl who got herself into a bad situation and is doing what she can to make it right.  

GOSH I LOVE ALIAS.  (Although, really just seasons one and two.  Three was okay.  Four and five sucked.  It started to get a little bit unrealistic at season five.)

Which obviously brings me back to Grey's Anatomy.  Last night's episode was nice because it focused mostly on one story and that's nice for a change.  It was somewhat profound, did you notice?

I loved how the guy with the spinal tumour said to McDreamy (Derek):  "Instead of being scared, be inspired."  WHAT A GREAT MANTRA! 

I loved how when Derek, after staring into the guy's body for 10 hours only to seal him back up, told him that his tumor was completely inoperable, he confidently said, "Go home.  Sleep on it.  We'll talk more tomorrow."

And then Derek goes home to his squinty-eyed sexy wife and spins the bed around and draws a diagram of the spinal tumour on the wall in permanent marker.  It was so whimsical!  Bring back whimsical!

Then when the chief told McDreamy he was fired, instead of getting upset, Derek had confidence and peace and he just said, "Go home.  Sleep on it.  We'll talk more tomorrow."

Sometimes, that's the best strategy, I'm learning.  Especially with difficult relationships.  Step back, find that peace and confidence inside yourself, and love the person back, instead of lashing out.  The chief was SO blunt.  He didn't cushion his words, he didn't give explanations.  Just, "You're fired.  Immediately.  Get the hell out of my hospital."  He obviously wanted to hurt Derek.  Didn't you think that showed love, when instead of arguing or saying something to hurt him, Derek gave the chief a second chance to rethink things?  He basically communicated, "I'm not going to be upset by that and I respect you enough to not argue with you.  If that's what you want, I can handle it with maturity.  But think on it.  I'm willing to work on this.  I'm willing to start over.  I'm giving you that choice with me because I love and respect you."

LOVED IT!

Then, as he's walking away and going home, he says in that cliché voiceover: "Everyday we all experience these moments of peace.  The trick is to know when they're happening.  Embrace them.  Live in them."

Speak it, brotha.

(Loved it.)

(Darn. I just noticed that I used the word "sexy" three times and each time I was talking about women. OOOPS. Coincidence.)

Daily Gratitudes

1. We have no snow yet.  I love it these Halloween tender mercies of no snow every year.  See?  God likes Halloween.
2. Jude is better today than last night.  He didn't just had the shakes-- he had the seizures.  The Swine Flu Seizures.  I had to put his socks on for him and he couldn't brush his teeth, he was shaking so much.  Didn't even have a fever.  But he's okay today in the sense he can be still and nap for three and a half hours and cough a lot.
3. I'm not very tired even though I had a horrible night's sleep.
4. My hips didn't really hurt after walking Izzy today.
5. I am leaving this house (yay!!!) to be ALONE and listen to a CD course on Consciousness and Its Implications by an Oxford professor, then buy some white oil paint because I have none, which was really, really disheartening when I finally broke out my paints the other night.  All I can make without white is like...  emo rubbish.

Funy times 2

Checked my email.  Got a message from my son.  From the computer in the basement.  He's working on a big chapter novel about a place called Arnolia. 

"hi momm

 

i pute toghether a presintation abuot mi arnolia thingiy.

 

goe 2 mi googgle doks akcount andd u will see a videeo icon thate says arnolia.

 

have fun

 

(P.S. I really can spell, just did that because I find horribly misspelled things funny.)

 

luv u 

 

:)"

The "rilly" funny thing?  I didn't even notice that he was misspelling anything until I got to "thingiy".

Daily Gratitudes

1. My friend Katie's husband didn't die.
2. Jude let me sleep in this morning.  Took me a long time to fall asleep last night because I was itchy everywhere for no reason. 
3. Video chatting with faraway friends.
4. My grade one daughter is reading in French!
5. Grey's Anatomy is on tonight.  Vegggggg.

The most botched LDS child's baptism ever

(Remember when I said my next post would be about the fourth agreement of The Four Agreements?  Well, I changed my mind.)

This post is about the most botched LDS child's baptism ever-- my daughter's.

Our daughter turned 8 in August and as is custom and doctrine in our religion, she was to be baptised.  But, I was in the UK for her birthday and the remainder of August.  As well, she wanted to invite her school teacher from last year and the school teacher's phone number is unlisted so we had to wait until school started.

We planned it for tomorrow.  It seems that most baptisms in our ward take place on Saturdays so it didn't even occur to me to have it on a week night-- a brilliant idea because I hate spending my Saturdays on religion.  Saturday is a special day, it's the day we get all our partying in that we can't do on Sunday. Obviously.

So.  I tell our Primary president-- Primary being the children's organisation where they sings songs and learn stuff and meet on Sunday for two hours-- that we'll be having Josie's baptism on Saturday at 4:00 and I ask if she can announce it in our Primary meeting on Sunday.  "Okay!" she chirps cheerfully.

So, they get to the announcements and first it's announced that Tyson's baptism is at 2:00.

GREAT.  No one, including the Primary president mentioned to me that there was already a baptism only two hours away from our intended baptism.

I thought it would be unlikely that in our small ward another child would be having his baptism on the same day.  We're supposed to have joint baptisms when children's birthdays are close together.  Now our local church leaders have to attend TWO baptisms.  On a SATURDAY.  The funnest day of the week.  And they don't get paid to attend because our church runs on volunteerism. 

Not only that, it would mean they would have to rush out of the church or at least be quiet while we were starting OUR baptism. 

I asked the counselor in the bishopric-- we'll call him "Brother Bailey"-- if he'd be okay coming to BOTH baptisms.  He's in his 60's, I think, and I don't think he's overly booked these days and also he's a bit of a family friend, so I thought he wouldn't mind.  He confirmed that he was fine to "hang out all day". 

Score.

But later my friend Pam phoned to ask if we could push the time back to 5.  There's a pianist playing in a nearby city and they are going to the matineé and won't make it back on time for 4:00 and they really want to come.  Rachel, our babysitter wouldn't think of missing Josie's baptism!

"Uh, sure. I guess 5 is okay."

I tell Nicole, Adria's best friend's mom, about the time change. "Oh! We're going to the evening concert.  That's cutting it close.... I guess we'll just leave immediately after....  And try to grab some food before 7."

SIGHHHHHH.  So, now our baptism is convenient for the Thompsons but not so much convenient for Nicole and her family. Oh well.  It will have to do.

So, today is Friday.  I realised that I hadn't phoned Brother Bailey yet to tell him that we've changed the time to 5:00.

Sister Pat Bailey answered the phone.  Gosh, she sounded young.  She sounded like Catherine Bailey. (These are fake names I'm using here.)

I told her that there's a time change, that Brother Bailey said he'd be at the baptism at 4 and it's actually at 5.  And is that a problem because I know he's going to Tyson's baptism at 2.

"There's a baptism at 2?  And he said he'd officiate?"

"Yes."

Murmurs of confusion and extreme politeness followed from Catherine because Brother Bailey was planning on being at the same concert everyone else is going to.  Brother Bailey walked in the house and she passed the phone to him.  HE didn't sound confused at all.  We talked about how this concert was in conflict with both baptisms and how it's too bad that no one in the Bishopric mentioned the schedule conflict. He told me that we're really supposed to have joint baptisms where possible and it would have been great if we could have had it in the morning.  I said I'd phone Tyson's parents on the off chance that we could change the baptisms.

Tyson's parents were not home.  So, I left a message saying I realise they probably have family coming but if it's at all possible that we can combine them, then could they let me know?

I phoned my friend JQ to see if she's going to be there representing the Primary organisation.  She said no, she was going to go as our neighbor, and Sister "Watley" was going for Primary.  I said that it's really becoming inconvenient and I wish we could change the time. She suggested a week night.  I realised that would be brilliant.  I decided to change it.  We didn't have many people to notify.

I let Jude know we're going to change it.  He confirmed that's better, far less stressful. Let's do it Friday night, the 25th.

Josie started to cry.  She wanted it to be tomorrow and she already invited her teachers.

CARRRP.  I forgot about that!  UGH.

Her grade two teacher said she couldn't come but her current teacher said she might be able to attend.

I checked the phone book. Number unlisted. Checked online.  Someone with her last name in her town was listed.  I figured chances were good they knew her.  I was correct.  I got her phone number and left a message, feeling mildly embarrassed that we JUST invited her TODAY and now we're having to change it. 

What a relief, however, that I was able to leave a message.  I'd be mortified if she drove in from a separate town for nothing.  And then what would we do?  Invite her AGAIN?  Ha.

Then Jude casually said, "I guess we have a cake to eat then."

ARGH!!!  I forgot that he brought a cake home while I was on the phone with someone.  I never saw it and we didn't get a chance to discuss it. 

He pulled the cake out.  It's big.  Enough to feed at least 30 people.  It has fruit on it, cream icing and says, "On your baptism".  And the blueberries were clearly frozen and had bled into the icing, which looked terrible and I'm totally going to complain about that, because... 

"How much did it cost? Was it a lot?"

"Yes."

"How much?"

"Well, I tipped her too so it was $50."

"FIFTY DOLLARS?!!  We just talked about our budget for the rest of the month!  You're supposed to talk to me about purchases first."

(Now, I must confess, I didn't okay my purchase today with him but I didn't spend $50 on a freakin' CAKE!  I spent it on nail polish.) 

(Haha.  That was a joke.  I don't use nail polish.)

"It's not a lot of money.  $50.  We've wasted far more money in the past."  And by "we" he COMPLETELY and POINTEDLY meant ME.

"Yes, but not on a CAKE."

"Well, I didn't want you to have to make a cake."

"WHEN DO I EVER MAKE CAKE?!  AS IF I was going to make a cake."

"We had to buy food and this would have taken care of the dessert."

"Yes, and it's lovely BUT, I was not going to be spending $50 on DESSERT.  We need some supper food."

And you know, had we not just talked about our new budget and saving money for traveling and such, and if were WERE actually having a baptism, I would not have been upset over a $50 cake and I would have thought he was very thoughtful and proactive and lovely and that it was a very nice surprise.  But those were not the circumstances.

"Had I known you had spent $50 on CAKE, I would have said to everyone, 'So sorry if you can't make it but we're having it Saturday at 5 because we have a cake that cost FIFTY dollars.  Yes, we're also having it for Josie but really we're having it FOR THE CAKE.'  Why didn't you say something to me before I started phoning people to cancel?"

And then we argued a bit from there.  I don't remember what all was said except for his comment later that he had said on TWITTER that he bought a cake and didn't I see that because don't I hang on his every tweet?  (I may be exaggerating his words.)  What, like I have nothing better to do but keep constantly on top of my Twitter feed?  Like I just sit there wondering if THIS is the moment that Jude typed out one of his two tweets of the day?

(I actually had seen his tweet in passing while I was on the phone but he conveniently left out the bit of information about how he spent the $50 I could have used toward my dye job or Botox or a new kidney.  Because, the thing is, I DO make cake.  For birthdays.  I have never, ever bought a cake.  Why buy a cake when I make such fantastic cake all by myself?)

So, I phoned Tyson's parents again.  I don't remember my exact wording but my casually spoken message went something like this:

"Hi, it's Natasha again.  We're postponing the baptism so don't worry about my earlier message.  However, we do have this lovely cake here that Jude bought that is fruit and cream. It's from a bakery, and it says 'On your baptism' on it.  It was also $50 and we have no use for it now.  Any chance you want to buy a cake?" I said, laughingly.

"No!  We wouldn't charge them!"  Jude yells, beside me, all annoyed-like, as though I had just invited someone over to dine on our leftover chicken wing bones while we all drink a case of beer each.  As I'm leaving a message on their voice mail.

"Okay! Apparently that was a terrible idea--"

"No!" Josie wails. "I don't want to give away my cake!" 

"Okay! I take it back. We don't have a cake to offer you.  That was a horrible idea I had, clearly."

I'm laughing a bit, Josie is crying, Jude is exasperated and I'm STILL ON THE PHONE.  BEING RECORDED.

"So, this definitely the most ridiculous sounding message I've ever left on someone's voice mail," I say, laughing. "Please ignore it. And good luck with your baptism."

Something like that.  That was my message.  EXCEPT IT WAS LONGER, and MORE PAINFUL.

So, then I realised I needed to phone Brother Bailey back.  I opened the church directory, found Bailey and dialed.  Got the voice mail.  And as I was looking at the name in the directory I realised it said CATHERINE and BOB Bailey.  Not Pat and Dutch Bailey, you know, the people I was talking with earlier?  Right?

Huh.

In fact, there's only one Bailey listed. 

Huh.

Is it possible...

Hmmm.

...that I was speaking to the wrong Bailey's?  Because that would explain why Sister Bailey sounded like CATHERINE Bailey.  Not Pat Bailey. 

SO, I phoned back and got the voice mail again.

"Hi, it's Natasha.  I seem to be uh... trying for a record of how many times I can embarrass myself in one night. ... I'm already at... three uh... incidents." [Had trouble thinking of the right word.] "I just realised that the entire time I was talking with you, I thought you were the OTHER Baileys.  I had no idea I was talking to THE STAKE PRESIDENT.  And I thought it sounded like you, Catherine.  And President Bailey, if you thought at all that I sounded like I was being kind of familiar" [except I'm pretty sure on the message I said FAMILIAL-- a word I totally know how to use properly but why be sensible like that, right?] "that's because I thought you were DUTCH Bailey and he's a bit of a family friend.  So, his number is not listed!  And I was wondering if you had it so I could phone HIM.  And this would explain our confusion over the phone, Catherine.  Heh heh heh.  Alright. Thanks. Bye."

ARGHHHHH!

Idiot!

All that said, however, let it be known that this giant, $50 cake that Jude has started slicing open, this cake that's going to be in my fridge for days, HAS NOT TOUCHED MY LIPS.  Nor will it. I was very tempted to say 'screw it' to my vow against refined sugar because, you know, the cake was FIFTY dollars and because I was stressed out and deserved to celebrate Josie's almost-baptism, right?  But my integrity and my pact with Louise means more to me.  While I may be lacking brain cells, at least I have self-control-- and that part is ALL my own doing.  YOU HAVE NO IDEA.

[I had said after writing this that I didn't have time for Daily Gratitudes and that I was going to see Julie & Julia.  It wasn't there anymore and we saw The Time Traveller's Wife.  Which was OKAY.  But, in editing, I added some D. G.'s.]

Daily Gratitudes

1. Again, I'm so grateful for our babysitter.  And soon, she will be able to drive so I maybe don't have to pick her up and drop her off all the time when it's midnight and I'm tired.  Last night Jude said, "if Rachel was able to drive I'd just say 'Here are the keys to the car.  Why don't you just take it we'll pick it up tomorrow.'"
2. Lulu and I had a very nice time together today.
3. I have basic sewing skills and a sewing machine.
4. It was a beautiful day.
5. My friends.

Um, did that guy just call me fat?

I've been getting a lot of hits from this er, surprising and slightly odd website called LDS Skinny Dippers: For Latter-day Saints who are interested in chaste, wholesome, recreational... nudity. (I know, right?)  It's a forum and someone linked to my recent post where I let two of my daughters colour on my naked back with Crayola washable markers.  I guess they thought this was really cool.

So, since I was getting more hits from this forum, I decided to check back and see what was being said.

You can imagine my delight to find this:

"So it was a happy surprise to come here and see this great sister, with the invention to give the markers to her kids and the confidence to put her own, bare, normal, non-anorexic and non-Photoshopped back on her blog and to tell the world about it. Awesome."

What makes this guy so sure that it's not Photoshopped? Because I'm so full of flaws? You know the marker dots are not pimples or anything, right?  I mean, I know I need to lose about 15 lbs but to call me "non-anorexic"?  Geez.  And all I wanted to be in life was anorexic.... *sniff*

I felt comfortable putting that photo up because, 1. I did crop out my most obvious lump of fat, and 2. I know that I have til my 30th birthday to get super fit and hot and you best be sure that I'll be posting photos up of THAT accomplishment, baby!

Just kind of funny.  Actually, very funny.  I threw my head back and laughed. Because, obviously, "normal, non-anorexic, non-Photoshopped" could be euphemisms for "plain, chubby, kinda ugly".  "Needs work." Hee hee!

The freaks your mother warned you about: Bizarre Google searches

These are the bizarre Google searches that have brought people to my blog.  I didn't include the really offensive ones. 

"live in chastity belt married"  -- You might wonder why someone needs a chastity belt when they're  married.  Like, maybe if you're not ready for sex, don't get married.  Because to marry someone and then never have sex with them really redefines the word "tease".  Unless you got forced into marriage by your sexist religion but then you'll probably be killed for donning a chastity belt because some religions are like that.  But after seeing sooooooo many people finding my blog after searching for chastity belts, I clued in that some people just have a chastity belt fetish.  (Where did I write about chastity belts?  The blog post where I got my braces off is called "Braces: the chastity belt for your mouth".  Also, a ton of people search for info on braces.)

"make your own chastity belt" -- I believe it's called "self-control". 

"chastity belt teeth" -- If your chastity belt is made of teeth, I think that leaves the "fetish" category and enters the "I'm disgusting and should be hidden from society until Christ comes" category.

"chastity belt crazy glue" -- Oh, poor girl.

"what happens when you eat sitting down" -- Someone searched this a couple of times and stayed here for a LONG time.  I'm going to guess that the food goes down your esophagus, into your stomach, then on to your small intestine, then your large intestine and then out your bum.  But what do I know?  Everything I know I learned from The Magic School Bus.

"another word for being in a bad mood" -- Um, "thesaurus".

"babysiter [sic] sleeping naked" -- Babysitters are not supposed to be sleeping OR naked, unless you live in a nudist colony.  If you come home and your babysitter is sleeping naked?  She's probably coming on to you.

"bad things about Mormons" -- FREAK ALERT! There are no bad things about Mormons. We're perfect.

"big fish lyrics you've got to move along I believe in something beautiful to see move a long [sic]" -- It's GREAT BIG SEA, not "big fish". *eyeroll* Some people have no class whatsoever.

"sociopathism" -- You mean SOCIOPATHY?

"eating cod sperm" -- That's real.  People do that.  I wrote a post about it somewhere. I saw it on that gross jobs show.

"'heard moaning' sex" -- Well, that can happen.

"pee + straitjacket" -- If you're in a straitjacket, peeing should be the least of your concerns.

"about salmon angel hair straighteners" -- WTH?!

"chastity devices for gay boys" -- Just tell them God hates them.  I hear that works.

"chloroform book stalkers" -- If I ever have a band, I'm naming it this. Obviously.

"cockroachers [sic] worms bugs sex" -- Sounds like a good time.  (Call me.)

"do china people throw the baby girls in the park" -- You mean CHINESE people?  That's what people who live in China are called.  And oh gosh I hope not.

"do cockroaches eat eyebrows" -- COCKROACHES EAT ANYTHING.  They are Satan's minions.  They never die.  Even if you fashion a little cockroach guillotine and chop them into sixteenths, they will regenerate and now you'll have sixteen cockroaches and yes, they will eat your eyebrows but who cares because, dude, they're just on their way to your EYEBALLS.  Sweet dreams.

"do female mormons get their virginity checked before marriage in temples" -- FREAKIN' BAPTIST ANTI-MORMON VIDEOS!  First of all, that's so offensive.  You don't have to be a virgin to get married in the temple.  Duh.  Secondly, YOU CAN'T TELL IF SOMEONE'S A VIRGIN EVEN BY A VAGINAL EXAM.  *bangs head on table repeatedly*

"do people eat cod sperm" -- I know.  It's hard to believe, but YES THEY DO.

"do roaches eat toenail clippings" -- THEY EAT EVERYTHING, I TELL YOU!  They are coming for your soul.  Sleep tight.

"dog not eating is something wrong?" -- Um.  YES.

"flimsy straitjacket" -- I know, I have this problem too.  Our dinner guests are always able to get away, despite our best efforts.

"fruitarians are stupid" -- I can't disagree with you.

"from: somethinggirl sex" -- *scoff*  Who?  ME?

"fruit in foreplay" -- You did NOT get this idea from me.  Being covered in sticky fruit juices does not turn me on.  (But if you've got worms, cockroaches, and bugs, call me. *wink*)

"genitals" -- I'll play your little game:  Livers.  Elbows.  Belly buttons.  Gall bladders.

"girlfriend peeing on camping trip" -- Ya, I don't let my girlfriend do that.  Straitjacket time.

"help I'm living with Mormons!" -- Run away quickly before they are nice to you!

"how big is cod's sperm" -- Why? Hungry?

"hot air balloon door knobs" -- Another great band name.

"how can I tell what god wants me to do" -- Oh.  That's easy.  Have you heard of the $1000 miracle?  Give  me $1000 and I'll explain it to you.  

"how do I make my personality" -- One part celebrity worship, two parts what everyone else is doing, two parts change yourself to accomodate different situations, one part join a cult like Mormonism.  Simple. 

"how do i say thank you to someone who thinks i'm pretty" -- You say, "I can tell you think I'm pretty.  Thank you."

"how many times has jude law been married" -- Well, I wouldn't know.  I only joke about fancying him.  I'm not the type to care about celebrities, really.  (Okay, don't tell anyone I know this:  He was married once to Sadie Frost, and they had three kids.  Then they divorced though I think he still has the hots for her, and he was engaged to Sienna Miller, who is very pretty but scrawny as heck, and he cheated on her with the cute nanny that his ex-wife hired to help him with the kids, which was probably sabotage, and since then he's been dating a bunch of women when he's not stalking me and he got some unnamed woman pregnant recently and while John suspected it was me, I'm not at liberty to discuss it.  Also, Jude Law's sister is named Natasha.)

"how to become awesome" -- Well, just hang out with me a little longer.

"how to freeze boiled cabbage" -- Don't!! Just don't! What, are you trying to kill a small town?!  Boiled cabbage shouldn't even exist in the first place, never mind preserved in a LESS desireable state. Horrifying.

"how to know if my teen is depressed or just grieving" -- Well, if your teen has something to grieve, then s/he's probably grieving and I don't know anyone who is HAPPY while grieving so... does it matter what you call it?? 

"how to look sexy at the gym" -- Olivia Newton John really set the bar, but I would just add holding your mouth in an O shape and saying "ooh" a lot, with every rep.  That's how I lost ten pounds.

"how to pull an invisible string from someone's hand" -- Is this hard?  It's invisible.  You get to make the rules when doing invisible things.

"i want to not poop for a day" -- I'd suggest you stop eating.  Or I hear cheese will do it.  Lots of cheese.

"i'm in love with a mormon" -- I don't blame you.  Happens to me all the time.

"miracle sky fruit" -- Another awesome band name.

"is there any benefit in using preparation h on your belly a few days in a row?" -- Do you often get told you're a giant hemmeroid?

"is sleeped a real word" -- NO.  Wait-- it depends.  What language? 

"trapped in a chastity belt"  -- It's a chastity belt, idiot. That's the point.

"was there anything that could have been done to save Natasha?" -- Probably.  But it's too late now. 

"what does cod sperm taste like" -- Like shame.

"where to buy anniston's dress marley pool" -- You mean the dress that Jennifer Anniston wore in Marley & Me, the movie that was set in the '90's??  Check the Salvation Army.

"oh my goodness david sedaris is gay" -- Shocking, isn't it?  I thought that stopped being trendy last year. Huh.

Daily Gratitudes

1. I'm kind of depressed, actually.  Hence the above sarcasm.
2. Um...  I haven't been too tired lately.
3. My kids have been pretty happy and summer is almost done.
4. God loves me.
5. So does Jude.  And I don't mind him either.

You morning people have some explaining to do

Six a.m. and I am not a morning person. 

The deal was that if Jude walked Izzy the Dog last night, I would walk her this morning.  "Ya, right. I don't know if you know this but you're not a morning person."

"I know this.  I swear I will walk her tomorrow morning. I will go to bed early tonight. I'm sooo tired."

Well, one thing led to another and we, in bed, eyes shutting, words slurred, realised it was 1:45 a.m.

"You're NOT going to get up in the morning."

"Yes, I will."

Then his brain spasmed in a silent scoff but I could see it.  He wasn't just making efforts at reverse psychology, because we both know I'm not that prideful.  On more than one 6 a.m. occasion I have mumbled, "Ya, you're right. I'm not getting up," and he got up to walk Izzy, as he had fully planned on anyway.

Izzy made some desperate, weird squeaky sound at 6 am and immediately I was up, new jeans on, shirt I slept in, no bra even, out the door.  Because I do feel guilty that Jude has been walking her this early, every morning for months.  And he is tired.  And his biggest fantasy in life right now is to be able to sleep in. 

I do have a heart, Ron Thompson.  I don't know where it is but it sends the occasional postcard. 

So, we're walking along, Izzy super happy and me super not, and the property on which I want to live comes into view.  Its 60's modern house (which I would tear down or renovate... if I were rich) is set back into some trees and high on an embankment with a pond far below.

Between the trees I see that the roof of the house is on fire.  Bright orange flames.  And no one is doing anything. I hear no fire truck sirens and I don't own a cell phone to call 911.  What do I do?

No, wait.  That's the sun.  OH ALL THAT IS HOLY-- that's what the sun looks like at 6 am?!  WHY HAS NO ONE TOLD ME THIS?

Oh, Internet, it was beautiful. A round, neon orange ball, still making its way into our sky, and I could look directly at it without any sizzle of my corneas. The sky was bright blue. Usually when the sky is so bright, the sun is pale and the rays splay out, but here the sun was a perfect orange circle, not at all fuzzy at the edges.  And behind me, not yet kicked out of the sun's domain was the moon, almost full.

The air was crisp and moist and it was just me and Izzy and Jude's iPod.

What divine serendipity expressed itself in the form of the perfect song at the perfect moment? 

Matt Duke's Taxidermy & the Skiffle Explosion, an instrumental work of fairies and children's smiles?

Great Big Sea's Something Beautiful, a song about life's journey, Earth's beauty, and the promise of a better tomorrow?

No.

Justin Timberlake's SexyBack.

The atheists are right. 

Daily Gratitudes

1. Montana and I had a nice time alone together yesterday painting ceramics at a studio, then shopping.  After I tried on about 12 pairs of jeans before settling on one pair I still have to take in from the knee down because they're practically Cher's bell bottoms, Montana said, "I'm going to make a big production out of choosing a back pack so that you can have the fun I'm having right now."  He is so funny.  First he's complaining that I can tell in one second that I hate a pair of jeans and then he's complaining that I'm taking too long.
2. My kids are healthy.
3. I came home to Jude folding a whack of laundry.  He said he washed and dried some of my clothes, "But I put them on delicate.  I considered that you might kill me for wrecking something but I just couldn't stand you not washing your clothes.  It's like when the kitchen island is cluttered for you."  I laughed.  "Why do you care if my clothes are dirty?  I'll wash them when I run out."  "It just drives me crazy! You have clothes everywhere."  And then I tickled his sexy smile dimples. 
4. It's almost 8 am and Jude and Lulu are still sleeping.  Score!
5. Cotton. 
6. Jules commented on SexyBack being on Jude's iPod.  She is right to be surprised.  I have my own playlist on his iPod because mine broke and I'm not buying a new one until that new one can be an iPhone.

Jude and I-- we tease on a Sunday morning

Me: DON'T tickle me.

Jude: Why not?

Me: Because it's NOT funny.

Jude: Aww, why not?

Me: Because you tickle like 'ARGGGRRRR!' You tickle like a grizzly bear.

Jude: Aw, that hurts! Not like a grizzly bear. More like a gladiator.

* * *

I'm sitting at the dining room table because Jude forced me to by not bringing me breakfast in bed as per our usual and by telling me that he went to the trouble to set the table all nice for me. (Totally forgot it was Fast Sunday. OOOPS.) So, out of the good of my married heart, I went downstairs. I even put clothes on first. I stumble over to the table (not a morning person by any stretch of the imagination) and find that it looks like it always does when we eat-- like, there's plates and forks and stuff to drink-- and the bit of specialness is the ROYAL BLUE tablecloth he bought.

Me: Did you steal the Relief Society's table cloth?  [For readers who don't know, the Relief Society is our church's women's organisation and their "colours" are royal blue and I think gold.]

Jude:  What, you don't like it?

Me:  It's royal blue.

Jude:  I knew you'd say that.

Me:  Well, YA.

Jude:  Why is that a problem?

Me:  Because we don't have a single thing in our house that's royal blue. It doesn't match at all.

Jude:  I knew the first thing you'd say would be that it doesn't match.

Me:  Then, when ever you surprise me with these table cloths you buy, why don't you ever get a nice simple white table cloth?

Jude:  Because they didn't have any.  This was only $1.50!  It's a good deal.

Me:  If I prefer the table underneath to the table cloth, it's not a good deal.

Jude stuck his tongue out me. In his mind. 

(Okay, I have to tell you this. I just wrote "sticked" there and spell check let me know with its red underlining that that was not the right spelling and I couldn't figure it out until I realised it was "stuck".  I HATE THE MORNING.)

I sing a song, not too loudly and look at Jude across from me at the table. He smiles stupidly in that way all women love and that way that all men are good at and I can tell he didn't hear me.

Me:  Name that song.

Jude:  I couldn't hear you over Martha Speaks.

Me:  Ya, I knew you couldn't. I was going to ask if your ears were working.

Jude:  YOU name THIS song and group. "You can call it lack of confidence but to carry on living doesn't make no sense. I can't stand losing you."

Except, Readers, he sang it like Mary Poppins would sing a nursery song.

Me:  It goes like this. [Sang his bit.] I can't, I can't, I can't stand losin', I can't, I can't, I can't stand losin', I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't stand losin' YOU... Can't stand losin' YOU-OU-OU!

Jude:  So, what you're saying is that you're somewhat familiar with it.

Me: [laugh]

Jude: But who sings it?

Me, rolling my eyes:  THE POLICE. As if I don't know a ton of Police songs. Okay, here's my song:  "I don't want... to go to chuuurch. Some folks do. Who knows?"

Jude, looks at me blankly.

Me:  Air Supply. "I don't like... to sleep alooone. Some folks do."  Except I do like to sleep alone. All stretched out... ahhhh.

Jude:  You don't deserve me.

So, a few minutes later, I'm sitting at the table, I guess with a slight smile on my face, and I could see why that would be disturbing to Jude at VERY early o'clock.

Jude:  Why are you smiling?  Are thinking of the blessing that's being married to me?

Me, dryly:  Oh, was I smiling?  THAT WAS AN ACCIDENT.

See why you don't make me get out of bed on a Sunday morning?

Okay, I have to throw my hair into a quick pony tail, put on my standard brown skirt so that I can wear my brown boots, brush my teeth, slap on some foundation and lip gloss, and pretend that I took any care at all in doing it. It's church time, y'all. (I should clarify: The only reason I don't want to go to church this morning is because I'm tired and I have the comfiest bed I've ever slept in.)

Daily Gratitudes

1. Boots are awesome for Sundays at church when you don't want to have a shower and shave your legs.
2. I can look up my Sunday School kids' lesson online when I lose my manual, which is every single week. I have no idea where it is again.
3. John and Louise are sending me a package. Yay!! So excited I can't even tell you. Let's see how good this British chocolate is.
4. Our fence is almost done on one side. Soon we can play soccer/football in the back yard with Izzy the Dog, which is beaucoup de fun.
5. I had a therapeutic, fun, hilarious conversation with Katie last night.

Jude Law is stalking me

I don't pay close attention to my blog stats but I've been noticing the visits from London, England. The same person continually returns to read for a few minutes, on average, every other day or so.

I don't know anyone in London. The visits from my friends in Wales don't show up as being from London. No one has ever written me or commented, letting me know they're in London.

There's only one real plausibility.

Jude Law is stalking me.

Clearly, he was googling his name, my blog came up and maybe he was intrigued because I have the same name as his sister, a fact I admit I'm embarrassed to know. After all, I'm no stalker. I only aliased my husband with Jude's name because it's similar to his actual name and because he's a professional crime fighter. Jude LAW? Get it? And they have a very similar jawline and chin, same coloured eyes, and both have lovely, lovely lips (although my husband takes the cake on that).

Anyway. It's clear that he found my blog and is now obsessed with me. I think it's the prim and proper Mormon thing he must find appealing. Shut up. I could be prim and proper-- you don't know!

You think that Sienna Miller had endearing diarrhea stories to tell? You think that his ex-wife Sadie Frost had such charming depressive episodes? Ha.

And of course he can't say hello because I wouldn't believe it was him anyway and he knows that the only way to stop himself from professing his infatuation is to just say nothing at all, to sit on his hands and bite his tongue. It's just easier that way.

Jude, it is possible for you and I to have a relationship. I've noticed that you need a stylist and it just so happens that I have very excellent taste. It's the only thing I'm really good at, actually. Here's some free advice:

1. Skinny jeans. Donate them.
2. Pointy-toed shoes or boots. RESIST.
3. Vests with no shirt underneath? ARE you trying to put out a message that you play for both teams? Because I'm okay with that. But if you're not, put a freakin' shirt on. We already know your shoulders are lovely.
4. Men shouldn't wear capri pants. Ever.
5. Please no more tattoos. What were you thinking? If anyone's body was ever a temple.... Sigh.

Basically, more of this and less of this.

As for love, my heart is taken. You're on the back-up list, you lovely thing, but you'll have to become Mormon; I need a spiritual connection. It will do you good. Help you kick that smoking habit. And maybe the sleeping with nannies thing.

We can swap songs and recipes but not spit. Too bad. I'm a good kisser.

Daily Gratitudes

1. Jude Law is stalking me. So flattering. ;-p
2. My Jude is on vacation.
3. I don't have cancer.
4. At least I still have two computers that can type the letters Q, A, and Z, although neither are laptops.
5. Comfy lululemon pants.

How to be in a bad mood

1. Stay up late watching The Proposal with your man. So funny.
2. Get through church having only yawned 30ish times. You're looking forward to that Sunday Afternoon Three-Hour Nap.
3. At lunch there's only unhealthy carbs to eat, unless you want to get really creative and MAKE stuff. You don't. You're tired. So, you eat a cheese bun and fresh spinach ravioli with parmesan and butter. It's good but does nothing for your weight loss goal and one day it would be nice to fit into more than one pair of jeans.
4. Look online for your friends in Wales. You seem to have missed them by an hour. Spend an hour putzing around the internet, hoping they'll be online again. WHY AREN'T THEY ONLINE?! It's been two whole days. Aren't they in Natasha [or whatever your name is] withdrawal? Finally realize that they probably decided to go to bed at a sensible hour for a change and resign to having to wait until they finish sleeping to find out how their weekend went and to ask why there aren't more photos of the London temple on Facebook. Geez. Sheesh.
5. Might as well go have that nap while your man goes home teaching. And again with the people in Wales.
6. The bed is soft and lush and once again you want to marry your bed but frankly, the premarital relations are sweet and you like your relationship just the way it is. You're deliciously groggy and exhausted.
7. Just as you fall asleep, a kid or two shrieks. Roll your eyes, grumble, curse your consistently bad Sunday Afternoon Three-Hour Nap luck. Once you've awakened, it's just about impossible to fall back asleep, even if that sleep only lasted 64 seconds.
8. Realize, holy carp, you're so tired that you can probably fall right back asleep again.
9. Do so.
10. Wake up again, shortly after drifting off because kids are all screaming at each other about something.
11. Breathe out purple mists of venom.
12. Decide to try to go back to sleep and failing that, decide that you're going to stay in bed as long as you please and fantasize about living in a cottage, about being rich, about fun you can't easily have because it's that time of the month AGAIN? ALREADY?
13. Decide that you hate men. Yes, those two thoughts are logically related. Are too.
14. Your man comes upstairs in his silky, worn, white cotton tee and why are his pecs so hard? Gosh, he feels good. He shows you his dimple. STOP SHOWING THAT DIMPLE.
15. ARRRGggghhhh.
16. He needs a nap and you need to make salmon for supper. Oh, and your son is making muffins BUT DON'T BE IMPATIENT.
17. THANKS A LOT, you think. Because you know what this means.
18. Your son is about to dig into cream cheese with a measuring spoon because the ONE CUP of sour cream the muffin recipe requires is moldy and this seemed like a logical substitution. THEY BOTH USE THE WORD "CREAM". And that whole situation just gets worse from there with kids getting stressed out and fighting and making a mess and YOU NEVER AGREED TO REFEREE THIS CARP. You HATE refereeing kid cooking. Especially when exhausted.
19. You start to make salmon. There's no lemon. Not a lemon in the house. What happened to the lemon? (Later your man tells you that someone knocked it into the sink. "But not me!" he says with, was that a hint of fear? Which is kinda funny. Is he afraid of your wrath? Heh. That's cute. Anyway, the implication is that he let it go into the garbage disposal. A perfectly good lemon all germed up, had to be ground up. And it's Sunday and you don't shop on Sunday.)
20. You use garlic, capers, and sliced cherry tomatoes.
21. Someone knocks on the door. It's a kid saying that your dog is in his yard. Your man's not fully dressed so you stomp barefoot across the street and your dog is in heaven because the best game in the world is Keep Away.
22. SHE DOES NOT COME WHEN YOU SAY COME. She's fast and keeps dodging you, the suicidal freak.
23. Your man comes out and tells the dog to come. The dog listens. He has treats in his hand but you don't think the dog even sees the treats. She just listens because it's HIM and he's the one who walks her every morning.
24. Your love for that dog vanishes. You breathe out small pox-laced purple venom with mini daggers. You yell at the dog to lie down and when she doesn't listen, you drive her head to the floor and yell at her and tell your man that you're getting a muzzle for this dog to teach her submission. Except that you can't think of the word "submission" because your entire brain is full of exhaustion, stress, and frustration. And not being able to think of a word you want to use when you're angry is second in frustration only to not being able to have sex when you want to.
25. Remember that punishing a dog after they do eventually come is terrible because it teaches them that obeying the command reaps punishment.
26. Stupid dogs. It's all their fault.
27. Supper is gross. The salmon is a tiny bit mushy and it doesn't taste like anything. You eat a piece of toasted bread crust with butter, which really suggests how depressed and peeved you are because you never eat bread crust because you're a princess.
28. Finish off a bottle of fake wine. No alcohol. It tastes similar because of the metabisulfate, you think. But, ya, it's not the same thing. Which is good because you'd be an alcoholic in the blink of an eye if it wasn't for the Word of Wisdom.
29. Complain to your man that Daisy's 6th birthday is on Saturday and you don't know what to do because she only wants a pool party and all her friends are already going to another party that day, to which she wasn't invited, probably because the mom doesn't like you, which is weird because you're so delightful. Realise that you don't want to do anything for Daisy's party because she isn't happy with anything anyway these days. But she's been talking about her birthday for A WHOLE YEAR, so the pressure is really on.
30. Oh, and your man's 45th birthday is on Thursday and you don't know what to do for THAT either. Because he's impossible to buy for.
31. And GEEZ, wasn't it just Father's Day??! How often do you have to do something nice for this man? EVERY MONTH?!?
32. Oh, and you have writer's block that makes you feel stupid and imagination-less.
33. And it's hot out. You hate being hot. Or cold.
34. What do you really need a uterus for anyway?

Daily Gratitudes

1. Jude is too good for me. Obviously.
2. My kids are healthy.
3. I managed to run 2 kms yesterday. Not bad for a beginner with flat feet and bad hips.
   And an annoying blister.
4. Remarks From Sparks is always good for a laugh and maybe a head shake or fifteen. ;-)
5. This Seabear song still does it for me. Mmmmm. The stress is diffusing.

Talents I do not have

My husband and I are completely different sleepers. He can fall asleep in an instant and just nap for ten minutes. His mom is like that too. He can do well on a lot less sleep than I and he thinks this is a matter of self-discipline and not biology. After years of being forced to get by on hardly any sleep, thanks to babies who woke up ten times a night (each and every one of my babies), I have concluded that his theory is carp. He just needs less sleep. I've ALWAYS needed a lot of sleep. Same with Daisy. 

Anyway. 

I take a notoriously long time to fall asleep for a nap, no matter how tired I am, especially if I feel under pressure to nap. This is why I'm only able to nap on Sunday. I know there's nothing else to do, really, no where to go. I know that I can take as long as I need. And so, after 40 minutes to an hour, I fall asleep and then sleep three hours. Nearly every Sunday. It's fantastic.

I am unable to sleep in a vehicle. I am unable to sleep sitting up in a chair. And unless Jude is home, I am usually unable to relax enough about the well-being of the children and the dog enough to sleep in my deliciously soft bed.

Imagine my surprise when Janice, the lovely school secretary, phoned at noon to remind me that Daisy could not teleport herself home from kindergarten. 

Obviously, the key to napping is to not even try. I was out COLD.

...................

"I hope you don't mind. We gave her a lunch. Another boy forgot his but his mom brought it in so we gave the extra one to Daisy."

I looked down at the white bread sandwich that Daisy had almost finished. 

"And she didn't ask you to take her to a restaurant?" I asked. "I should get you to serve her lunch everyday. All this time I have tried to get her to eat her lunch without complaint and really, I was stealing the job that was meant for you."

Then Mr. O walked by and said to Janice, "I called it, didn't I? All those teenage girls texting."

I loved that I knew he was talking about American Idol. Janice and I discussed the evening's television for a couple of minutes. It was a great show, funny and full of all different kinds of music. Steve Martin! Steve Martin on a banjo playing a song he had written, sung by some guy and quirky Megan Joy, the extremely gorgeous but unfortunately too self-conscious American Idol disappointment. It was so good. I loved the song, downloaded it immediately. What a pleasant surprise. 

I love the way shows like American Idol can provide a common focus, even for an hour, a connection between people spread out over countries. I loved that I was able to connect with Janice just then and Mr. O, whom I do not know at all. 

Ya, ya, the whole Susan Boyle thing. "That's why so many people watched the Susan Boyle video. That's what we loved about that, you humbug!"  Blah, blah, shut up. YOU try having your period and some sort of chronic fatigue problem and brain cancer and four kids and a big neck scar.

Did I say "cancer"? "BRAIN cancer", even. Yes, I did. Well. I could have brain cancer. We don't know, do we?

*cough*

Daily Gratitudes 

1. I still love Mr. Roger's Neighborhood. It's so relaxing.
2. I'm glad that Adam Lambert is not tied to any sort of American Idol contract. Hopefully, we'll see him performing soon. I didn't like him at first. The fake modesty thing he's got going on bugs me. Plus, I thought he looked too much like a beautiful woman and that just freaked me out. Because he's a man. But now I'm mesmerised by him and I love his voice when he sings ballads. He puts a ton of expression into his singing. That little car commercial he did that was on yesterday? Whew! He almost made me cry for him. I wanted to give him a cookie or something to make him feel better. Hyper-talented people make me grateful.
3. Play-doh.
4. Candy. For me. There's a stash under the chair I'm sitting on right now. I need an intervention.
5. My brown winter coat fits me better now. Of course, when I'm done my candy stash, that will all change.

No cat-dogs, no green toilet flower arrangements, and no celebrities on Twitter. Because I said so.

You know how Quebec reserves the right to stop you from naming your kid something really stupid/cruel, like Lucifer, Spatula, or a French word that means "whore"?

Well, recently Gwyneth Paltrow, getting into the spirit of dictatorship, considered a rule that all members of her $4500-sign-up-fee gym need to adhere to a dress code so that her gym will be a pleasurable visual experience as well as a pleasurable(?) physical experience. [Source was offline, couldn't find online source.]

This makes perfect sense to me.

While American Libertarians would choke to death on indignation over this, I believe in even greater suppression of free will for the betterment of... well, my life. Why stop at baby names?  A name is relatively harmless, proved by Stephen Dubner and Steven Levitt in Freakonomics. Also, it certainly doesn't affect me much if your name is Spatula. Why stop at dress codes? Dress codes should be the starting point.

What bugs me are people who gesture for me to turn left at a four-way stop, when they are making the same turn, only as a right-hand turn. I want to scream out, "Guess what? We'll both start going at the same time and you'll STILL beat me around the corner and then NEITHER of us has to wait or play the go-no-you-go-no-YOU-go game."  I believe there should be a $1000 fine for this.  POLITENESS CAN GO TOO FAR. 

(This is an original Canada Moms Blog post. To continue reading, please click here.)

Daily Gratitudes

1. The way Jude's voice lights up with love and gentleness when I phone him at work. For years this is something I've looked forward to as the phone rang. The rare times he answers stressed out I know he must really be stressed out.
2. Curling up with Daisy and Lulu in my bed and reading.  
3. Listening to Daisy read an Arthur book and breeze past words like "communicating".   
4. Laughing over Daisy stumbling over the word "take". She can read "communicating" but not "take"? (No, she's not just memorizing-- I've never read her the book.) 
5. Jude has no court trials for two weeks.   

The World's Best Family Christmas Letter from The World's Best Family

Dearest Everyone Who Adores Us,

Well, it's that time of year again when you clamour for news of our hoorahs from the past 365 days of our lives.  And I didn't even send out a Christmas letter or any cards last year (or the year before, I think-- surely a choice and not a by-product of disorganization) so hold on to your oxygen masks-- your anticipation-induced ailments are about to be healed.

In November of 2006 we moved from the Great White North to Civilization.  It's AWESOME here-- running water, grass, and dog walkers everywhere-- a sure sign of goodly people.  Montana and Josie were enrolled in Real School, French immersion even, for the first time ever.  I cried tears of joy and relief for a few days.  The kids are taught Latin at recess and they're very happy.

Jude became the new Chief Awesome Guy in a city an hour away.  The secretaries have built a shrine in his honour and he was in the running for a Nobel Peace Prize again but they gave it to some other guy who did something apparently important. Whatever-- it didn't mean anything to us anyway.  Family is what's most important to us. 

He was commuting in our awesome never-fail-us Saturn sedan that had over 160,000 kms on it until some 18-year old punk drove maniacally into Jude with-- I know this will be hard to believe but would I lie to you?-- a TANK, injuring Jude's left thumb.  He didn't mention the thumb injury on his report because he's so forgiving, but I admit that I occasionally wish he had so we could get a settlement.  I'm sure that injury would be worth $100,000 at least.  It's a very nice thumb.  So, we bought him a new car with an actual CD player.

January of this year we finally moved into the house that I designed and built myself in my spare time.  Holy Hanna, am I EVER talented.  I didn't even hit my thumb with the hammer ONCE.  (Ya, I built it old school-- none of this power this and power that stuff.) Oprah is actually having me on her show next February to demonstrate my perfect chiseling technique.  Oh, did I mention?  All of our doors are hand chiseled by me from a solid chunk of redwood trees.  You know those gaudy tall ones?  Ya, those.  Boy, they looked so much better when I was done with them. God gave us trees for things like doors and pencils and bracelets, you know.

So then this year Daisy started kindergarten and Lulu started preschool and the schools want to skip them three grades.  I think it's because I feed them organic raw meals five times a day.  Their brains thrive on this kind of diet; you should try it.

Montana has been playing the stock market and has made a total of 3 million in profit for some friends of ours.  Nothing too impressive but word is starting to get around.  He finished school this year, shortly after he was baptised, and is considering some fellowship options from Oxford, the London School of Economics or the Sorbonne. All via correspondence, of course, as we don't even let our kids go on sleepovers much less live abroad before the age of at least eleven. 

Anyway, Josie is also healthy and well.  She blew out all seven candles on her birthday cake this year so she has no boyfriends.  Phewf.  Seven is too young to be scared off by your girlfriend's dad's hunting rifle. She is modeling for Gap on the weekends.  Normally, you have to live in a city and spend all day chasing after such opportunities but Gap was kind enough to come to us when I explained that I'm too busy with the NASA business.  Oh! I totally forgot to mention.  Jude bought me a telescope last Christmas and I discovered a new universe.  I don't know how all those professional astronomers missed it-- it was RIGHT THERE.  So, we're discussing how to get over there to check things out and I called dibs first so they have to run everything past me. (I'm totally riding that rocket shotgun.  Have to look out for those Obama-sponsored illegal aliens, you know.)

And you know how dramatic and funny Daisy is, right?  Well, we weren't sure we wanted to encourage a theatre habit because you know how wicked those people can be, but...  Andrew Lloyd Webber called and he's come out of retirement to write a new musical called Avita and the Phantom of the Amazing Technicolour Awesomeness.  Of course, he wants Daisy to star in it!  Sweet, huh?  Ya, we're stoked.

You'd think that after three years, I'd be aching for another baby by now.  But there's no possible way to top Lulu, as I've been saying since she was born.  With her curly blond hair, big blue eyes, puffy red lips, everyone says she looks like a cherub and I'll have you know, she acts like one, too.  Other kids might get into the peanut butter and throw it everywhere but not Lulu-- she gets up at 5 am every day to make us breakfast and dust the ceiling.  Her eggs Benedict with fresh hollandaise sauce are TO DIE FOR. 

More importantly, Lulu's Family Home Evening lessons are so profound.  I never knew a kid who had all of Jesus the Christ memorized like that.  Her baby blessing did sound like she'd be a General Relief Society President one day but, of course, that doesn't matter to us;  we'd love her the same if she was a mentally challenged Muslim terrorist.  

We did sort of add someone to our family, though:  a Golden Retriver/lab mix named Izzy.  So many people told me I was "crazy" for getting a puppy but she has been such a blessing that I know I can speak for Jude when I say that he considers it a privilege to let her out at 4am to pee.  (Of course, the lack of snow is probably a direct blessing from the Lord to us for paying our tithing.)   So far, Izzy knows how to sit, come, jump like a frog, pee on command, poop in heart shapes, chew a bone, jump up on everyone, go back down when I have a treat in my hand, shed, and sleep happily in her crate all night (from day one, I might add).  Now, that may not sound like much, but in the interest of full disclosure, I should confess that I have also taught her to load the dishwasher without scratching my nice art ceramic plates with her teeth and to do it in under 30 seconds.  We're trying to get her to get that under 20 seconds and then David Letterman is going to have us on.

Our goals for this year are:

Jude:

• Bench press the new car.
• Win the Betty Crocker pie bake off again.

Natasha:

• Lose two more pounds so I can get back down to 80 lbs.  Gosh, I'm so fat.  Sigh.
• Convince church members to never bring a Jello concoction to a church potluck again.  Would you serve Jello to the Queen of England?  I REST MY CASE.

The kids really don't need any further goals.  They are just so advanced already.

Izzy:

• Grow some adult teeth.
• Get ovaries removed.
• Learn to sing the National Anthem.  In Pig Latin.

Well, I know that doesn't catch you up and tell you everything you're dying to know but this has already taken me away from the laundry long enough. 

We're not always perfect, I have to say. But one thing I've learned over time is that you can't be too hard on yourself-- it's okay to settle for "awesome". 

Merry Christmas everyone and long live Sarah Palin.

Love,

Natasha.