When I started this creative writing class in January, I was very timid about writing. I had been writing a blog for three years, but in my mind this did not make me a “writer.” Any old lump can write a blog, I thought, so something else has to be different to make me a “writer.”
Over the course of the semester, the most important thing I gained was confidence. Yes, I learned a lot of principles that I applied to my writing to make them better. I tried different genres and writing styles and learned what I like and what I don’t. But what I feel was crucial to my growth in this class was learning that a person who writes is a writer. I learned that writing should be shared and not hidden out of fear of what other people might say. I learned what it feels like to write something good – not just good, but good, something I know deep down is worth reading – and I know what it feels like to write something merely sufficient, something that meets the requirements and is, at best, not too embarrassing. I learned that I no longer have to worry about someone reading a piece and telling me I have no future in writing. I do. I may not be there yet, but I will be someday.
So, what grade do I think I deserve? I’m going to say I deserve an A. I think I’ve turned in A-quality work from the very beginning. I’ve attended class, read the book, done the assignments, participated, etc. I don’t need an A, though, for reassurance or approval or an ego boost or any of the other reasons I like A’s so much. I deserve an A because when I filled out a form at the eye doctor yesterday, under “Profession” I put “writer.”
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
The iPad Debate
An inquiring reader sent me a question today, and just in case others were wondering the same thing, I thought I'd ruminate publicly. The reader (let's just call him "my dad" for the sake of convenience) asked me, "Do you have any opinions about the Ipad? I was reading a review of it and it appears that it has to be recharged with a wall outlet, not by plugging it into a usb outlet. Other than that it looks like a winner! Your opinion?"
Do I have an opinion? Does Milli Vanilli lip-sync? I think the more accurate question is, "Is there anything I don't have an opinion about?"
First of all, yeah, it looks so cool. I totally want one. I love my ipod touch. I wish it was an iphone, mostly because I want to be able to look stuff up while I'm in the car and I can't without wi-fi. But I'm too cheap to spend money on a cell phone contract just to be able to update my FB status: "OMGosh! Can you believe the traffic on I-15?!" So the question for me is, what can I not do with my ipod touch that the ipad can do?
Well, I'd want it to have a full size keyboard. I want to be able to seriously type stuff anywhere I go, not this crazy hunt-and-peck routine I do now. God gave us ten fingers for a reason. But then I heard that they're going to sell a bluetooth keyboard - that would be good enough for me! Also, I wish I could read books on my ipod. I could I suppose, if I was seriously into scrolling, which I'm not. But $600 is way too much for an e-book reader, even one that plays videos and stuff.
What exactly is the ipad supposed to be replacing? It's too big to replace my ipod, and not functional enough to replace my laptop. It would replace my theoretical e-book reader, if I had one, but since I don't, I guess it might replace some actual books. What it'd really be is a third Apple product that I'd feel obligated to take with me on vacation.
Here's my opinion on the ipad - the next two years are going to be really interesting. I think the ipad is probably going to be great. Right now it's only great for the early adopters, the rest of us regular people will wait for ipad 2.0 or whatever, when all the kinks are worked out and it costs 1/2 as much with 2x as much cool stuff on it. My real struggle is that I think I want a kindle or a nook or some other e-reader type device with a made-up sounding name, but now is NOT the time to buy something like this. The ipad (in my opinion, at least) is going to spur some serious creativity and price-slashing in the whole e-book arena. By 2012, I think the whole issue will have been decided. (Although, since the world is supposed to be ending that year, it might be a moot point. In which case, spend the $600! You won't need to leave it to your kids, right?)
So this is what I'd tell "my dad." I have a feeling you're the type of guy that has plenty of discretionary income to be spent on random electronic gadgets. Plus, I think you've already decided you want to buy an iPad, but are looking for confirmation that it is not just a whim that you have to defend to your wife (a.k.a. "my mom") but is in actuality a life-changing device on the order of a pace maker or the Apollo program and how could you not invest in that? My advice? Buy an iPad and a Nook. See which one you like better. Then send the loser to some deserving family member, we'll call her "your only daughter," who has an equal love of electronic gadgets but who is sadly lacking in the discretionary income department. And who named one of her children after you.
Readers, got any questions? Want to hear an opinion about, well, just about anything? I'm happy to oblige, just drop me a line.
Do I have an opinion? Does Milli Vanilli lip-sync? I think the more accurate question is, "Is there anything I don't have an opinion about?"
First of all, yeah, it looks so cool. I totally want one. I love my ipod touch. I wish it was an iphone, mostly because I want to be able to look stuff up while I'm in the car and I can't without wi-fi. But I'm too cheap to spend money on a cell phone contract just to be able to update my FB status: "OMGosh! Can you believe the traffic on I-15?!" So the question for me is, what can I not do with my ipod touch that the ipad can do?
Well, I'd want it to have a full size keyboard. I want to be able to seriously type stuff anywhere I go, not this crazy hunt-and-peck routine I do now. God gave us ten fingers for a reason. But then I heard that they're going to sell a bluetooth keyboard - that would be good enough for me! Also, I wish I could read books on my ipod. I could I suppose, if I was seriously into scrolling, which I'm not. But $600 is way too much for an e-book reader, even one that plays videos and stuff.
What exactly is the ipad supposed to be replacing? It's too big to replace my ipod, and not functional enough to replace my laptop. It would replace my theoretical e-book reader, if I had one, but since I don't, I guess it might replace some actual books. What it'd really be is a third Apple product that I'd feel obligated to take with me on vacation.
Here's my opinion on the ipad - the next two years are going to be really interesting. I think the ipad is probably going to be great. Right now it's only great for the early adopters, the rest of us regular people will wait for ipad 2.0 or whatever, when all the kinks are worked out and it costs 1/2 as much with 2x as much cool stuff on it. My real struggle is that I think I want a kindle or a nook or some other e-reader type device with a made-up sounding name, but now is NOT the time to buy something like this. The ipad (in my opinion, at least) is going to spur some serious creativity and price-slashing in the whole e-book arena. By 2012, I think the whole issue will have been decided. (Although, since the world is supposed to be ending that year, it might be a moot point. In which case, spend the $600! You won't need to leave it to your kids, right?)
So this is what I'd tell "my dad." I have a feeling you're the type of guy that has plenty of discretionary income to be spent on random electronic gadgets. Plus, I think you've already decided you want to buy an iPad, but are looking for confirmation that it is not just a whim that you have to defend to your wife (a.k.a. "my mom") but is in actuality a life-changing device on the order of a pace maker or the Apollo program and how could you not invest in that? My advice? Buy an iPad and a Nook. See which one you like better. Then send the loser to some deserving family member, we'll call her "your only daughter," who has an equal love of electronic gadgets but who is sadly lacking in the discretionary income department. And who named one of her children after you.
Readers, got any questions? Want to hear an opinion about, well, just about anything? I'm happy to oblige, just drop me a line.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Rules For The Aerobically-Challenged
First rule: Choose wisely.
You’re thinking about taking one of those trendy dance aerobics classes that combine latin, salsa, and hip-hop moves with high-intensity dance music. That’s fine, but don’t be fooled into thinking that “dancing” makes aerobics “less work.” It is not only not less work, it is probably more work. Watching “Dancing With The Stars” might have taught you the difference between the cha-cha and the tango, but unless you have some actual dance training, these are not moves that come naturally to your body.
Second rule: Location, location, location.
You can't just stand wherever there's an open space; the place you stand affects the entire class. You don't want to be at the front, because then everyone behind you can see you mess up constantly. You don't want to be at the back, because then it's your fanny that the people on the treadmills are watching through the glass wall. You don't want to be on the extreme sides, either, because when you do moves that turn you around, you will all of a sudden have no one to watch. The best place to stand? At home. Or in the locker room. Or under an invisibility cloak, although that might trip you up a little.
Third rule: Don’t hold back.
Nothing makes up for a complete lack of skill like bounding enthusiasm. Do the moves with reckless abandon, with a great big smile on your face. People can't judge you nearly as harshly if they think you are either a) enjoying yourself or b) too dim to know you're doing it wrong.
Fourth rule, and this one's important: Don't look in the mirror!
Don't even glance! So what if you feel like the tutu-wearing hippo in Fantasia? You are as graceful as Ginger Rogers, as sultry as Shakira. Don't let anything crack that facade. It's the only thing keeping you going, that pretense of not looking like a complete idiot. Under no circumstances should you let reality invade that beautiful mental picture!
Fifth rule: You’re not alone.
If your ego needs a boost, look at someone worse than you. Surely you're not the only one in the class who is struggling, right? Avert your eyes from the cute skinny blondes who seem to know the moves intuitively. Ignore the pregnant women in the back whose fetuses are probably more coordinated than you. Focus instead on the woman on the left with the red face, who keeps turning the wrong direction and looks like she's doing jumping jacks while everyone else is doing the mambo. Yes, that woman, who keeps stepping on her own feet and just whacked herself in the face with her arm. At least she looks like she's having fun, she's got such a big smile on her face... Wait a second, that's YOU!! I said DON'T look in the mirror!!!
Sixth rule: Banish any jiggling from your consciousness.
Just because your thighs and butt are as wiggly as a plate of Jell-o, doesn't mean you need to dwell on that. It will bring you nothing but pain, my friend. That’s the purpose of the tight clothes everyone wears, to keep all of your excess flab in one place. It’s much easier to exercise if you know your butt isn't a half-step behind the rest of your body. But until you have rock hard abs, keep any thoughts of how you would make a great female Santa (shakes when she exercises like a bowl full of jelly), out of your mind.
Seventh rule: Don't give up.
So what if you looked like a complete moron the entire hour? That the instructor directed some pointed encouragement your way and the treadmill runners thanked you for the great entertainment? You lasted the whole hour! You sweated and huffed and wheezed your way through 60 minutes of seriously intense aerobics! At the end of the day, your body doesn't know how embarrassed it should be at your lack of finesse, all your body knows is that you burned some major calories. That’s great, so long as you don't drown your humiliation in a pint of Haagen Dazs. And if you can follow these simple rules, you too can join the ranks of the aerobically-inclined.
This post was originally written in September 2008, but I rewrote it for class this semester and thought I'd share the polished version. You can read the old cruddy one here, but why would you?
Saturday, April 24, 2010
The Blog I Wished I Had Written
I've long tried to encapsulate the unique stress of being a mother, particularly a Mormon mother and the attendant "be ye therefore perfect" expectations. Today I read an essay at Segullah that was so exactly right, I wish I had written it. If you are looking for something worth reading, click here. And then come back and we can discuss.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
The Problem With Brains
I had a weird dream the other night. I dreamt that I went back to high school (yes, at 33, as if going back to college as an adult isn't embarrassing enough). My friend Sara was there and she told me all about her life, how she had two kids with a mutual friend of ours but he wasn't ready to commit. She was madly in love and kept waiting for him to figure things out. I woke up the moment I realized that I had to tell her that he was already married.
These blast-from-the-past dreams are so bizarre, pulling random people and events out of a hat and throwing them together like some kind of plot generator for soap opera writers. I mean, these are people I haven't talked to in 16 years, other than the occasional "lol" on a Facebook post. My question is this: How can the brain assimilate all of this random information and combine it in such a way that it makes total logical sense (at least until you wake up and try to recount the story to someone over breakfast)? Does it not make you wonder what other information we take in that makes absolutely no sense, yet our brain turns it into logic? Frankly, I feel like I'm handing atheists the perfect argument - so much of religion consists of believing slightly outrageous things. The philosopher Kierkegaard (as opposed to the rock band Kierkegaard, I suppose - why did I think that needed a qualifier? How many Kierkegaards can there be?), he said that in order to reconcile the paradoxes in Christianity, a person would have to make a leap of faith. The brain is completely capable of accepting these paradoxes, and I think it's a good thing - my life is better because I am able to believe in the existence of God, for example, and various other faith-based things.
However, the brain completely lets us down when it comes to other paradoxes it believes. A person can ignore vast amounts of proof and instead latch onto one idea that resonates with what they already believe. Standing by yourself in a crowded room (on a bad day), it's easy to agree with the idea "I have no friends," despite proof to the contrary. And we've all seen the havoc caused by the completely illogical belief that "I deserve to be the next American Idol." Some irrational thoughts work and some are destructive, but the brain seems to welcome them all.
So after I woke up, I left a note on Sara's Facebook wall, telling her about this dream I had. And this spawned my other weird-dream-related thought: what, exactly, is the correct response when someone tells you they dreamed about you? Because you know what? It's pretty creepy, when you think about it. It feels like my brain is stalking people without my permission. Keeping track of their habits, filing them away until some unsuspecting night when, without warning, my brain attacks. Fortunately, both of the objects of my brain's obsession thought the dream was pretty funny. Or if not actually funny, then at least mildly amusing and, also, harmless. And that's good enough for me. Can you imagine how hard it would be to file a restraining order against someone's brain? Seriously, that thing cannot be controlled all the time.
Brains. What are you going to do? You can't live with them, and you really, really can't live without them.
These blast-from-the-past dreams are so bizarre, pulling random people and events out of a hat and throwing them together like some kind of plot generator for soap opera writers. I mean, these are people I haven't talked to in 16 years, other than the occasional "lol" on a Facebook post. My question is this: How can the brain assimilate all of this random information and combine it in such a way that it makes total logical sense (at least until you wake up and try to recount the story to someone over breakfast)? Does it not make you wonder what other information we take in that makes absolutely no sense, yet our brain turns it into logic? Frankly, I feel like I'm handing atheists the perfect argument - so much of religion consists of believing slightly outrageous things. The philosopher Kierkegaard (as opposed to the rock band Kierkegaard, I suppose - why did I think that needed a qualifier? How many Kierkegaards can there be?), he said that in order to reconcile the paradoxes in Christianity, a person would have to make a leap of faith. The brain is completely capable of accepting these paradoxes, and I think it's a good thing - my life is better because I am able to believe in the existence of God, for example, and various other faith-based things.
However, the brain completely lets us down when it comes to other paradoxes it believes. A person can ignore vast amounts of proof and instead latch onto one idea that resonates with what they already believe. Standing by yourself in a crowded room (on a bad day), it's easy to agree with the idea "I have no friends," despite proof to the contrary. And we've all seen the havoc caused by the completely illogical belief that "I deserve to be the next American Idol." Some irrational thoughts work and some are destructive, but the brain seems to welcome them all.
So after I woke up, I left a note on Sara's Facebook wall, telling her about this dream I had. And this spawned my other weird-dream-related thought: what, exactly, is the correct response when someone tells you they dreamed about you? Because you know what? It's pretty creepy, when you think about it. It feels like my brain is stalking people without my permission. Keeping track of their habits, filing them away until some unsuspecting night when, without warning, my brain attacks. Fortunately, both of the objects of my brain's obsession thought the dream was pretty funny. Or if not actually funny, then at least mildly amusing and, also, harmless. And that's good enough for me. Can you imagine how hard it would be to file a restraining order against someone's brain? Seriously, that thing cannot be controlled all the time.
Brains. What are you going to do? You can't live with them, and you really, really can't live without them.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
The World's Best Peanut Butter Cookies
I know declaring anything to be "the world's best" is the quickest way to invite dissent, but I have to say, I adore these cookies. And I've eaten my share of peanut butter cookies, too. So until there's a Miss Peanut Butter Cookie pageant where all the peanut butter cookies can be judged (and not just on their looks, either - it's what's inside that counts) I'm just going to go ahead and claim this title.
2 cups creamy peanut butter
2 cups sugar
2 large eggs
2 teaspoons baking soda
A pinch of salt
1 teaspoon vanilla
Preheat the oven to 350*. Beat the peanut butter and sugar in a medium bowl with an electric mixer until fluffy. Beat in the eggs and then the baking soda, salt, and vanilla.
Roll the dough into 1-inch balls; place them 2 inches apart on a cookie sheet. Use a fork to flatten cookies (honestly, they aren't peanut butter cookies unless they've been cross-hatched, I don't know why.)
Bake the cookies, one sheet at a time, in the middle of the oven for 10 minutes, or until they're puffy and golden brown. Let them sit on the cookie sheet for a couple of minutes, then transfer them to a wire rack to cool. Makes 3 to 4 dozen cookies.
Taken from "One Bite Won't Kill You" by Ann Hodgman. Find it here on Amazon.
2 cups creamy peanut butter
2 cups sugar
2 large eggs
2 teaspoons baking soda
A pinch of salt
1 teaspoon vanilla
Preheat the oven to 350*. Beat the peanut butter and sugar in a medium bowl with an electric mixer until fluffy. Beat in the eggs and then the baking soda, salt, and vanilla.
Roll the dough into 1-inch balls; place them 2 inches apart on a cookie sheet. Use a fork to flatten cookies (honestly, they aren't peanut butter cookies unless they've been cross-hatched, I don't know why.)
Bake the cookies, one sheet at a time, in the middle of the oven for 10 minutes, or until they're puffy and golden brown. Let them sit on the cookie sheet for a couple of minutes, then transfer them to a wire rack to cool. Makes 3 to 4 dozen cookies.
Taken from "One Bite Won't Kill You" by Ann Hodgman. Find it here on Amazon.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
It's Moving Day!
I've moved my blog to my brand-spanking-new website: www.thingsworthreading.com. Until I get the redirect page here, I thought I'd just let you know to come on over and visit the new site. I've got new posts up already, you don't want to miss it! Also, I've got a FB page for Things Worth Reading http://www.facebook.com/home.php?ref=home#!/pages/Things-Worth-Reading/112705228760632
I hope that link works. See you on the other side!!
-Emily
I hope that link works. See you on the other side!!
-Emily
Danger, Will Robinson!
So, yesterday as I was working on the finishing touches of my new blog, I ran across this article in the Daily Herald. Apparently, there are some women who take it upon themselves to attack so-called "mommy bloggers" who choose to display motherhood in a less-than-flattering light. Who celebrate time without the kids and fear the start of summer vacation. Who admit to being frustrated and tired and (gasp!) a little burned-out. In other words, people exactly like me.
Yikes. Have I perhaps chosen the wrong time to get in the mommy-blogging business?
I've only had to deal with this kind of attack once before. I commiserated with a friend who was completely losing it with her kids, and the person who replied after me said something like, "What if your kid read this? You sound like you don't like your kids." Ohhh, did I feel awful. And then I felt extremely irritated - good for you if your kids are so delightful or your personality is so easygoing that parenting is nothing but a picnic without the ants. Not all of us are that lucky. And then I felt guilt, because of course I would be mortified if my kids saw the things I wrote and believed that meant I didn't like them.
I vacillated through emotions for about an hour, before finally reading a reply from the original poster. She told the judgmental-person/truth-teller (whichever you believe she was) to wait until she grew up and had kids, then she could talk. Whew! I wasn't being judged by another mother, I was being judged by a teenager! Which meant, in my mind, I could continue on my merry way without looking back.
I haven't forgotten it, though. I do wonder how much my kids observe from my attitudes, behaviors, and yes, the things I say. You know, that's where these internet-attackers lose ground - they might see what a person writes in the heat of the moment, but they don't see the rest of it. You might know when my kids are one whine away from sending me to the loony bin, but you might not know that I spent an hour on the couch cuddling and watching tv with them. Or playing Super Mario Bros. Or apologizing profusely and telling them just how much I love them. I promise, I do those things way, way more often than I write about. It just isn't as fun a story to tell.
Why do women insist on judging other women? Does it make us feel better about ourselves when we bring someone else down? The honest truth is that parenting is hard. Some people handle it better than others. No matter which side of the equation you're on - whether you are better or worse at parenting - we should all be able to reach out to each other and be supportive, not attacking. They say it takes a village to raise a child - they didn't mean Salem.
By the way, I think you're doing a fantastic job with your kids. See, didn't that feel good?
Yikes. Have I perhaps chosen the wrong time to get in the mommy-blogging business?
I've only had to deal with this kind of attack once before. I commiserated with a friend who was completely losing it with her kids, and the person who replied after me said something like, "What if your kid read this? You sound like you don't like your kids." Ohhh, did I feel awful. And then I felt extremely irritated - good for you if your kids are so delightful or your personality is so easygoing that parenting is nothing but a picnic without the ants. Not all of us are that lucky. And then I felt guilt, because of course I would be mortified if my kids saw the things I wrote and believed that meant I didn't like them.
I vacillated through emotions for about an hour, before finally reading a reply from the original poster. She told the judgmental-person/truth-teller (whichever you believe she was) to wait until she grew up and had kids, then she could talk. Whew! I wasn't being judged by another mother, I was being judged by a teenager! Which meant, in my mind, I could continue on my merry way without looking back.
I haven't forgotten it, though. I do wonder how much my kids observe from my attitudes, behaviors, and yes, the things I say. You know, that's where these internet-attackers lose ground - they might see what a person writes in the heat of the moment, but they don't see the rest of it. You might know when my kids are one whine away from sending me to the loony bin, but you might not know that I spent an hour on the couch cuddling and watching tv with them. Or playing Super Mario Bros. Or apologizing profusely and telling them just how much I love them. I promise, I do those things way, way more often than I write about. It just isn't as fun a story to tell.
Why do women insist on judging other women? Does it make us feel better about ourselves when we bring someone else down? The honest truth is that parenting is hard. Some people handle it better than others. No matter which side of the equation you're on - whether you are better or worse at parenting - we should all be able to reach out to each other and be supportive, not attacking. They say it takes a village to raise a child - they didn't mean Salem.
By the way, I think you're doing a fantastic job with your kids. See, didn't that feel good?
Saturday, April 17, 2010
What A Glorious Weekend!
I'm writing this from my living room couch. Surrounding me is a plate of cold pizza, an empty Diet Dr. Pepper, newspapers, notebooks, regular books, a pen, a bottle of nail polish, and the cordless phone. The thought that occurs to me is, "So this is what my life would look like if I lived alone."
The family is scattered around Utah this weekend. Ryan took Noah and Zack down to St. George to attend a couple of Star Wars events. Brad is at Conclave, a Boy Scout Order of the Arrow campout. Except they aren't camping, they're staying in a building (or, if they're lucky, a teepee) so I don't know what to call it. A retreat sounds too girly considering one of the classes being offered is "Brain Tanning" - how to tan hides with animal brains. I didn't even know that was legal.
Which leaves me and Darcey, the last remaining settlers at Fort Simmons. And I have to say, it has been delightful. Once I realized Darcey can change videos in the VCR, my weekend was set. No, no, just kidding. Even without the tv, Darcey is fairly low-maintenance. We went to the park today and spent time in the front yard playing with friends. She was great to run some errands with me (it was her that chose the pizza - I was aiming for a mexican drive-thru, the only drive-thru in town that sells fried ice cream.) Plus, she goes to bed nice and early. I've been able to get a ton of writing done while she played. It's been delightful.
The best part about this is the complete and total lack of guilt. While I firmly believe that mothers especially need to get some alone time on a regular basis, I will be the first to admit that the alone-ness comes with a price. Either I feel like I'm neglecting my kids or I'm neglecting my husband, or I'm neglecting my kids while burdening my husband (a double-whammy). Even when Ryan is completely supportive (i.e. handing me my keys and my shoes and gently, but lovingly, pushing me out the door before I lose my mind altogether) I feel bad. It doesn't stop me from going out, because I do need it. But it's always there, tainting my solitude. Well, not this time. This whole weekend was Ryan's idea, so I am off scot-free in the guilt department.
I've made my weekend a combination of productive and relaxing. While at the park, I gave Darcey her first lesson in swing-pumping. She needs to learn this one early - her two little girlfriends are both potty-trained and Darcey still has no concept of what I am expecting her to put in the potty every time she sits on it. I figure if we can get swinging down first, then it'll balance things out. I'm totally not one of those mothers who compares her child against other children, as long as Darcey is ahead.
So there you have it. The perfect recipe for a relaxing mom-weekend at home - one low-maintenance kid, beautiful weather, stuff to do (but not too much), and no guilt at all. Ahhhhhh....life is good. And don't worry, I'll clean all this up before you get home, Ryan.
The family is scattered around Utah this weekend. Ryan took Noah and Zack down to St. George to attend a couple of Star Wars events. Brad is at Conclave, a Boy Scout Order of the Arrow campout. Except they aren't camping, they're staying in a building (or, if they're lucky, a teepee) so I don't know what to call it. A retreat sounds too girly considering one of the classes being offered is "Brain Tanning" - how to tan hides with animal brains. I didn't even know that was legal.
Which leaves me and Darcey, the last remaining settlers at Fort Simmons. And I have to say, it has been delightful. Once I realized Darcey can change videos in the VCR, my weekend was set. No, no, just kidding. Even without the tv, Darcey is fairly low-maintenance. We went to the park today and spent time in the front yard playing with friends. She was great to run some errands with me (it was her that chose the pizza - I was aiming for a mexican drive-thru, the only drive-thru in town that sells fried ice cream.) Plus, she goes to bed nice and early. I've been able to get a ton of writing done while she played. It's been delightful.
The best part about this is the complete and total lack of guilt. While I firmly believe that mothers especially need to get some alone time on a regular basis, I will be the first to admit that the alone-ness comes with a price. Either I feel like I'm neglecting my kids or I'm neglecting my husband, or I'm neglecting my kids while burdening my husband (a double-whammy). Even when Ryan is completely supportive (i.e. handing me my keys and my shoes and gently, but lovingly, pushing me out the door before I lose my mind altogether) I feel bad. It doesn't stop me from going out, because I do need it. But it's always there, tainting my solitude. Well, not this time. This whole weekend was Ryan's idea, so I am off scot-free in the guilt department.
I've made my weekend a combination of productive and relaxing. While at the park, I gave Darcey her first lesson in swing-pumping. She needs to learn this one early - her two little girlfriends are both potty-trained and Darcey still has no concept of what I am expecting her to put in the potty every time she sits on it. I figure if we can get swinging down first, then it'll balance things out. I'm totally not one of those mothers who compares her child against other children, as long as Darcey is ahead.
So there you have it. The perfect recipe for a relaxing mom-weekend at home - one low-maintenance kid, beautiful weather, stuff to do (but not too much), and no guilt at all. Ahhhhhh....life is good. And don't worry, I'll clean all this up before you get home, Ryan.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Division of Labor
Right now I'm supposedly working on my latest project, building myself a new website! I'll be moving my blog over there, plus adding some new sections for book reviews and other stuff. Eventually my goal is to take my favorite blog entries, revise the crap out of them (literally), and assemble them into a book, which will, of course, be available to purchase on my website. It's all in an effort to build a "platform" - an online presence that will magically make publishers etc take me seriously as a writer. It's all the rage nowadays; I don't know if you're even allowed to publish a book without an accompanying blog/newsletter/message board/Twitter feed. And you know me - any bandwagon that passes too close, I've just got to jump on.
So, if I'm thisclose to having the perfect website that will not only propel me to fame and stardom but quite possibly also usher in Web 3.0, whatever that is, why I am over here, blogging? It's simple, actually - as it turns out, I absolutely stink at building websites.
Yes, it's true. Jane-of-all-trades I am not. The logistical part of website creation isn't so bad - I bought a domain name, set everything up with a webhost, installed Wordpress - and that's as far as I got. Because everything after that is all the pretty stuff. What should the header look like? What color scheme do I use? How about matching fonts? Not to mention layout, background images, widgets, templates, and on and on and on. Wordpress tries to make this easier by allowing developers to create "themes" - they do all the color picking and laying out and all that stuff, you just pop it in and add content. The problem is, there are about 7 gazillion different themes out there, and I swear I have looked at every single one. I started with an idea in mind of how I wanted my website to look, but after staring at theme after theme after theme, I stopped actually caring what it looked like. I grabbed the next one I came across, slapped it up there, and started writing stuff.
The problem is, I now have what is arguably the most boring website on the planet. Seriously. It is gray and blue and has absolutely zero personality. I'd show you, but one of the (many) articles I read about website design told me that the design of the website determines if people are willing to stick around and read the content. Frankly, I'm not willing to risk driving you all away, sending you running into the arms of a blogger with a better eye for color.
Fortunately, there is someone out there with a better eye for color, and I happened to be married to him. This is where "opposites attract" plays out quite nicely - the only thing that interests Ryan in putting together a website is the way it looks - I only care about what it says. We did the same thing with the kitchen remodel - he picked the asthetics, I did the functionality. I created a "favicon" this morning - the 16x16 pixel image that represents the website in your browser - and it took me two hours. TWO HOURS!! The thing is so small it requires basically no detail. I could have slapped a single letter in a plain white box and called it good, but noooo... I had to fiddle and play and scrap things and start over for two whole hours. And that is what drove me here, to my blog, to spend a few minutes doing something that I'm good at.
So, yes, I'd rather write about building a website rather than actually building the website. That's probably how it should be. I'll be drawing a picture of what I want my website to look like and handing over to the master later today. And as soon as I know the site won't put you in a boredom-induced coma, I'll let you see it.
So, if I'm thisclose to having the perfect website that will not only propel me to fame and stardom but quite possibly also usher in Web 3.0, whatever that is, why I am over here, blogging? It's simple, actually - as it turns out, I absolutely stink at building websites.
Yes, it's true. Jane-of-all-trades I am not. The logistical part of website creation isn't so bad - I bought a domain name, set everything up with a webhost, installed Wordpress - and that's as far as I got. Because everything after that is all the pretty stuff. What should the header look like? What color scheme do I use? How about matching fonts? Not to mention layout, background images, widgets, templates, and on and on and on. Wordpress tries to make this easier by allowing developers to create "themes" - they do all the color picking and laying out and all that stuff, you just pop it in and add content. The problem is, there are about 7 gazillion different themes out there, and I swear I have looked at every single one. I started with an idea in mind of how I wanted my website to look, but after staring at theme after theme after theme, I stopped actually caring what it looked like. I grabbed the next one I came across, slapped it up there, and started writing stuff.
The problem is, I now have what is arguably the most boring website on the planet. Seriously. It is gray and blue and has absolutely zero personality. I'd show you, but one of the (many) articles I read about website design told me that the design of the website determines if people are willing to stick around and read the content. Frankly, I'm not willing to risk driving you all away, sending you running into the arms of a blogger with a better eye for color.
Fortunately, there is someone out there with a better eye for color, and I happened to be married to him. This is where "opposites attract" plays out quite nicely - the only thing that interests Ryan in putting together a website is the way it looks - I only care about what it says. We did the same thing with the kitchen remodel - he picked the asthetics, I did the functionality. I created a "favicon" this morning - the 16x16 pixel image that represents the website in your browser - and it took me two hours. TWO HOURS!! The thing is so small it requires basically no detail. I could have slapped a single letter in a plain white box and called it good, but noooo... I had to fiddle and play and scrap things and start over for two whole hours. And that is what drove me here, to my blog, to spend a few minutes doing something that I'm good at.
So, yes, I'd rather write about building a website rather than actually building the website. That's probably how it should be. I'll be drawing a picture of what I want my website to look like and handing over to the master later today. And as soon as I know the site won't put you in a boredom-induced coma, I'll let you see it.
Division of Labor
Right now I'm supposedly working on my latest project, building myself a new website! I'll be moving my blog over there, plus adding some new sections for book reviews and other stuff. Eventually my goal is to take my favorite blog entries, revise the crap out of them (literally), and assemble them into a book, which will, of course, be available to purchase on my website. It's all in an effort to build a "platform" - an online presence that will magically make publishers etc take me seriously as a writer. It's all the rage nowadays; I don't know if you're even allowed to publish a book without an accompanying blog/newsletter/message board/Twitter feed. And you know me - any bandwagon that passes too close, I've just got to jump on.
So, if I'm thisclose to having the perfect website that will not only propel me to fame and stardom but quite possibly also usher in Web 3.0, whatever that is, why I am over here, blogging? It's simple, actually - as it turns out, I absolutely stink at building websites.
Yes, it's true. Jane-of-all-trades I am not. The logistical part of website creation isn't so bad - I bought a domain name, set everything up with a webhost, installed Wordpress - and that's as far as I got. Because everything after that is all the pretty stuff. What should the header look like? What color scheme do I use? How about matching fonts? Not to mention layout, background images, widgets, templates, and on and on and on. Wordpress tries to make this easier by allowing developers to create "themes" - they do all the color picking and laying out and all that stuff, you just pop it in and add content. The problem is, there are about 7 gazillion different themes out there, and I swear I have looked at every single one. I started with an idea in mind of how I wanted my website to look, but after staring at theme after theme after theme, I stopped actually caring what it looked like. I grabbed the next one I came across, slapped it up there, and started writing stuff.
The problem is, I now have what is arguably the most boring website on the planet. Seriously. It is gray and blue and has absolutely zero personality. I'd show you, but one of the (many) articles I read about website design told me that the design of the website determines if people are willing to stick around and read the content. Frankly, I'm not willing to risk driving you all away, sending you running into the arms of a blogger with a better eye for color.
Fortunately, there is someone out there with a better eye for color, and I happened to be married to him. This is where "opposites attract" plays out quite nicely - the only thing that interests Ryan in putting together a website is the way it looks - I only care about what it says. We did the same thing with the kitchen remodel - he picked the asthetics, I did the functionality. I created a "favicon" this morning - the 16x16 pixel image that represents the website in your browser - and it took me two hours. TWO HOURS!! The thing is so small it requires basically no detail. I could have slapped a single letter in a plain white box and called it good, but noooo... I had to fiddle and play and scrap things and start over for two whole hours. And that is what drove me here, to my blog, to spend a few minutes doing something that I'm good at.
So, yes, I'd rather write about building a website rather than actually building the website. That's probably how it should be. I'll be drawing a picture of what I want my website to look like and handing over to the master later today. And as soon as I know the site won't put you in a boredom-induced coma, I'll let you see it.
So, if I'm thisclose to having the perfect website that will not only propel me to fame and stardom but quite possibly also usher in Web 3.0, whatever that is, why I am over here, blogging? It's simple, actually - as it turns out, I absolutely stink at building websites.
Yes, it's true. Jane-of-all-trades I am not. The logistical part of website creation isn't so bad - I bought a domain name, set everything up with a webhost, installed Wordpress - and that's as far as I got. Because everything after that is all the pretty stuff. What should the header look like? What color scheme do I use? How about matching fonts? Not to mention layout, background images, widgets, templates, and on and on and on. Wordpress tries to make this easier by allowing developers to create "themes" - they do all the color picking and laying out and all that stuff, you just pop it in and add content. The problem is, there are about 7 gazillion different themes out there, and I swear I have looked at every single one. I started with an idea in mind of how I wanted my website to look, but after staring at theme after theme after theme, I stopped actually caring what it looked like. I grabbed the next one I came across, slapped it up there, and started writing stuff.
The problem is, I now have what is arguably the most boring website on the planet. Seriously. It is gray and blue and has absolutely zero personality. I'd show you, but one of the (many) articles I read about website design told me that the design of the website determines if people are willing to stick around and read the content. Frankly, I'm not willing to risk driving you all away, sending you running into the arms of a blogger with a better eye for color.
Fortunately, there is someone out there with a better eye for color, and I happened to be married to him. This is where "opposites attract" plays out quite nicely - the only thing that interests Ryan in putting together a website is the way it looks - I only care about what it says. We did the same thing with the kitchen remodel - he picked the asthetics, I did the functionality. I created a "favicon" this morning - the 16x16 pixel image that represents the website in your browser - and it took me two hours. TWO HOURS!! The thing is so small it requires basically no detail. I could have slapped a single letter in a plain white box and called it good, but noooo... I had to fiddle and play and scrap things and start over for two whole hours. And that is what drove me here, to my blog, to spend a few minutes doing something that I'm good at.
So, yes, I'd rather write about building a website rather than actually building the website. That's probably how it should be. I'll be drawing a picture of what I want my website to look like and handing over to the master later today. And as soon as I know the site won't put you in a boredom-induced coma, I'll let you see it.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
That's What I Get For Waking Up In Vegas
Before you say it, yes, I know, I'm a giant hypocrite. Every time I pass through/stay in Las Vegas, I blog about how much I can't stand the place. Casinos are huge, money-sucking pits that trap the poor and the elderly. They are glamorized in television and movies as the kind of place where you're likely to find Julia Roberts or George Clooney in formal evening wear. I don't know about you, but I've never seen anyone in a tuxedo there, certainly not the 80 year olds dragging their oxygen tanks from one slot machine to the next. I don't gamble myself, but when I pay $35 for a room in a casino, I feel like my good deal is being subsidized by Grandma's Social Security check.
So why exactly did I find myself voluntarily taking a spring break trip to Vegas this week? Because it was warm there. And the sun was shining. In Orem, we had Eeyore weather, gloomy and miserable, making me walk around with a frowny face and slumped shoulders. I had to get out of there, and fast. St. George wasn't even warm enough, so I decided to throw personal standards to the wind and go to Las Vegas. That's how the inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah were lured there, by the way - it wasn't out of evilness or rebellion, it was because they had nice weather. And cheap hotel rooms. And all-you-can-eat buffets.
And you know, once you decide not to hold yourself up to your personal standards, life can get pretty fun. I could walk through smoky casinos and almost not cringe at the man shuffling past using a walker with tennis balls on the feet. I justified our trip by paying substantially more for a room at an Embassy Suites, instead of a casino hotel, which is basically like pitching my tent on the outskirts of Gomorrah. I could have the self-righteous satisfaction of disdaining everything that Las Vegas stands for, but still keep my commute short.
Seriously, next trip is to someplace with absolutely no ethical dilemmas. Like Wyoming. I can't see anything in Wyoming getting me all worked up.
We had a few requirements for this trip: 1) Be relaxed. No strenuous must-see lists. 2) Swim in the indoor pool as much as the kids want to. 3) Eat at Baja Fresh, or any other place that we don't have in Orem. The first two worked out pretty well, the third, not so much. We played things by ear, stayed flexible, and had no expectations. The kids had a blast in the pool. Unfortunately, we ended up eating at a pile of fast food place that were completely unremarkable. We aimed for a Baja Fresh a couple of times, but either Google had the address wrong, or the place had closed, or we just really blew it, because we never got to eat any of that fantastic, breath-killing salsa. I spent an hour driving around in search of a Dairy Queen that I had seen not 8 hours before, but was long gone by the time I got there. It felt like we were in Hogwarts and all of the hallways and staircases kept moving around. (If only there was a Room of Requirement full of ice cream...) At one point, Zack said we were in "Lost" Vegas because we kept getting lost. Clever kid, that one.
The only thing that was a complete bust was Ethel M's chocolate factory tour. I'll take a tour of just about any kind of factory - I don't know why, but I have a fascination with seeing how things are made. Maybe it comes from watching too much Mister Rogers and Sesame Street as a kid. (Do you remember the crayon factory? Or the milk one? Loved those!) A chocolate factory tour is like the best of both worlds! Unfortunately, Willy Wonka this wasn't. There was nary an Oompa Loompa in sight. In fact, there were no regular humans in sight either - the whole factory was shut down; nothing was going on at all. What a complete disappointment to drive 20 minutes to walk through an empty factory for one minute and then end up in a gift shop. Interestingly enough, Ethel M's has a cactus garden outside that ended up being way better. Who would have thought? A chocolate factory-slash-cactus garden? Anyhow, it worked. Here are some pictures:
I switched to the new Blogger format, and now I can't figure out how to type underneath photos. This one, with Darcey crying, was basically what you would have seen most of the trip - she was always crying about one thing or another. Although on Friday she came down with a cold, so it's possible she was actually sick the whole time and not protesting Las Vegas with me. Also, the reason she looks like a homeless child with no mother is because she lost every single hair thing I brought with us. I tried to put the last remaining clip into her hair (one of mine) and she refused. I tried, I swear.
On Friday we went to a children's museum that the kids really liked. It was just like the one in SLC.
Zack loved all of the building toys.
They had this crazy little booth where you go inside to know what a hurricane feels like. The wind inside went up to 78 mph! The boys loved it.
On the way home, we stopped in St. George to see Ryan's family. We kept waiting for the magical "the drive home feels a lot quicker" but it never hit. New dvds that we borrowed from Bob's collection made the drive more pleasant, though - that's the last time I let the kids decide how many dvd's to bring - four was not enough. We came home to a house with no hot water, and the nasty smell in the refrigerator didn't suddenly disappear, but the dorito crumbs on the floor hadn't attracted ants, so we count ourselves pretty lucky. Somehow, being away from home for three days was enough to make me really like my house again, and my bed that has no two year olds in it, kicking me in the back all night. I think that's the best part of this trip, being happy to be home again.
So why exactly did I find myself voluntarily taking a spring break trip to Vegas this week? Because it was warm there. And the sun was shining. In Orem, we had Eeyore weather, gloomy and miserable, making me walk around with a frowny face and slumped shoulders. I had to get out of there, and fast. St. George wasn't even warm enough, so I decided to throw personal standards to the wind and go to Las Vegas. That's how the inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah were lured there, by the way - it wasn't out of evilness or rebellion, it was because they had nice weather. And cheap hotel rooms. And all-you-can-eat buffets.
And you know, once you decide not to hold yourself up to your personal standards, life can get pretty fun. I could walk through smoky casinos and almost not cringe at the man shuffling past using a walker with tennis balls on the feet. I justified our trip by paying substantially more for a room at an Embassy Suites, instead of a casino hotel, which is basically like pitching my tent on the outskirts of Gomorrah. I could have the self-righteous satisfaction of disdaining everything that Las Vegas stands for, but still keep my commute short.
Seriously, next trip is to someplace with absolutely no ethical dilemmas. Like Wyoming. I can't see anything in Wyoming getting me all worked up.
We had a few requirements for this trip: 1) Be relaxed. No strenuous must-see lists. 2) Swim in the indoor pool as much as the kids want to. 3) Eat at Baja Fresh, or any other place that we don't have in Orem. The first two worked out pretty well, the third, not so much. We played things by ear, stayed flexible, and had no expectations. The kids had a blast in the pool. Unfortunately, we ended up eating at a pile of fast food place that were completely unremarkable. We aimed for a Baja Fresh a couple of times, but either Google had the address wrong, or the place had closed, or we just really blew it, because we never got to eat any of that fantastic, breath-killing salsa. I spent an hour driving around in search of a Dairy Queen that I had seen not 8 hours before, but was long gone by the time I got there. It felt like we were in Hogwarts and all of the hallways and staircases kept moving around. (If only there was a Room of Requirement full of ice cream...) At one point, Zack said we were in "Lost" Vegas because we kept getting lost. Clever kid, that one.
The only thing that was a complete bust was Ethel M's chocolate factory tour. I'll take a tour of just about any kind of factory - I don't know why, but I have a fascination with seeing how things are made. Maybe it comes from watching too much Mister Rogers and Sesame Street as a kid. (Do you remember the crayon factory? Or the milk one? Loved those!) A chocolate factory tour is like the best of both worlds! Unfortunately, Willy Wonka this wasn't. There was nary an Oompa Loompa in sight. In fact, there were no regular humans in sight either - the whole factory was shut down; nothing was going on at all. What a complete disappointment to drive 20 minutes to walk through an empty factory for one minute and then end up in a gift shop. Interestingly enough, Ethel M's has a cactus garden outside that ended up being way better. Who would have thought? A chocolate factory-slash-cactus garden? Anyhow, it worked. Here are some pictures:
I switched to the new Blogger format, and now I can't figure out how to type underneath photos. This one, with Darcey crying, was basically what you would have seen most of the trip - she was always crying about one thing or another. Although on Friday she came down with a cold, so it's possible she was actually sick the whole time and not protesting Las Vegas with me. Also, the reason she looks like a homeless child with no mother is because she lost every single hair thing I brought with us. I tried to put the last remaining clip into her hair (one of mine) and she refused. I tried, I swear.
On Friday we went to a children's museum that the kids really liked. It was just like the one in SLC.
Zack loved all of the building toys.
They had this crazy little booth where you go inside to know what a hurricane feels like. The wind inside went up to 78 mph! The boys loved it.
They decided to put on a show - Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney would be so proud. Brad was in charge of costuming and he had probably too much fun. No one was in charge of story, or dialogue, or props, so it was a very brief show with lots of costume changes.
On the way home, we stopped in St. George to see Ryan's family. We kept waiting for the magical "the drive home feels a lot quicker" but it never hit. New dvds that we borrowed from Bob's collection made the drive more pleasant, though - that's the last time I let the kids decide how many dvd's to bring - four was not enough. We came home to a house with no hot water, and the nasty smell in the refrigerator didn't suddenly disappear, but the dorito crumbs on the floor hadn't attracted ants, so we count ourselves pretty lucky. Somehow, being away from home for three days was enough to make me really like my house again, and my bed that has no two year olds in it, kicking me in the back all night. I think that's the best part of this trip, being happy to be home again.
That's What I Get For Waking Up In Vegas
Before you say it, yes, I know, I'm a giant hypocrite. Every time I pass through/stay in Las Vegas, I blog about how much I can't stand the place. Casinos are huge, money-sucking pits that trap the poor and the elderly. They are glamorized in television and movies as the kind of place where you're likely to find Julia Roberts or George Clooney in formal evening wear. I don't know about you, but I've never seen anyone in a tuxedo there, certainly not the 80 year olds dragging their oxygen tanks from one slot machine to the next. I don't gamble myself, but when I pay $35 for a room in a casino, I feel like my good deal is being subsidized by Grandma's Social Security check.
So why exactly did I find myself voluntarily taking a spring break trip to Vegas this week? Because it was warm there. And the sun was shining. In Orem, we had Eeyore weather, gloomy and miserable, making me walk around with a frowny face and slumped shoulders. I had to get out of there, and fast. St. George wasn't even warm enough, so I decided to throw personal standards to the wind and go to Las Vegas. That's how the inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah were lured there, by the way - it wasn't out of evilness or rebellion, it was because they had nice weather. And cheap hotel rooms. And all-you-can-eat buffets.
And you know, once you decide not to hold yourself up to your personal standards, life can get pretty fun. I could walk through smoky casinos and almost not cringe at the man shuffling past using a walker with tennis balls on the feet. I justified our trip by paying substantially more for a room at an Embassy Suites, instead of a casino hotel, which is basically like pitching my tent on the outskirts of Gomorrah. I could have the self-righteous satisfaction of disdaining everything that Las Vegas stands for, but still keep my commute short.
Seriously, next trip is to someplace with absolutely no ethical dilemmas. Like Wyoming. I can't see anything in Wyoming getting me all worked up.
We had a few requirements for this trip: 1) Be relaxed. No strenuous must-see lists. 2) Swim in the indoor pool as much as the kids want to. 3) Eat at Baja Fresh, or any other place that we don't have in Orem. The first two worked out pretty well, the third, not so much. We played things by ear, stayed flexible, and had no expectations. The kids had a blast in the pool. Unfortunately, we ended up eating at a pile of fast food place that were completely unremarkable. We aimed for a Baja Fresh a couple of times, but either Google had the address wrong, or the place had closed, or we just really blew it, because we never got to eat any of that fantastic, breath-killing salsa. I spent an hour driving around in search of a Dairy Queen that I had seen not 8 hours before, but was long gone by the time I got there. It felt like we were in Hogwarts and all of the hallways and staircases kept moving around. (If only there was a Room of Requirement full of ice cream...) At one point, Zack said we were in "Lost" Vegas because we kept getting lost. Clever kid, that one.
The only thing that was a complete bust was Ethel M's chocolate factory tour. I'll take a tour of just about any kind of factory - I don't know why, but I have a fascination with seeing how things are made. Maybe it comes from watching too much Mister Rogers and Sesame Street as a kid. (Do you remember the crayon factory? Or the milk one? Loved those!) A chocolate factory tour is like the best of both worlds! Unfortunately, Willy Wonka this wasn't. There was nary an Oompa Loompa in sight. In fact, there were no regular humans in sight either - the whole factory was shut down; nothing was going on at all. What a complete disappointment to drive 20 minutes to walk through an empty factory for one minute and then end up in a gift shop. Interestingly enough, Ethel M's has a cactus garden outside that ended up being way better. Who would have thought? A chocolate factory-slash-cactus garden? Anyhow, it worked. Here are some pictures:
I switched to the new Blogger format, and now I can't figure out how to type underneath photos. This one, with Darcey crying, was basically what you would have seen most of the trip - she was always crying about one thing or another. Although on Friday she came down with a cold, so it's possible she was actually sick the whole time and not protesting Las Vegas with me. Also, the reason she looks like a homeless child with no mother is because she lost every single hair thing I brought with us. I tried to put the last remaining clip into her hair (one of mine) and she refused. I tried, I swear.
On Friday we went to a children's museum that the kids really liked. It was just like the one in SLC.
Zack loved all of the building toys.
They had this crazy little booth where you go inside to know what a hurricane feels like. The wind inside went up to 78 mph! The boys loved it.
On the way home, we stopped in St. George to see Ryan's family. We kept waiting for the magical "the drive home feels a lot quicker" but it never hit. New dvds that we borrowed from Bob's collection made the drive more pleasant, though - that's the last time I let the kids decide how many dvd's to bring - four was not enough. We came home to a house with no hot water, and the nasty smell in the refrigerator didn't suddenly disappear, but the dorito crumbs on the floor hadn't attracted ants, so we count ourselves pretty lucky. Somehow, being away from home for three days was enough to make me really like my house again, and my bed that has no two year olds in it, kicking me in the back all night. I think that's the best part of this trip, being happy to be home again.
So why exactly did I find myself voluntarily taking a spring break trip to Vegas this week? Because it was warm there. And the sun was shining. In Orem, we had Eeyore weather, gloomy and miserable, making me walk around with a frowny face and slumped shoulders. I had to get out of there, and fast. St. George wasn't even warm enough, so I decided to throw personal standards to the wind and go to Las Vegas. That's how the inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah were lured there, by the way - it wasn't out of evilness or rebellion, it was because they had nice weather. And cheap hotel rooms. And all-you-can-eat buffets.
And you know, once you decide not to hold yourself up to your personal standards, life can get pretty fun. I could walk through smoky casinos and almost not cringe at the man shuffling past using a walker with tennis balls on the feet. I justified our trip by paying substantially more for a room at an Embassy Suites, instead of a casino hotel, which is basically like pitching my tent on the outskirts of Gomorrah. I could have the self-righteous satisfaction of disdaining everything that Las Vegas stands for, but still keep my commute short.
Seriously, next trip is to someplace with absolutely no ethical dilemmas. Like Wyoming. I can't see anything in Wyoming getting me all worked up.
We had a few requirements for this trip: 1) Be relaxed. No strenuous must-see lists. 2) Swim in the indoor pool as much as the kids want to. 3) Eat at Baja Fresh, or any other place that we don't have in Orem. The first two worked out pretty well, the third, not so much. We played things by ear, stayed flexible, and had no expectations. The kids had a blast in the pool. Unfortunately, we ended up eating at a pile of fast food place that were completely unremarkable. We aimed for a Baja Fresh a couple of times, but either Google had the address wrong, or the place had closed, or we just really blew it, because we never got to eat any of that fantastic, breath-killing salsa. I spent an hour driving around in search of a Dairy Queen that I had seen not 8 hours before, but was long gone by the time I got there. It felt like we were in Hogwarts and all of the hallways and staircases kept moving around. (If only there was a Room of Requirement full of ice cream...) At one point, Zack said we were in "Lost" Vegas because we kept getting lost. Clever kid, that one.
The only thing that was a complete bust was Ethel M's chocolate factory tour. I'll take a tour of just about any kind of factory - I don't know why, but I have a fascination with seeing how things are made. Maybe it comes from watching too much Mister Rogers and Sesame Street as a kid. (Do you remember the crayon factory? Or the milk one? Loved those!) A chocolate factory tour is like the best of both worlds! Unfortunately, Willy Wonka this wasn't. There was nary an Oompa Loompa in sight. In fact, there were no regular humans in sight either - the whole factory was shut down; nothing was going on at all. What a complete disappointment to drive 20 minutes to walk through an empty factory for one minute and then end up in a gift shop. Interestingly enough, Ethel M's has a cactus garden outside that ended up being way better. Who would have thought? A chocolate factory-slash-cactus garden? Anyhow, it worked. Here are some pictures:
On Friday we went to a children's museum that the kids really liked. It was just like the one in SLC.
They had this crazy little booth where you go inside to know what a hurricane feels like. The wind inside went up to 78 mph! The boys loved it.
They decided to put on a show - Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney would be so proud. Brad was in charge of costuming and he had probably too much fun. No one was in charge of story, or dialogue, or props, so it was a very brief show with lots of costume changes.
On the way home, we stopped in St. George to see Ryan's family. We kept waiting for the magical "the drive home feels a lot quicker" but it never hit. New dvds that we borrowed from Bob's collection made the drive more pleasant, though - that's the last time I let the kids decide how many dvd's to bring - four was not enough. We came home to a house with no hot water, and the nasty smell in the refrigerator didn't suddenly disappear, but the dorito crumbs on the floor hadn't attracted ants, so we count ourselves pretty lucky. Somehow, being away from home for three days was enough to make me really like my house again, and my bed that has no two year olds in it, kicking me in the back all night. I think that's the best part of this trip, being happy to be home again.
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